The Fever Tree (27 page)

She looked at him. “I thought you might be able to help me, but I made a mistake.”

He ignored the bitterness in her voice. “Help you with what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” he said gently, and she felt the fight draining out of her. She needed him to say that he still cared. Nothing else mattered, not even the thought that she might have landed herself on him and now he had to pretend concern; nor the fact that she had found him in a whorehouse. She felt safe when she was with him. Edwin always asked too much of her, but William wanted to protect her. He took her hand, and she let him bundle her onto the cart. “We’ll go to my house. It’s quiet there, and you can tell me everything.”

His house was just off Market Square. It was small and simple but clean and warm inside, made of timber, not the usual corrugated iron, with walls and ceilings clad in boards. “I didn’t want one of those fancy new red brick houses out of town,” he said, shutting the door behind them. “I wanted to be in the thick of things.”

The sitting room had large windows on either side of the fireplace, the curtains were drawn, and there were two deep armchairs pulled up in front of the fire. He sat her down, drew a blanket onto her lap, and called to his boy, who brought bread, cheese, and hot lamb pie. She was famished suddenly, and felt her anxiety easing away as she sank into the warm fug of the room. He sat, sipping a glass of scotch, watching her eat.

“So,” he said finally, when the boy had taken away her plate, “do you want to tell me why you were wandering all over Kimberley on your own after dark?”

“I’m concerned about my husband.”

“Did he hold that meeting at the Theatre Royale?”

She nodded. “It was awful.”

“He didn’t bring you along, did he?”

“No. I went alone. I wanted to see it for myself.”

“Well, you’re a fool. Christ knows what could have happened to you.”

“I thought they were going to kill him.”

“I don’t think they’ll kill him, but he might ruin any prospect of a decent life for the two of you. You’ve tried to stop him?”

She nodded. “He doesn’t listen to me.”

“He hasn’t any sense. It is pure selfishness to ruin you both. If you were mine, I wouldn’t risk you for a second.” There was a silence. A log cracked, throwing out sparks, and William kicked a hot coal back into the grate.

“I was wondering if perhaps you could talk to Baier? Tell him to at least listen to Edwin. You’re his cousin. Perhaps you could influence him.”

William drew his hand over his face and sighed. “Are you aware that there isn’t a single doctor in Kimberley, other than your husband, who has seen a case of the pox? And, believe me, they’ve been looking. Do you know what’s at stake if we are seen to be taking him seriously? The whole industry could collapse. That doesn’t just mean the end of Baier, it means people, real people, will suffer—miners, shopkeepers, natives—anyone who makes a living out of these mines. If the stock market collapses, it will be nothing short of a disaster.”

“But I know Edwin—he isn’t capable of deceit.”

“You might not know him as well as you think. Did you know that they are accusing him of making money out of the whole affair? He writes his articles and gives his speeches and, inevitably, there are men and women who listen. They are terrified by his stories, and they come to him afterwards to be vaccinated. They say he is charging extortionate amounts for the vaccine.” He paused. “You know yourself that he hates these mines. God knows why he insists on staying here.”

She shook her head. “He isn’t driven by making money. Besides, you’ve seen the way we’re living. He doesn’t have a penny.”

William looked at her. Was she being naive? “He’s in a tight spot, Frances. There isn’t anyone who doesn’t need something to live on.”

She let her head rest against the soft back of the armchair and shut her eyes for a second, relishing the quiet warmth of the room. She didn’t think Edwin was like most people. He was determined enough to take them both over the precipice into penury, if he hadn’t already.

“Of course, it’s not entirely about the money.” William was rubbing a hand over his beard. “Your husband has a lot of pride. He didn’t like being sent away from Kimberley by Baier. It’s possible he isn’t thinking clearly.”

“You’re saying this could be some kind of revenge against Baier?”

“Perhaps. And there could be other reasons.”

She glanced at him and saw that there was a slight smile on his lips.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he must know about us.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly.

“Frances, everyone knows everything about everyone at the Cape.”

Was it possible Edwin had known about William all this time and not said anything? The thought made Frances sick. What must he think of her?

William kept talking. “If he could suggest Baier was covering up an epidemic, it would be a scandal. Everyone in England would know about it. Baier’s political prospects would be ruined, not to mention the state of his finances. And naturally that wouldn’t leave me in a very good position.”

“But when they find out it isn’t smallpox?”

“I imagine your husband will be hoping a rumor is enough. Once foreign investors hear the word ‘smallpox,’ they’ll pull their finance, as will the thousands who have invested in the stock market. Baier would be bankrupt. Then there’s the labor market. The natives have a mortal fear of smallpox. So much as mention the disease and they’ll be out of here. Think what that will do to confidence in the market.”

Frances felt the power of William’s argument. It wasn’t impossible that Edwin was fanatical enough to try to bring down Baier. Certainly if he knew about her affair with William, then that would explain his almost suicidal decision to stay in Kimberley. “What if you’re right?” she asked, staring into the fire. “What kind of man does that make him?”

“Not necessarily a bad one,” William replied. “Just misguided.”

It made sense. Edwin hated Baier, and he hated the mines. This was an effective way of sabotaging both. She stood up to go. There was nothing William could do to help her, and it was best if she went home. He didn’t stand up when she did. She pulled her shawl off the back of the chair. “Thank you, William, for all you have done.”

He reached forward suddenly, taking hold of her hand. “I don’t want you to go back there.” His skin had a rough warmth. He rubbed his thumb over the inside of her palm, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up against him.

“What choice do I have?” She thought about the cold, stark tent with its stench of filth, of Edwin’s anger and determination, and, worst of all, saying good-bye to William. Once she left this house she would never come back.

He let her hand slide through his until he was holding just the tips of her fingers. “What if you stayed here with me?”

She gave a bitter, nervous laugh.

“I can’t bear the thought of you going back to him. Matthews is too wrapped up in his own ambition. He won’t be there to look after you. And besides, this is all partly my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. I knew perfectly well what I was doing.”

“Did you, though?” He looked at her with a slight smile, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

“I want to make amends if you’ll let me.”

“There is nothing you can do now which will help me.”

“Perhaps there is,” he said, pulling her down onto his lap so that they were very close suddenly, her legs between his. She didn’t fight it. His arms circled over hers and took hold of her wrists. She let her head fall into his shoulder, giving in for a moment to the pleasure of being held by him. “Frances, there is something I haven’t told you,” he continued in a low, warm voice. “I’m leaving soon, to go to Johannesburg.”

She sat up, looking at him. “What’s in Johannesburg?”

“Gold. They’ve discovered the largest reefs in Africa. There’s more gold there than they ever found in California, and there’s barely anyone mining it.”

“Well, that’s wonderful for you,” she said, trying to stand up, but he closed his arms around hers, pulling her back down. “You don’t understand. I want you to come with me.”

She stared at him, her heart quickening. “To Johannesburg?”

“No one will know you there. We can make a fresh start.”

“What about Baier?”

He shrugged. “We’ve quarreled. He treats me like his messenger boy, always giving me his dirty work. He has me on an allowance and monitors my spending. He thinks I can’t keep a handle on my outgoings. What does it matter, when my work in the mines more than pays for what I spend?” His voice was flecked with anger. “Anyway, it was his idea for me to go north. He wants someone he can trust to buy up claims. But it won’t all be for him. I have money of my own that he doesn’t know about.”

“But, of course, he won’t approve of me.”

“You don’t understand, Frances. I’ve grown up. I don’t care anymore what he thinks. Besides, Baier is desperate to get rid of me. He thinks I need a dose of hard work to cool my enthusiasm for life. He’s bored with my restlessness and he wants to see me settled.”

She knew she should put an end to the conversation—it was nothing but fantasy—but she couldn’t help herself. “And Edwin?”

“Matthews has too much pride to cause any trouble. I’m sure he’ll let you go. What does he want with a wife when he has so many campaigns to fight?”

“What do you want with a wife?”

“I adore you, Frances. I can’t live without you.” He lifted up one of her hands and covered the inside of her wrist with kisses. She laughed at his exuberance, pulling it away. “This is a dream, William. A ridiculous dream. It could never happen.”

“Why not?” he asked, drawing her deeper into his lap and kissing her on her forehead, on her nose, and once, very quickly, on her mouth. “I’m good at making things happen. Everything is in place. All I need is for you to say yes.”

She didn’t want to think about what he was asking. All she wanted was for him to kiss her again, but she was scared that he might, and that if he did she might never bring herself to stand up and leave. She pulled away from him, trying to think clearly about what he was asking. She wanted to let herself believe in him, but now that the moment had come she wasn’t sure she could trust him. How well did she know him, after all?

“And the girl you were with earlier?”

He laughed. “I’m not a married man yet, Frances, and I’m far from perfect. You’ll have to forgive past indiscretions.”

“You’ll soon get bored of me.”

“Well, you’ll just have to work very hard at making sure I don’t.” She looked at him sternly, and he laughed and said, “How could I ever be bored of you?”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

He held one of her hands and looked at her intently. His face was serious. “You don’t, Frances. There is no way of telling. That’s the whole point of trust—it requires faith. But I promise to look after you.” He squeezed her hand. “You will benefit from my every success. I will make sure you have your own servants, horses, a good house. You will never want for anything.”

“Do you remember that afternoon on the
Cambrian
when we played blindman’s buff?” she asked suddenly. It was the last time she had been truly happy. “Why couldn’t life always be like that?”

“It can be, my love. You just have to have the courage to give it a chance.” He tried to kiss her, but she moved her head away. Her mind was filled suddenly with a picture of Edwin being mobbed by the crowd in the Theatre Royale. What if he had been seriously hurt? And if he wasn’t, surely he would be worried about her. She needed to know that he was all right, and she wanted to find out if the things William had said were true.

“But you do love me, don’t you?” William was demanding. His voice was petulant.

She looked at him. His black hair fell down over his forehead, and his green eyes shone with a roguish self-belief. He was too persuasive. He held such power over her. She wanted to trust him, but she needed time to think.

“Please, William. Let me go,” she said, twisting out of his grip and standing up. He stood up with her and putting his hand on her jaw pulled her chin round so she was looking at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Yes, I love you,” she said, as if it had been forced out of her.

He kissed her on the forehead and called to his boy to take her home in the cart.

•   •   •

T
HERE
WERE
NO
MEN
lurking outside the tent with rifles and pitchforks, as she had worried there might be. She walked into the quiet yard and saw, with relief, Edwin sitting just inside the tent, writing a letter. He had changed his shirt. He looked up when she came in. The skin had been scraped off his cheek, and one eye was closing up. A dark bruise, like dirty fingerprints, smudged the skin. The
askari
was squatting in the yard, cradling his gun. Edwin didn’t ask her where she had been. She sat in a chair, staring at her hands while he wrote. Her heart was thudding. There were too many alternative truths pounding through her mind, and she needed to find out which ones were certain.

“You’re hurt,” she stated eventually.

“It’s not serious,” he said, glancing up briefly from his letter. Silence dragged out between them.

After a few minutes, she said, “Edwin, do you truly believe there is smallpox in Kimberley?”

He put down his pen, folded the letter, and slipped it into an envelope. She had his full attention now. His hands were folded in his lap and his eyes seemed very cold. “I’m surprised you should have to ask.”

“There are rumors that you are making a profit out of selling the vaccine.”

“Do you believe them?”

“It’s hard for me to know what to think,” she said uneasily. “You are always so closed.”

He looked at her, waiting for her to say more. She was wary of him, but finally she said, “Either way, I think it’s wrong to keep on trying to prove it.”

“Why?”

“Because Baier will have you killed if you don’t stop. Because smallpox will be a disaster for Kimberley. Because I don’t think I can stand much more of this.”