by Peter Rimmer
"But not by hundreds of miles."
"Oh yes they do. Especially through desert where they can wander around without impediment. There may have been a tributary to the Orange taking the diamonds so far north. You found them Barend. You know where they were. No one dropped them on purpose. And your seven stones are diamonds. When we find you a legitimate buyer you will have a small fortune. You may not even want to farm. A 'rich life' in one of the world capitals."
"There won't be that much from seven stones."
"There will be if we find the old river bed and dig up the rest of them."
"You want to come and help me?"
"We can't go now. Anyway, any find belongs to the German Kaiser. Maybe this war will change things to your advantage. If the Germans go to war with the British and lose, they will lose their few colonies to the British. Or even the South Africans. Generals Botha and Smuts have not joined the other Bittereinders as reported."
"What do you know about that? I didn't say anything."
"But others have. They call it a chance for revenge, Botha, the South African Prime Minister, thinks he's better off staying in the Empire. He's probably already got his eye on those German diamonds scattered up the Skeleton Coast. Let's wait and see what happens. You can find your way back?"
"I cut my initials in a rock."
"Oh, that's wonderful. Now all we got to do is find a bloody rock."
"I can find it again. I'm a Boer. We don't forget a place we have been to in the bush, or a rock on one of the most arid coastlines in the world. I know exactly how many miles I was north of Cape Cross, where Diogo Cäo first planted the cross of Christ. I also cut the Kunene two weeks after finding the diamonds. There was a sand dune I will never forget."
"Sand dunes can come and go in a week."
"Then I will find my initials on the rock if I have to inspect every one on the coast for miles."
Book 3 – Family, War and Business
Chapter 11: December to January 1913 to 1914
The SS King Emperor docked at Southampton three days before Christmas. Even the seagulls were quiet, blanketed by falling snow on the docks, where workers were ready for the big ship. There was black slush in high ridges between wet roads. There was no one to meet them. No band playing. No coloured streamers from ship to shore, friends and relations at either end. There was no excitement.
"I don't care it is snowing," said Lucinda St Clair. "I don't care no one came to take us home."
She was dressed in a heavy black woollen skirt and matching top that had lain in the bottom of the trunk for seven months on Elephant Walk. The hood that came out from the back was tied under her chin with a green velvet ribbon, and only eyes, nose and chin, glowing with youth and health, were visible.
"I told them not to meet us," said Robert St Clair. "Didn't expect them to take us seriously. Looks like the all stations train to Wareham and then change for Corfe Castle. Hope old Pringle is there. Might have to spend the night in the waiting room. He always has a good fire. Can't walk the seven miles from the station in this weather. Oh well, the ship's a day late so that explains it… So… That was it, sis. The excitement is over. Reality returns. Pity. I love England but I hate its weather. There goes the passenger gangplank. Come on. We have to wait for the trunks. Good thing about leaving from a British colony is not having to go through customs. Better snag a porter as soon as we can."
"Africa seems far away."
"It is, Cinda. It is. Hey! Look at that. Isn't that young Barnaby? Eight months is a long time for a growing kid… Wondered why that man was waving. Come on. Oh, now that is nice. I just hate being abandoned. Maybe they'll buy us lunch. I'm starving."
"You think the others are inside?"
"Merlin would never stand on a cold dockside when he could sit round the fire. He'll be in the waiting room. All we need now are the trunks and the hand luggage. He really has grown. Didn't recognise my own brother."
"Seems like a foot taller."
"Can a boy grow that much in a year?… Look, there's mother standing in the doorway to the big warehouse. This is going to be the best Christmas ever. Do you remember which trunk we packed the presents?"
"There's father!"
"You're right. There's father… You know, I sometimes expect one of his prize pigs to be here as well."
"You're silly! Oh, I'm so excited… And there's Granny Forrester. They must have brought all the horses and the big old coach that was grandfather's pride and joy. Oh, isn't this all exciting. The best bit about going away is coming home."
By the time they reached Purbeck Manor the temperature had dropped six degrees and the fields were covered in a thick blanket of snow. The thick stone walls on either side of the lane were white mounds of snow two feet high. The light was going. Inside the old coach, with the arms of St Clair emblazoned on both sides; it was warm from the bodies of the family pressed together. Twice Merlin had swapped with the old coachman who drove the four horses, Jug Ears, named by Barnaby when a small boy, the lead horse on the right. Wet from melted snow the man was crammed into the coach and covered in a thick blanket to get his blood circulating again. As a boy, the coachman had been Lord St Clair's constant companion, fishing the river and hunting the fields for hare and rabbits. Lord St Clair had each time given him a nip of brandy from his silver hip flask.
"Cold enough to freeze the balls of a brass monkey," the coachman had said both times.
"Well, yes."
"Them old cannons were no good in a freeze. Cannonballs dropped right through the barrel. Them was good days in navy."
Granny Forrester thought it quite unnecessary to satirise the brass monkey's balls, balls which had nothing to do with primates. Old Potts would have had a retort and she smiled to herself at his memory. She missed him… She felt the iron wheels crush the gravel driveway through the snow and knew she was home. She wondered why Lucinda and Robert had been so quiet after the first excitement was over. They all had things to think about, things the others did not know about. Only she would be thinking of Potts. She'd get it out of them, all this Africa, in the days to come, a glad change from constantly thinking back on her past. She counted up to seven on her way to ten before her son-in-law said, as he always said when coming home, 'well, here we are'. As if there was anywhere else in the world. Barnaby helped her out of the coach, for which she was grateful. Climbing around without a thought was long past in her life.
Robert had been first off the coach on the side away from the house.
"It's so wonderful to be home… Ah, there's old James… Familiar faces. Come on, everyone. Out you get. I'm starving."
"There's been a sheep on the spit since lunchtime," said his mother.
"I didn't have lunch. Never mind. A good plate of roast mutton will suffice. It's going to be a white Christmas. When did Dorset last have a white Christmas?… Come on, everybody."
"How'd you find the cold?" asked Merlin.
"I don't know. I can't feel a thing. I'll thaw myself out in front of the fire. Thanks for meeting us, Merlin. What time did you leave this morning?"
"With the first crow of the cock. It was still pitch dark. We all need a stiff drink… Barnaby, come and help us rub down the horses. This time you are let off the hook, Robert. I rather think I would have liked it here years ago when there were plenty of servants."
"You drove the team well."
"It's fun, up high alone on the box in the snow. I have missed that chance. There are always compensations, according to Granny Forrester."
The rest of them filed through the small door to the left in the massive Gothic front door, the whole of which was rarely opened, the central point of the arch rising twenty feet above their heads. Inside it was all gloom. None of the gaslights were aflame. Robert wondered if the family finances had sunk to a new low. Even last year they would have stopped for lunch on the way from Southampton. They must be all near to fainting from hunger having left the Manor
before breakfast. The entrance hall was damp and cold, and James, another old servant too old to find a paying job, was just visible in the gloom. The hall, with high ceilings and the stone walls, hand cut centuries before, was cold and damp to the touch. Following his mother and father, Robert went through the doorway to the left of the hall into the big sitting room.
The warmth of the fires at either end of the long room enfolded Robert and Lucinda in the warm history of their family. Lucinda gave a small cry of pleasure. The log fires in the huge grates were banked high and the guttering flames bathed the room in a warm yellow glow. All the heavy curtains had been drawn and the drinks trolley near one of the fires was aglow with twinkling crystal glasses. In the centre of the room, with its back to the long inside wall, there was something neither Lucinda nor Robert had seen before; a dark shape that tapered up to the ceiling.
"Before we have a drink to welcome you home," said Lord St Clair positioning himself between Robert, and what looked like to Lucinda an old tree, "we are going to sing a Christmas carol. The old house is as quiet as a mouse and I wanted us to sing Silent Night, even if it was first sung in German."
To Lucinda, the old tree, if it was a tree, had an inner life of its own, as if something was trying to shine. It was pitch dark in the middle away from the fires that burnt at each end of the long room. Holding hands, the family stood just inside the closed door and sang. Even Granny Forrester felt tears falling down her face.
"Now," said Lord St Clair feeling very pleased with himself. "The big surprise." Putting his left hand up to the new switch on the wall, he pushed down the small knob handle which turned the lights on, on the fully decorated Christmas tree. For a full ten seconds no one said a word, dumbfounded, even though all but the travellers knew what to expect, it was the first time the fairy lights had been switched on in the dark.
"Old Potty was quite specific in his will," said Lord St Clair. "Electricity. That was how he put it. 'My last few pennies shall light up Purbeck Manor'. And there we are. The old house has at last been wired with electricity… Now, who is going to have a glass of sherry so we can raise our glasses to Sir Willoughby Potts, gentleman and friend to all of us?"
"It's so beautiful," said Lucinda.
"Must have cost a pretty penny," said Robert.
"Aunt Nut would have loved the Christmas tree all lit up," said Granny Forrester.
"Then we'll drink to both of them. Sir Willoughby Potts and my late Aunt Nut, who was as sweet as a nut," said Lord St Clair… "Robert. Lucinda. Welcome home."
Robert woke the next morning in his old room. Everything was familiar, permanent. He had left one window slightly open to breathe fresh air snuggled deep into the blankets and soft eiderdown. There was snow on the outside of the window in a small ridge on the other side of the wooden sill. The world was quiet, at peace with itself. Not a single sound came through the tiny gap left by the open window. From inside the house there was nothing, not a blemish on the silence. Putting thick socks on under the bedclothes, Robert made himself ready for the plunge into his clothes that he knew were ice-cold. His feet warmed and gave him a feeling of false security, the thought of breakfast making him brave. Someone, somewhere in the house banged a door.
He made himself not think of the cold until he was fully dressed. Then he looked out of the window two stories high, down over the white fields blanketed in snow. It was very beautiful.
All through last night his eldest brother Richard had not appeared. Annabel was away but no one had said where. Genevieve was married, the only one of the girls to marry. Frederick was due home on furlough with his new wife that day if the trains ran from London in the snow. He had left the Indian civil service to work for his father-in-law, even though the man was in some kind of trade Robert had not heard of before. Frederick had gone to London for a week to show his wife the sights. Robert's mother had said the girl was fluffy which was probably not a good start. Lady St Clair had thought her second son would have done better coming home to England to find a wife, instead of competing with all the other bachelors in India for the 'fishing fleet girls'. The subject had been closed, the way the subject had been closed when Robert asked about Richard.
Over three helpings of roast mutton and all the trimmings, as Robert liked to think of the roast potatoes, four root vegetables and last year's blackcurrant jelly, he had told them bits and pieces about Africa, giving them all Harry Brigandshaw's best regards, and avoided the question of what he was going to do with himself now that he was back in England. Apart from the bit about Silent Night being first sung in German, no one mentioned the looming war that had been a constant topic on the SS King Emperor all the way from Cape Town to Southampton. He rather hoped the war was going to happen soon before he found some country prep school in which to bury himself. He was going to join the Territorial Army right after Christmas, that much he had made up his mind. He rather thought it a good idea to learn how to kill other soldiers before they killed him. He hadn't told anyone about that, not even Lucinda, who had grown quieter and quieter as the evening went on. He rather thought she was missing Harry Brigandshaw. They had all spent a lot of time together, day and evening.
It was all now so far away. In years to come most of what happened in Africa would slip from his memory. In his mind, he tried to wish Madge and Barend a happy life together but knew he was not being honest with himself. Maybe the memories of Africa would not fade as fast as he would have liked them to do. Everything looked so different from a distance, so final. He wished he was a better man. Stronger. Able to get a job on an African farm. To learn the business. Save some money. Borrow money to buy a small farm. But he knew he was no good. Too soft. Too inclined to enjoy the good things without working for them. He was a failure. They probably wouldn't want him in the T.A. Even the Territorial Army were choosy when it came to picking their officers.
By lunchtime, there was still no sign of Richard and Robert feared there was something seriously wrong. It was as if the rest of the family, other than Robert and Lucinda, were expecting something to happen. And whatever was going to happen was not going to be pleasant.
All the servants left at Purbeck Manor were part of the conspiracy, and when Robert asked the cook what was going on, he was sharply told to go and ask his mother, and that family matters had nothing to do with the staff. It was the first time the cook had ever been sharp with him, as buttering up the cook had been part of his life since ever he could remember. Robert, from the age of five, had found that even cooks succumb to the art of flattery.
Cook watched Robert going off in a huff and felt sorry for the whole family. For twenty years she had been wondering why Master Robert was not as round as a barrel, the amount of food he put into one stomach. She called it 'one of life's little mysteries' of which there were many in her way. But when she had been slaving in the kitchen all day, it had been nice of one of the children to come back and say the food was wonderful, even if she did know what the scallywag was after. There was nothing worse in her life than serving up good food and seeing it picked over. What she and the rest of the servants were going to do when the family finally disintegrated she had no idea. She had been born in the servants' quarters and hoped to die there. If any one of the children had married a lot of money, she and James would not be in a constant state of worry. And neither of them had children to fall back on either. And with this war just around the corner, she was at the end of her wits. The last thing she needed was questions about Master Richard, who as far as she could see had now gone stark raving mad, foaming at the mouth and rolling on the floor. If she had had her way they would have called the parish priest to cast out the devil, not that old fool, Reichwald who didn't even have a cure for her piles. She watched Robert's receding back wondering what the world had finally come to. She would have a good moan with James when he came off duty for his first cup of tea.
By three o'clock, Robert and Barnaby were off to Corfe Castle station in the trap to meet hi
s sister-in-law. Along with the electricity had come a telephone as father had said something about 'in for a penny, in for a pound'. Frederick had phoned in the time of his arrival from London.
"What's she like?" he asked Barnaby as they drove through the pure white landscape.
"Fluffy."
"Mother always was rather good at picking one word… You'd better tell me about Richard. Why am I not allowed to see him, Barnaby?"
"He's been having fits. Seizures, according to Doctor Reichwald. The slightest bit of excitement and he drops on the floor, foaming at the mouth. We all have to make sure he doesn't swallow his tongue. Father said he wanted you and Cinda to enjoy your homecoming first. It's quite a worry for all of us. It just happens. Look, he's always been a bit simple, like a kid really, but there was nothing outwardly wrong with him. Nothing you could see."
"My poor brother."
"There's nothing we can do. To get better, I mean… I think he's going to die and then Frederick will be the heir."
"Has she got any money?"
"Yes. A lot. Granny Forrester found out somehow. You know how she is. But keep it secret. I don't think Granny's told mother."
"Why did she tell you?"
"Because I'm her favourite."
"I can tell you Cook doesn't know," said Robert.
"Then it's you, me and Granny… Why didn't you marry the sister?… What was her name?"
"For sixteen you shouldn't even know about such things. Straight answer? She wouldn't have me. I'm not good enough."
"Don't talk rubbish, Robert. You're the cleverest one of all of us. The only one to go to Oxford."
"But as father says: What are the three most stupid things in the world? A degree in history. A man's tits. And the Pope's balls."
"I have never understood that one."
"Thank goodness for small mercies… You'd better jiggle Jug Ears along or we'll be late. By the way, where's the cat?"
