‘I am he, ’ Torben replied with a dignity and coolness that surprised even himself, especially as fear was causing his legs to tremble. ‘And who, may I ask, are you, sir?’
‘Inspector Wild, Durban City Police.’ The man showed no identification and gruffly pushed past Torben, the two subordinates hot on his heels. They stood in the hallway taking in everything around them. ‘Who else lives in this house?’
‘My wife, daughter and four servants, ’ Torben answered, a note of anger rising in his voice at the attempted intimidation by a man claiming to be a police officer. The others started opening doors, one moving towards the stairs. Their unauthorised intrusion enraged Torben. ‘Do you realise who I am, Inspector?’ he queried, his voice quivering with indignation.
‘I thought we’d established that, sir.’
Ignoring the facetious reply, Torben went on, ‘And I have given no permission for you or your bullyboys to go poking about in my private house.’
The policeman turned to Torben, an icy expression in his cold blue eyes. ‘They are only doing their job, Mister Petersen. I am sure you have nothing to hide.’
Torben had no idea what the man meant. ‘I think you should state your reason for this unwarranted intrusion and then leave before I place this matter in the hands of my solicitor.’
‘I am sure you know only too well why we are here, ’Wild said, picking up a hand-painted porcelain vase and examining it with no real knowledge of its rarity or value.
‘Then I am sorry to disappoint you, ’ Torben fumed, glaring at the intruder into his home and life. If this had something to do with his recent dealings with the Boers, why was he being questioned by the police and not military intelligence? ‘So I will ask you one more time to please leave. If you have any more questions then I suggest we meet at my solicitor’s office in the morning.’
‘Fair enough, ’the Inspector replied, placing the small vase carefully on its stand. ‘Despite the war an Englishman’s home is his castle. Isn’t that so, Mister Petersen?’
The two others returned to the hall and shook their heads in answer to a questioning glance from Inspector Wild. ‘Very well, ’ he said. ‘We will meet with you tomorrow. Shall we say ten o’clock, Mister Petersen? No need to give us the address. Good evening to you, sir.’
With that the three men were gone, leaving behind a seriously shaken Torben, who turned to the living room in search of another drink. ‘Damn them, ’ he muttered, seizing the cut-glass decanter.
Gerda joined him. She had obviously been crying, her make-up smudged, eyes red and moist. ‘What have you done, Torben, to bring such fear into our home?’
‘Nothing, ’ he said, though there was little conviction in his words. ‘My solicitor will clear it up in the morning.’
‘One of them even came into Alice’s room, ’ Gerda said, suppressing a sob and wiping a wet cheek with the back of a podgy hand. ‘It was horrible. He just stood there looking around without saying a word. I was so frightened.’
‘Well, they’re gone now.’ Torben’s mind was somewhere else. What in the world could they have been looking for, he puzzled to himself, suddenly annoyed at having to wait until the morning to find out. He decided to go and blast that lazy Kaffir for not locking the gates as he had been instructed.
Little did either of them realise that their lives were about to change forever.
Tanith Granger-Acheson alternated between screaming and breathing short explosive bursts of air as she hung on to the brass bedhead, her knees drawn up, legs spread wide.
‘Push, ’ Lorna encouraged her daughter-in-law. ‘It won’t be long now, you are doing fine.’
Lorna and Meggie had arrived only an hour earlier to find the highly distressed young woman, wide eyed and terrified. They were greeted with the words: ‘My waters have broken. Caliph has gone to fetch the midwife and tell my mother. I think they’re going to be too late.’
Lorna had realised there was no time to waste and immediately took charge, barking instructions at Meggie. If necessary they would deliver the baby themselves. It was something Lorna had never done but having had six children of her own, not to mention plenty of practice helping with animals on the farm, she didn’t hesitate. With repeated words of encouragement, she kept a close watch on Tanith’s condition while Meggie mopped her friend’s perspiration-soaked face with a cool damp cloth.
‘Oh, Duncan, where are you?’ Tanith cried. ‘Bloody war, ’she spat out between gasps for air, struggling to sit up in a desperate attempt to relieve her pain. ‘The bloody war did this.’
Lorna smiled. ‘More likely my son, I think.’
Tanith was beyond explaining what she meant and fell back exhausted. Meggie turned to her mother in wide-eyed fear and for a moment irrationally hated Duncan for causing so much pain and suffering. The thought quickly passed when she accepted what was taking place – the miracle of new life.
After the longest hours in Tanith’s life, Frazer Dalrymple screamed his way into the world, one of those squirmy, uncuddly things– Meggie’s first nephew.
The district midwife had been delayed by another delivery– one which sadly ended in tragedy – but she arrived in time to cut the umbilical cord and examine her more fortunate patient for any signs of postnatal haemorrhage. A gaunt woman in her late fifties, silver-white hair drawn back into a bun and a face pinched by time and worry, she nodded her approval of the work Lorna and Meggie had done, declaring the newborn as healthy as a baby could be.
Of Tanith’s mother or other family members there was no sign.
‘He’s so beautiful, ’ Meggie said dreamily, leaning over Tanith and looking down at the blanket-wrapped bundle cradled in her arms, his tiny face screwed up, a mask of apparent indignation at the strange world he had entered. Tanith smiled sadly but said nothing. Her only wish was that Duncan could have been there to see his son.
‘Nine pounds four ounces is bloody big, ’ Lorna said, as she hovered behind Meggie and tried to catch a glimpse of her grandson. She was bursting to hold the baby in her arms. Not for many years would Frazer Dalrymple Granger-Acheson have so many women clamouring for his body, but at this moment in time neither he, nor his mother, grandmother or aunt had any idea of what lay ahead.
Come evening Lorna was well satisfied that Frazer and her daughter-in-law would both be fine. Meggie had gone back to Morningside to see if Mister David’s daughter, Aminta, could act as Tanith’s personal nurse until she was on her feet again.
Waiting for them to return, Lorna sat holding her grandson, rocking him in her arms as she had done so often with a different Frazer. Sitting beside the bed she hummed quietly as Tanith snatched some much-needed sleep. Lorna looked down into Frazer’s face with both joy and sadness. She firmly believed that this innocent child bore the spirit of his namesake– her youngest son – lost so tragically to the unfairness of war. How long must this madness continue, she wondered. When would the family be together again?
Early the following morning the horrified scream which shattered a quiet cul-de-sac on the Berea in Durban caused Torben to leap from his bed, grab a dressing gown and rush from the room he shared with his wife.
‘What ...what is it?’ Gerda slurred, waking more slowly than her husband, who was already gone. In a few steps he reached the nursery, where the sound had originated. Alice’s African nanny, Hilda, was standing beside the cot, hands waving uncontrollably in the air, her face a mask of wide-eyed panic.
Torben pushed the woman aside and, heart pounding, stared down into an empty cot. Where his precious daughter should have been sleeping he saw only an envelope. On it, written in red ink, was his name. ‘Oh God, ’he gasped. ‘God, not her, not Alice. They’ve taken my baby!’
Gerda, who had hurried after her husband, stood at his shoulder and started to scream hysterically as soon as she saw the empty cot. Unable to think, Torben turned and slapped his wife across the face, hard. It had the desired effect. ‘Alice is not dead, ’he said, feeling a moment of gu
ilt. ‘I have no idea why she has been taken or by whom, but I promise you this, my love, we will soon have her back safe and well.’
‘How soon?’ Gerda fell against him, sobbing quietly.
Torben walked his wife back to bed, had her take a sedative, then went to question the nanny. She had not seen or heard anything. Going to his study he slumped into the leather chair and stared at the envelope left by whoever had abducted Alice. With trepidation he tore it open and read:
Your daughter is safe and well looked after. She is our insurance that you do not betray the trust we have placed in you. When the time is right, she will be returned. Under no circumstances speak with the police or ...
The threat was left open ended.
Torben sat back deep in thought. The eyes and ears belonged to the Broederbond, of that there was now no doubt. Only yesterday the police had spoken to him and he told them nothing. But had they been police? The unanswered question only added to his concern, lengthening the shadow that had fallen over his life. There was only one way to find out. Getting his daughter back was all that mattered. Suddenly, wealth meant very little – it had cost him his baby.
He could hear Hilda ululating, a sound which would do little to console Gerda. Hopefully the laudanum he had given her was working. That morning Torben had no choice but to let the servants look after his wife. His priority was to start the search for Alice. He had no idea where to begin. Why on earth would he betray the Brotherhood? To do that would be admitting to treason. Could it be that he was no longer needed? If that were the case then the people he worked for were more ruthless than he had ever imagined. The thought terrified him.
His mind still in turmoil, Torben went to his dressing room then downstairs where he told Sixpence to keep an eye on Gerda while he was out. The carriage was ready and waiting. He would not be walking today.
Pacing the floor at his solicitor’s office was frustrating in the extreme but he quickly established that no meeting had been arranged for ten o’clock. At ten-thirty Torben thanked the lawyer for his indulgence and hurried home.
Gerda slept fitfully under the alcoholic tincture of opium. What to do next? Torben frantically tried to think how he could persuade his employers he would never betray them. Their action made no sense to him. It wasn’t a question of money– his freedom was already at stake, possibly even his life.
No matter what options Torben considered, he could not decide where to start. The one word that kept coming back was ‘family’ – his own as well as the one he had grown up in, that of Lorna and Dallas Granger-Acheson. Suddenly, with crystal clarity, Torben realised that they were the only people he could truly trust. More now than ever before he needed his father. If anybody could help him rescue Alice from the Broederbond, it was Dallas. He couldn’t leave Durban, at least not yet, but Torben knew he had to find out where his father was and arrange to meet him.
Dallas was not a man who took kindly to sickness in any shape or form– especially when his was the case in point. After three weeks of enforced rest and tests, which had done little for his health or humour, Dallas decided enough was enough, discharged himself and rejoined the Fairfax Scouts. He realised all was not well – the nagging cough told him that – but believed fresh air and exercise would put the malaise behind him. Besides, he also knew that Tanith must have had her baby and wanted to hear from Duncan whether it was a boy or a girl. When told by a proud father that his first grandson had been named Frazer Dalrymple, Dallas felt a surge of emotion – a new life for an old, and all was well.
It was now late November and the war had settled into a monotony of frustrating and usually long days in the saddle trying to find an army which had, quite simply, vanished. Farm burnings continued and it was rumoured that President Steyn and Louis Botha were planning to strike in the Cape Colony and Natal where the same deterrent could not be used against them.
Duncan had noticed that his father often appeared listless and taciturn. The change worried him and one evening as they made camp he saw Dallas having trouble lifting the saddle from his horse. Quickly Duncan strode over.
‘Can I help you, Father?’ he asked, expecting a sharp rebuke.
Instead, Dallas turned a fevered gaze to his son. He was perspiring profusely. ‘Thanks, ’ he mumbled, leaning against the horse. ‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’ With that the saddle slipped from his grip.
Duncan dived forwards and steadied him, lowering his father gently to the warm earth. ‘Why didn’t you say something? You’ve got a raging fever and shouldn’t even be here.’ Dallas did not respond. He felt weaker than he could ever remember and was beyond caring. Duncan laid him on his back, using the saddle as a pillow. ‘Stay here while I fetch Fairy.’
‘Hadn’t planned on going anywhere.’ Dallas coughed and his attempt to wave off Duncan’s concern failed. He had trouble lifting his arm.
Fairy Fairfax knelt beside his friend and didn’t waste words. ‘Ambulance wagon for you, old son.’ Turning to Duncan he added, ‘Sooner he’s out of here the better. Don’t know why the stubborn old bugger came back before they found out what was wrong with him. Told him so but he wouldn’t listen. Anyway, at his age he shouldn’t be out here wandering all over the veld.’
Dallas wanted to sit up and show his commanding officer that he was perfectly able to ride and fight with the best of them, but knew he didn’t have the strength to protest.
Duncan and Sergeant Sims lifted Dallas onto a litter and carried him to the covered ambulance wagon. In it already lay one of the troop who had ignored a supposedly insignificant wound until it turned septic. He stank, his body poisoned by gangrene. The man was delirious and rambling. ‘Burn it, burn it, ’ he kept repeating to the ghosts of darkness. Dallas could see them too as he fell into a strange world between the living and the dead.
There was no moon, making it too dark to travel until the following day. Duncan sat with his father all night but by morning he was no better. Just before dawn the horse-drawn wagon, a big red cross splashed on each side of its canvas cover, trundled away towards the nearest hospital.
‘It’s for the best, ’Fairy said as he and Duncan watched it go. ‘Look at it like this, he’s the lucky one. Your father might well be back at Morningside in time for Christmas.’
Duncan heard the words but was far from convinced. Never before had he seen Dallas so sick and helpless. Typhoid, cholera and dysentery seemed to be taking a far greater toll than Boer bullets. He turned away, silently praying that his father would survive. It was wrong to think the worst but, apart from his own concern, Duncan could not face the possibility of having to tell his mother more bad news – she had suffered enough as it was.
Lorna stood staring from the kitchen window at precisely the time Dallas was being lifted into the wagon. Meggie was there too and turned just in time to see her mother swaying unsteadily before buckling at the knees in a sudden swoon.
‘Mother!’ she shouted, rushing to catch her.
‘Sorry, darling.’ Lorna shook her head as if to clear it.
‘Let’s get you sitting down.’ Meggie helped her to a chair. ‘I wonder what brought that on? Nothing nasty, I hope.’
‘Probably my change of life, ’ Lorna volunteered, not believing it for one minute. She said nothing of the terrible dread that had suddenly overwhelmed her.
Meggie looked at her mother’s drawn face and suggested bed was a better idea than sitting in the kitchen. Lorna readily agreed. She needed to be alone.
‘I’ll fetch you some water, ’Meggie said, once her mother was lying down. ‘Drink as much as you can.’
‘Thank you, dear.’ Lorna closed her eyes. What had happened, she questioned herself. It was nothing to do with her body showing its age. It was more like a vision, something inexplicable. A feeling of dread descended on her and she could hear a voice repeating two words over and over: ‘burn it, burn it’. In that moment the answer came to her. One that she loved was in mortal danger. It was not something Lorna could expl
ain, even to Meggie. Intuition or not, the message was clear and she fought back an overpowering need to cry out. One of the people in her life was teetering on the edge of death and she had no idea which one – not that it made any difference.
Meggie returned with the water to find tears streaming down her mother’s deathly pale face. She placed the tray on a bedside table then brought a chair close and sat, taking one of Lorna’s hands in hers. A slight squeeze acknowledged her presence but no more. If there was no improvement by morning she would send for Doctor Parry.
Somehow Meggie sensed that her mother’s condition was more emotional than physical. A baby boy had been born into the family and the men who should have been there to welcome him were hundreds of miles away in a world of death and destruction. Their place was at home, working the land and being the husbands God had intended them to be.
Lorna drifted into a sleep haunted by nightmares. Meggie remained at her mother’s side giving strength when the dreams came. It was a long night and often she dozed off. Through the mists of sleep Meggie heard a jackal howling into the night. It was not a welcome sound.
The ambulance wagon made slow progress along a track rutted by rain and the never-ending supply columns which fed an army Lord Roberts was about to leave in the hands of his Chief-of-Staff, General the Right Honourable Horatio Herbert Lord Kitchener, 1st Baron of Khartoum. When it finally halted outside a solid, stone-built hospital, the orderly who looked inside shook his head in frustration. One of the men was dead.
‘Get this chap to the examination room.’ He gave his instructions and two Sikh doolie-bearers lifted the surviving soldier’s stretcher. ‘The doctor is on duty. He’ll want to have a look at him.’
The unconscious man was carried into a white-tiled room where they had to wait while a nurse finished washing fresh blood from the metal table. The smell of carbolic acid stung their eyes. Lindsay Mayer stood by the sink, cleaning his hands after completing an emergency appendix operation on a naval gunner brought in earlier that morning. He turned to the new arrival and his jaw dropped in disbelief. It was his father-in-law.
Footprints of Lion Page 33
