Zulu Hart (8 page)

The walk from the railway station to the new red-brick barracks on the outskirts of Brecon took George about ten minutes. At the guardhouse he asked to speak to Second Lieutenant Morgan and was told to wait. Within minutes the door opened and in walked Jake, looking extremely dapper in his new scarlet tunic with green facings, Sam Browne belt and blue cloth helmet.

‘George!’ he said, slightly taken aback that his friend was wearing mufti. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Don’t tell me your regiment has been ordered overseas and you’ve come to say goodbye?’

‘No, nothing like that.
Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’

‘Of course.
Let’s go to the Red Lion across the street. I’m not on duty again until six.’

The pub was a gloomy affair, all sawdust and stale beer, with only a couple of
working men
propping up the bar. Jake bought two pints of cider and led George to a secluded table in the saloon.

‘Your health,’ said Jake, raising his glass and taking a large gulp.
‘Just what I needed.
Now are you going to tell me why you’re here?’

‘It’s hard to know where to start. But the bombshell my mother dropped on my birthday is, I suppose, as good a place as any.’

‘What bombshell?’

George told him everything: about his father and the deal his parents had done; the visit to the lawyer and the ridiculous terms of his father’s bequest; and the series of run-ins with his commanding officer, Colonel Harris, culminating in the setup at Westbury Park. When he had finished, Jake was speechless. He sat there open-mouthed, slowly shaking his head. At last he spoke. ‘George, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’ve been at the drink already. What an extraordinary tale. Poor you! As if finding out the truth about your father and his disgraceful machinations was not enough, you have your career ended by a man who sounds every bit as unpleasant. The question is
,
what can we do about it?’

‘Not we, Jake — I.I won’t have you jeopardizing your career for my sake. It’s too late anyway.’

‘It’s never too late. Your father, whoever he is, clearly has influence at the Horse Guards. Why don’t you appeal directly to the military secretary, or the commander-in-chief, even? You’ve been wronged, George, surely they’ll see that?’

George put his hand on Jake’s sleeve. ‘I admire your spirit, but there’s no way back for me now. Harris has witnesses who will testify to my cheating at cards, not to mention that vixen Mrs Bradbury, who claims I tried to dishonour her. It’s my word against theirs. Who do you think a jury’s going to believe: an eighteen-year-old officer or a “respectable” willow? In any case, I gave my word to Harris that, in return for his silence, I’d resign from the KDG. He’s kept his side of the bargain; I’ve got to keep mine.’

‘But you haven’t done anything wrong!’ said his friend, banging the table with his fist. ‘It’s madness to stay silent. That way Harris wins.’

‘Either way Harris wins, because if I speak out, I’ll face social ostracism and a probable term in prison. No, I have to face facts. My time in the army is over. But look on the bright side,’ said George, smiling in a vain effort to lighten the mood. ‘At least there’s no longer the temptation for me to put my life on the line to win my father’s bequest.’

Jake sighed. ‘Those
sort
of sums are not to be sniffed at. I know winning a VC by the age of twenty-eight is not going to be easy, but nor is it impossible. And bear in mind that you don’t have to be an officer in a British regiment to win a VC; just under British command. We’ve recently been warned for service in South Africa against the Kaffir tribes of the Cape frontier. If you go out under your own steam, you might be able to join one of the irregular units already in action. Probably not as an officer, but at least you’d be back in the military. You’re a born soldier, George, and don’t let anyone tell you different.’

‘And you’re a good friend. But I’ve had my fill of the army and officers like Harris and Bell. I’ve a mind to try something different, and now that you mention it, South Africa might just be the place. Didn’t they find diamonds in the Cape a few years ago?’

‘Yes, along the Orange and Vaal rivers, if memory serves. But they’ve made more discoveries since, particularly at Kimberley, where the diggings are dry and the diamonds the size of gulls’ eggs. It’s said you can go from pauper to prince with one find. If you’re lucky, that is. Most aren’t.’

‘You’re such an old pessimist, Jake. It sounds just the ticket. What have I got to lose?’

‘I suppose you’re
right. And if it doesn’t work out, which it won
‘t, you
can always join up. But don’t wait too long or the war will be over and the opportunity gone.’

‘There’ll never be a shortage of wars to fight, Jake, of that we can be certain. The main thing is we’re agreed on my course of action: to take the next ship to South Africa.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting one thing?’ said Jake, draining his glass.

‘Am I? What?’

‘Your mother.’

‘Ah, yes.
My mother.
She won’t be happy, of course. But then she’s partly responsible for getting me into this mess in the first place.’

‘How so?’

‘By her poor choice of men, for one.’

‘That’s hardly fair, George.’

‘I know, please ignore my remarks. I’m just upset. I don’t really blame her; how could she know how things would turn out? The real culprit is Harris. But for him I’d be enjoying my time in the army. He has a lot to answer for, and mark my words, one day he will.’

‘I don’t doubt it, George. And if I can help in any way, I will. Do you need money?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ George didn’t see any point in beating about the bush with his wealthy friend. He knew that Jake trusted George to stand by him if their positions were reversed.

‘How much?’

‘Two hundred should do it.’

Jake sucked in air.
‘Crikey, that much?
I don’t have that in cash. I’ll have to wire it to your bank in Dublin.’

‘Thank you. You’ll get it back.
Every penny.
Oh, and there’s one more favour I have to ask of you.’

‘Ask away.’

‘Would your father consider employing an acquaintance of mine? At present she’s a chambermaid at Westbury Park, Harris’s seat, but has good reason to seek another position.’

‘A maid?
An acquaintance of yours?
Is there something you’re not telling me, George?’ queried Jake, one eyebrow raised.

‘It’s nothing like that,’ said George, affronted. ‘Though I won’t deny she’s a highly attractive girl, which is part of the problem. Harris has taken a liking to her and won’t be denied.’

‘I understand,’ said Jake, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I’ll have a word with Father and see what I can do.’

George shook his hand. ‘You’re a good friend.’

‘I know.’

Dublin, 27 January 1878

Three days later George found himself in a hansom cab in the familiar surroundings of Dublin’s O’Connell Street. As the driver whipped up, coaxing a little more speed from his tired- looking nag, George knew that time was running out. His mother’s house in Connaught Square was just round the corner.

He was let into the house by Manners. ‘Good morning,
Mr
Hart,’ said the old butler pointedly. ‘Your mother is in the sitting room. Shall I let her know you’ve arrived?’

‘That won’t be necessary, Manners. I’ll go straight up.’

He took the stairs two at a time, but halted at the door to the sitting room, his hand hovering above the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he entered to discover his mother reading quietly on the sofa. ‘Hello, Mother,’ he said with a frown.

‘Georgie darling!’ she cried, putting down her book. ‘You didn’t tell me you were coming, and you’re not in uniform. Is something the matter?’

As
she
rose to embrace him, her shiny hair loose about her shoulders, George’s heart sank. He had been dreading this meeting since leaving Harris’s house, and every minute of the long train and boat journey to Dublin had been spent wracking his brains over how best to break the news.

They sat down on the sofa, his mother taking his hand. ‘Georgie, please tell me what’s wrong.’

After a pause, George said, ‘I don’t know how best to say this so I’m just going to say it. I’ve resigned my commission.’

Emma’s mouth gaped. ‘You’ve done what?’

‘I’ve left the army.’

‘Why? I know you’re upset about your father and his clumsy attempt to bribe you, but you would have achieved great things as a soldier without his help. You finished top of your class at Sandhurst, for heaven’s sake. I imagined a brilliant military career for you. Why would you throw it all away?’

George loosened his mother’s grip, rose and walked towards the nearest window. He could see a wet nurse pushing her charge along the gravel path of the square’s well-kept garden, mostly given over to lawn and shrubs. As a child he had spent many a hot summer’s day in that garden. He turned to face his mother. ‘I was going to lie and tell you the army was no longer for me. But I know there’s no point. I never could lie to you.’

Instead he told the whole truth of his ill-starred association with Sir Jocelyn Harris, from their early clashes in the regiment to the denouement at Westbury Park. ‘So you see, Mother,’ he concluded, ‘I was partly responsible for my own downfall.’

Emma stayed silent for some time, her eyes fixed on her son. At last she spoke. ‘You were foolish to gamble, but you don’t deserve to lose your career, your only means of earning a living, as a consequence. I’ll write to your father.’

‘What good will
that do
? I’ve discussed this with Jake and we both agree that Harris has me over a barrel. If I complain, he’ll use the witnesses against me. No, my only course of action is to make a fresh start.’

‘With what exactly?
You have neither a salary nor an allowance.’

‘Jake has agreed to lend me two hundred pounds.’

‘That’s very generous of him. But what do you propose to do with this money?’

‘Travel to South Africa and try my luck in the diamond mines at Kimberley. People are making fortunes overnight.
Why not me?’

‘Have you lost your reason? You know nothing about South Africa and even less about mining diamonds!’

‘That, Mother, is where you’re wrong. Since discussing the matter with Jake, I’ve been reading up on the subject. It’s really quite straightforward. You turn up at Kimberley, stake your claim, buy the necessary equipment and get on with it.’

‘As easy as that?’

‘Yes. There’s no guarantee you’ll strike it rich, of course. Prices are high and most prospectors run out of money before they find a diamond worth selling. But don’t you see, Mother? If you aren’t in the race you can’t win the prize. And as things stand I have nothing to lose.’

‘Apart from Jake’s money.’

‘Apart from that.
Please try to understand that I’m doing this as much for your benefit as I am for my own. I know you’ll lose this house if I don’t make some money soon, and I don’t want that to happen.’

‘And I don’t want you to leave on a fool’s errand because of me.’

‘It’s not a fool’s errand,’ said George irritably, ‘and I’m not going
because
of you. But I do want to help you out and South Africa might afford me the opportunity.’

His mother stood and began to pace the room. She stopped

by
the fireplace, turned and said, ‘So your mind’s made up? You’re going to South Africa, come what may?’

George nodded.

‘Well, there’s something you need to know before you go. It may alter your plans.’

‘Go on.’

‘You have family in Natal.’

family
?
said
George, a baffled look on his face. ‘What family?’

His mother bit her lip, as if loath to continue. After a lengthy pause, she said quietly, ‘You have an uncle, my half- brother, Patrick. He lives on a farm near Pietermaritzburg that was left to both of us by my father. Half of it is rightfully yours.’

George stared wide-eyed.
‘An uncle and a farm!
You can’t be serious? Why didn’t you mention this before?’

‘Because I haven’t heard from Patrick in years.
But if you’re going to South Africa you can look him up. It’s got to be a better bet than prospecting for diamonds.’

George stood there, shaking his head. ‘You never cease to amaze me. Not content with one bombshell, you drop two. Are you sure there isn’t anything else I should know?’

His mother looked rueful. ‘As it happens there is, but please try to understand that I’ve kept all this quiet for your sake.’

‘Kept what quiet?’

Again she hesitated, as if weighing up the damage her latest revelation would cause. George could see in her tortured expression the mental struggle she was going through.

‘Kept what quiet, Mother?’ he asked again.

Unable to keep it a secret any longer, she blurted out, ‘That my mother, your grandmother, was the daughter of a Zulu chief.’