Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  They returned to the ship before dark. At dinner, Dallas had little appetite and felt unexpectedly tired. He put it down to the previous night’s exertions with Jette but it didn’t prevent him from suggesting she spend the night with him again. He was dismayed, therefore, when his body’s response to her ministrations proved, at best, lackadaisical. She appeared not to mind and the two of them eventually drifted off to sleep.

  In the early hours of morning, cramps woke him. He staggered from bed, trying not to waken Jette. Dallas had never felt so ill or known such excruciating pain. As first one end, and then the other, emptied, he was convinced death awaited. Jette waking and coming to his aid only increased the misery. He did not wish her to see him in such a state but she dismissed his feeble protests, pressing cold cloths on his forehead and wiping the sweat from his body.

  Finally the desperate flux ran its course, leaving Dallas weak and pale. ‘Go back to your cabin,’ he pleaded with Jette, embarrassed by the foul stench in his.

  But she stayed, bathing his body and dressing him in clean linen, even emptying his chamber pot over the ship’s side. Then, kissing him gently on the brow, she left a fragrant handkerchief on his pillow and whispered a tender goodnight. Dallas barely heard her and within minutes had fallen into a deep and exhausted sleep.

  A knock on his door woke him just after midday. It was the Reverend Stone and his wife, the latter bearing a bowl of broth. ‘We understand you are unwell,’ she said solicitously, bustling in. ‘You poor dear man. The sooner we are away from this disgusting place, the better. I had no idea that Africa would be so filthy.’ She threw a backwards glance at her husband as if to say, ‘It’s all your fault.’ He seemed more fascinated by the sight of Jette’s handkerchief, which was still on the pillow.

  Dallas just groaned and covered his eyes.

  ‘I asked the cook to prepare some chicken broth. Sit up now. Try and have a little.’

  It was the last thing in the world Dallas wanted. The smell alone made his stomach heave. On a mission of mercy, the good Mrs Stone, who was convinced her destiny lay in helping others, bore down on him with a determination not to be thwarted. Dallas realised the sooner he swallowed at least some of the greyish watery-looking liquid, the sooner he could be rid of the domineering woman. He obediently allowed her to spoon-feed him. She prattled non-stop.

  ‘Everyone was quite worried when Mrs Petersen said you were ill, weren’t they, David?’

  The reverend nodded, his eyes still on the scrap of perfumed linen.

  ‘Just as well one of us knew. You might have died in here. Who knows what these heathens put in their food. Really, Mr Granger, I gave you credit for more sense. Fancy eating something off the street. I declare, you are lucky to be alive. Isn’t he, David?’

  Nod.

  ‘Mind you, it hasn’t deterred Mrs Petersen. Off she’s gone today in a donkey cart. Quite alone she is too, aside from an Arab guide. She’s a plucky little thing, though rather foolish, I fear. Even refused Mr Burton’s offer to accompany her. Oh, I do hope she’ll be all right. Do you think she will be, David?’

  Nod. Grunt.

  ‘And Mr Hardcastle seemed quite out of sorts at luncheon. He barely spoke to anyone. That nice Mrs Dupaine tried so hard to include him in conversation but he was barely civil. Quite unnecessary, wasn’t it, David?’

  Nod.

  On and on she went. The reverend finally switched his attention from Jette’s handkerchief to mournfully watching each spoonful of soup. Dallas had had enough. ‘No more, please, Mrs Stone.’

  ‘Just a teeny bit.’

  Dallas warded off the spoon and shook his head. ‘Thank you. I should sleep now.’

  ‘I do hope you are well enough to join us for dinner. If not, we’ll bring a little something to your cabin, won’t we, David?’

  Nod.

  ‘Nice talking to you,’ Dallas managed.

  The comment went straight over Reverend Stone’s head.

  When Dallas awoke, it was to find that the ship had put to sea. The sun’s angle suggested it was around four in the afternoon. He sent for hot water and washed. Still weak but feeling much better, Dallas vacated the cabin so a steward could clean up and make his bed. The fresh air on deck helped but a need for liquid had him go to the library for tea. He was finishing a second cup when Logan Burton found him.

  ‘Have you seen Mrs Petersen?’

  ‘No. Not today at least.’

  ‘No-one has. She went ashore this morning and hasn’t been seen again. I believe she’s still there.’

  ‘My God! Does the captain know?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Then we must find out at once.’

  They left the library together and encountered Jeremy Hardcastle on B Deck. ‘Captain Aujoulat made our departure time perfectly clear. He will not turn the ship back. Are you sure she’s not in her cabin?’

  ‘The door is locked and there is no response from within.’

  ‘Maybe she’s ill,’ Dallas said, worried.

  ‘Good God, Granger. Don’t tell me she ate that local food too?’ Burton looked as concerned as Dallas felt.

  ‘Certainly not yesterday.’

  ‘The purser has a key, I’ll get it,’ Hardcastle said. ‘One of you wait at her cabin. The other might like to see if Mrs Stone would be kind enough to join us just in case.’

  Dallas found the reverend’s wife and swiftly explained.

  ‘Oh dear. I do hope she’s all right. Of course I’ll come with you. You stay here, David?’

  Nod.

  Mrs Stone insisted on being the first to enter Jette’s cabin, ‘In case the lady is indisposed.’

  She needn’t have worried. Jette was not there. Nor, when they searched the cabin, were any of her belongings.

  Captain Aujoulat refused point-blank to turn back. ‘The fact that Mrs Petersen’s luggage has gone would seem to indicate that she chose to leave the ship. I have no intention of falling behind schedule to rescue a damned headstrong woman who will not listen to advice and who probably has no wish to be rescued. That is an end to the matter, gentlemen.’

  Even Jeremy Hardcastle appeared shaken by Jette’s disappearance, although he could not resist a crude dig at Dallas. ‘Perhaps the lady seeks a man, not a boy. She should have come to me.’ Dallas ignored the comment. Hardcastle’s jealousy was tedious to say the least. He hoped Jette would be all right. Her vanishing like that was a mystery but they all agreed with the captain: Jette had left the ship willingly.

  Dressing for dinner, Dallas noticed a stain on his white shirt. He searched for the key to his sea chest to find another. It usually lay on the small bureau but there was no sign of it. Nor was it in any pocket of his clothing. He finally found it in the chest’s lock. Frowning, for he did not remember leaving the key there, Dallas opened the lid. Then his brow cleared. Of course! Jette had insisted he put on fresh attire before going to sleep.

  As Dallas removed a clean shirt he noticed that the chest’s contents had been unusually disturbed. That was odd. His nightshirts were kept on top, Jette should have had no difficulty in finding one. A dreadful fear rose in him. Reluctantly, for he could hardly bring himself to suspect her, he lifted the layers of clothing.

  Both pouches containing the jewellery his mother had given him were missing.

  FIVE

  The Marie Clare steamed southwards around the bulge of north-west Africa. Herr and Frau Knappert having left the ship in Oporto a week earlier, the unexplained defection of Jette – mysterious to all but Dallas, who had little doubt as to the reason why – reduced passenger numbers to fifteen.

  On deck, the day after leaving Casablanca, Logan Burton approached Dallas offering a gold sovereign. ‘You win.’

  Dallas refused. ‘If you recall, sir, I did not accept the wager.’

  ‘No,’ Burton agreed, still trying to press the money on Dallas. ‘But unless my guess is much mistaken, you have recently experienced a not inconsiderable loss of funds.’ />
  The gesture was brushed aside. ‘Keep your money, Burton, for I am not so hard pressed as to accept that for which no claim exists.’

  The older man shrugged and pocketed the coin. ‘As you wish.’ He turned to the railing and stared towards a distant horizon. ‘I hope she was worth it.’

  Dallas made no comment. Another woman had played him for a fool. Was he ever going to learn?

  Perhaps reading his thoughts, Burton chuckled suddenly, shaking his head. ‘You are a lucky devil, young lad, and no mistake. Youth is on your side. Take the loss on the chin, my boy. Africa awaits. Whatever that little minx absconded with, you can make up many times over. The rewards are there for those not afraid of a little danger. I see in you a Promethean spirit. You’ll overcome this setback and move on to better things.’

  Will I? Dallas wondered. Could he ever replace the one and only connection with his real father? Face expressionless, all he said was, ‘I daresay you are right, Burton.’ Inwardly, he puzzled at the older man’s choice of words. Drawing on his scant knowledge of Greek mythology, Prometheus was a Titan who stole fire from the gods only to be chained to a rock as punishment. For all eternity, each day an eagle would eat his liver only to have it grow again during the dark hours and be eaten anew the next day. If that was Burton’s idea of an analogy, Dallas wasn’t sure he liked it.

  Monsieur Arnaud left the ship in Las Palmas. No-one was sorry to lose his endless prattle about health.

  A couple of nights later during dinner, Margaret Stone divulged that Herr and Frau Knappert had not been married. ‘He left his wife and three children to run away with her,’ she told the table in scandalised tones. ‘No wonder they seemed so tense.’

  Her husband raised pale amber eyes from his meal. ‘Margaret! That is privileged information.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, David. What harm can it do? We’ll never see them again.’

  Dallas had been watching Reverend Stone. The man’s mild expression didn’t change but the knuckles of both hands turned white as he gripped his knife and fork. Nothing more was said.

  For the rest of their trip to Sierra Leone, where the two missionaries as well as Robert and Comfort Dupaine were to disembark, Margaret Stone took meals in her cabin and was not seen on deck. The reverend excused her continued absence as ‘A mild touch of the ague’. His explanation was accepted by the others with appropriate murmurings of understanding since everyone had been suffering to a greater or lesser degree from the water taken on board at Casablanca. But as they waited to go ashore in Freetown, a scarf did little to hide Margaret’s bruised face. A man of God indiscreetly sharing confidences with his wife was one thing, her sharing them in public obviously another. Dallas, who didn’t particularly like Margaret Stone, nonetheless felt that a good talking-to would have been sufficient to dissuade any repetition in the future. Looking at the Stones – she standing ramrod straight staring at the land, he with his arm protectively around her – a picture of married bliss, Dallas came to the conclusion that he wasn’t the only one with secrets. He couldn’t help but feel that, compared with Margaret Stone’s, his problems were slight. Heaven help the heathens, he reflected, if David Stone needed such a heavy hand to get his way.

  Down to ten passengers, since nobody new had joined the ship, they continued down the rugged and densely forested west coast towards Cape Town. Boredom set in. Life on board revolved around mealtimes. Most mornings, Dallas and Logan Burton joined Lieutenant Elliot and Ensign Pool at cards. The well-behaved daughters of Lord and Lady Diamond gave in to sulks, tantrums and petty squabbling. Hanson and Magda Wentzell kept pretty much to themselves, although the Boer farmer took every opportunity to snipe at Logan Burton.

  ‘What’s the man got against you?’ Dallas eventually asked.

  ‘I’m British. He needs no other reason.’

  ‘He’s not downright rude to the rest of us.’

  ‘No,’ Burton agreed with a chuckle. ‘The rest of you haven’t been involved with his sister.’

  If an observation about Logan Burton were called for, it was that discretion rarely troubled him. Wishing to avoid a frank revelation, Dallas merely nodded, but the man was in expansive mood.

  ‘Pretty little thing. Flirts like the devil. Called on her a couple of times. Wentzell found out and went off half-cocked. Said he didn’t want a bloody Englesman anywhere near his family. Anyway, the whole thing was just a flash in the pan. She was a typical Boer.’

  Despite his best intentions, Dallas had to ask what Burton meant.

  ‘No sense of humour, my boy. Took everything literally. A word of warning, young Granger, steer clear of that lot. Boer fillies are as boring as a day in church. And, without fail, they run to fat.’

  ‘Oh come, Burton.’

  ‘It’s true. Look around when we get to Cape Town. If you can find one that’s married and slender I’ll eat my hat. Wentzell’s sister was no exception.’

  ‘Many English women are the same. Anyway, you said she was pretty.’

  ‘Was, my boy, was. A good twelve years ago.’

  ‘And he still hates you after all that time?’

  ‘Um . . .’ Burton looked briefly conscience-smitten, before he laughed. ‘A farmer’s daughter, old chap. Grew up seeing animals doing what came naturally. We were in the barn, just larking about, you understand. Anyway, Wentzell caught us. Made a hell of a fuss. Before I knew it, his old man arrived with a sjambok. I was in for it, make no mistake. Those two were planning to flay the hide off me. I did the only thing possible under the circumstances. Told them I was in love and wanted to marry the girl.’ He laughed again. ‘Well, they weren’t too happy about it but let me go.’

  ‘So you jilted her?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. She didn’t want to marry me any more than I her. She had an eye on some farm boy next door. As I said, we let it fizzle out. It’s her brother who can’t let it go.’

  ‘What if she’d wanted to marry you? Would you have gone through with it?’

  ‘Certainly. What do you take me for? I’d have settled down, fathered children, ploughed her father’s fields and eaten her Ouma’s terrible food. And one day, when she rolled over in bed, I’d have been squashed flat.’

  Dallas shook his head, smiling.

  ‘Don’t believe me?’ Burton chuckled. ‘Ah, my young friend, your lack of regard for my honour cuts me. You must think me an awful cad.’

  Dallas could never work out when Logan Burton was joking.

  Apart from those whose turn it was to dine with the captain, the remaining passengers now sat together. Though Jeremy Hardcastle performed his duties without speaking directly to Dallas, the man’s animosity was evident. Despite this, the night before they reached Cape Town, Dallas made a request for the address of Jette’s aunt in Durban.

  ‘And why should I pass that information to you?’

  ‘I thought I’d pay her my respects.’

  ‘Did you indeed? As it happens, Granger, I’ll be calling there myself. I’m sure the good lady doesn’t need to see you as well.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘Mrs Petersen made a complete fool of you. Forget her.’

  Dallas contained a rush of anger towards the first officer. Damn the man and his petty jealousy. ‘As you like. If you won’t help, I’ll find her aunt on my own.’

  ‘I can’t stop you trying.’ Hardcastle’s voice was tight. ‘Go ahead. See how far you get.’

  Logan Burton had been listening and interrupted in a tone that was light enough yet had underlying impatience. ‘It’s hardly Granger’s fault that you were smitten by the lady.’

  Hardcastle glared at him. ‘If memory serves, you too found her attractive.’

  ‘To be sure,’ Burton agreed affably. ‘Very. But like Granger here, that’s as far as it went. Wake up to yourself, man. None of us stands a chance with the likes of Jette Petersen. If you’re lucky, bed them. If not, walk away.’

  The first officer turned bright red. ‘How dare you, sir. I demand a retraction.’

  L
ord Diamond, who had been following the exchange, intervened. ‘If you don’t mind, Burton, there are ladies present.’

  ‘Quite,’ the first officer snarled. ‘What more can one expect from the likes of him?’

  Lord Diamond’s intelligent eyes showed irritation. ‘I’d hold my tongue if I were you, Hardcastle. From an incident I observed on deck a few weeks ago you are hardly in a position to comment.’

  ‘My lord, I have no idea to what you refer.’

  ‘No?’ Diamond stared him down. ‘Think back. You, sir, wished to fight Granger for the lady’s favours. Need I say more?’

  Jeremy Hardcastle excused himself and left the table.

  ‘Don’t concern yourself about finding the aunt.’ Burton turned to Dallas. ‘As it happens, I know where she lives.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Hanson Wentzell sneered suddenly. ‘There’s not a woman in Natal, or the Cape Colony for that matter, whose address you don’t have.’

  ‘Thankfully,’ Logan drawled, ‘your sister’s is not among them.’

  Magda stopped her husband from rising. ‘Let it be, Hanson,’ she said quietly.

  Logan remained outwardly relaxed but Dallas sensed him tense, ready to react if necessary.

  ‘Dear me.’ Lady Diamond fanned herself. ‘I shall be glad of dry land. I think we’re all a little unsettled after so long a journey. Mr Wentzell, you were telling me the other day of meeting that wonderful man Thomas Baines. Just think, an author, artist and explorer. How fascinating. Do tell, what is he like?’

  The Dutchman laboured with his English, recounting a surprisingly favourable impression of the young British gentleman who was, in the main, a member of the Cape Colony’s artistic fraternity – a far cry from his own world. Others around the table quickly lost interest but Lady Diamond appeared fascinated, even if she had only asked the question to divert a confrontation.