Lindsay had been expecting Cameron’s arrival at the hospital and gave him a full examination before contacting Ellie to say that all was well. She promised to get there as soon as possible but in the meantime sent a telegram to Morningside.
Within weeks Cameron was able to leave his bed and walk with the aid of a stick in the hospital grounds. Winter had come early to the highveld and most days were too cold for him to remain outside for long. He was still unfit for military service so Lindsay provided a medical certificate which would allow him to recuperate at Morningside.
Cameron thought about leaving the train at Dargle Road but decided against it. Duncan had sent Torben a telegram and his half-brother met him at Durban station. When Torben first saw him he could hardly believe how much Cameron had changed. The soldier who stepped slowly onto the platform was a shadow of the man he had known all his life. Torben had already heard how Cameron had risked his life to try to stop Klaas from escaping. The fact that the Dutchman had been killed before saying anything which might have helped them find Alice was just as painful to Cameron as were his wounds.
Neither man knew what to say. Cameron had not seen Torben or Gerda since before Alice was born. He had never actually met his niece. When he had heard Gerda had miscarried, losing a baby boy, Cameron had been so caught up in his own life that he didn’t even write.
‘I’m sorry, Torben, ’he said. ‘For everything.’ The two men stood on the platform, their arms around each other, not ashamed of the tears that flowed.
Cameron spent that night at the house off Mus-grave Road. Gerda hardly spoke. Her sister Lanice was there too, so that Torben and Cameron could make an early start for Zululand the following morning.
Lorna, Dallas and Mister David watched the carriage as it wound its way up to the house. Saba was gone from the verandah long before it stopped.
At first, Lorna was shocked at the sight of her eldest son. A livid scar ran up one side of his face to where a scab had formed round the base of his ear. He was far from his usual healthy weight and walked slightly stooped, leaning on a walking stick. She switched her attention to Cameron’s eyes, searching for that only a mother could understand. With relief she saw that the bitterness was no longer there. His anger had gone too – only sadness remained. It was time to heal that as well.
Dallas greeted both his boys. The time for talk would come later.
Foregoing the usual greeting, Cameron looked up at Mister David. ‘Henry saved my life, ’ was all he said. Saba looked pleased that someone had.
There was an awkward moment when Meggie returned early in the evening. Both brothers knew of her engagement to Stan King but up until then Cam hadn’t commented. He could hardly believe the change in his little sister. Overnight, it seemed, she had grown into a vibrant woman.
Quickly he broke the ice, hugging Meggie and saying, ‘Let’s see the ring, then.’ He remembered he had told Ginnie to keep the one he had given her. He smiled. ‘I hope you and Stan will be very happy.’
Tanith was keen for first-hand news of Duncan and over dinner on his second night home Cameron accidentally let slip that a man called Ramos had nearly slit his brother’s throat. Lorna and Tanith were horrified but Dallas came to the rescue, saying knowledgeably that it was nothing more than a scratch and he hadn’t wanted to worry them. The peace held.
Torben stayed for three days before he went back to Durban. Despite everything, they were the happiest days he could remember.
Time passed quickly and soon Cameron was back on a horse, talking about returning to take command of his unit.
‘Why don’t you get out on medical grounds and come back to farming?’ Dallas asked as he showed off his new cane plantings. ‘You have done enough for your country.’
Cameron could hardly believe the changes his father had made. ‘I would be deserting my men if I did that, ’he replied quietly. ‘I have to go back.’
‘You know, ’ Dallas said, ‘if you stick your hand in a bucket of water the level rises. When you take it out, it goes back to where it was.’
‘You sound just like Mister David, ’Cameron smiled. ‘Or are you going mad in your old age?’
Lorna had seen her husband relax since their eldest son returned home. Cameron was recovering from his wounds and the war no longer dictated his life. Although he never spoke of Ginnie, the pain of losing her seemed to have subsided.
‘It’s about time you and I took a trip to Wakefield, ’ Dallas said one evening after dinner. ‘I think that might change your mind about going back to the army. After all, Kitchener has enough troops over here to sink the whole of Africa. One man more or less won’t make the slightest difference to the eventual outcome of this war but a visit to my half-sister might change your life forever.’
Cameron looked quizzically at Dallas. How could he tell his father that she already had?
TWENTY-EIGHT
Duncan was only too aware that the following day would be the first birthday of a son he had never seen. He wrote to Tanith at least once a week, sometimes more. As a present for Frazer, he had his photograph taken in full uniform, hat under one arm, head turned and smiling into the camera. It was an excellent likeness, carefully composed to hide the stitched scar on his neck. Tanith’s and Duncan’s mothers had separately sought more information about his injury and he had lied to both, saying it was little more than a scratch. The photograph for Frazer would prove it to them. He signed it, To Frazer, with your father’s love. November 1901. After having it mounted in a silver frame, Duncan lovingly packed the picture in a straw-filled box which he addressed to his son and despatched by recorded delivery.
There was no longer a front line as such and reports reached Duncan’s desk from all over the country. It was his job to summarise these and keep High Command appraised of progress with the war. This included the construction of fortified blockhouses which were being built to protect Lord Kitchener’s highly vulnerable lines of communication and supply.
Beside the reams of reports lay an open copy of The Spectator, in which Britain’s Commander-in-Chief confidently predicted that the war would be over by April 1902. His forecast was based on the fact that Boer komandos relied heavily on the veld itself to feed their horses. Come winter the grass would die, denying them the fodder they needed to remain in the field. As Kitchener knew, the enemy had no hay or grain to fall back on. His predecessor’s ruthlessly implemented scorched earth policy had seen to that.
Duncan sat behind his paper-swamped desk and listened to the clack-clack of hobnailed boots in the marbled corridors of staff HQ. Other than the jarring man-made sound, the afternoon was unusually quiet. He looked up from the neatly stacked piles of paper, his mind somewhere out on the never-ending veld – a warm wind blowing – listening to the swishing sound of long grass parted by horses and the slap of metal on leather. Duncan missed the Fairfax Scouts, their banter in the field, the frantic chrr-r-r-r of panicked francolin as a covey of terrified i-Swempie burst into flight from right at your feet.
He was daydreaming and unread reports lay on the desk in front of him. Snapping himself out of the pleasant memories he sighed and reached out. His hand picked up the newspaper instead. An article caught his eye condemning the way in which Kitchener was conducting the war. Somebody who had probably never set foot in South Africa – let alone during the war – was objecting to the way he intended to extend the existing blockhouse system. It quoted sources within the Royal Engineers, saying that up to eight thousand were to be built throughout the Orange River Colony and the Transvaal – some even in the Cape. Each housing at least ten men, they would be sited along existing roads an average of a thousand yards apart and joined together with barbed wire. In effect, the whole country was to be broken up into more manageable areas. ‘Farming people’, as the article put it, before suggesting that Kitchener should be sacked.
Not only were the blockhouses under attack, earlier in the year a Miss Emily Hobhouse had visited a number of the so-called concentr
ation camps. Her damning reports in the British press had been seized on by the Liberal Party, who used a public outcry to force the War Office in Whitehall to establish a commission of enquiry. All things considered, Lord Kitchener was not having an easy time of things.
‘Are you in, old boy?’ Duncan looked up from his reading as he heard the familiar voice of Major John Scott from the doorway.
‘Come in, ’Duncan beckoned, rising from the chair and stretching his back. ‘What can I do for you, sir, or is this a social visit?’
‘More like what I can do for you, ’ he replied, hanging his hat on the stand just inside the door and pushing back a curl of sandy hair which had flopped forwards. ‘I’ve just come from the POW compound where my chaps have been interrogating a couple of recent arrivals. Something cropped up about that fellow Klaas who your brother kindly dealt with for us. We were most grateful to him so this is by way of thanks. Are you still pursuing that family matter?’
‘Indeed we are, ’ Duncan answered with interest.
‘Would I be correct in thinking it concerns a missing child?’
‘You would. Even my father’s contacts have come up with nothing. Her name is Alice Petersen.’
‘I know. And her father is your half-brother. The man we’ve been chatting to worked with Klaas when he was in Durban. He says that the baby was taken to a woman called Heidi van der Merwe on a farm somewhere near Standerton just inside the old Free State border. Apparently, she was paid to look after the child. It seems the Broederbond are involved but don’t ask me why. Our man told us everything he knows, of that I’m certain.’
Duncan couldn’t believe his ears. ‘I can’t thank you enough, John, ’ he said, thrusting out a hand to his friend from military intelligence. ‘I’ll send a telegram to Torben right away, then see if there’s anything on record about a person of that name.’
‘Glad to be of service, dear boy, ’ the major said, leaning across the desk. ‘You can buy me a drink in the mess when you’ve finished pushing all this paper around.’
The reports will have to wait, Duncan thought, when his unexpected visitor had gone. He turned to a large map which took up most of one wall and his finger found the place he was looking for. It lay where the railway line from Natal crossed the Vaal River. A shaded area told him that most farms in the area had been cleared. However, that meant there would be records of any people transferred to camps. It was what Duncan had hoped for. At last he had something positive to tell Torben.
Within twenty-four hours his half-brother had received the telegram. Torben stood in the study and reread Duncan’s words, hardly daring to believe that there was suddenly another chance of finding Alice. His first instinct was to tell Gerda the news but he stopped himself. Since their second child had died she seemed to have lost interest in life itself. Gerda never admitted that the baby’s deformities could have been caused by her growing dependence on laudanum. It didn’t matter. Gerda had convinced herself it was God’s will that she would never have a family. She remained in the house and spent hours seeking salvation in a huge leather-bound bible.
Torben knew that finding Alice and bringing her back was the only thing that might save his wife’s sanity.What if Duncan’s information turned out to be false, he questioned himself. To raise her hopes then dash them would be cruel. He had no choice but to make up some excuse and go to Standerton himself. Torben placed the telegram in his pocket and went to the nursery that had once been Alice’s room. More than a year had passed since his daughter had been taken from them. He opened the door and stared at the empty cot, wondering if it would be too small when he brought her home.
The following day, Torben took a train from Durban. His destination lay almost two hundred and fifty miles distant in the southern Transvaal. It seemed to take forever as they climbed from the coast into the Natal midlands, stopping and starting for reasons which were quite beyond him. He thought of his last journey inland, remembering it as having been much faster.
Stepping onto the platform Torben welcomed the opportunity to stretch his legs. A warm wind ruffled his hair, the total lack of humidity in stark contrast to what he was used to at home. Since crossing the border, blockhouses and barbed wire had followed the track. That too was new. British soldiers were directing dozens of Africans as they struggled to offload an open wagon containing bales of wire, iron sheets and other building materials. Looking around, the faces that stared back at him reflected nothing but apathy. Standerton was a town that had lost its soul.
Torben wasn’t sure where to begin his search so he booked into the only hotel and started asking questions. Time and again he was faced with the blank stares of people who claimed not to speak English or were simply unwilling to help a person they viewed as the enemy. The fact that he was a civilian made no difference whatsoever.
Cursing his own stupidity for not thinking of it sooner, Torben realised he would probably have more success speaking to whoever was in charge of the British garrison. It was not long before some name-dropping paid off and he found himself talking to a corporal who had records of absolutely everything and was only too happy to prove that his system worked.
The farm Heidi van der Merwe came from lay not in the Transvaal but slightly to the south-west, in the Orange River Colony. Hardly able to contain his excitement, Torben asked how he could get there.
‘Not much point in doing that, sir, ’ the army officer said as he produced yet another ledger. ‘We cleared out that area more than six months ago.’
Torben’s heart sank.
‘Let’s see now.’ The soldier ran a tobacco-stained finger down one page after another. ‘You might have chosen a less common name, ’ he complained. His finger stopped. ‘Here we are – van der Merwe, H., with one female infant. That must be them. They were sent to one of the camps.’
‘Which one?’ Torben asked eagerly.
‘According to my records they were taken by rail to Middelburg. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘That’s enough, ’ Torben said. ‘You have been most helpful.’
There would be no train until the following day so Torben returned to the hotel deep in thought. It was no secret that some camps were worse than others. He had read the damning newspaper reports of Emily Hobhouse. Middelburg was a familiar name but that didn’t mean much. There were so many camps where malnutrition and disease were rife. ‘Please, God, ’ he heard himself mutter, ‘protect my little angel.’
Dallas and Lorna sat on either side of the dining table in Durban, listening to Torben pour out his plea for help. They had come at his request, dropping everything to help find Alice. Gerda had no idea of the real reason for their visit and after putting in a brief appearance for dinner – during which she did little more than push food around her plate – retired early. She had not dressed specially and seemed completely uninterested in news of the family.
‘The authorities at Middelburg were uncooperative, to say the least, ’Torben told them. ‘Even Duncan has not been able to find out anything concerning this van der Merwe woman, save that she died some time ago. When he asked them about the baby she had with her they claimed to know nothing about any child.’ Torben shook his head. ‘They are either absolutely incompetent or deliberately lying to hide what’s going on there.’
Dallas leaned back in his chair and let out a deep sigh. ‘We are too close to be beaten by British bureaucracy, ’ he said. ‘Did they say why you were refused access to the camp?’
‘Not in so many words. They said it was a restricted area – whatever that may mean – and I had no authority to be there.’
‘Surely you told them of the circumstances?’ Lorna queried.
Torben turned to his stepmother and was surprised to see the intensity of anger and frustration burning in her eyes. ‘The bastards couldn’t have cared less, ’ he replied, grateful for her concern.
‘Well, they had bloody well better get interested, ’ Dallas growled. ‘This is my granddaughter we’re talking ab
out.’
‘Our granddaughter, ’ Lorna corrected him, reminding her husband that Alice was kin to both of them.
Dallas took the point and shook his head. ‘Sorry, that’s what I meant.’
Torben hadn’t been listening. ‘Is there some way we can turn things in our favour and use the system to get us into that camp?’ he asked. ‘If anyone can come up with an answer it has to be you, Father.’
Dallas thought about it for a second then leaned forwards over the table. Looking at Lorna he said, ‘Ellie and Lindsay have a new posting. How far is it from Middelburg?’
She picked up on what her husband was thinking. ‘By train, no distance at all. They’re near Jo’burg and as doctors in the army medical corps would probably have access to the camp.’
Torben looked at Lorna and saw the determination written on her face. She was not his mother but had always been there, as had all the family. None had wavered in helping him search for Alice, though it had come so close to claiming the lives of Duncan and Cameron. His clandestine collusion with the Broederbond haunted him and Torben wished, not for the first time, that he had never encountered the faceless body which seemed to control every facet of his life. Greed had dictated his choice, then for some unknown reason those he served had taken from him something no amount of money could ever replace – his daughter. Torben had long since decided that if he could get her back, if he could hold Alice in his arms again, he would somehow sever all links with the Brotherhood – even if that meant leaving Africa forever and taking his family to live in Denmark.
‘Then Torben and I must leave as soon as possible, ’Dallas said. ‘We’ll go to Johannesburg and contact Ellie.’
Footprints of Lion Page 42
