Jenny Telfer Chaplin (9 page)

Chapter Two

The journey to the West Coast of Africa had been memorable, not least for its being taken in mid-December with the ship battling its way over the storm-tossed, turbulent waters of the Bay of Biscay.

As Elenor lay in her bunk, one minute she was gazing through the porthole at the sea and the next at the sky above. With a moan she headed yet again for the sick-bowl with the ship’s latest plunge into the depths of the Atlantic. Rory said the bouts of nausea and projectile vomiting were just sea-sickness, but Elenor knew the symptoms had started before the sea got really rough – could she be pregnant?

Before disembarking Elenor and Rory already knew something of the history of the area and thanks to one gossipy returning shipboard companion were aware that other people like themselves had chosen to up-sticks and opt for a working life in the heat and dust of Equatorial Africa. In the fairly new expatriate community to which they were heading, like a small village, friendships had been formed, feuds had been established, one marine officer had run off with someone else’s fiancée, the Vicar’s wife was suspected of being a secret drinker.

The train to take them further into the bush to their new home in the company compound eventually arrived at the wharf. It looked more like a miniature version of the real thing. Their companion from the ship, a seasoned traveller returning from home leave, told them it was known locally as the ‘The Trolley’. Some time in the past a group of innovative engineers had hacked out a narrow track through the dense jungle.

Elenor, already wilting from the heat, was finding it difficult to concentrate let alone show any display of interest. Rory gave her an encouraging smile and patted her arm.

“We’ll soon be in our new home, dear. I’m assured it will be completely furnished ready for us in all respects.”

It took all of Elenor’s remaining strength to give an answering nod of her head. As she did so their fellow traveller inquired of Rory: “So, you’re going to be in the Company Compound? I know it quite well. Lovely airy houses built on stilts. You’ll be all right there, not like where I’m going further up country. Do you know which house you’ve been allocated? I’m sure I’ll know it.”

“I don’t believe they gave me a name or a number,” Rory said. “All I know is it is the Doctor’s House.”

The other man gave Elenor a pitying look. “Of course, you’re the new doctor. It follows you’ll be living in the doctor’s house. No wonder they didn’t tell you the number. I hope you and your wife aren’t superstitious.”

Elenor revived enough to say: “You don’t mean
it’s number ...”

“Thirteen! Yes, that’s the number. You’ll find it difficult to keep staff there. It’s also reputed to be haunted.”

With a ‘tut’ of annoyance Elenor thought: So much for leaving behind Ivylea’s spirits – that’s all I need. A haunted house, a baking hot climate, no domestic staff, and hordes of the undead.

Determined as she was to have nothing whatsoever to do with the spirit world, even so in her new house Elenor found it increasingly difficult to ignore the topic altogether. This was especially so when at each dinner party she gave for Rory’s associates or attended as a guest in their homes, inevitably the topic would turn to the ‘haunted’ House Thirteen.

Despite questions about manifestations she had experienced since moving in Elenor could only say honestly: “I’ve seen nothing and heard nothing untoward. Although there is a constant stream of cooks and houseboys who refuse to stay more than a few days. Even though they have their own quarters in a bungalow on the compound it seems that a short stay at House Thirteen is long enough for them.”

When pressed yet again about the ‘haunted’ house Elenor would laugh.

“Mind you, back in Scotland I grew up in a house filled to bursting-point with spirits, with séances, with a psychic medium who would go into a trance at the drop of a hat. Trust me, if House Thirteen is haunted, then as something of an authority on the subject I think I would be the first to know.”

Far from distracting others such a reply served only to whet the appetite for further stories of Ivylea and the strange goings-on in that house back there in Scotland.

Elenor remarked to Rory: “It seems the world and his wife have a hunger to learn more about the supernatural, albeit they do try to conceal such interest from other people lest they be branded as some sort of eccentrics.”

“No point in us worrying ourselves about it is there? I have more than enough to think about in getting to grips with my job here.”

“Oh, I think you’re doing fine. I wouldn’t want you to get too big-headed, but I have heard people speak very highly of you.”

Rory grinned. “Oh that. Truth is they’re just trying to keep in with me in case I spill the beans about their dinking habits. Half my patients are gin-sodden wrecks and the other half are working their way towards that end.”

Elenor laughed. “So it’s not just House Thirteen that harbours spirits.”

“Very clever, dear wife. Anyway talking of gin-sodden wrecks – it seems to go with the climate out here – the latest I hear is that they’re having to ship home the woman who runs the little school for the company employee’s children. She’s also the Vicar’s wife. It seems the gin has really got to her.”

“What do you mean, got to her?”

“Delusions of grandeur – she thinks she’s the Virgin Mary – and her name isn’t even Mary.”

Elenor assumed a look of mock disapproval. “Rory, that’s a terribly blasphemous thing to say – I’m shocked at you. Anyway, why are we having this conversation?”

“Ever since you miscarried just after we got here, I know how much you’ve missed your work with children, such as you had at Clydeview. I thought, perhaps a wee teaching job?”

“But I’m not qualified as a teacher–”

“Neither was the Vicar’s wife. She used workbooks the Company shipped over. They get them from one of the Education Boards in England. Anyway, it’s fast approaching the rainy season. The Company would do anything to keep the children of employees occupied during the rains. A tame chimpanzee would do as long as it kept the twelve little horrors in order and out of everyone’s hair. As you already know people get very tetchy and fragile during the rainy season.”

“So now I’m the equivalent of a trained chimpanzee!”

“You said it, dearest, not me. If you like the idea, the Company has already agreed you could convert one of our larger outhouses into a schoolroom – that’s what the Vicar’s wife did on their compound. So, what do you think?”

“As Miss Patten would say – this is the path in life I have to travel. Yes, I’ll do it, but I have one proviso.”

“I knew it was too easy. All right, let’s have it. What’s your condition.”

“Just this.
I’ve become aware that most of our house and garden boys are unable to read and write. If I’m to be teaching the Company employees’ children, I’d also like to do adult education classes in the schoolroom, perhaps two or three evenings a week?”

Rory nodded. “I can’t see any problem there. Who knows, perhaps the lure of free education in our compound might encourage people to forget ab
out ghostly sightings at House Thirteen. Yes, let’s do it.”

Chapter Three

Rory’s theory about the added incentive of teaching the ‘Three Rs’ to their house and garden servants proved correct. Soon Elenor not only had a full complement of cook, steward, houseboy, wash-girl, garden-boy and night watchman, she also had a waiting list of eager, would-be employees all desperate to learn to read and write. The day-time school was also proving to be something of a local wonder. Not only did Elenor keep the children fully employed it was also the first time in years that the Company had a sober schoolmistress as opposed to one who daily doctored her morning cuppa with a liberal helping of gin.

One morning Elenor walked into her dining room to find that not only had Napoleon, her steward, not set the table for breakfast but also the dust on the sideboard seemed inches thick.
Going across to inspect the offending piece of furniture, and fully intending to berate the steward when he appeared Elenor stopped short as she gazed down at the top of the sideboard. At several points on the surface she could clearly make out the name, Napoleon. So, rather than doing the household duties for which she paid him, he was doing his homework and practising writing his name in the dust on her sideboard

Torn between feeling proud of her pupil’s progress – especially with such a long and difficult name – and the natural annoyance at seeing her home in such disarray, pride in her pupil’s achievement won the day. When next Napoleon signed his name on a store sales slip, Elenor had the historic document framed for her steward. No university master’s degree was ever displayed with greater aplomb than that sales slip.

As the rainy season finally let go its grip to be replaced by a boiling hot sun, life again settled into the familiar pattern of work, entertaining and long evenings sitting on the verandah in the velvety blackness of Africa listening to the crickets and other assorted noises from the bush beyond the compound.

On one such evening Elenor found herself somehow ‘at one’ with the indefinable magic of the vast wonderful continent and entertaining such fanciful thoughts as: Yes, there is a magical quality to Africa. A very real feeling, an almost tangible something which links to the past and forward to the future, towards unknown tomorrows ...

At this point Elenor drew herself up sharply. “What’s wrong with me? At any moment I’ll be like Miss Patten and break into a trance.”

At that point Rory joined her on the verandah. “Sounds as if Africa is getting to you. I was sure I heard you talking to yourself. Don’t tell me that like your predecessor you’re on the gin.”

Elenor laughed. “I’m sure the Company Doctor would be able to tell me if I was becoming an alcoholic. I’m glad you’re free this weekend. We always enjoy staying with Martin and Joan in Victoria, don’t we? I love the fantastic sunsets in Victoria Bay; watching the hundreds of bats winging their way from Mondole Island to the mainland every night in search of food. Victoria Bay really is exotic isn’t it, and Mondole Island dark and forbidding.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a brochure for ‘Come to Mysterious Africa’,” Rory said and Elenor threw a cushion at him.

The weekend at Victoria Bay was as usual very enjoyable and a happy and well-rested Rory and Elenor having travelled across the escarpment, reminisced as they prepared for bed in their own home.

“That story about when Martin and Jean went up-country and left five-year-old Martina in care of her nanny and the servants really brought home the point about how spoilt European children become out here didn’t it?” Elenor said.

“I was talking to Martin and I missed everything but the punch-line ... and it didn’t seem to make much sense.”

“Oh, you men!
They came back to find young Martina sitting in regal state at the large dining room table with every delicacy known to man spread out before her – cream cakes, jellies, biscuits, you name it, she had there. When Jean asked the steward why she seemed to be having such an expensive party for one, the steward said–”

“But Madam, she ordered it!” Rory finished and laughed. “Yes, the punch-line does make more sense now.”

Rory gave Elenor a thoughtful glance. “I know you enjoyed the weekend but ... there were times when you looked very pensive and sad. Not still brooding about no sign of a baby yet, are you?”

Elenor shook her head. “No, when it happens it happens. I’m feeling pretty philosophical about that.”

“Then what is the problem? I know you well enough to realise something is troubling you.”

Over a night-cap Elenor finally said: “It’s not a problem exactly and I’m determined it won’t become a problem.”

Rory frowned. “Clear as stirred mud, I must say.”

“Well ... the thing is ... as you know in view of my upbringing at Ivylea with spirits at every corner, I’ve always vowed to steer clear of the entire business – especially out here. Stick to the bottled variety like everyone else. But sometimes I’ve felt I was becoming too fanciful about the magic of Africa with its witch doctors ...
oh, and yes, those statuesque Hausa-men traders and their predictions.”

“That Hausa-man who was here the other week – you bought carved masks, and God knows what else from him – did he say something to upset you?”

“No, he was very charming and quite entertaining. Of course, I had a field-day buying just about a quarter of his stock of ivory carvings.”

Rory persisted. “But did he predict anything for you? Locally they are well known, and also well respected, for their predictions.”

Elenor thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, he did say one rather strange thing. ‘Africa calls to you in spirit, my friend. Remember that when you are alone and the mountain is angry.’”

“The mountain is angry!” Rory laughed.
“A load of piffle. Anyway you’re never alone here. Even if I’m kept late at the hospital or with a patient and the servants are in their own quarters, you still have the night watchman with his machete, faithfully patrolling the grounds. You can forget that prediction.”