Snare of Serpents (36 page)

“It does indeed,” she said fervently.

“Forgive me for bringing up a subject which would have been better left alone.”

“If it’s happening we would rather know about it,” said Lilias.

“Well, don’t let’s worry about it. There is peace so far. No one wants war. It is devastating to a country and almost always profits no one.”

“Yet there are constantly wars,” said Lilias.

He sighed. “That is the nature of man. Now … you must see more of this country. You will find it impressive, beautiful … often awe-inspiring.”

It came out during the course of the conversation that he had only been in South Africa some six or seven years. When I had first met him I had decided that he could not be of Dutch origin as so many of the people in South Africa were; but I had read somewhere that a certain number of French settlers in Africa were Huguenots who had left their own country to escape persecution, and I had assumed from his name that he was one of those. When I told him this, he said that he was indeed of French origin and his family had come to England at the time of the Edict of Nantes. So I was right in thinking that he came
from a Huguenot family. He had, though, lived in England most of his life.

“You are very knowledgeable about your adopted country,” I said.

“I always believe in finding out all I can.” He looked at me steadily. “About everything,” he added.

I felt myself flushing and felt annoyed. Must I always suspect someone was probing my secret?

It was when the meal was over that a messenger arrived at the house asking that Mr. Lestrange go and meet a business colleague without delay as something important had turned up and needed his immediate attention.

“I am desolate,” he said. “At such a time as this! It is too bad I have to leave you.”

“Perhaps we should be going,” I said.

“Oh no!” cried Myra. “You have to meet Paul, and I want to show you the house.”

“Please do not run away because I have to go,” said Roger. “We will do this again … very soon. We must, to make up for my early departure. So … au revoir.”

It struck me that Myra was rather relieved when he was gone and with his absence she seemed to acquire a certain dignity. She’s afraid of him, I thought.

I was looking forward to meeting Paul Lestrange and I knew that Lilias was. We were different, Lilias and I. She would assess him as a pupil; to me he was an actor in what I felt might be some mysterious drama. I could not get rid of the idea that there was something strange about this household and that Myra was aware of it and that was why she appeared to be nervous.

Paul was tall for his age and bore no resemblance whatsoever to Roger. His hair was flaxen, his eyes blue-grey; and there was a cautious air about him.

“Paul,” said Myra, “these are the ladies who have opened the school, Miss Milne and Miss Grey.”

He came forward rather awkwardly and shook hands with us both.

Lilias said: “We have just heard that you may be joining us.”

He said: “I am going away to school.”

“Yes, we were told that, too. But it isn’t certain yet, is it?”

“Oh, no.”

“Do you think you would like to join us while you are waiting for things to be settled?”

“Oh yes, I should, thank you.”

“It is such a small school,” went on Lilias. “And there are pupils of all ages.”

“I know.”

“But, of course, we shall be expanding …”

“When shall you start?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not tomorrow?” said Lilias. “The beginning of the week.”

“I don’t mind.”

He was noncommittal … cautious still. But at least he did not appear to dislike us.

Myra said: “I am going to show Miss Milne and Miss Grey the house and after that the garden. Would you like to come with us?”

To my surprise he said he would.

I wondered if Lilias was thinking the same about him as I was. Rather shut in on himself. Difficult to know. A little suspicious of us. Lots of children were like that.

The tour of the house began. There were several rooms on the first floor, all similar to the ones we had already seen. The rather ornate spiral staircase descended from the top to the bottom of the house. The heavy furniture was everywhere and I could not help feeling that it had been lovingly collected over the years.

“You haven’t lived here all your life, have you?”

“Oh no. We came here … just after they were married.”

I was puzzled. “Who … were married?”

“My mother … and him.”

“But … ?”

Myra said: “Do you like these drapes? Look at the embroidery on them.”

Lilias took the material in her hands, but I turned to Paul. He was looking at me as though he wanted to talk.

“You thought he was my father,” he said. “He’s not. He lets people think it, but he’s not. He’s not.”

Myra said: “It came from Amsterdam, I think. You can tell by the style of the embroidery.”

I said to Paul: “You mean Mr. Lestrange is not your father?”

He shook his head vigorously. “My father died. He died in a diamond mine. That was before …”

I moved away from Myra and Lilias … with him.

“I didn’t know,” I said. “Mr. Lestrange always speaks of you as though he is your father.”

“No, my father died and then my mother married him. I’m not his son. I have a real father. Only he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

He pressed his lips together and held his head high.

I was thinking: I knew there were secrets in this house.

Myra was saying: “Paul is very interested in the house, aren’t you, Paul?”

“Yes,” said Paul. “Let’s show them the staircase.”

“We’ll come to it in time.”

“And the Model House?”

“Of course.”

“The staircase is very fine,” I said.

“Oh, not that one,” said Paul. “The other.”

“Oh, there are two, are there?”

“Yes,” he said, and I noticed his lips tightened again.

In due course we came to the staircase. It led from the hall to the second floor. It was obviously a back staircase, used by the servants, I supposed; it was covered in a green carpet held in place by brass stair rods.

“That’s it,” said Paul.

I could see nothing unusual about it. It was certainly not comparable with the spiral one by which we had ascended. It was natural, I supposed, to have two staircases in such a house.

“Interesting,” I said perfunctorily; but Paul was looking at it with gleaming eyes and Myra looked decidedly uncomfortable.

I had a strange and uncanny feeling that they were seeing something which was not visible to Lilias and me.

A short while later I was inspecting the Model House. It was quite extraordinary. It was like a large dolls’ house. It was in a smallish room, the whole of which was needed to accommodate it, and it reached from floor to ceiling.

I suddenly realised that it was an exact replica of the house. The rooms were all there, the two staircases, the heavy furniture, all in miniature.

I couldn’t resist saying: “It’s like a huge dolls’ house—the biggest I have ever seen.”

“It’s not a dolls’ house,” said Paul. “It’s not for children.”

“No,” said Myra. “Roger explained it to me. It’s an old custom. It started in Germany and was adopted by the Dutch. Their homes mean so much to them so they have models made of them … exact copies. When furniture is taken away it is removed from the model house and when new comes in a small copy is made.”

“What an extraordinary idea!” said Lilias. “I have never heard of it.”

“Yes,” said Myra. “They don’t follow it now. But the people who lived here before did. They probably thought it was unlucky to dispense with an old custom. People do, don’t they? It’s a bit of an oddity and amuses people, Roger says.”

Paul was apparently very proud of it. He said: “You’ve seen it with the doors open. It’s like taking away the front of a house. It’s the only way to see inside, isn’t it? You can see it all in this one. In ordinary houses you can’t see what’s inside. This house hasn’t got doors. It’s all open. So it doesn’t have the inscription which is on the door of this house. You didn’t see it when you came in because it was all covered up with creeper. I think some people are glad about that. It says: ‘God’s Eyes See All.’ It’s in Dutch. Most people here know what it means. But it’s covered with the creeper. But that wouldn’t stop God’s seeing all, would it?”

He gave me a rare smile.

I said: “No, it wouldn’t.”

“You liked it, didn’t you?” he said. “I mean the Model House?”

“I thought it was fascinating. I have never seen anything like it.”

That seemed to please him.

After that we went into the garden. It was extensive and that section near the house was laid out in lawns and flower beds and little paths; but there was a large area which had been allowed to grow wild and I could see that was what would appeal to a boy of Paul’s age.

He grew excited as we approached it.

“I think we ought to get back to the house,” said Myra. “You can get lost here. It’s like the jungle.”

“Just as far as the Falls,” said Paul. “I won’t let you get lost.”

“The Falls?” I said.

“Well,” Myra explained. “It’s a kind of miniature waterfall. There’s a stream … well, it’s more than a stream. It’s supposed to be a tributary of some river miles away, I think. It flows down from higher ground and makes this little waterfall. It’s quite attractive.”

It was, as she had said, although it was little more than a stream. It was about six feet wide and there was a rickety wooden bridge over it. But it was indeed attractive with the water cascading from a higher level making, as Myra said, a little waterfall.

Paul was pleased when we admired it.

“And now,” said Myra, “we must go back to the house.”

“Oh, let’s go just as far as the rondavels,” begged Paul.

He seemed to have attached himself to me, and I said: “What are the rondavels?”

“That’s where the servants live,” he explained.

“Sort of native huts,” said Myra. “They are circular and have thatched roofs.”

We had come to a clearing and I saw them. There must have been about twenty of them. It was like a native village. There were some very small children playing on the grass and at the door of one sat an old woman.

Myra had paused and we all stopped with her.

“It’s like a little colony,” said Myra. “They couldn’t all live in the house. There are too many and they wouldn’t like it. They like their own way of life.”

A young boy of about Paul’s age came running towards us. He stood before Paul smiling. Paul put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and patted it.

Myra said: “That’s Umgala, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Paul.

The boy had put his hand over Paul’s. It was a greeting, I guessed. Paul nodded at the boy and the boy nodded back. This was some sort of ritual. Neither of them spoke.

“Come along, Paul,” said Myra. And to us: “They don’t like us to intrude, I’m sure.”

Obediently Paul turned away.

“Poor Umgala,” said Myra. “He’s a deaf-mute. Both his parents work about the place.”

We had started walking back to the house.

“How can you communicate with that little boy?” I asked Paul.

“Like this,” said Paul, waving his hands.

“It must be difficult.”

He nodded.

“His parents are good workers,” said Myra. “Luban, his mother, works in the house, and his father, Njuba, in the garden. That’s right, isn’t it, Paul?”

“Yes.”

“It must be terrible to be born like that,” said Lilias.

“Yes, but he seems happy. He was pleased to see Paul.”

“Yes, Paul has established quite a friendship with him, haven’t you, Paul?”

“Yes,” said Paul.

“This has all been so interesting,” murmured Lilias.

We walked slowly back to the house and very soon afterwards we left.

Back at the schoolhouse Lilias talked a great deal about what we had seen. She was delighted that we were to have a new pupil.

“I had no idea that Mr. Lestrange was not the boy’s father,” she said. “I heard what the boy was saying.”

“He has always referred to him as his son.”

“Well, he’s his stepson, of course.”

“But he did give the impression that he was the boy’s father. He couldn’t have been married very long to his first wife. Did you get the impression that Myra was afraid of something?”

“Well, Myra was always afraid of her own shadow.”

“I just thought she was especially afraid.”

“She seemed afraid of the boy, too. She’s just a nervous person.”