Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  ‘Why buy a house if you planned to return home?’

  Lorna gave a wry smile. ‘Just let’s say I’m an eternal optimist.’ Her eyes were warm with love as she looked over at him. ‘Besides, I could not bear to be on the other side of the world from you.’

  Dallas, aware of the Zulu behind them, confined his response to a small grin of pleasure.

  The drive led them past several ornate water features, a number of well-planned and planted rockeries, flowerbeds and large open areas of lawn. ‘I adore the plants here,’ Lorna said. ‘They’re so colourful.’ Zulu women worked in the garden. ‘The men don’t want to work,’ Lorna commented. ‘Strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Dallas told her. ‘Traditionally, cultivating is women’s work. An old man may grow tobacco for himself but he never plants crops. In the fields it has changed a bit since Europeans introduced the plough. Today men have to till the soil because women are forbidden to work with cattle. A decorative garden like this is unheard of in Zulu society – it has no use at all.’

  He called a greeting to two women who were weeding, receiving shy acknowledgment, delivered with heads averted and eyes lowered.

  ‘Why don’t they look at you?’ Lorna asked. ‘It’s quite disconcerting.’

  ‘Respect,’ Dallas replied. ‘Normally, a visitor would not greet a woman but, if he did, she would avoid eye contact. It’s considered bold.’ He reined in, jumped down and helped Lorna alight. ‘Do you have a groom?’

  As if on cue, a short, wiry man appeared, his flaming red hair a clash with the scarlet livery he wore. ‘Will ye be needin’ ‘em agin, missus?’

  ‘Not today.’ Lorna turned to Dallas. ‘May I present Mr Bruce Buchanan? I’ve employed him to train up a groom and driver, as well as a butler. Mr Buchanan returns home next month.’ She glanced at the diminutive Scot. ‘Mr Buchanan, this is –’

  ‘Granger,’ Dallas cut in.

  ‘Pleased tae meet yer, sir.’

  Dallas found his hand gripped in a surprisingly strong handshake.

  The driver appeared from the back. ‘There ye be, ye lazy Kaffir. Sittin’ there loik royalty, I see.’

  Thomas understood not a word. He simply grinned and led the horses and trap away.

  Buchanan shook his head. ‘No point in speaking Zulu to him. He dinnae ken a word.’

  Dallas was hardly surprised. If the man’s Zulu was anything like his English, Thomas must be one very confused driver.

  ‘The bay’ll be needin’ a shoe, missus. I’ll attend to it, the Kaffir hasn’t a clue. Best ye seek the services of a farrier once I’m awa.’

  ‘Keep trying, Mr Buchanan. The butler is coming along nicely.’

  ‘Aye, well, I can but do ma best.’

  He looked after the retreating Thomas. ‘Nice mare,’ he commented of Tosca. He touched his forehead. ‘Aye well, best be aboot ma duties.’ He bowed slightly and left them.

  Lorna smiled at Dallas’s expression.

  ‘Where on earth did you find him?’

  ‘He presented himself here the day I took possession. Dishonourable discharge from the 45th Regiment. Apparently he had a physical disagreement with one of the officers. Quite open about it. Told me I couldn’t possibly find proper staff on my own. Probably right, too. Anyway, I’ve not regretted taking him on even though Nanny Beth was speechless with horror at the mere idea.’

  Dallas shook his head. Lorna’s willingness and ability to take control of her life was remarkable. Most women in her situation wouldn’t have known where to start. Mr Buchanan might be of questionable character but, freshly arrived in this strange new land, Lorna’s instinct was to hire someone from home who could help her settle in. It made sense.

  If Dallas found Bruce Buchanan startling, it was nothing compared with the apparition that greeted them inside. The butler spoke no English, wore an ill-fitting heavy linen suit and a cotton shirt. He was barefoot and bore the Zulu insignia of maturity and marriage, the isiCoco – a circlet of fibre and animal tendons – which had been sewn into his hair and dressed with honeycomb wax before being greased and polished. Normally, as hair grows, it is cut and the isiCoco remains a regulation size. The circlet on Lorna’s butler was raised, unkempt and, judging by the smell, in dire need of replacement.

  Dallas greeted him respectfully. ‘I see you.’

  ‘Yes, I see you too.’

  There was dignity and pride in the old man’s face.

  ‘This is Percy,’ Lorna explained. ‘Neither of us understands a word the other says but he’s marvellous at giving orders to the girls.’

  ‘Percy!’ Dallas muttered. He turned to the Zulu. ‘What is your igamu?’

  Percy smiled, showing a row of broken and stained teeth. ‘My great name is Ndaba.’

  Translated, Ndaba literally meant ‘matter’ and usually referred to a quarrel or a meeting of significance.

  He explained. ‘I was born during the great indaba between our baba, Shaka, and the white men who came from the sea.’

  Dallas knew there had been many meetings but guessed the one to which Percy referred had taken place when the first traders entered Natal and negotiated permission from the first Zulu king to travel and trade within his kingdom. It would tie in with his guess that Percy was about fifty.

  ‘Are you the induna in this household?’ Dallas asked, wishing to know if Percy regarded himself as being in charge and if he received due respect for his position.

  ‘Yebo.’

  ‘Are any of the women here your wife?’

  ‘They are all my wives.’

  Dallas was willing to bet that Lorna neither knew this fact nor was aware of the pitfalls. She should not be employing both a man and his wives since family members tended to collude with each other and would often rob their employer. ‘The madam speaks no Zulu. She is not familiar with your ways.’

  ‘He is a good madam,’ Percy responded. ‘He treats us fairly.’

  Well, at least Lorna was given the respect usually reserved for men.

  Cam chose that moment to grizzle and a young African girl appeared. ‘He’s hungry,’ Lorna told her. The girl nodded, smiled, spoke softly to the baby in Zulu and bore him off to the kitchen. Percy melted away as well.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Lorna wanted to know. ‘Percy looks a little odd but I’m happy with him. The girls jump when he speaks.’

  ‘That’s because they are his wives.’

  ‘All of them?’ Her eyes widened.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My, my. A busy man indeed.’ She smiled. ‘Speaking of which, would you care for a grand tour?’ One eyebrow arched. ‘Of the house, of course.’

  His hungry eyes provided her answer. The tour would have to wait.

  It was the first time they’d made love in a bed, not having to worry about being caught. The pleasure of slowly undressing each other, finding familiarity in each other’s bodies, their enforced separation and despair that they’d never be together again, made it a special afternoon. Lorna’s longing for Dallas equalled the yearning he had for her. Time and necessity had compelled him not to think of the silky softness of her skin, the yielding warmth of her lips. Now he luxuriated in the feel of both, in the musky scent of her most secret parts, in her low moans of pleasure as she found release. Nothing was withheld, no gesture or words too intimate. In Scotland, Lorna had seemed like a naughty girl breaking the rules. Defiance had motivated her then. In a way it still did, but longing and distance had enhanced her memories, and now that she was in his arms, Lorna would accept nothing less than perfect honesty.

  Dallas needed that as well. Love, thwarted by convention and events, might so easily have slipped past them, a haunting memory only, thought of in moments of wistful sadness. Yet by some miracle, here was a second chance. Dallas would never be so awed by love’s raw power as he was that afternoon.

  Shadows stretched long on the lawn outside by the time either of them thought of their son.

  ‘He’ll be fin
e,’ Lorna whispered, sending a shiver through him as her breath tickled his ear. ‘Queenie is very good with him. She’s the only one who speaks any English.’ Lorna stretched and yawned. ‘The servants will be gossiping but I don’t care. I couldn’t have waited any longer.’

  ‘Mmmm!’ He nuzzled a bare shoulder.

  She propped herself on one elbow. ‘There’s so much to tell each other.’

  ‘I know.’ His fingers played with her hair.

  ‘Will you stay the night?’

  ‘Every night. You are my wife in everything but name. And, God willing, you shall have that one day.’

  Lorna kissed him. ‘Is that a proposal, Lord Acheson?’

  ‘You mustn’t call me that. I have no title here. It’s for the best.’ He tickled her nose with one of her own curls. ‘And, yes, it’s a proposal.’

  ‘I accept. I shall call myself Mrs Granger and to hell with those who carp about morality.’

  He smiled. ‘You’ve changed.’

  ‘So have you.’ She kissed him again.

  Dallas spoke against her mouth. ‘I like the new you.’

  ‘Do I shock you?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Perhaps I have more of my mother in me than you suspect.’

  Dallas grabbed her shoulders and wrestled her underneath him. She was laughing up at him, eyes soft. He loved her so much. ‘You have only Lorna in you. Do not compare yourself with others, for they would come off second best.’

  ‘Dallas?’ She was suddenly serious.

  ‘Yes, my darling Lorna.’

  ‘I meant what I said. I don’t care a fig what people say about us. It’s you I want. Everything else can be worked out.’

  He kissed her deeply, ready with words of agreement, but she responded to him and thoughts of everything save the moment deserted them.

  When they finally left the bedroom and went in search of Cam, they found him strapped, Zulu-style, to Queenie’s back, held snug by a blanket. He was dozing as she prepared vegetables for dinner but came awake on hearing his mother’s voice. ‘Let’s take him outside,’ Dallas suggested.

  In the cool and shaded garden, Dallas played with Cam while Lorna looked on. ‘You are so good with him,’ she commented.

  ‘He is my son,’ Dallas said simply.

  Cam yawned suddenly.

  ‘And he’s wearing me out,’ Dallas added, picking up the baby. ‘Come, little man. Your beautiful Mama and very handsome Papa will put you to bed.’

  After dinner, with servants gone for the day and their son tucked into his cot upstairs, they finally spoke of all the other things that had been on both their minds. Lorna wanted all the details of his escape. She shivered as he described the cold and wet journey south from Edinburgh in an open wagon with Victor.

  ‘The weather was foul in Scotland. I kept imagining how awful it must have been for you.’

  He told her of Cousin Adrian’s assistance and of his narrow escape from detection aboard the Newcastle Lady.

  ‘Oh, Dallas! If they’d caught you I’d have died.’

  Dallas tightened an arm around her.

  ‘Tell me of Sarah. I know how you met. What is she like?’

  Dallas sighed. ‘Sarah. Now there’s one young lady I really should have avoided.’ He glanced at Lorna. ‘Sure you want to know?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t feel she’s a threat to me now.’

  ‘Never was,’ he said lightly. ‘I’ll try to describe her but I’m not sure I know myself. I liked her well enough when we met. Having little choice in the matter of returning home and missing her cousin’s wedding, Sarah could so easily have been difficult and demanding. As it was, she seemed to accept the situation and proved good company. None of us, not Logan, Will nor myself, gave the slightest indication of anything other than protectiveness. I swear, I didn’t lay a finger on her.’

  ‘I believe you. It’s in your voice.’

  As best he could, Dallas gave a physical description of Sarah and attempted to explain her personality. The latter wasn’t easy – he’d seen so many sides to it, yet still didn’t know if he was even close to understanding her. ‘Can you imagine how I felt, returning to Durban and finding Wilcox blaming me for the fact that his daughter was with child? And Sarah went along with it. It wasn’t until her son was born that the truth could no longer be concealed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He hadn’t mentioned it before but now he told her. ‘The father was African.’

  Lorna sat up excitedly. ‘Dallas, my darling, surely that’s grounds enough for divorce?’

  ‘I thought so. But Wilcox is using the same blackmail tactics he employed in forcing me to marry her. The damned man wants to avoid a scandal, that’s all he cares about. I can’t even begin to know what Sarah wants. She’s told so many lies I believe nothing she says. I had no choice but to marry her. And now there is no option but to stay married. Her father knows of the charges that stand against me. He has The Times sent out from England, saw a report of my supposed crime and has threatened to tell the police.’

  ‘Will he make trouble for us?’

  ‘Believe me, Lorna, I loathe the man so much I would do him an injury if he tries. Now that we’re together, nothing and no-one will be allowed to come between us. When I arrived at Mrs Watson’s I’d already told Sarah and her parents that all I could give was my name. Anyway, that’s the only thing any of them wanted. They were hardly bothered by my refusal to be a proper husband.’

  ‘But when Sarah’s father hears of us, what will he do?’

  ‘Nothing, if he knows what’s good for him.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘I know who is the father of Sarah’s child. He would not be hard to find. Wilcox will do anything to keep that a secret.’

  Lorna tilted her head back and looked at him.

  Dallas shrugged helplessly.

  ‘Softie,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Perhaps, my darling,’ he apologised. ‘Admittedly I have grounds and could prove it. The question is, could I then live with myself? Sarah is a pawn in her father’s manipulations. I could never be that much of a cad, darling.’

  ‘You’d have every right to be.’

  ‘It’s the sheep in me.’

  ‘No.’ Lorna shook her head. ‘I know you too well. Despite our escapades when we were growing up, you never shied from responsibility. There was a time you even took the blame for me. Remember?’

  They both laughed. Lorna had been ten, Dallas fourteen, and the incident in question was a mischievous idea to hurl eggs from inside a turret at the Grange, their target, gardeners pruning rose bushes. By some fluke, Lorna’s first shot was a bullseye. They discovered the hard way that an egg, even thrown from a great height, does not necessarily break on impact. What suffered on this occasion was the gardener’s head. Pandemonium broke out below as the man collapsed, blood streaming from a broken nose. No-one knew what had caused his injury. The egg, having done its worst, bounced once and rolled away into the flowerbed.

  Convinced they’d killed the man, Dallas and Lorna went straight to Lord Dalrymple. Being used to his son’s pranks, he jumped immediately to the conclusion that Dallas had thrown the offending projectile.

  Lorna, four years younger than Dallas and in awe of Lord Dalrymple’s formidable ire, became hysterical. Dallas took the leather-strap whipping without a murmur. Later, Lorna crept to his room with cream buns, a jug of lemonade and whispered thanks.

  Remembering, Dallas kissed her cheek. ‘Lord! How far back we go together.’

  ‘We do, don’t we?’ She briefly looked angry. ‘That’s why no conniving, trumped-up, pretentious little commoner is going to come between us.’ Her right hand was raised, palm towards him. ‘Pact?’

  He placed his palm against hers. ‘Pact.’

  It was something they’d done as children and it hadn’t lost its meaning.

  ‘Will you keep trading?’

  ‘For the moment. Profit aside, I like the
country and its people.’

  He told her of the Thukela Valley. ‘It’s so beautiful, Lorna. One day I will own some of that land.’ He smiled at himself. ‘If you’re not careful I’ll turn into a boring farmer, just like my brother.’

  ‘Never. You are far too wicked.’

  Dallas talked about the Zulus and his growing respect for them. ‘There’s a man up north called John Dunn. He’s turned his back on most Europeans and lives among the Africans as one of them. He’s the happiest, most contented person I’ve ever met.’

  They were snuggled together in an enormous overstuffed armchair, built for one yet accommodating the two of them with room to spare. Dallas kissed Lorna. ‘Your turn. I’ve hogged the conversation long enough.’

  ‘You had more to tell.’

  ‘I still can’t believe that you don’t hate me.’

  She smiled. ‘The day you left giving no explanation I went back to the house. My father was shouting at Mama. I didn’t know why but soon learned. I hated you then.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know you and Mama . . . It had been going on for some time. I understand that. But if you loved me, why did it continue after that day by the river?’

  ‘I was sick with misery over your betrothal. I knew you couldn’t be mine even before then. I had no prospects. Your parents would have forbidden a marriage between us. But suddenly you were further out of reach. That day at the river . . . I should have been stronger. But you were so miserable and so sure of what you wanted. And I . . . Well, I loved you. Probably always have. It only hit me the night of the debutante ball. You were so grown-up suddenly, so beautiful and serene.’

  ‘Serene! More like quaking with fear that you wouldn’t ask me to dance.’

  ‘What a couple we are.’

  Lorna kissed him on the cheek. ‘One of the things I’ve always admired about you, Dallas, is that you rarely allow convention to get in your way. I’m the same. If you recall, my family always saw me as a tomboy. At home I always felt as if I were acting a part. Out here, I feel more myself than ever before. There are so many real people who can’t be bothered with convention and petty rules. That’s one of the reasons I took on Mr Buchanan, he’s a real character.’