THE WISDOM OF SUZANNE
Now, although Suzanne heard not a word of our talk, still she grasped
its purport well enough, for she knew that I proposed to throw dust
into the eyes of the Englishmen. This troubled her conscience sorely,
for the more she thought of it the more did it seem to her to be wicked
that just because we loved him and did not wish to part with him, Ralph
should be cheated of his birthright. All night long she lay awake
brooding, and before ever the dawn broke she had settled in her mind
that she herself would speak to the Englishmen, telling them the truth,
come what might of her words, for Suzanne, my daughter, was a
determined girl with an upright heart. Now feeling happier because of
her decision, at length she fell asleep and slept late, and as it
happened this accident of fate was the cause of the miscarriage of her
scheme.
It came about in this way. Quite early in the morning—at sun-up,
indeed—the Englishmen rose, and coming out of the little guest-chamber,
drank the coffee that I had made ready for them, and talked together
for a while. Then the young lord—Ralph’s cousin—said that as they
journeyed yesterday at a distance of about an hour on horseback from
the farm he had noticed a large _vlei_, or _pan_, where were many ducks
and also some antelope. To this _vlei_ he proposed to ride forward with
one servant only, and to stay there till the others overtook him,
shooting the wild things which lived in the place, for to be happy
these Englishmen must always be killing something. So he bade me
farewell, making me a present of the gold chain which he took off his
watch, which chain I still have. Then he rode away, smiling after his
fashion; and as I watched him go I was glad to think that he was no
knave but only an easy tool in the hands of others. We never met again,
but I believe that death finished his story many years ago; indeed, all
those of whom I tell are dead; only Jan and I survive, and our course
is well-nigh run.
When Suzanne awoke at length, having heard from a Kaffir girl that the
strangers had ordered their horses, but not that the young lord had
ridden forward, she slipped from the house silently, fearing lest I
should stay her, and hid herself in a little patch of bush at the
corner of the big mealie field by which she knew the Englishmen must
pass on their return journey. Presently she heard them coming, and when
she saw that the young lord was not with them, she went to the lawyer,
who pulled up his horse and waited for her, the rest of the party
riding on, and asked where his master was, saying that she wished to
talk with him. And here I must say, if I have not said it before, that
Suzanne could speak English, though not well. The Hollander tutor had
instructed her in that tongue, in which Ralph also would converse with
her at times when he did not wish others to understand what they were
saying, for he never forgot his mother language, though he mixed many
Dutch words with it.
“He has ridden forward an hour or more ago. Can I take any message to
him for you?” said the lawyer. “Or if you wish to talk of business, to
speak to me is to speak to him.”
“That may be so,” answered Suzanne, “still I like to draw my water at
the fountain itself. Yet, as he has gone, I beg you to listen to me,
for when you have heard what I have to say I think that you will bring
him back. You came here about Ralph Kenzie, did you not, and my mother
told you that he is not the man whom you seek, did she not?”
The lawyer nodded.
“Well, I tell you that all this tale is false, for he is the very man,”
and she poured out the true story of Ralph and of the plot that had
been made to deceive them about him.
Now, as I have said, Suzanne’s English was none of the best and it is
possible that the lawyer did not understand. For my part, however, I
think that he understood well enough, for she told me afterwards that
is face grew grey and anxious as he listened, and that at length he
said:
“All this you tell me is very strange and weighty, so much so that I
must bring my friend back to look more closely into the matter. Return
now to the farm and say nothing of having met me, for by this evening,
or to-morrow at the latest, we will come there again and sift out the
truth of this question.”
To this she agreed, being guileless, and the lawyer rode away after the
other. All that day and all the next Suzanne scarcely spoke to me, but
I saw that she was expecting something to happen, and that she glanced
continually towards the path by which the Englishmen had journeyed,
thinking to see them riding back to the farm. But they rode back no
more, and I am sure that the cunning lawyer never breathed one word of
his meeting with Suzanne and of what took place at it to the young
lord. That book was shut and it did not please him to reopen it, since
to do so might have cost him ten thousand pounds. On the third morning
I found Suzanne still looking down the path, and my patience being
exhausted by her silence, I spoke to her sharply.
“What are you doing, girl?” I asked. “Have we not had enough visitors
of late that you must stand here all day awaiting more?”
“I seek no new visitors,” Suzanne said, “but those who have been here
only, and I see now that I seek in vain.”
“What do you mean, Suzanne?”
Now of a sudden she seemed to make up her mind to speak, for she turned
and faced me boldly, saying:
“I mean, mother, that I told the Englishman with the red hair, the
agent, that all the fine tale you spun to him about Ralph was false,
and that he _was_ the man they came to find.”
“You dared to do that, girl?” I said, then checked myself and added,
“Well, what did the man say?”
“He said that he would ride on and bring the young lord back that I
might talk with him, but they have not come.”
“No, nor will they, Suzanne, for if they sought they did not wish to
find, or at least the lawyer did not wish it, for he had too much at
stake. Well, things have gone finely with you, seeing that your hands
are clean from sin, and that Ralph still stays at your side.”
“The sin of the parents is the sin of the child,” she answered, and
then of a sudden she took fire as it were, and fell upon me and beat me
with her tongue; nor could I hold my own before this girl of eighteen,
the truth being that she had right on her side, and I knew it. She told
me that we were wicked plotters who, to pleasure ourselves, had stolen
from Ralph everything except his life; and many other such hard sayings
she threw at me till at last I could bear it no more, but gave her back
word for word. Indeed, it would be difficult to say which had the best
of that quarrel, for if Suzanne’s tongue was the nimbler and her words
were winged with truth, I had the weight of experience on my side and
the custom of authority. At last, as she paused breathless, I cried
out:
“And for whose sake was all this done, you ungrateful chit, if it was
not for your own?”
“If that was so, which is not altogether true,” she answered, “it would
have pleased me better, if, rather than make me a partner in this
crime, and set me as bait to snare Ralph, you had left me to look after
my own welfare.”
“What!” I exclaimed, “are you then so shallow hearted that you were
ready to bid farewell to him who for many years has been as your
brother, and is now your affianced husband? You know well whatever he
might promise now, that if once he had gone across the sea to England,
you would have seen him no more.”
“No,” she answered, growing calm of a sudden, “I was not so prepared,
for sooner would I die than lose Ralph.”
“How, then, do you square this with all your fine talk?” I asked,
thinking that at length I had trapped her. “If he had gone you must
have lost him.”
“Not so,” she answered, innocently, “for I should have married him
before he went, and then I could have been certain that he would return
here whenever I wished it.”
Now when I heard this I gasped, partly because the girl’s cleverness
took the breath from me, and partly with mortification that I should
have lived to learn wisdom from the mouth of a babe and a suckling. For
there was no doubt of it, this plan, of which I had not even thought,
was the answer to the riddle, since by means of it Ralph might have
kept his own, and we, I doubt not, should have kept Ralph. Once married
to Suzanne he would have returned to her, or if she had gone with him
for a little while, which might have been better, she would certainly
have brought him back, seeing that she loved us and her home too well
to forsake them.
Yes, I gasped, and the only answer that I could make when I reflected
how little need there had been for the sin which we had sinned, was to
burst into weeping, whereon Suzanne ran to me and kissed me and we made
friends again. But all the same, I do not think that she ever thought
quite so well of me afterwards, and if I thought the more of her, still
I made up my mind that the sooner she was married and had a husband of
her own to preach to, the better it would be for all of us.
Thus ended the story of the coming of the Englishmen, and of how Ralph
lost his wealth and rank. We never heard or saw more of them, seeing
that in those days before the great Trek we did not write letters, and
if we had we should not have known where to send them, nor did the
post-cart pass the door twice a week as it does in this overcrowded
land of Natal.
Now I must go on to tell of the doings of that devil upon earth, Swart
Piet, and of how the little Kaffir witch-doctoress, Sihamba Ngenyanga,
which means She-who-walks-by-the-moonlight, became the slave and
saviour of Suzanne.
At this time the Heer van Vooren, Swart Piet’s father, had been dead
for two years, and there were strange stories as to the manner of his
death which I do not think it necessary to set out here. Whether or no
Swart Piet did or did not murder his father I cannot say, nor does it
matter, for at the least he worked other crimes as bad. After the death
of the Heer van Vooren, however he may have chanced to die, this is
certain, that Swart Piet inherited great riches as we used to reckon
riches in those days; that is, he had vast herds of cattle and goats
and sheep, some of which were kept for him by native chiefs far away,
as much land as he wanted, and, it was said, a good sum in English
gold. But he was a strange man, not like to other men, for he married
no wife and courted no misses, that is until he took to courting
Suzanne, and his only pleasure was to keep the company of Kaffir chiefs
and women and to mix himself up with the devilments of the
witch-doctors. Still, as every man has his fate, at last he fell in
love with Suzanne, and in love with her he remained during all his
wicked life, if that can be love which seeks to persecute and bring
misery upon its object. It was just before the coming of the Englishmen
that this passion of his manifested itself, for whenever he met the
girl—outside the house for the most part, since Jan did not like to
have him in it—he made sweet speeches and passed foolish pleasantries
which, to be just, I am sure Suzanne never encouraged, since all her
heart was elsewhere.
Now Swart Piet had information of everything, for his Kaffir spies
brought it to him; therefore he very soon learned that Jan and Ralph
had gone away with the cattle to the warm veldt, and that we two women
were alone in the house. This was his opportunity, and one of which he
availed himself, for now two or three times a week he would ride over
from his place, take supper and ask leave to sleep, which it was
difficult to refuse, all this time wearying the poor girl with his
attentions. At last I spoke my mind to him about it, though not without
hesitation, for to tell truth Swart Piet was one of the few men of whom
I have ever been afraid. He listened to me politely and answered:
“All this is very true, Aunt, but if you desire a fruit and it will not
fall, then you must shake the tree.”
“What if it sticks to the bough?” I asked.
“Then, Aunt, you must climb the tree and pluck it.”
“And what if by that time it is in another man’s pouch?”
“Then, Aunt,” he answered with one of those dark smiles that turned my
blood cold, “then, Aunt, the best thing which you can do is to kill the
other man and take it out, for after that the fruit will taste all the
sweeter.”
“Get you gone, Swart Piet,” I said in anger, “for no man who talks thus
shall stay in my house, and it is very well for you that neither my
husband nor Ralph Kenzie are here to put you out of it.”
“Well,” he answered, “they are not here, are they? And as for your
house, it is a pretty place, but I only seek one thing in it, and that
is not built into the walls. I thank you for your hospitality, Aunt,
and now, good-day to you.”
“Suzanne!” I called, “Suzanne!” for I thought that she was in her
chamber; but the girl, knowing that Piet van Vooren was here, had
slipped out, and of this he was aware. He knew, moreover, where she had
gone, for I think that one of his Kaffir servants was watching outside
and told him, and thither he followed her and made love to her.
In the end—for he would not be put off—he asked her for a kiss, whereat
she grew angry. Then, for he was no shy wooer, he tried to take it by
force; but she was strong and active and slipped from him. Instead of
being ashamed, he only laughed after his uncanny fashion, and said:
“Well, missy, you have the best of me now, but I shall win that kiss
yet. Oh! I know all about it; you love the English castaway, don’t you?
But there, a woman can love many men in her life, and when one is dead
another will serve her turn.”
“What do you mean, myn Heer van Vooren?” asked Suzanne, afraid.
“Mean? Nothing, but I shall win that kiss yet, yes, and before very
long.”