Forgiven_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction Page 19

  rocks, I spread one out adjacent to the wagon.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m spreading it so you and I can sleep on it. The others

  can go on top of us.” Her jaw dropped open; the planet went

  into a spin.

  “I don’t believe I heard that! You are a bastard! What

  makes you think for one little minute that I would want to

  sleep anywhere even remotely close to you?”

  I should have expected that.

  “You could sleep on your own, but if we sleep together,

  each of us will have an additional blanket and besides, two

  people under a blanket will be warmer than one... and it will be

  cool. We have only just come out of winter and the nights can

  still be pretty cold. If the sky clears tonight it could well be

  freezing come morning.”

  There was a short silence. She wasn’t remotely happy to

  hear that, nor was she prepared to acknowledge what it

  implied. She stared off into space for five minutes as she

  digested the apparent lack of options.

  “Then of course, there’s the snakes – some may like to curl

  up with you and share your warmth.” Even in this gloom I

  could see her eyes bulge. I had no idea if that were true or not,

  but you must admit, it sounded pretty good.

  “Your gall and your impertinence astound me! Nothing in

  my life could have prepared me for dealing with you. I’m

  warning you – if you ever, ever, tell anyone about this, I will

  personally see to it that you are incarcerated in the tower of

  London and executed. Is that clear enough?”

  I laughed. “Do you fancy a drink? There’s a bottle of

  scotch in the Boer’s saddlebag.”

  “All right… I don’t drink scotch, but after what I have been

  through I could do with a good stiff drink.”

  138

  I retrieved the bottle and we sat down on the blanket. I

  passed the bottle to her and after looking at it for a moment she

  took a quick sip, as though whisky was inherently poisonous

  and by doing it fast she could minimalise the damage.

  “Ugh, it’s awful.” After a minute she took another swig.

  Despite having a patch of ground that was relatively free of

  stones, it was still hard and not entirely smooth. I was used to

  it, but it would be a long, rough night for her. She would need

  all the anaesthetic the whisky could provide.

  Taking the bottle, I took a swig and handed it back. She

  stared at it as though she was unwilling to put her mouth

  anywhere near anything my mouth had been in contact with.

  She wiped her hand over it and contemplated taking another

  sip. Eventually, she did.

  The light faded fast after that and darkness enveloped us.

  “Tell me, how did a nice girl like you end up in this

  godforsaken place?”

  She looked hesitantly at me as though contemplating

  whether or not she should answer that.

  “My husband is a financier and one of the wealthiest men

  in Britain. He has extensive business interests, which include

  the Kimberley diamond fields in Cape Colony. We came out

  from London on a business trip and on the way, the war

  started. It was frightfully inconvenient, but not entirely

  unexpected.” She paused at this juncture to hiccup and make a

  dour face. “Of course, one of the first things the Boers did was

  lay siege to Kimberley, so the source of some of our wealth

  was cut off. General Methuen was supposed to trounce the

  Boers and send them packing, but of course, they trounced him

  instead.” There was another pause while she put the bottle to

  her lips. “My husband decided we would stay on for a while

  and see how things turned out. Cape Town is quaint, but I soon

  became bored and travelled up here to visit my father.” Her

  voice sounded syrupy; the alcohol must have been taking

  effect.

  “That was risky, wasn’t it? I mean, there is a war on. How

  did you manage to get permission from Army Group in Cape

  Town?”

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  “Elementary dear boy, my husband has vast connections.

  He is the member for West London, House of Commons and

  all that. His father was MP for Gladstone’s government back in

  the ‘80’s. On my father’s side there are military traditions that

  go back to the English Civil War. One ancestor was a captain

  in Cromwell’s army. Another was with Wellington during the

  Peninsular Campaign and Waterloo. My uncle on my mother’s

  side is Brigadier General Wainwright, General Officer

  Commanding in Ireland.”

  I whistled. She took another sip.

  “No wonder you’re so stuck up. With a pedigree like yours,

  who wouldn’t be?” For once she ignored my remarks and

  handed the bottle back. She sighed.

  “It isn’t all that great you know. I don’t like my husband

  much.”

  That took me by surprise. I also wondered to what extent

  the alcohol had affected her tongue.

  “Why then, did you marry him?”

  “Family dynasties, my dear boy. Wealth marries more

  wealth, to beget more wealth and political power and so forth.

  Besides, we are aristocracy – we are not required to love each

  other. It is my duty to provide heirs and it’s his duty to provide

  for me and them. They are the rules and being a Lord or Lady

  requires strict observance in these matters.”

  That was pretty revealing. I began to see her in an all-new

  light. I had always harboured the quaint and now irrelevant

  notion that people married because they loved each other. She

  took another sip and didn’t pass the bottle back. I didn’t mind,

  she would need it more than I.

  “Any children?”

  “No. We haven’t been married that long. My husband is

  old enough to be my father and I hardly see him – he’s always

  away on business or haunting those gentlemen’s clubs. This

  trip out here was to be our honeymoon, but of course it would

  be more convenient to indulge in business as well. I am the

  number two jewel in his crown. His money is number one.”

  That was unbelievable. I was appalled that she would have

  reason to think that.

  140

  “Should I give him a son and inevitably I will, I will slip to

  number three and then, should we have a daughter as well, I

  will probably slip to number four.”

  I couldn’t reply. That was absolutely awful. No wonder she

  was such a bitch; she had a right to be. She giggled. The

  alcohol had definitely affected her.

  “Do you realise that you are not allowed to even speak to

  me?”

  I arched my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “On the estate I am surrounded by household staff and part

  of their job is to keep people like you away. You would never

  get past the front door to see me, unless you had a letter of

  introduction from the highest authority.”

  I said nothing. I didn’t know what to say. I swigged, then

  handed her the bottle and she drank some more.

  “Well soldier, while we are on trut
h serum, tell me about

  you.”

  “What about me? I’m not rich and glamorous like you, nor

  the product of hundreds of years of selective breeding.”

  “Don’t be boring… I’m sure you are lucky enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s… apparent… that you’re the master of your own

  destiny, as they say. I’m also willing to… guess, that you will

  get the girl you want.”

  I said nothing. Her speech was becoming more drawn out.

  If I kept my mouth shut she might get bored and go to sleep.

  She certainly needed to. She wasn’t about to let me off the

  hook just yet, though.

  “Let me see…um, let me make an observation. I bet you

  have… a sweetheart waiting at home. Am I right?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well… don’t be shy, soldier boy, tell me… about her.”

  That surprised me. Why would she want to know anything

  about that? “She is beautiful, intelligent, comes from a

  successful family and wants to marry me.”

  “Lucky tart!” Sarah giggled and wiped her mouth with the

  back of her hand. “Um, unlike me… she will get the man she

  wants. I hope you have lots of lovely children an’ live happily

  ever after.”

  141

  I didn’t know what to say – she had just said something

  nice to me, which was singularly out of character. She gave a

  funny little laugh and took a big swig. By now it was plain that

  she didn’t give a damn where my mouth had been.

  But what did she actually mean? Did she mean she would

  like to have me? I don’t think so. It was more likely that there

  was another man in her life. Perhaps this other man jilted her

  and married someone else; which, if that was the case, could

  only mean that she had married her husband to spite her nose.

  If she couldn’t get the man she wanted, perhaps she had

  reasoned that any rich and eminent man would do. That would

  be really sad and could explain her attitude.

  She lay back next to me, her expression making it plain

  that she was far from comfortable. I pulled a couple more

  blankets on top of us and wriggled to find the best position,

  after which I placed the Tranter on the blanket next to my

  head. Since I had it, I may as well make use of it.

  “You are never, ever – ever, to tell anyone that I spent a

  night with you.” She contrived to look serious as she waved a

  forefinger back and forth at the night sky like a schoolmarm to

  a naughty boy. “If you do… I will have your entrails torn out

  and burned in front of you.” Then she yawned. Suitably

  numbed with whisky and finally overcome with exhaustion,

  she went to sleep. By now, I had half jammed the cork back in

  the bottle and left it sitting next to the revolver; then I just lay

  there and looked at her for a while.

  I awoke in the early hours. The sky was crystal clear and

  the heavens above were alive with twinkling stars. It was cold.

  Sarah was jammed against my back and I didn’t really mind.

  Plainly she needed the warmth I provided, but I benefited from

  it too. I listened to her breathing – you can tell if someone is

  asleep by the way they breathe. I sensed she wasn’t sleeping.

  “You awake?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” she whispered back.

  “Not too comfortable, huh?”

  “Worst night I’ve ever had.”

  Her voice sounded subdued and far away, like someone

  who is almost asleep but too uncomfortable to drop off all the

  way. After a while she twitched and I sensed that she was

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  dozing off. I tried to remain as still as I could, for as long as I

  could, so as not to wake her, then slowly but surely, my mind

  began to wander. The sensation of Sarah’s nearness made me

  think about Rachel. I wondered if she had dreams about me. I

  know I dreamt about her and I didn’t need to be asleep. I was

  dreaming about her now.

  I dreamed how much I would love to be in a warm, soft,

  feather bed with Rachel. I tried to imagine how it would feel to

  sink into a real mattress and have her in my arms. To feel her

  warmth and her breath on my cheek as she slept, the softness

  of her hair and the smell of her.

  I woke with a start. I had been asleep again. I was stiff and

  had to stretch to ease my aches and pains. Sarah also woke and

  rolled on her back. The first streaks of dawn were illuminating

  the horizon and it was time to move. We needed to harness up

  and get the hell out of here.

  First however, there were a couple of things to do. Sarah

  stood up. She yawned and stood about, her arms folded across

  her breasts. She was stiff and cold, her eyes puffy. Her clothes

  were a mass of wrinkles and her hair had dropped and stuck

  out in lumps. I gathered up the blankets and lapped them over

  the seat of the wagon while she fossicked in her suitcases for a

  mirror and a hairbrush. Then I got her up on the seat and gently

  folded the blankets around her, carefully tucking the ends

  about her torso and legs while leaving her head and arms free.

  I must have looked like a doting old papa, tucking in his

  favourite baby daughter. I spoke quietly and fussed over her,

  smoothing the blankets so they were like a cocoon.

  Strangely, today she was no longer m’lady. In direct

  contrast to yesterday, she seemed so placid and calm. She sat

  perfectly still, docile and co-operative. Only her eyes had any

  animation and seemed to follow my every move. Now that her

  face had lost that shrew-like expression, she was prettier and

  more endearing than ever. There was a hint of anxiety though,

  she exuded an air of vulnerability.

  Did she think I would leave her? Or it could be a moral

  dilemma, for shooting someone was not the average woman’s

  idea of having fun. I found myself wanting to hug her, reassure

  her. It was too bad I couldn’t do that. She was m’lady; out of

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  my class. Forbidden. She was anxious though, and the events

  of yesterday were guaranteed to frighten the life out of any

  woman. I was also aware that her newfound humility had

  produced another additional benefit.

  She seemed intrigued by me, my attentiveness – even

  appreciative. She murmured something about me being the

  only man who had ever wrapped her in an army blanket and

  my feeling was that she had enjoyed the experience. I smiled

  inwardly – I’m willing to bet that no other man had slept under

  an army blanket with her either. I had the distinct impression I

  could do almost anything I wanted and she would not

  complain.

  She continued to watch as I checked the Boer’s weapons. I

  put some ammo clips for the Mauser in the top right pocket of

  my campaign jacket and examined the revolver. It was a fairly

  new Tranter in the earlier .476 Enfield calibre. I cocked it and

  squinted down the sights. It was an elegant-looking piece and

  fitted nicely in my hand, pointing with the preciseness of a

 
forefinger. It was also single actioned and had an ejector rod

  along the right side of the barrel.

  Flicking the loading port open, I half-cocked it and spun

  the cylinder. I ejected the spent round from the day before and

  loaded a fresh cartridge in its place. Then, I took a knife from

  my pack and made a hole in the bottom corner of my top left,

  jacket pocket and slid the barrel of the Tranter down through

  the hole, leaving the Tranter sitting inside the pocket, changing

  it into a holster.

  Slinging the binoculars around my neck, I turned to Sarah

  to explain that I was going up yonder hill to check that we

  were safe. Her eyes glazed with an expression of stoic

  acceptance, as though the love of her life was about to leave

  and never again return. I mounted the Boer pony and looked at

  her.

  She gazed back in a muted way that seemed to be

  appealing me not to leave. I turned the horse around and pulled

  up alongside, looking directly at her.

  “Don’t worry m’lady, you can rely on me. If there is any

  way I can get us out of this, I will and you can bet your next

  meal on that as well.”

  144

  She gave me a weak smile and her eyes dropped; a sign,

  perhaps, that she was still disappointed. Then I headed for the

  nearest mound of rocks.

  Climbing to the top I scanned the horizon through the

  binoculars for three hundred and sixty degrees. There was

  nothing out there but limitless, gently undulating savannah,

  with the odd cone-shaped mound, a few spindly trees and dry,

  pale green grass. By now, the sun had truly risen and the whole

  landscape was bathed in a radiant, mellow glow. I stared. The

  stark beauty of it seemed to encompass my soul. It was surreal,

  majestic, and mercifully empty of anything that could threaten

  us. I couldn’t help thinking that this place, this sunrise and the

  two of us being here was like something straight from H. Rider

  Haggard. This was like ‘King Solomon’s Mines’ except the

  discomforts and the dangers were real; although it was a relief

  to know that we were safe, at least for now.

  Retracing my steps, I harnessed one of the other horses to

  the wagon and we were soon on our way. In the interim, Sarah

  had meticulously brushed her hair and clipped it behind her

  head with a large tortoiseshell clasp. She was understandably

  gaunt and tired, for she needed proper food and sleep.