Zulu Hart (14 page)

‘And if it does come to war?’

‘We’ll win, of course. But the Zulus will be a much tougher nut to crack than people imagine. They might not have sophisticated weapons, but they’re superb physical specimens, incredibly disciplined and, most importantly, will be fighting on their home turf.’

George felt an odd mixture of pride and apprehension. He appreciated Laband’s generous assessment of the Zulus’ fighting prowess, but feared for their future. They were, after all, a relic of pre-colonial tribal Africa and stood little chance of thwarting the seemingly inexorable spread of white rule. And if it did end in war, particularly a war fought for such cynical motives, where would he stand?

With the end of the long run to Cape Town in sight, disaster struck. The shift in the weather was barely noticeable at first, but as the barometer continued to fall, and the wind rose accordingly, the crew feared the worst. First the sails were dropped, then the decks were cleared, and finally the hatches were battened down. By nightfall the ship was at the mercy of one of the worst southeast gales Captain Wilson could remember, a mountainous sea with waves a hundred feet high. To save the ship, Wilson altered course so that he could run before the wind. But while this had the effect of minimizing the yawing motion from side to side, it exaggerated the ship’s speed as it plunged through and down each successive wave.

To George it felt as if the ship was hurtling towards the very bottom of the ocean, only to
brought
up short as the lowest point of the trough was struck with a sickening jolt. He lay on his bunk with legs and arms braced, to prevent him from being flung to the floor, where he had long since deposited his dinner. Hour after hour the storm raged on. George eventually fell asleep exhausted, and when he woke it seemed as if the howl of the wind was a little less shrill. Though still dark, he decided to risk leaving his cabin to check that Lucy was all right, and soon regretted his foolishness as the ship surfed down the face of yet another huge wave, sending him crashing into the door of the opposite cabin. Shaken but unhurt, he carried on his precarious way, clinging to the rail that ran alongside the stairs.

He eventually found his way to Lucy’s door and knocked twice. No response. He tried the handle and found it unlocked. Lucy was lying face down on the bunk, wearing nothing but a petticoat, her skin a sickly green. In normal circumstances the sight of a scantily clad beauty would have set George’s pulse racing. But these circumstances were anything but normal.

‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

She groaned in response. ‘George, thank God you’ve come. I’ve never felt so ill. Please, sit with me a while?’

He sat on the bed next to her, holding her clammy hand. ‘I can’t stay for long. Someone might come and, in any case, I need to check on Emperor before the storm worsens.’ He felt her grip tighten as if she would never let go. ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll stay for a short time. Close your eyes and try and get some sleep.’

She looked so vulnerable lying there that, for a brief moment, George considered changing his mind about not taking her with him to Natal. But it would be hard enough making his own way in a strange land; Lucy was an encumbrance he could not afford. He stayed there, stroking her hair, until the evenness of her breathing told him she had fallen asleep. He gently loosened her grip and left the cabin. As he did so he heard the sound of footsteps at the end of the corridor.

He froze in the doorway, silently praying that the person would pass by without glancing in his direction. No such luck. ‘Hart?’ said Major Crealock. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve, um … I’ve been visiting a friend.’

‘I didn’t know you had any friends on board, and in second class too.’

George knew he was in a tight spot and tried to stay calm. ‘She’s …
er …
a recent acquaintance.’

‘Not that girl I saw you talking to on deck?’

‘Yes. I was just making sure she was all right.’

‘Of course you were,’ said Crealock, a knowing look on his face.
‘None of my business, of course.’

‘No. Well, if you’ll excuse me,’ said George, squeezing past Crealock on to the main stairway, ‘I’ve got to check on my horse.’

As he continued down into the bowels of the ship, George cursed his bad luck and prayed that Crealock had swallowed his line about an on-board dalliance and was none the wiser. Had he, though?

From the main mess deck
came
the sound of men moaning and a smell George would never forget: a repulsive mixture of burning oil from the lamps, bilge water and vomit. George hurried by and soon found himself in the dark, fetid atmosphere of the horsedeck. The animals were whinnying piteously; all except Emperor, who was standing wide-eyed, trying desperately to keep his feet. The groom was at his side, adjusting the sling.

‘Everything all right?’ asked George.

‘He’s fine, Mr Hart,’ said the groom. ‘But we’ve already had to destroy one animal that fell and broke his leg, so I’m just tightening the sling to be sure.’

‘Well done. And don’t forget to give him regular doses of vinegar. Seasickness is the biggest killer.’

His duty done, George retraced his steps, each ten yards a hazardous procedure. The wind had risen again, and the passageways were empty but for a couple of green-looking crew members. George felt only relief as he at last regained his cabin and slumped wearily into his bunk. The ordeal, however, had just begun.

The gale lasted for two more days, and even when it was over, the traumatized passengers took some time to emerge from their respective billets. George was among the first to dine, his appetite merely sharpened by so long without food. And as he ate, with only a handful of the ship’s officers for company, his thoughts turned to Lucy. How was she feeling? Would she forgive him for not returning to check on her? He had wanted to, more than once. But the chance encounter with Crealock had shaken him and left him unwilling to risk a repeat.

At dinner the following evening, with almost all the first-class passengers now well enough to attend, Captain Wilson announced that they would reach Cape Town on the morrow, and that if anyone wanted to see the famous Table Mountain they would need to be up at daybreak, because the early morning mist would obscure it for much of the day. George when they docked of Lucy, who would be disembarking when they docked, and realized
it
was his last opportunity to say goodbye to her. Was it worth the risk? He decided that it was.

He made it to her cabin unobserved and, sitting by her on the bunk, proceeded to declare his admiration for her as a person and his sadness that they would soon be parted. Fighting back tears, Lucy thanked him for all his support and wished him luck in Africa. ‘But given the bond between us since the unfortunate shooting,’ she added, ‘I don’t understand why we can’t pool our resources and travel together.’

George repeated his old argument about needing to travel light, and not wanting to be encumbered by a woman, but even he sounded unconvinced. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Lucy,’ he said at last. ‘We’ve been through a fair bit together, and I owe you that. Truth is
,
I only have enough money to keep myself. I know it sounds selfish, but there it is.’

‘It is selfish. I won’t be a financial burden to you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can earn my own keep.’

I’m sure you can.
But there are things
I
need to do alone. T
hings connected
to my past.’

‘What things?’

‘It’s a very long and … involved story.’

‘I’m not in any hurry.’

‘All right,’ said George after a pause, ‘but I must leave before sun-up.’

George was reticent at first, and gave only the barest outline of his childhood and time at Sandhurst. But the more he talked about events since then, the more he realized there were issues he needed to resolve. Could he, for example, ever really forgive his mother for deceiving him? How did he feel about his Zulu blood? And did he really believe his military career was over?

Once again, Lucy showed an intelligence that belied her upbringing, quickly seeing George’s dilemma. ‘You talk about going to South Africa to claim your inheritance and make your fortune, and maybe you will. But from all you’ve said it’s obvious that your real interest lies with the army. Why, your face lights up at the mere mention of a war.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said George, reddening. ‘Anyway, that’s all in the past. My only plan now is to meet my uncle and see which way the land lies in Natal. What about you? Have you thought about what you’ll do?’

‘Well, first I’ll see if I can get a job in Cape Town,’ she said, ‘and if that goes well, and I manage to save some money, I might see what Kimberley has to offer.’

‘Good idea. There are bound to be opportunities for a woman with beauty and resource like you. And, you never know, we might meet again in Kimberley.’

‘I hope so,’ said Lucy, a thin smile on her face. ‘Now you’d better go. It’s almost dawn.’

George leant forward to kiss her cheek, but she turned at the last and their lips met. There was something about the urgency of the kiss that made him think again about leaving her, but he convinced himself there were things he needed to do alone.

Her eyes were still closed as he rose from the bunk. ‘Goodbye, Lucy,’ he said, holding the door slightly ajar.

She had buried her face in her hands and her reply, muffled by sobs, was almost inaudible.

That evening, after a little under four weeks at sea, the SS
American
steamed into Table Bay and dropped anchor opposite Cape Town. George had never seen a more spectacular setting for a port, its elegant seafront framed by the steeply sided, flat-topped peak known as Table Mountain. As bum- boats swarmed around the ship, bringing supplies and news, he stood alone on the poopdeck, transfixed by the view; and there he remained until the red glow of the setting sun had receded behind the mountain.

In the morning a handful of passengers disembarked, Lucy and General Thesiger among them. The general and the rest of the soldiers were going straight to the front, and would leave the ship for good further up the coast at East London; but as the
American
was not scheduled to depart for another two days, Thesiger was taking the opportunity to call on Sir Bartle Frere, the Governor of Cape Colony, at his official residence on the outskirts of Cape Town.

George watched from the side of the ship as the lifeboat edged closer to the shore. He was desperate for Lucy to turn and acknowledge him one last time with a smile or a wave. But she did not, and he eventually lost sight of her amidst the bustle of the port.

‘Such a shame,’ said a voice beside him. He turned and found himself face to face with Major Crealock.

‘What are you talking about?’ said George sharply.

‘You and your friend having to part.
It’s too sad.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean?’

‘ What
I mean,’ said Crealock, ‘is that you and the young lady boarded separately at Plymouth and yet you obviously know each other. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think, given that the authorities at Plymouth were looking for a young couple in connection with the murder of that private detective?’

George could feel the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘We met on board.’

‘So you say. I wonder what Captain Wilson would make of it all.’

‘Now hold on a minute. You’ve got entirely the wrong end of the stick.’

‘Have I? You’re sure about that?’ said Crealock, before stalking off. The note of menace in his voice had been obvious.

George’s instinct was to get off the ship as quickly as possible. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Crealock did not actually
know
anything. Having seen George coming out of Lucy’s cabin, he had put two and two together and come up with four. But where was the proof that either of them was involved in Thompson’s death? Crealock did not have any. And with Lucy ashore it would be even harder to link them to the murder scene. The best course, George decided, was to ignore Crealock and continue with his trip as planned. Anything else would invite suspicion.

That evening, Thesiger returned to the ship; the news, as far as the officers were concerned, was far from welcome. After five months of trying, General Cunynghame had at last managed to clear the rebels out of the Perie Bush, a trackless terrain in the Eastern Cape, by using mixed columns of British troops, sailors, colonial volunteers, police and friendly natives. The rebel leaders were trapped; no further resistance was expected. That, at least, was the latest information from Cunynghame’s headquarters at King Witham’s Town.

Thesiger was unconvinced. ‘Mark my words,
gentlemen
,’ he announced to his staff at dinner. ‘When a general says to his successor that the war is over and you needn’t have bothered turning up, he’s doing it to save face. Truth is, until Kreli, Sandilli and the other rebel leaders are actually in the bag, the fighting will continue. So don’t look too glum!’

It was easier said than done, particularly for Captain Gossett. ‘I can’t believe I’ve come all this way and the fighting’s as good as over,’ he told George with a shake of his head as the ship weighed anchor the following morning.