These thoughts, together with a growing need to find sexual satisfaction, had led Will to one of the less reputable establishments in Newcastle, where very basic and age-old entertainment was provided to those willing to run the risk of gonorrhoea, syphilis or worse. Will didn’t go there for sex alone; he also enjoyed drinking the gruel-like beer, consumed warm and more often than not while it was still fermenting. It was a place where nobody gave him orders or asked questions which might invade his personal privacy.
There was one girl he liked above all the others. Most were Sotho but Florence was a Swazi and spoke Zulu. She talked of her home near Piggs Peak and showed him a vulture’s quill containing half a dozen shot-size pellets of gold which she said had been found there by her father. They were her only possession, a means of going home when men no longer wanted her body. Will was devastated when Florence was arrested and shot on charges of spying for the Boers. He never discovered what became of her gold.
Ellie didn’t see much of Will but he and Lindsay shared a secret, something acutely embarrassing, about which he naively believed she knew nothing. The elderly trader’s venereal disease, if left untreated, would undoubtedly have killed him. He had been very lucky.
General Sir Redvers Buller didn’t resume his advance until 5 June, crossing onto the Transvaal a week later, taking Laing’s Nek – the Gibraltar of Natal – and occupying Volksrust.
‘Mark my words, ’ Winston said, ‘this thing’s going to drag on.’ He and Cameron had almost collided with each other outside the officers’ mess in Pretoria. ‘Got time for a drink, old chap?’
Two hours later Cameron was warming to the effects of his fourth brandy and soda, though the cigar had made him feel quite sick.
‘A whisky man myself but those Dutchies down in the Cape make a fine brandewijn, don’t you think? I’ve had a dozen cases delivered to Mother onboard the Maine. Hope she knows they’re mine and doesn’t use them for cooking!’ Both men laughed.
‘Once we’ve pushed Botha’s blighters back from Diamond Hill, I’m off. There’s an election looming at home and, quite frankly, I can probably do more good there than sitting around here waiting for this blasted war to end. What are your plans, Cameron?’
They talked for another hour before Winston excused himself. ‘Better not keep Bobs waiting. I’m supposed to be having dinner with him at staff HQ. Goodnight, old chap. So glad I caught up with you.’ With that he was gone.
Cameron couldn’t face the thought of food but a brisk walk in the bracing chill soon had him feeling better. He wondered what it was that Winston could do in England that couldn’t be done where he was right now.
Diamond Hill proved to be one of the last set-piece battles of the war. It was a fragmented, two-day affair from which neither side could claim outright victory. British losses far outnumbered those of the Boers, and it was largely colonial troops from New South Wales and Western Australia that finally forced Botha to retreat, escaping eastwards under cover of darkness in a tactical withdrawal which once again saved the main Transvaal army.
During the days that followed, Roberts despatched his Chief-of-Staff, Lord Kitchener, to secure a still-vulnerable lifeline – the railway back to Bloemfontein – which was still coming under attack by Boer komandos. Garrisons were established throughout the Orange River Colony and a proclamation issued that any farm buildings found to be harbouring the enemy would be razed to the ground.
A new war had begun, one born of the twentieth century and soon to spawn the horror of concentration camps where men, women and children – irrespective of race – would be confined under woefully inadequate conditions and die in their thousands, more than were ever lost to conventional weapons of war. It was a time destined to haunt Britain for many years to come.
NINETEEN
Lord Roberts wasn’t having an easy time of things. Far from it. He had pushed Botha east, away from Pretoria, but reports were coming in that a heavily armed force led by de la Rey and Jan Smuts was gathering in the Magaliesberg, a largely undefended range of hills to his north and west. Sending Kitchener to secure the Orange River Colony had severely depleted his defensive capability leaving no option but to pull Methuen back from the west and curtail French’s cavalry pursuit of Louis Botha and his Transvaalers. On 11 July the Fairfax Scouts had narrowly avoided capture when de la Rey mounted three separate attacks, one taking nearly two hundred prisoners at Zilikat’s Nek.
‘That was a bit too close for my liking, ’Fairy admitted to Dallas as they followed yet another change of orders and turned back towards Pretoria. ‘I wonder what the Little Man wants of us this time?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Please God it doesn’t get in the way of Duncan’s wedding. That’s causing enough drama as it is.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? Tanith’s pompous ass of a father has all but disowned the poor girl. Bloody stupid, if you ask me. What’s done is done and there’s no doubt the two of them love each other. Anyway, to cut a long story short, she’s left home and is living on her own.’
‘Whoops. Not easy.’
‘Certainly isn’t. Especially with Duncan so far away. Lorna has been helping where she can but Tanith’s mother is in rather an awkward position.’
‘I see what you mean. Will they be at the wedding?’
‘Doesn’t look like it. Apparently the minister is coming out to Morningside. I have no idea who will be giving the bride away. If there are half a dozen guests I’ll be surprised.’
‘What, no Champagne and speeches?’
‘I honestly have no idea. August 20 is also Tanith’s twentieth birthday, but so many of their friends are away.’
‘With luck this war might be over by then.’
The two men just looked at each other. Both knew there was no chance of that.
‘At least things might speed up a bit now the Natal line is back in operation. Come to think of it, Fairy, when was the last time you had a break? It would probably do you good.’
‘True. Try telling that to our friend Meneer Botha. And while you’re at it, ask him not to cut south and start a new front in Zululand. The way’s wide open and he’s got at least seven thousand tried and trusted men with him.’
‘Heaven forbid.’ Dallas knew it was a distinct possibility.
‘Roberts really has no option but to deal with the man once and for all. My money’s on our going to the eastern Transvaal.’
‘That would seem logical. Should Steyn and de Wet manage to break out of the Brandwater basin, chances are they’ll try to join forces with Botha.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on it. If they avoid Kitchener – and that’s a mighty big if – it would make sense to move west and keep Bobs busy on two fronts.’
‘Hadn’t thought of that. And in the Cape?’
‘That uprising seems to have fizzled out again. Support for the Boers’ cause just isn’t there.’
‘So it’s back to the good old Free State and Natal?’
‘In my opinion, yes.’ Changing the subject, Fairfax went on. ‘Any word from your eldest son?’
‘Cam was in Pretoria for a short time. Never saw him, though. Before that he and his troop were down near Lindley.’
The two men fell silent. A perfectly innocent question reminded them both of what had happened there so many months before.
‘I told him how to find Frazer’s grave. But I don’t know if he got the letter.’
De Wet and President Steyn did manage to slip from Kitchener’s clutches, taking with them two thousand five hundred loyal burghers and four hundred wagons. Four thousand men were left behind. More than half the entire Free State army had been trapped and forced to surrender at Fouriesburg, but not before setting fire to their entire arsenal of arms and ammunition.
For the next few weeks, de Wet left destroyed supply trains, tracks and telegraph lines in his wake. He headed north and crossed the Vaal, playing hide-and-seek with his pursuers for two hundred miles
. Kitchener had a force of almost thirty thousand men out to get him. Eventually he was forced to abandon his wagons and rely on friendly farms for supplies and information. De Wet and his followers survived, slipping past Hamilton at Oliphant’s Nek to join up with de la Rey in the Magaliesberg. Fairfax had been right and a furious Kitchener set about implementing Lord Roberts’s farm-burning policy, rounding up the families of any Boers who had refused amnesty and carrying them off in cattle trucks to hastily improvised internment camps. It was just the beginning.
Sir Redvers Buller’s advance through the Transvaal eventually reached Heidelberg, giving Lord Roberts the confidence he needed to leave Pretoria and resume his pursuit of Botha and Kruger. By 27 July he had taken Middelburg, pushing the Boers back along the railway line to Machadodorp. What he did not know was that President Steyn of the Free State had left the Magaliesberg, slipping past Pretoria to join Kruger and boost the flagging morale of Louis Botha’s Transvaal komandos.
On 12 August Dallas and Duncan, taking their horses with them, boarded a train destined for Durban. The line was not totally secure but south of Heidelberg Buller had deployed a cavalry brigade and two divisions whose sole task it was to defend the track against de Wet and his marauding bands.
The journey south was slow and uneventful. Both men carried twenty-one-day passes and the heart of each was filled with nervous anticipation. For Duncan it was because of his impending marriage to a bride nearly seven months pregnant whom he hadn’t seen since January. Dallas had a much more serious problem. He had completely forgotten Lorna’s forty-sixth birthday in June and hoped that being home for their wedding anniversary on 15 August would, in some small measure, make up for it. That aside, there was one stop he had to make on the way back to Morningside. It was a mission long overdue. He and his horse left the train at Dargle Road.
The woman who looked down from a shaded verandah seemed strangely familiar. She was probably close to his own age, possibly a little younger, though it was difficult to tell. The burnt-brown skin of her face and arms stood testimony to a life spent out of doors, hair bleached by the sun, bunched and pinned clear of her neck. Her clothing was practical – a man’s collarless white shirt, sleeves rolled up, skirt split for horse-riding, boots dusty and far from new. Turquoise blue eyes met his, a knowing smile softening her face.
‘Mister Granger-Acheson, if I’m not mistaken.I wondered when you’d finally get here. Some refreshment, perhaps?’
Dallas realised he was staring. ‘That would be most agreeable, madam.’ He dismounted. ‘You were expecting me?’
‘Indeed. Moses will see to your horse. Welcome to Wakefield.’ She held out a hand, which Dallas took.
‘Thank you. It’s good to be here.’
Her grip was firm. ‘Dallas, isn’t it? Call me Caroline.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And do stop saying “thank you” to everything. If anybody should be grateful, it is I. Please, won’t you sit down?’
‘Tha– ’
Caroline wagged an admonishing finger and they both burst out laughing. She shook a solid brass bell on the table beside her chair and in seconds a stooped Indian woman appeared carrying a wooden tray on which sat a jug of what looked like lemon cordial with sprigs of mint floating in it, two very ordinary glasses and a plate of shortbread. ‘Thank you, Popeti. I hope you like nimbo paani. Popeti makes it. The limes are freshly squeezed. Help yourself.’
Dallas did, pouring a glass for each of them. He was not sure what to say next.
Caroline sprawled rather than sat, her long legs stretched wide apart in a most relaxed, if unladylike, manner. She spoke first: ‘As the years pass, this world seems to become smaller and smaller, don’t you think? We have met before, Dallas, all too briefly, I fear. When fate brought your son here not so very long ago I could hardly believe my eyes. They say that family likeness can skip a generation. That afternoon it was not Cameron who stood before me but my father, as a younger man – our father, Dallas – Jack Walsh.’
‘Then he did know.’ Dallas said it more to himself than Caroline, realising for the first time why his late mother – Lady Pamela Acheson, Countess Dalrymple – had always shown such an affinity for his eldest son. Cameron reminded her, more so even than Dallas himself, of the one-time lover who had been his true father. ‘But you said nothing to Cameron.’
‘What was there to say? From that moment I knew you would be coming.’
‘So it was you with Jack and your mother on the wagon at Howick Falls?’
‘Yes, and you who probably stopped all three of us from going over the edge.’ She laughed, though at the time it had been far from funny. Dallas thought back to the day during his first trading expedition that he had encountered Jack Walsh with his wife and their daughter. Caroline had been a pretty, if spoilt, young woman determined that they should cross the raging Mngeni River so that she could get to Pietermaritzburg, where she was due to be married. It had come so close to disaster.
‘Did you marry the man who made you so determined to take such a risk?’
‘Guy. Oh yes, and it was well worth it. We never had any children but for damned near thirty years he gave me a good life. No regrets. The horses are my family.’
‘What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Ingwe. It had been stealing our chickens. Guy decided to trap it. He only had one arm, you see. Bitten off by a stallion, ’she added in response to Dallas’s questioning look. ‘But that’s another story. Something went wrong. He’s buried here. Guy loved this place.’
‘I’m sorry. And the leopard?’
‘I shot it. Took me almost a week to get the bastard. Skin’s inside.’
They both fell silent, each with their own thoughts.
‘Jack never saw Wakefield, did he?’
‘Not this farm. We moved here in eighty-three. My father – our father – died the year before, thirteen months after my mother.’
‘So he must have told you that we were related?’
‘No. I found out quite by chance. He’d kept letters. They’re here; I’ll show you later. Is Lady Pamela still alive?’
‘Sadly, no. She died five years ago.’ After a brief pause, Dallas went on: ‘It’s strange to think that for so long we’ve both known yet neither of us was aware of the other’s knowledge.’
‘The past is the past, Dallas. It’s the future that matters.’
He nodded, deciding not to ask about her cousin Sarah, the girl he had once been forced to marry. That too was the past.
‘Tomorrow is another day, ’ Caroline said, banging the arms of her chair as she rose to her feet. Dallas started to get up too. ‘Sit, sit, ’she quickly admonished. ‘You’ll be staying the night at least, longer I hope. I’ll have a room and bath made ready. Moses will bring in your saddlebags. He can take away anything that requires washing.’
Dallas was not sure what he was feeling as Caroline disappeared into the house. Idly he picked up the book she’d been reading, Mary Kingsley’s Travels in West Africa, a heavy tome of more than seven hundred pages. Flicking through it he found a smudge of carelessly dropped ash and blew it out. Caroline’s voice came from behind his shoulder. ‘A remarkable woman and so young. She died of enteric fever while in Cape Town, nursing Boer prisoners of war at Simonstown. Such a waste.’
The early evening air had cooled; soon it would be too cold to sit outside. His gaze took in a view of snow-capped peaks standing sentinel over the distant mountains of Basutoland. Above and behind the house stood an imposing rock-strewn hill, the Inhluzan. Cameron had been right, Dallas thought. It was just like Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh.
When dinner was over – oxtail stew with dumplings – Caroline opened a bottle of South African port, which she said came from a place called Worcester in the Cape, to accompany homemade oatcakes, butter and cheese. The fortified wine was young but eminently drinkable. Sitting in front of a fine log fire, Dallas asked if he might smoke his pipe. He had noticed a rack
of six or more above the fireplace. Guy’s, most probably.
‘That would be most agreeable, ’ Caroline said. ‘It’s an aroma I miss greatly.’ She pulled two pins from her hair, leaned back and shook it free using the splayed fingers of both hands as combs to separate and straighten the twisted, shoulder-length strands. ‘Mmm, much better.’
Conversation came easily, of immediate things more than distant memories. They would need time. Cameron had obviously told Caroline something of his family. How much she already knew remained unstated.
‘Cameron mentioned that he has three brothers. Where are they?’
The lengthy silence from Dallas suggested she should not have asked. ‘Sorry. Have I ...?’
‘You were not to know. Frazer, the youngest, was killed shortly before Cameron came here. At the time, he had no idea.’ Dallas found he didn’t mind talking about his son’s death. Caroline was a good listener. He also told her about Torben and Duncan.
‘This war is a terrible thing, ’ she said when Dallas fell silent. ‘Guy wanted to go but because of his arm they wouldn’t take him. Thank goodness it’s nearly over. Tomorrow I’ll show you round the farm.’
Dallas was woken by a gentle knocking at his door. The room remained dark and for a few seconds he had no idea where he was. The sound of a rooster welcoming another day told him it had to be close to dawn. Then he remembered finishing the bottle of wine.
‘Come in.’
He heard the door open and a shadowy figure shuffled a tea-tray into the room, setting it down on his bedside table before moving to open the curtains. It was still too dark to see.
‘Ngi yabonga, ’ he said, assuming it was a Zulu servant.
‘Sun’s up in fifteen minutes, ’ Caroline replied. ‘The horses are saddled and waiting.’ With that she was gone.
‘We built Wakefield from nothing. You can see most of it from the next ridge.’ Caroline dismounted, giving her horse an affectionate rub on the cheek. ‘We’ll walk them from here.’
Footprints of Lion Page 27
