Snare of Serpents (32 page)

One of the stewards came to our cabin.

He said: “I’ve got orders to move you.”

“Move us?” we cried simultaneously.

“Some mistake, I expect. You shouldn’t be in this one. Get your things together.”

Bewildered we obeyed. He took our cases and told us to follow him. We did so and he led us through the ship, opening one of the dividing doors. He took us to a cabin which seemed magnificent after the one we had just left. There were two bunks which served as sofas by day, a fair-sized wardrobe, a washbasin and a porthole.

We stared at it in amazement.

“That’s it,” he said, and left us. We could not believe it. It was such a contrast. Lilias sat down on one of the beds and looked as though she were going to burst into tears, which was extraordinary for her.

“What does it mean?” she demanded.

“It means that they made a mistake. They should never have put us in with the emigrants.”

“But we are emigrants.”

“Yes … but here we are. Isn’t it wonderful? I feel dignified. I don’t think I could have borne much more of that.”

“Yes, you would … if you had to.”

“Well, don’t let’s worry about that. Let’s rejoice.”

“I wonder how it happened,” said Lilias.

“Doubtless we shall hear.”

We did ask the purser, who told us there had been some mistake and we were so relieved we did not take the matter farther than that. All we knew was that we could now continue the rest of the voyage, weather permitting, in a comfort we had not dared hope for.

E
VERYTHING CHANGED
after that. We were often in the company of the Lestranges; and it was during that voyage that I began to know Myra.

She was a self-effacing person, rather timid, in contrast to her mother. I often wondered whether having spent so much of her life in close contact with such a woman had made her as she was, for in such a presence even the most confident people must be aware of their shortcomings. I grew to like her. She was rather withdrawn in the presence of her husband, and rarely spoke unless addressed. I noticed that he often finished a sentence with “Is that not so, my dear?” as though trying to draw her into the conversation. “Yes, yes, Roger, indeed it is,” she would invariably reply.

“She’s completely subservient,” said Lilias.

“I think she wants to please him. After all, he is always kind and courteous to her.”

“Well, if he likes absolute obedience, she must suit him very well,” was Lilias’ rather terse rejoinder.

Practical Lilias might dismiss her as a woman of no spirit, content to be dominated by her husband, but I saw some character beneath that attitude, and perhaps because she sensed my feelings she revealed a little more of herself to me than she did to most people.

Our first port of call was Tenerife and as it was not easy for two women to go out alone, Roger Lestrange suggested that we accompany him and his wife. We accepted willingly.

We had a pleasant day, and under the guidance of Roger Lestrange went for a ride through the town and some miles out into the country. We revelled in the balmy air and marvelled at the brilliant flowers and shrubs, the poinsettia trees growing wild by the roadside, the banana plantations and the mountains.

Roger Lestrange was an amusing and knowledgeable companion and when we returned to the ship Lilias said how fortunate we were to be travelling with them; and I agreed.

Myra said: “It is a great pleasure to have you with us.” I was glad she felt that as the thought had crossed my mind during the day that we might be intruding. After all, it was not long since their honeymoon, and that was a time when newly wed people liked to be alone together.

As we came down the west coast of Africa the weather was
warm, the sea smooth, and life on board was very pleasant indeed. Neither Lilias nor I wanted the days to pass too quickly. After our change of cabin, which had brought us to another part of the ship, we had found the life very congenial. We were meeting people who interested us.

Roger Lestrange was quite sought after. He was an asset to social gatherings; he was on good terms with the captain whom he had met on a previous voyage; and, as his friends, we were drawn into his circle.

It was delightful to sit on deck, to look over the water which scarcely moved, to watch the dolphins sporting in the distance and the flying fish skimming over the surface of that pellucid sea. It was conducive to confidences.

Myra was reluctant to talk, but eventually she began to give me a glimpse into her childhood.

“It would have been different if I had been brilliant,” she said to me one day. “But I wasn’t. I was slow … slow to walk … slow to talk. Right from the beginning I was a disappointment. My mother wanted me to be outstanding … not so much clever as beautiful … a success socially. You know the sort of thing … something she could arrange and then … grandchildren whom she could plan for.”

“People have to manage their own lives.”

“My mother would never accept that. She was so good at managing everything, so naturally she wanted to manage me. I was lucky in one way because there were the grandparents … my father’s parents. I spent a great deal of my childhood with them. I was happy there. They did not care whether I was clever or beautiful. They liked me just as I was. My mother said they spoiled me. She did not want me to be so much with them, but they were important. They were very rich and she respected that.”

“I can well believe it.”

“My grandmother died.” Her voice trembled a little. “I was fourteen then. After that there was just Grandpa. I was often with him. He wanted me to live with him. My mother could not allow that. My place was at home with her, she said; but I was with him a great deal. We used to read together; we would
sit in the garden and play guessing games. Then he was in a wheelchair and I used to wheel him about the garden. My mother said it was no life for a girl, but I loved to be with him. I had to have a season in London. My mother insisted and my father agreed with her. The season was a failure. Nobody asked me to marry him. Soon after that my mother gave up. I went to stay with Grandpa. He said, ‘Don’t let them push you. You do what you want. And never marry a man because they tell you you ought to. That’s the biggest mistake a girl can make … or a man for that matter.’ He was wonderful. I was twenty-four when he died.”

“How sad for you.”

“I was heartbroken. I was very rich. He had left everything to me. It made a difference. My mother changed towards me. I knew she thought I should get a husband now, but when she started managing I said to her, ‘Grandpa told me I was never to marry anyone just because people told me to. I was to marry only if I, myself, wanted to.’ “

“I think your grandfather was very wise,” I said.

“Oh, he was. But I’m talking all about myself. What about you?”

That freezing sensation came over me. I heard myself say: “Oh, there’s nothing much to tell. I just had a governess … and then … I went to stay at the vicarage.”

“And your father?”

“He … he died.”

“And now you have to take this post in South Africa?”

“I don’t exactly have to. I just wanted to do something. I have a little income … not a great deal … but adequate, I suppose.”

“Did you ever think of marrying?”

“Well, once. But it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure now that it was all for the best.”

“Are you sure? I think you seem a little sad sometimes.”

“Oh no … no. It’s all in the past. Our families didn’t approve and …”

“Oh dear.”

“It would hardly have been right for us. If it had been we should have married, shouldn’t we?”

“I rather liked that lawyer … the one who came down to see you. It seemed that he was really concerned about you. And your stepmother. She’s very beautiful, isn’t she? When I look at her …” She laughed a little mirthlessly. “Well, I think she is all that I am not.”

“You are very nice as you are, Myra. You must not denigrate yourself so much.”

“And
you
are nice to say so. But tell me about this lawyer. You knew him in Edinburgh, did you?”

“Yes.”

“He was a friend of your family, I suppose.”

“You could say that.”

I had to stop the trend of this conversation.

I said quickly: “And it all turned out well for you.”

She said: “Yes. My grandfather was right. I might have married someone my mother found for me. But I didn’t and if I had there wouldn’t have been Roger.”

“So you are completely happy now?”

“Well …”

“You are, aren’t you?”

She hesitated, looked at me thoughtfully and then, I believed, decided to confide in me. “Sometimes … I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“He is so distinguished, isn’t he? Sometimes I wonder …”

“Tell me what you wonder.”

“Whether I’m good enough. What does he see in me? If he hadn’t been rich himself I should have thought it was the money …”

I laughed at her. “Myra, you must stop thinking like that. He married you, didn’t he? He loves
you,
not your money.”

“It’s so hard to believe. He is so wonderful. Of course, if he had needed the money …”

“Stop it, Myra!” I laughed again and she laughed with me. I was so relieved. I had thought she was afraid of
him
and all she feared was that she was not attractive enough for him.

I must overcome this ridiculous feeling that there was something rather sinister about Roger Lestrange.

I
T WAS NO USE
trying to hold back the days. They were passing with alarming rapidity.

Very soon we should arrive at our destination and reality would take the place of this dreamlike idyllic existence which we had been enjoying for the last few weeks.

We should have to face whatever we found—our school. Where should we find the pupils? Lilias had said it was no use planning anything until we saw what we were coming to.

We were due in Cape Town in two days’ time.

Roger Lestrange had said we must accompany him and Myra to Kimberley. It was a longish journey, but he had done it more than once and he could help us and take us to our new home.

We accepted his offer with alacrity.

“It really was good fortune for us to be travelling in the same ship,” said Lilias. “They have made it all so much more interesting for us than it would otherwise have been.”

She did not realise how much we owed to Roger Lestrange, but I was soon to discover.

That night I went out onto the deck as I often did. I loved to sit there underneath the velvety sky with the stars more brilliant than they seemed at home. The air was warm and there was hardly anyone about. It was perfect peace.

It will soon be over, I thought, and what shall we find? Myra and Roger Lestrange would not be far away. It was good to have them as friends—particularly in a foreign country.

And as I sat there I heard a light footstep on the deck and before I looked up I guessed who it was.

He said: “Hello. Revelling in the starry night? May I?” He drew up a chair and sat beside me.

“It is pleasant, isn’t it?” I said.

“It’s more than pleasant. It’s delightful.”

“I agree.”

“I wonder more people don’t take advantage of it. Never mind. It gives us an opportunity to talk in peace. How are you feeling? Nearly there, you know.”

“I was just thinking of that when you came up.”

“It’s a bit of a gamble, isn’t it?”

“Rather more than that.”

“You’ll be all right. We shall not be far away.”

“You must be looking forward to getting to your home.”

“I’ve enjoyed the trip.”

“Of course. You met Myra.”

“Yes, and you … and Miss Milne. It has been very illuminating.”

“Illuminating?”

“It is always interesting meeting people, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, of course.”

“You and Myra seem to get along very well.”

“I think we do. I’ve grown fond of her.”

“That’s good. She’s rather retiring. I like to see you two friendly. I couldn’t bear to think of you down there in that steerage … or whatever it is.”

“Oh … yes, at first it really was rather dreadful.”

“I’m glad I rescued you from that. Glad for myself as well as you.”

“Rescued us?”

“Well, I couldn’t leave you down there, could I?”

“You mean … you …”

“Look, it was nothing. Forget it.”

“But … they said there was a mistake. We thought …”

“I insisted that you were not told.”

“Please tell me exactly what happened.”

“It’s quite clear. You paid for a cabin and you got what you paid for.”