Forgiven_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction Page 17

  I gasped and felt a searing pain in my left thigh, but I

  couldn’t look down or let my grip go. The next instant, there

  came a thunderclap from behind that left my ears ringing. The

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  Boer stiffened. I could sense that his grip on the revolver had

  slackened and seizing the moment, I wrenched it away from

  him, although by then it became apparent that my efforts

  weren’t required. He pitched over on the ground, a look of

  dismay on his face. Blood began to spread from a hole in his

  chest and he began a death rattle.

  Surprised, I slowly turned my head. Sarah was standing

  only a yard away with the Mauser in her hands. She looked to

  be in shock, so I got up and limped a couple of steps to her,

  grabbed the rifle by the forearm and allowed it to drop to the

  ground. Then I put my arm around her and gently patted her

  back.

  “It’s okay m’lady. You’ll be all right in a minute.” I gently

  steered her away from the body, the legs of which were

  twitching, and walked her to the other side of the wagon,

  where I made her sit and lean against a wheel. Her face was

  pale in spite of the heat, so I squatted down and held one of her

  hands.

  As I looked into her eyes the full implications of what she

  had done began to register. Not only had she lured him in, she

  had killed him too, which on the face of it was just as bloody

  well for me, although it was not my intention that it would turn

  out that way.

  “You were wonderful sweetheart, really quite amazing.

  Now we’ll be able to get the hell out of here.” My ears were

  ringing and my voice seemed to be coming from far, far away.

  She gazed at me in a semi-vacant manner. Her eyes glazed,

  while I squeezed her hand and rubbed her arm. I also began to

  realise how close I had been to getting killed and in the

  aftermath I began to slide down a slippery slope. My hands

  began to shake. Then I noticed my leg and was concerned to

  see a dark stain on my upper thigh, which appeared to be

  spreading. Most inconvenient. I still wasn’t having a good day.

  After a couple of minutes, Sarah leaned away from me and

  threw up. I listened to her retching and felt horribly sorry for

  her. No matter how daft I assumed her to be, she didn’t deserve

  to be exposed to this sort of thing. After a few minutes she

  stopped retching and straightened up, wiped her chin with the

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  lace-trimmed hanky, then threw it away. Slowly, she turned her

  head and refocused on me.

  I held up the water bottle and urged her to drink; the water

  was warm but it would wash away some of the bile in her

  mouth. It was then that she noticed I was holding her hand.

  She pulled her hand away.

  “Good girl sweetheart, let’s see some more of that stiff

  upper lip.” She looked emotionally drained. She laid her head

  back, closed her eyes and managed a limp smile.

  “You are a bastard. I cannot believe what I have just done

  for you.”

  I grinned back. “Us, actually m’dear, and I salute you.

  That act of yours made Lillie Langtry look like an amateur.

  Where did you learn to shoot like Annie Oakley?”

  “I’m British. I’ve shot my share of grouse and partridge.”

  “Well then, I’m glad you have. If it weren’t for you I

  might be dead now.”

  “That simply wouldn’t do. Having to deal with him would

  be even worse than having to suffer you.”

  I smiled. It seemed I had been promoted from lowest to

  second lowest. Things were definitely looking up.

  “That’s the spirit.” I patted her thigh.

  “Don’t get chummy, soldier, I’d hate you to spoil our

  unique relationship.” Her eyes suddenly swung open and she

  noticed my leg.

  “What have you done?” Her tone suggested I had shot

  myself to annoy her.

  “Oh, nothing, just your everyday bullet wound.” Her

  curiosity aroused, she rolled forward to take a closer look.

  “I am delighted to inform you that you’ll have to pull your

  trousers down.”

  I feigned shock and horror. “You must be joking m’dear.

  That’s beyond the call of duty, what.”

  “So then, die of blood poisoning. See if I care.”

  “Don’t be like that.” I wriggled my trousers down and

  pulled the leg of my drawers up to expose the wound. It was a

  flesh wound, about a half-inch deep at the deepest point and

  about two inches long. It had almost missed me, curse the

  rotten luck.

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  She got up slowly and walked to the wagon where she

  opened a suitcase and removed a pair of silk pantaloons, a

  petticoat and a pair of scissors. With the precision of someone

  who knew what she was doing, she cut a leg off the pantaloons

  and rolled it into a compress. Then she tore a strip from the

  petticoat and split one end to form a bandage. Using what

  remained of the pantaloons, she wiped blood and pieces of

  material away, then she put the compress over the wound and

  bound it with the piece of improvised petticoat.

  “I’m impressed,” I quipped. “As well as being Lillie

  Langtry and Annie Oakley, you are also Florence Nightingale.”

  She eyeballed me. “I didn’t spend four years at an

  exclusive finishing school just to eat my lunch!”

  “I can see that and the relative worth. If I ever have a girl,

  I’ll have to send her there too.”

  She laughed sarcastically. “Not on your soldier’s pay you

  won’t.”

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  Chapter Fourteen

  WHANGANUI, New Zealand. April 1899

  It was two weeks after Rachel had returned to Whanganui that

  I moved in with the Vances. The law office where Rachel

  worked was in Ridgway Street, only a few doors along from

  the Rutland – and I hadn’t forgotten where that was. It was the

  scene of the scuffle I had with Albert, Rachel’s older brother. I

  certainly surprised Eleanor, for when I arrived she was all

  poised to put the kettle on and drag out the baking, but I

  dropped off my things in a roaring hurry and she watched with

  open mouth as I bolted off to town without an explanation.

  I soon found myself ascending a flight of stairs to a

  reception lobby. The receptionist enquired as to the nature of

  my business, so I stated my name and asked to see Miss

  Rachel Purdue. The woman’s eyes noticeably sharpened at the

  mention of Rachel’s name and after asking me to wait one

  minute, she rose from her desk and disappeared through an

  adjacent doorway.

  I stood immobile during her absence, the clacking of

  typewriters obscuring a mumble of voices that came from

  elsewhere in the building, while I gazed leisurely about at my

  surroundings. Everywhere there was mahogany panelling and

  the smell of varnish, with opaque glass in the walls and doors

  to prevent anyone from seeing what lay beyond.

  Rachel then appeared with the receptionist. Feet together,

  hands c
lasped, all decorum and formality. No hint of delight or

  surprise, just eyes that subtly smiled.

  “Hello Richard. Please come this way.”

  Dutifully, I followed her along a corridor that led to a

  kitchen that was lined with tongue-and-groove and contained a

  table and chairs, sink bench, cupboards and a gas caliphont for

  boiling water. There was one cup and saucer in the sink, above

  which hung a couple of tea towels from a rack and on the

  opposite wall hung a portrait of an elm tree surrounded by

  English countryside.

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  The room was vacant and after she led me in, she

  discreetly shut the door. Then she turned to face me; both

  hands over her mouth and a look of barely suppressed

  excitement on her face.

  “Richard! I can hardly believe it!”

  I flung my arms around her, lifting her off her feet and

  spun her round and round while hugging her as tightly as I

  dared.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” she murmured. “I can’t believe

  this is happening!”

  The sight of her made my heart swell and it felt like my

  grin had split my face in two. Now I had to be calm. I put her

  down.

  “So far so good. How are things at home?”

  “I’ve told Mother and she’s all right with it. We haven’t

  told Father yet, but it will come.”

  I bent and gave her a long, endearing kiss on her forehead.

  I couldn’t stay too long. Someone might come looking for her

  and it would not look good if we were found loitering in here,

  so I left. As I did, the news of my appearance was already

  doing the rounds and unless I missed my guess, Rachel was

  about to find herself the recipient of some well-meant

  attention.

  On the way back to the Vances I walked with a spring in

  my step, hands in pockets, alternately whistling and grinning. I

  was happier than a sand boy at the beach with bucket and

  spade.

  That evening, I was at the dinner table with the Vances

  when the question of why I had moved to Whanganui was

  raised. Boy, were they ever surprised when I told them who the

  little lady was. Their mouths suddenly stopped and furtive

  glances swung see-saw around the room. Edward’s face

  acquired a stunned look, his fork mid-way to his mouth before

  he enquired how it was that I could possibly know Rachel

  Purdue.

  I understood their dilemma, for they had no idea that I knew

  about the rumours and they were now in a quandary as to how

  to tell me. I grinned at their discomfort, but after admitting that

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  I knew all about it, I could see the relief spread across their

  faces.

  Eleanor made the remark that no one of substance actually

  believed them.

  “Nothing but malicious gossip,” she said, disgust evident

  in her voice. From the looks on the faces around the table it

  was obvious that there was unanimous agreement on that.

  “Rachel’s only crime was to be too pretty, which earned

  her the animosity of others. I’m glad she’s got you, Richard.

  It’s more than about time someone was good to her.”

  Later, Edward was incredulous. “You crafty old fox! How

  did you get that lucky! Fancy that, your cousin being her pen

  friend. What would be the odds of that happening to anyone?

  Do you realise that half the men in this town would risk getting

  killed to pull her and she wouldn’t have a bar of them?”

  “You need animal magnetism ol’ boy, an exceptional

  woman needs an exceptional man.”

  He rolled his eyes, grinned and slowly shook his head.

  The following day, we went to an outfitter where there was

  a tailor’s shop. After a measure-up I ordered two three-piece

  suits and the day they were ready, Eleanor insisted I put them

  on. Impressed, she also brought my attention to the fact that I

  would need to conduct myself in a manner befitting a

  gentleman and she ran me through the subject of etiquette,

  mostly the correct behaviour that would be expected on social

  occasions. Stuff like assisting your lady to be seated at the

  table, waiting for the women present to be seated before sitting

  myself, choosing the right knife and fork, using the napkin

  should there be one and walking along the road side of the

  footpath when walking with women, etc.

  I smiled. Where I had been living there weren’t any

  footpaths. There was never anything other than one knife and

  fork on the table and you used them for everything. The upper

  crust would retire for coffee and indulge in a spot of piano

  playing; in our house we played cards on the kitchen table and

  argued over who won. I was fortunate that the Vances were

  only too willing to help in my endeavours to court Rachel and

  charm the Purdues; it would appear that I would need to have

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  at least one foot in their world if there was to be any chance of

  success.

  Two weeks later, I was working for the Tingey Glass

  Company in Victoria Avenue. They had commissioned the

  construction of a special wagon which was expressly designed

  for transporting glass from the wharf to the factory. The bed of

  the wagon was constructed so the crates could be loaded and

  transported standing upright, preventing the problem of

  breakage when they were laid down flat and easing the

  difficulties of lifting and unloading the glass when it arrived at

  the factory.

  The crates were astonishingly heavy, requiring the wagon

  to be solidly constructed to cope with the weight. To move all

  this they had Hector the horse. He was a giant Clydesdale and

  a marvel to watch – he would bunch up his prodigious muscles

  and when he leaned into the traces the wagon would begin to

  move like magic. It was all uphill from the wharf to Tingey’s

  and his powerful legs would plod methodically along, his

  noble head swinging and bobbing in time with his stride.

  Not long after, I found my own place to live. Half a block

  from the Vance house was a boarding establishment with

  rooms for single gentlemen. It was a large ‘L’ shaped building

  that was elevated from the ground and had formerly been a

  maternity home, occupying the block between Churton and

  Parnell Streets, while its frontage faced Guyton Street. Each

  room branched from a central corridor and a verandah

  encompassed the outside of the building, with a set of French

  window doors opening onto it from every room.

  I was now ready to be announced by Rachel and I felt

  distinctly nervous. Unfortunately, I wasn’t flush with wealth

  and if there was to be an issue about that then I would soon

  find out. I also thought about Albert Purdue. You can bet he

  would still remember me.

  Not long after, it came. The note I had been waiting for.

  Reggie from the office approached with an envelope in his

  hand.

  “Another bleedin’ love letter from Miss Purdue.” Dour

  faced and grumpy, his tie had been loosened and a stu
mp of a

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  cigarette bobbed from the corner of his mouth. I grinned back

  provocatively.

  “Hello Reggie, why the sombre face? Every time she

  comes in, you get to talk to the prettiest girl in Whanganui!”

  “Huh,” was all I got. He had forgotten to do up the bottom

  button of his waistcoat and a pair of wire-framed glasses

  protruded from a jacket pocket.

  I took the envelope from his hand. He removed the

  cigarette from his mouth and gave it a flick or two, then

  walked unhurriedly back to the office. I tore the flap open and

  studied the contents.

  ‘Dear darling, Sunday is the day! Arrive at one thirty and

  wear your best suit.

  Love me, Rachel.’

  Come Sunday, I set off early from my room and called in at

  the Vance house. Eleanor was adamant that she had something

  for me and while I was there, she critically looked me over. We

  were in her lounge, an oblong room of average dimensions

  papered in a pleasant floral green, the floor being covered with

  a large dark green Persian rug. I was wearing a dark grey

  three-piece suit, a white, collared shirt with wide cuffs, paisley

  tie and charcoal black shoes.

  She arose from the striped mohair sofa she was perched on

  and flicked back a lock of my hair before she adjusted my

  collar and tie. Her eyes were radiant with pride in me and a

  smile was fixed on her face.

  “You look wonderful, Rachel will be proud of you. Now,

  here’s something I want to give you.” She handed me two

  roses, individually wrapped in fancy paper.

  “Give these to Rachel and Mrs. Purdue – they will add a

  nice dimension to that good impression. Look them in the eyes

  when you speak to them and be a man of the world. If you look

  nervous and overawed by surroundings they take for granted,

  they will write you off.”

  With her words still ringing in my ears I set off from the

  Vance house and followed Guyton Street towards Victoria

  Avenue. I had passed muster with Eleanor and the really big

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  test was now ahead. I crossed Victoria Avenue and climbed the

  rise to Wicksteed Street, heading towards Queens Park. At

  Campbell Street I turned left and after walking most of that

  block I stopped outside the Purdue house and took it in.

  Their house was large and single-storeyed; it was elevated

  from the road and a conservatory occupied one corner. There