"Mrs Marriott!" I said in a pathetic way I have. "I do wish you would
take care of me and let me stay with you to-night. I've been left out
in the cold by the other women."
She turned a pair of utterly tragic eyes upon me. Her mouth was the
mouth of a woman with whom things had always gone wrong.
"I would rather be alone," she said in her cold, dull way. This was not
encouraging but I persisted, and my voice became very wistful indeed.
"Oh, _do_ be friendly. I am a stranger here and I feel utterly lost.
What does one do in _laager_?"
She looked at me vaguely.
"I don't know. It is a new kind of misery to me, too."
"Well, let's beat it out together, shall we? We ought to be able to
find a corner somewhere. Will you come with me to search?"
She stared at me for a moment, then stood up hesitatingly. I made haste
to lead the way. After making a tour of the verandah and looking into
every window we came to, we went inside and tried all the doors. Most
of them were locked, signifying that the room was full-up. At last
there was no place left except to try the room where the sorting and
storing of mails went on. The main part of this was a wide passage with
a door at each end--an impossible place to camp out in. However, there
was a counter with a wooden partition above it, and going behind this I
discovered quite a cosey little retreat. It had rather a mail-baggy
smell, but that was a trifle to be ignored in such times of stress as
these.
"We can make ourselves quite comfy here," I said. "When we have locked
both doors in case the postmaster unexpectedly returns. Now let us get
our mattresses and rugs, shall we?"
She had no mattress: only a few striped coloured blankets of the kind
that the natives drape around themselves. However, I had plenty of
rugs, and my mattress though narrow was wide enough for two at a pinch.
But she jibbed at sharing it.
"Why should I make you uncomfortable?" she said.
I stared at her and laughed. "Dear Mrs Marriott, I shall be ever so
much more uncomfortable if you don't. Now be a brick and do as I ask
you."
For some unknown reason her eyes filled with tears and her mouth began
to quiver in a queer way. I turned away hastily, and having bolted the
outside door began to barricade it with a heap of empty mail-bags.
Whilst I was rummaging I came quite by accident upon the postmaster's
little private supply of stores, and in the spirit of martial-law I
immediately commandeered them for the public benefit. There were sugar,
tea, candles, some tins of "bully beef" and a canister of
delicious-smelling coffee.
"_Banzai_! We'll be able to make some coffee to keep their spirits up--
they must be jolly tired. Come along, Mrs Marriott, let's go and
commandeer some of that crockery and the kettle of water in the yard."
She seemed quite keen, so we unbarred and unbolted again and went out to
the yard-fire where the kettle was still lustily boiling, and in five
minutes we had two large jugs full of excellent coffee ready. There is
a saying that Boers come to coffee as the _asvogels_ come to dead ox.
Very disgusting, but evidently true, for the smell of our coffee woke up
the Boer family in their prison cell and they came meandering forth, sat
down in a ring round the fire, and looked so wistfully and eloquently at
the big jug that we had to give them some all round, especially as we
were using their crockery. Afterwards they lent us their beakers and
enamel cups and we made a forced march to the barricades. When the
barricaders also smelt the _arome de Java_ on the breeze and saw the big
jugs we were carrying they raised a cheer, and the postmaster said:
"By the Lord, that's my coffee, or I'm a Boer!"
We gave him a cup for forgiveness' sake, and Colonel Blow too, and
afterwards the rest of them came up in parties and we ministered to
them, washing the cups after each lot in a pail of water. When all the
white men had finished, we served the black constables and convicts a
beakerful apiece, Colonel Blow having sent to their quarters for their
own beakers. The convicts, melancholy-looking fellows, surveyed me with
a shy curiosity, I suppose because I was a newcomer. But Colonel Blow
for some reason seemed to resent their looking at me, for as soon as he
noticed it he gave a rough order in the native tongue that made them all
look hurriedly in another direction.
I told the postmaster that we had invaded his sanctum, but he was quite
charming about it, and at once bestowed upon us the freedom of the
post-office. He said we could even use the postage stamps if they were
of any use to us.
Later Mrs Marriott and I returned to our lettery retreat. When we were
at last tucked in under our rugs with the candle out I asked her to give
me her advice about what I should do next day.
"But I don't understand, quite," she said. "Aren't you staying with the
Salisbury ladies?"
"I was," said I. "Mrs Valetta is supposed to be chaperoning me in the
absence of my sister-in-law, but she has thrown up the position."
"But--what have--what could you have done to offend her?"
"She has offended _me_."
"But--can't it be patched up? Can't you overlook her offences? I don't
see how a young girl like you can live alone here."
"I'm quite willing to patch up," said I. "She and Mrs
Skeffington-Smythe and Miss Cleeve were all very rude to me, but--
because of certain circumstances I can _almost_ forgive them. However,
I'm afraid they mean to declare war."
"Well, but--forgive me for asking--what could you have done?"
"Weren't you out seeing the patrol go off to-night?" I ventured.
"No!" she said in an abrupt kind of way, and I remembered then that I
had not seen her in the crowd. She had of course said good-bye to her
husband at home.
"I hardly know any of the men here," she presently continued, "except
Major Kinsella, and he came in during the afternoon to say good-bye. I
thought it particularly nice of him to remember me--but then he is
always kind."
"It is about Major Kinsella that all the trouble is," I said in a low
voice. I thought I had better tell her the real story instead of
letting her hear an embroidered version from some one else. She was
silent.
"Anthony Kinsella and I love each other," I said. "Before he rode away
I kissed him good-bye before every one,"--I could not go on. The
thought of that wonderful moment, and then, the sadness and bitterness
of losing my lover overwhelmed me; my voice trembled and broke. A thin
nervous hand grasped mine and held it tightly under the rugs. Yet her
voice sounded doubtful when she spoke.
"He is a splendid fellow--any girl would be proud and happy to get him;
but isn't he--? I seem to have heard somewhere that he is--"
"Oh, don't!" I cried. "Don't! I'm sick of hearing it. _That_ is what
they all say. _That_ is my offence against the manners and morals of
this place--kissing a married man--" My hand was suddenly loosed and I
could feel her draw away from me in the darkness. "But I don't believe
it for one moment!" I cried almost violently. "And I refuse to let
these odious people poison my heart with their lies. I know he is a
free man. He is incapable of lying."
"Oh!" she said quickly and warmly, "if he told you he is free it is
surely true. I do not believe either that he would lie." She took my
hand again and squeezed it.
"He did not tell me in words," I said. "But his eyes could not lie to
me. Oh, Mrs Marriott, he has such brave true eyes--"
"I know--" she began, and then fell silent again.
"Ah! you are like the rest," I burst out bitterly, throwing her hand
away from me, "ready to believe evil of a man whom you admit you have
never known to be anything but kind and generous."
"Don't say that--it is not that I wish to believe evil, but I know men--
a little, and my experience is that the best of them are terribly weak--
and you are a very lovely girl. It is not impossible to think that he
may have lost his head--"
"No, no, no!" I cried, "it is not so. I tell you I saw his eyes when
he said good-bye to me. I will believe them against all the world."
I felt that I had convinced her, too, even against her will--that was
something. She never again chilled me with unbelief in my man.
But as to getting any advice out of her about my immediate course of
action--it was simply hopeless. The poor woman's unhappiness seemed to
have dimmed her perception of what was going on round her in a place
where she had lived for eight months. She knew of no place where I
could stay. Did not even know if there were any hotels, or how many! I
had to give her up as a guide and preceptor; but I was glad of the
nervous pressure of her thin hand again before we slept, and something
she said left my heart thrilling with happiness even while it ached for
her.
"The men up here are all kind--but Major Kinsella's kindness to me has
been so different--there has never been any _pity_ in it--you don't know
what that has meant to me--and his way with Rupert! He treats him as
though he is still--Oh! perhaps you can understand?"
"As though he is still a man!"--that is what she would have said but her
lips would not say it.
Poor soul! hers was the fag-end of a romance indeed!