Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  One by one, the unattached men gravitated to Jette and Dallas. Even sickly Monsieur Arnaud seemed captivated by the beautiful Danish woman. In a very short time Dallas found himself competing for her attention with four others. To all five, Jette spoke in the same straightforward way, responding to compliments with pleasure but displaying none of the coquettishness that could so easily have gone with it. One by one, the competition fell on their swords.

  Ensign Pool of the 17th Lancers was first to go. ‘I say, bit risky, don’t you think? I mean, a woman travelling on her own – it’s hardly the done thing. People might think . . . well . . .’ He gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘I’d be more than happy to be of service.’

  Jette, perhaps taking pity on his tender years, merely smiled. But Dallas noticed that she excluded him from further conversation.

  Monsieur Arnaud went next. Seeming to forget that he was supposed to be ailing, he made a classically French tactical move which Jette, and everyone else, saw as patronising. Enduring a string of transparent compliments about her eyes – Dallas couldn’t believe that anyone could come up with so many similes in one breath – the Frenchman started on her hair.

  Jette allowed eight words – ‘You have such beautiful hair, madame, it’s like –’ before cutting in, ‘You would too, if only you’d wash it.’

  Oh ho, Dallas thought. There’s a hard streak to this lady.

  Lieutenant Elliot was physically out of his depth. Jette stood inches taller, which placed him at an immediate disadvantage. And he spoke French so badly no-one could understand him. To give Elliot credit, he withdrew any further expression of interest before it was done for him.

  That left Dallas and Logan Burton. Although the older man had to be twice Jette’s age, he was a fine physical specimen with a store of anecdotes that Dallas couldn’t possibly hope to equal. Tales of wild animals, primitive people and daring deeds, coupled with a dashing air, infectious laugh and eyes that glowed with interest bordering on the indecent – given his age – had Jette highly entertained.

  There was something about Logan Burton that Dallas didn’t like. He couldn’t have stated what it was, just a feeling that the man wasn’t to be trusted. It was nothing he said – his stories were interesting and entertaining – and nothing he did – his manners were impeccable. Perhaps it was the fact that he effortlessly monopolised Jette’s attention.

  ‘What takes you to Africa?’ Burton turned unexpectedly to Dallas.

  ‘Adventure.’ As the word came out, Dallas cringed.

  Logan Burton pounced. He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Adventure,’ he repeated, looking at Jette. ‘Oh well, the boy is young.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Jette agreed. ‘Young and full of dreams. Better that than old and living on memory, not so, Mr Burton?’ With a brief nod she left, walking with cat-like grace along the deck towards her cabin.

  Burton gave a short laugh. ‘I do believe the lady has slapped my wrist. And what a lady, eh?’

  Despite his misgivings, Dallas liked the way the older man had accepted Jette’s dismissal. Perhaps he’d been mistaken about him.

  ‘How about a wager, young Granger? A guinea to the first in her bed. What do you say?’

  No mistake. Burton was a crude and crass bore. ‘No bet,’ Dallas replied coolly. ‘You said it yourself, she’s a lady.’

  ‘Come, Granger. We both know how it is with widows.’

  ‘Not I, sir.’

  Burton looked disappointed for a moment, then shrugged. ‘So be it. The best man will win. I’ll see you at dinner.’ With that, he strolled away.

  Dallas noticed the big Dutchman, Hanson Wentzell, watch him leave, a frown of dislike on the man’s florid face.

  ‘Surprising number of British on board.’ Lord Diamond stood next to Dallas. ‘Good to see so many heading for Africa. Damned Boers think they own the south.’

  Dallas said nothing about being Scottish, and he knew little about South Africa. ‘Is Wentzell typical of the Boers? He seems unusually aggressive.’

  ‘All the damned same, if you ask me. There’ll be trouble between them and us one day. Please God the man isn’t going to make a nuisance of himself on this trip. There’s bad blood between him and that Burton chap and our two military men certainly didn’t like his comments about the British. Good job there are so many of us, eh?’ Lord Diamond turned to watch Wentzell. ‘If you get a chance to speak with our Dutch friend I’d welcome a quiet word about anything of interest he might say.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ Dallas was astonished that Lord Diamond should ask such a favour.

  ‘Oh, just general comments about the Boers – how they view the British, their vision for a future South Africa, that’s all.’

  ‘Certainly. Though I doubt Wentzell, given his obvious dislike for us, is likely to say anything much to me.’

  ‘Good chap.’ Lord Diamond sidled off towards Reverend Stone. Dallas wondered if he planned to ask all the British passengers a similar favour.

  After a few more minutes watching the activity on the dockside, Dallas turned towards his cabin. Others were heading for theirs. Despite the ship-board feeling of informality, dressing for dinner was so deeply entrenched in everyone that all the passengers gave it their utmost attention.

  Dallas, when he located his place at table three, found to his delight that Jette was to be seated on his right. She arrived just after him, her widow’s black somewhat festive looking with a low décolletage, lacy and scalloped, revealing the milky swell of uplifted breasts. Nipped at the waist, the fine cloth fell in silky folds around her feet. Several of the women eyed her with open disapproval. The bustle was very much in favour, yet Jette’s gown lacked one. She looked, Dallas thought, like God intended women to look. With black hair swept up leaving curly tendrils falling around her face and neck, a glitter of diamonds at her throat and ears, she outshone every other woman in the room.

  Jette gave Dallas a brilliant smile as he rose to greet her. ‘It is still raining. How I look forward to reaching a sunnier climate.’

  Dallas helped her with the chair. ‘Have you been to Africa before?’

  ‘Oh yes. Many times. And you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Never.’

  She clapped her hands softly, eyes twinkling. ‘Then you are in for a treat. Forget all that nonsense Mijnheer Wentzell spoke earlier. The Boers are spectacularly pessimistic. Africa is harsh, I admit, but like most things rigid there is a soft centre. Treated properly it will deliver up its secrets and hidden depths to a lucky few. Have you not found this to be so?’

  ‘Inevitably, Madam Petersen.’ Could he be mistaken? The innuendo was so blatant that Dallas decided her words had to be innocent.

  ‘Mind you,’ she went on, ‘I have found a great deal of comfort in things that are solid. They are real. One can rely on them. There are times when a woman needs such reassurance. In my experience, that which has no substance is inclined to let you down.’ She clapped her hands again. ‘But don’t mind me. I prattle too much. Look, here is our dashing first officer.’

  Dallas was relieved by the diversion. He’d had no idea what to make of Jette’s astonishing words.

  The officer who welcomed Dallas on board introduced himself to everyone at table three. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Jeremy Hardcastle. It will be my pleasure to join you at dinner each evening. I see everyone has met. Excellent.’

  The greeting was repeated in fluent French and then German, the latter a pointless exercise except perhaps to demonstrate the Englishman’s command of both languages. In addition to Dallas, Jette and Jeremy Hardcastle, their table seated Monsieur Arnaud, the Reverend and Mrs Stone and a late-arriving French couple – Robert Dupaine, a civil servant, and his wife, Comfort.

  Table one was the captain’s and set for six. This evening, his guests were Lord and Lady Diamond and their daughters, plus Logan Burton. At the next, number two, the purser played host to the German couple, Herr Knappert and his wife, Lieutenant Ell
iot and Ensign Pool, and the Wentzells – Hanson and Magda. A fourth table, set slightly apart, was reserved for the ship’s doctor and several other officers.

  The ring of a crystal bell captured everyone’s attention. Captain Aujoulat rose to his feet, waiting with an indulgent smile while the babble of voices died down.

  He looked every inch the sea captain, resplendent in immaculate white trimmed with gold braid. A short, slightly built man, fiftyish, face unlined and very tanned, not a hair on his head, he had about him a benign appearance contrasted only by the shrewdness in his eyes. He made a short speech of welcome, effortlessly switching between French, German and English. ‘Normally my officers and I would be free to join you after dinner. This evening, however, we will all be fully occupied with preparations to get under way. You are most welcome to remain in the dining room and become better acquainted. A waiter will be on duty and I myself expect to join you for a short while. We sail, as you all know, at ten this evening. It should be a fine sight as we steam down the Channel. The bar will not be open but you are free to purchase your tipple here and take it to A Deck. I do hope you all have a pleasant cruise. If there is anything you need, anything at all, please do not hesitate to inform Mr Hardcastle, who is seated at table three. Bon appétit.’

  Captain Aujoulat called upon Reverend Stone to say grace. The good man bowed his head and obliged with great enthusiasm, ending on a heartfelt plea that they all think of those who had no choice but to go hungry. Dallas didn’t see much point in thinking of the starving – there wasn’t a whole lot he could do for them, so why ruin a perfectly good meal. The missionary tucked into each course with a look of such pleasure on his face that Dallas wondered if he too had forgotten the less fortunate. Monsieur Arnaud hardly touched his food, citing ‘stomach troubles’ as the reason. This was too indelicate for Mrs Stone who approached her meal with apprehension, almost as if she expected the same complaint to visit herself. Robert Dupaine explained that he and his wife would disembark at Freetown and from there make their way to the Côte d’Ivoire on a smaller vessel. ‘We’re looking forward to our time in Africa, aren’t we, ma chère? There is so much work to be done. France was granted permission to colonise the Ivory Coast thirty years ago but has done little so far except change the name. My wife and I are part of, what you British would call, the advance party. It is a challenge but one is always at one’s best under such circumstances, are we not, ma chère?’

  Comfort Dupaine smiled shyly and murmured, ‘I do hope so.’

  Dallas could not fault the meal, or the way it was presented. Set off by the finest Irish table linen, the crockery, cutlery and crystal were of the very best quality, each course delicious and the service superb.

  Jeremy Hardcastle, seated on the other side of Jette, tried to do his duty and chat with everyone but it soon became clear that his heart wasn’t in it. He kept turning back to the Danish woman and, finally, gave up, concentrating on her alone. Dallas attempted to keep up with them but they had discovered a mutual acquaintance in Durban. Feeling excluded, he turned his attention to Comfort Dupaine, who sat on his left. She, as it turned out, had grown up in Provence, a part of France Dallas knew well, yet, still being cautious, he did not reveal the fact. Monsieur Arnaud joined in from across the table and Dallas listened as they reminisced. Robert Dupaine tried to engage the Stones in conversation but the man of God was more interested in his meal and his wife held court with such a long and convoluted family history that the French civil servant had to draw on all his reserves simply to stay awake.

  The time passed pleasantly and Dallas was in mellow mood at the end of it, especially when Jeremy Hardcastle excused himself saying he had things to attend to prior to their departure. He had Jette to himself again.

  ‘My apologies, Mr Granger. I fear you have been ignored. Just imagine, Mr Hardcastle knows my aunt. What a small world.’

  ‘Indeed it is. You are forgiven.’

  Jette’s eyes lingered on his face and a small smile touched her lips. ‘For that I will reserve the first dance for you.’

  ‘Alas, that is not to be until tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Granger, you did not allow me to finish. You may escort me around the room tonight.’

  ‘That will be my pleasure, Mrs Petersen.’

  Jette tapped his arm playfully. ‘Mind you, Mrs Dupaine clearly found your company to her liking. I swear, you paid scant attention to me once in conversation with her. I should feel vexed with you for ignoring me.’

  ‘I do apologise, madam. It was certainly not my intention to displease you.’

  She pouted. ‘Very well then, I forgive you. Do you think we might circulate? I have heard enough of Monsieur Arnaud’s health problems to last me the entire journey.’ Her voice dropped. ‘I declare, he is the most tedious man I’ve ever met. Thank God he’s only going as far as Las Palmas.’

  Dallas smiled, rose and offered his arm. ‘Who takes your fancy, madam?’

  ‘Lord Diamond. He and his wife are most agreeable.’

  ‘So be it.’

  They made their way towards the captain’s table, where Lord and Lady Diamond sat with their daughters. Logan Burton saw them approaching and rose smoothly to his feet. ‘You join us. How delightful.’

  A waiter brought extra chairs. Jette leaned closer to Captain Aujoulat and asked, ‘How long before we reach Morocco?’

  ‘Eight days out, usually.’

  ‘So long?’ She seemed surprised.

  ‘The Bay of Biscay is unpredictable and always we have cargo to load in Bilbao and Oporto. After that it is a clear run to the north coast of Africa. Do you have pressing business in Morocco, madam?’

  ‘No, no.’ Jette sat back. ‘I’m told it is such a fascinating place.’

  ‘Fascinating!’ Captain Aujoulat raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s not a word I would choose, particularly not where we are heading. Casablanca is little more than a fishing village. Rabat, if you can get there, is slightly more interesting. I’ve never ventured inland, though I’m told the cities of Fez and Marrakech are more worthy of a visit. Unfortunately there is not enough time on this trip, they are too far.’

  ‘Then why do we stop in Casablanca?’ Lord Diamond demanded. ‘Surely Rabat makes more sense. It has a port, does it not?’

  ‘Indeed, and we are regular visitors there. However, the supplies on board are bound for Marrakech. Casablanca is closer.’

  Lord Diamond huffed disapproval but said no more.

  ‘Well I think it’s exciting.’ Jette was not put off by the captain’s assessment. ‘We can still explore, surely? Perhaps a visit to Rabat will be possible. We remain at port two days, is that not so, captain? Would that give enough time?’

  ‘I do not advise it,’ Aujoulat said. ‘The journey is rough and reliable guides near impossible to find. Remember too, we delay departure for no-one. Morocco is not a place to find yourself abandoned. If you will take my recommendation, madam, explore Casablanca by all means but do not venture further.’

  Jette’s face fell. Logan Burton laughed. ‘I do believe our beautiful travelling companion will not be put off. If it pleases you, madam, I have undertaken the trip to Rabat several times. It would be my pleasure to accompany you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Burton, but I feel it would be prudent to take the captain’s advice. Regrettably, Rabat will have to wait.’

  ‘As you wish, madam.’ Logan Burton dismissed the refusal lightly but his eyes gleamed with disappointment.

  Captain Aujoulat took his leave. Lady Diamond and her daughters bade the others goodnight and retired. The Reverend and Mrs Stone, followed by Monsieur Arnaud were not far behind. Those left, mingled in the dining room until ten o’clock when the ship was due to depart. All opted to watch from A Deck.

  Mixed feelings became apparent as mooring ropes were slipped from their bollards severing the ship’s connection to land. It had stopped raining, though a swirling fog obscured all but the brightest of lights as Calais disappeared a
stern and the Marie Clare steamed down the English Channel. Jette, Logan Burton and the Wentzells were openly glad to be under way. Frau Knappert briefly gave in to nervous tears. The rest fell strangely silent as they wrestled with the differing emotions of leaving behind all that was familiar. For Dallas, teetering between relief and regret, it was a poignant moment, but he soon shook off any sadness as Jette’s excitement transferred to him. Logan Burton ordered a bottle of champagne and all three of them toasted the continent of Africa.

  By midnight, most of the passengers had retired. Dallas walked Jette to the door of her cabin and made sure she was safely inside before returning to his own.

  He’d almost convinced himself that the comments she’d made during dinner were innocent of any double meaning. Certainly, he could not fault her manners since then. Deep in pleasant thoughts of Jette, he failed to notice a dark figure close to his cabin. ‘Got a moment, Granger?’

  Lord Diamond leaned against the railing, smoking a cigar.

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Damned cold night. At least the rain has stopped.’

  ‘I’ll not miss the winter.’

  Lord Diamond drew with deep satisfaction on his Havana before releasing a pall of pungent smoke. ‘Ah. But will you miss Scotland?’