Виктория Холт - Snare of Serpents

“It’s peaceful here,” he said. “Here, among the dead. Do you often come and sit here?”

“Quite often. I can see it from my bedroom window in the vicarage. I thought it might be morbid, but it is far from that. The quietness and peace is … appealing.”

“I hope you will like South Africa.”

“We have to get used to the idea. We had almost settled on Australia and had been reading quite a bit about it.”

“And now you have switched to South Africa. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. How soon do you plan to leave … when you hear from the school, I mean?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Myra and I will be sailing in the not-too-distant future. After the wedding and the honeymoon and I’ve settled a little business. It may be that we shall sail together.”

“I suppose that is a possibility.”

“Then I can keep an eye on you.”

“That sounds comforting.”

“When you sit here, do you wonder about the dead?”

“Yes. I suppose one would, wouldn’t one?”

“You read the names on the stones … when you can. Many of them are half-obliterated. Just think, some of these people have been lying there for a hundred years!”

“More than that, some of them.”

“Do you wonder what their lives were like … all their troubles … all their joys … how they lived and how they died?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And think of the people you have known and who are gone …”

I was silent. In spite of the fact that he had taken such pains to help us, I was wary of him. I had the feeling that there was an ulterior motive in what he said and did. He knew I came from Edinburgh; he had been present when Kitty had called out my name.

“We have all known people who have died,” he went on. “Died … before their time.”

My heart was beating fast, and I drew away from him, for I had suddenly realised that he was sitting very close to me.

“I suppose it is natural that we should think such thoughts in a place like this,” I said briskly.

“I lost someone … my wife. She was very young to die.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was tragic … unexpected. That makes it harder to bear.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Was it long ago?”

“Two years.”

I suppressed my astonishment that it was so recent and said: “It must have been very sad for you.”

He nodded. “I thought I should never marry again.”

“Well, I hope you will be happy now. I am sure Miss Ellington will make you so.”

“Thank you,” he said. “You see, I have a child …”

“Yes, I did hear that.”

“Paul. He is named after a very distinguished man whom his mother greatly admired. Of course, she couldn’t give the child the name exactly … rather too ponderous, one might say. Stephanus Johannes Paulus … so she was contented with simply Paul. After Kruger … the great man over there. If the child had been a girl I’ve no doubt it would have been Paula. People do that sometimes … turn the male into the female and vice versa.”

Why did he say this? I was Davina; my father had been David. It was almost as though he were hinting at something. He was a disturbing man; I was sorry that he was the one from whom we had to take help.

I said quickly: “How old is the boy?”

“Nine, coming up to ten.”

“You will be pleased to be home with him.”

“I shall be pleased to be back, yes. I shall be starting a new life. It is no use living in the past, is it? We have to realise that.”

He gazed at me intently and I rose.

“I must be going,” I said. “Lilias … Miss Milne … will be so glad to have the address. I can’t tell you how grateful we are. This has made such a difference.”

“It has been my pleasure,” he said. “Don’t forget, either of you: I shall be there … if you need me.”

He took my hand and pressed it.

“Well,” he said. “You’ve saved me a journey to the vicarage, and it was so pleasant to have a little chat with you in the graveyard, Miss Grey.”

I went back to the vicarage, trying hard to shake off that feeling of uneasiness which he aroused in me.

I THOUGHT I OWED a letter of thanks to Ninian Grainger, after all the trouble he had taken, to tell him of the progress we had made. I wrote:

Dear Mr. Grainger,

Miss Milne and I are so grateful for your help. As I told you, we went to see Mrs. Crown and shall be calling on her again shortly, we hope.

It is our great good fortune that a Mr. Roger Lestrange, who is here on business and staying at the big house in the neighbourhood, comes from South Africa and he is helping us considerably. He knows of a school and it seems that Miss Milne and I may be able to work together there. This is a wonderful piece of luck because, as you can imagine, we were somewhat apprehensive as to how long it would be before we were able to find posts in a foreign country. We feel much happier now and are awaiting confirmation from South Africa. When this comes we shall be very relieved.

I hope all goes well with you and thank you once more for all the help you have given us.

D.

I had, of course, written to Zillah.

She wrote back and said how sorry she would be when I had gone, but she quite understood why I wanted to go.

Your Mr. Lestrange sounds an absolute darling and I should love to meet him. Your Mr. Grainger continues to call. I wonder why! South Africa seems a very long way away. I shall come down to see you off. I must do that. I suppose you haven’t any dates yet? Still … let me know when you have.

I’m going to hate it when you’ve gone. True, you’ve been away for some time, but I know you are not far-off.

Keep in touch.

Your loving ZILLAH

The wedding day had arrived. I went to the church and heard Lilias’ father pronounce Myra Ellington and Roger Lestrange man and wife.

Afterwards we went to the reception to which Mrs. Ellington had graciously invited us and in due course the couple left for their honeymoon.

Myra looked very happy and I remarked—with fervour—to Lilias that I hoped she would remain so.

“You sound doubtful,” said Lilias.

“Do I? Well, they do say that marriage is something of a lottery. You have to draw the right number or whatever it is.”

“You’ve become a cynic.”

She was full of hope now, and I understood how frustrating those months at home must have been for her.

The honeymoon was still in progress when we received a letter from South Africa. It was signed by a Jan Van Der Groot. He said he was pleased to hear from Mr. Roger Lestrange that we contemplated coming out to South Africa to teach. There had been only one teacher in the school in the past, for it was very small. But if we liked to come and share the salary, there would be room for us both, for the living quarters which were part of the school would certainly be big enough. The place had been shut up for some months, but it would be made ready for our arrival.

We read it together.

“One salary,” said Lilias.

“It’s yours. I have my own money. I shall be all right.”

“It’s a little disappointing …”

“It’s not, Lilias. We’ll be together. It’s a chance to make a fresh start.”

“But the money … and I have to pay back …”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I don’t need to work. I’ll be all right. We’ll make that school grow, Lilias. It’s a challenge … a way out.”

Her spirits revived. It was not all that we had hoped for, but it was more than we could expect.

Everything moved quickly after that.

We went to see Mrs. Crown once more. We had decided. We were going to South Africa. We already had employment waiting for us.

“Congratulations!” said Mrs. Crown. “You’ve been lucky. We’ll get you a passage as soon as possible.”

And this is what she did.

We were to sail on the Queen of the South to Cape Town and from there make the journey across the country to Kimberley.

THE TIME for our departure was approaching. In less than a week we were to sail. Acting on the advice of Mrs. Crown, we had sent the bulk of our luggage to the docks; and after the harassed preparations of the last few days we had come to a lull when there seemed to be nothing to do.

Lilias and I were sitting in the garden going over, for at least the hundredth time, all the things we had to do before we left, asking ourselves if we had packed all we needed in the little luggage we were taking with us. We were to leave the vicarage the day before we sailed, spending a night in a hotel near the docks which Mrs. Crown had arranged for us. Zillah had been helpful and had sent those possessions which I had wanted to take with me straight to the docks; this was a great help and it had meant that I had not had to return to Edinburgh which would have been very painful for me.

Now everything was settled and there was nothing to do but wait.

As we sat there Jane came out.

“There’s a young man who has called to see you, Diana,” she said. “His name is Mr. Grainger.”

I felt myself flush. I was tingling with pleasure. All I could say was: “Oh … so he’s come …”

Lilias, to whom I had talked of him and confessed something of my feelings for him, and who, perhaps, guessed a little more, said: “He’ll want to talk to you. I’ll go in.” Then: “Bring him out, Jane. They can talk in the garden. It’s pleasant out here.”

Ninian came to me and, taking both my hands in his, held them firmly.