Trade Wind (69 page)

“What about Miss Hollis? We can’t leave her wandering round alone with the place crawling with Gulf Arabs.”

“It ain’t any more. Dan ‘e gives them notice to quit, and they’re quitting right spry. They don’t fancy the look of ‘is guns. Well, are you going?”

“I don’t seem to have much choice. I evidently underestimated Dan. I thought he’d be so sure I was on the
Virago
and a couple of hundred miles away by now that he wouldn’t keep a look-out except to seaward. What are you going to do, Batty? You can’t go taking that girl into the city either, for if they get their hands on you they’ll probably string you up as a substitute for me.”

“I ain’t taking ‘er in. I’m going to drop ‘er off at old Seyyida Zuene’s ‘ouse, and ask them to see ‘er safe back: she went there once before to meet that bint ‘oo skips with young Ruete, so they know ‘er. After which I’ll lay low and bide me time, and when they gets tired of watching the roads and the ‘ouse I’ll let you know.”

Rory thought for a minute or two, and then he said: “All right. Where’s this cart of yours?”

“Ibrahim’ll take you to it. I’ll take Miss ‘Ero. Did you know that she’d been to your ‘ouse to see if young Amrah were being looked after proper? Didn’t let on, I suppose—which don’t surprise me. But she did. Ibrahim told me. There’s a lot you don’t know as you ought to.”

“I’m beginning to think so,” said Rory, and turned his horse.

They rode back to where Hero sat silent in the wet dusk, and he said curtly and without preamble: “Batty will take you as far as old Seyyida Zuene’s house and ask them to get you back to the Consulate from there. You’ll be quite safe.”

Hero said nothing. Her face in the last of the misty grey daylight was no more than a pale oval against the dripping darkness of the trees; remote and enigmatic.

Rory said: “He tells me that you went to see my daughter. That was kind of you; though hardly wise. This is coals of fire indeed!”

Hero still did not speak, and he smiled at her and said: “It doesn’t look as though I shall be seeing you again, but I should like you to know that if the Navy or the Consul catches up with me and evens the score for you, it will have been well worth it.”

“Because you have had your revenge for Zorah?” Hero’s voice was as remote and unreadable as her face.

Rory laughed; lightly and without bitterness: “No. From a purely personal point of view—as you are well aware.”

He put out a hand and touched her cool wet cheek, and said: “The first time I ever saw you, you were soaked to the skin, so I suppose it’s only appropriate that you should be in the same condition for the last Goodbye, my lovely Galatea. It’s nice to know that you are unlikely to forget me.”

He turned his horse’s head, and followed by Ibrahim vanished into the rainy dusk, and Hero heard the sound of hooves on sodden ground grow fainter and fainter, until it was swallowed up at last in the sound of the falling rain.

Batty sighed and said: “We’d best be going, miss,” and they rode out of the dripping gloom of the trees into an open stretch of ground that ended in a village street. Once past that the surface of the road improved and the horses moved at a quicker pace.

Batty made no effort to talk, and it was Hero who at last broke the long silence:

“Will they really hang him if they catch him?”

“If they don’t shoot ‘im first,” said Batty grimly.

“But that wouldn’t be legal.”

Batty made a rude noise indicative of contempt: “The Captain ain’t never been one for keeping the law himself—not to notice. ‘Sides, there’s times when blokes forgets the law, and this is one of ‘em. It all come of muckin’ about with wimmin. Wimmin—begging your pardon, miss—is pisen. Cold pisen! Don’t touch ‘em, is my motter. Captain Rory, ‘e’s a reasonable man and ‘e uses ‘is brain-box; but when ‘e ‘ears what your young man, God damn ‘is dirty ‘ide, does to Zorah, ‘e loses ‘is ‘ead and goes on the booze, and ends up behaving like ‘e was only fit for Bedlam. And now ‘ere’s Dan and the Colonel cutting up rough for the self-same reason.
Wimmin!
”

Hero said quietly: “It was not Mr Mayo. He would not have done such a thing. It has all been a mistake, and you will find that it was someone else.”

Batty threw her a glance that combined scorn with a certain measure of sympathy. “You’d ‘ave to think that, I reckon. But it ain’t so. I gets it out of the African barstard what rents ‘im the rooms ‘e keeps in a lane off Changu Bazaar—‘e knew! And it’s best that you does. Better know the worst of’im before you starts, then you knows where you are and can make do. No good findin’ out once you been tied up to ‘im legal, now is it?”

Hero made no answer and Batty did not appear to expect one. He brooded awhile, jogging forward in the growing darkness, and presently he said:

“I’d ‘ave liked to ‘ave cut ‘is liver out meself—me ‘aving known Zorah since she were a nipper. But I been thinking, and I reckon ‘e didn’t see it that way. ‘Ow was ‘e to know she weren’t just another native trollop and ‘appy to ‘ave a bit of fun for an ‘andful of dollars? There’s plenty of that kind in this ‘ere town; all colours. Daresay ‘e’s sorry. But Captain Rory now—‘e knows what ‘e’s a’ doing of, and ‘e done it for wickedness pure; which I don’t ‘old with. Lost ‘is temper like.
Tch, Tch
!”

Hero was still silent and Batty turned in the saddle to peer at her, and said in a fatherly tone: “You get that young man of yours ‘ome quick, miss, and maybe ‘e’ll sober up. ‘E might even make you a good ‘usband yet, if you educates ‘im right. But this ain’t a good part of the world for ‘is kind. Too many temptations, as y’might say. You take ‘im ‘ome, miss.”

A high white wall loomed up ahead of them, and ten minutes later Batty was explaining glibly to the Major-domo of the Seyyida’s household that the American lady had been out riding on the morning of the disturbances, and while on her way back to the Consulate had been attacked by a band of men from the dhows and rescued by the Captain and some of the crew of the
Virago
, who had given her shelter at
Kivulimi
. Hearing that the city was now quiet again she had set out at once to return, but had been delayed by the rain. And as he. Batty, could escort her no further, owing to urgent private affairs that must be dealt with immediately, he would be more than grateful if the Seyyida would graciously provide an escort to take her back to the city. The Seyyida had graciously done so, and Batty had vanished into the rainy night without further words or any farewell, leaving Hero to cover the last lap of her journey by lantern-light and accompanied by half-a-dozen of the Seyyida’s mounted retainers.

Batty had been right about the roads being watched, for as they neared the outskirts of the town they were challenged by three Baluchi sepoys under the command of a seaman from the
Daffodil
, and after a brief parley the seaman and one of the sepoys had added themselves to the party and escorted Hero to the Consulate, where they had found the Consul and his family at dinner.

Her arrival there seemed a nightmare repetition of the scene that had been enacted once before in that house, on the day she had first set foot in Zanzibar. But this time Hero herself took no part in it She stood in the hall looking white, wet and exhausted, while her aunt indulged in a fit of hysterics, Cressy wept, Uncle Nat asked questions and Clayton held her in his arms and said a great many things that did not seem to make any sense.

Water trickled from the sodden riding cloak that was one of Rory Frost’s, forming small, gleaming pools on the polished floor of the hall, while Clayton’s voice and her uncle’s and the incoherencies of Aunt Abby went on and on, and Hero stood motionless and unresponsive; a lay figure. Saying nothing and letting their emotions swirl around her without touching her, until at last Aunt Abby, recovering herself, pulled away the wet cloak, and seeing that the rain had soaked through it to drench the habit it covered, raised hands of horror and whisked her upstairs to bed.

Colonel Edwards and Lieutenant Larrimore, who had been sent for in haste, arrived at the Consulate half-an-hour later. But as Hero was already in bed, and according to her aunt must on no account be disturbed that night, they had had to content themselves with questioning the Seyyida’s servants, who had faithfully repeated all that Batty had said.

“Pack of lies!” flared Clayton in furious contempt. “They weren’t rescuing her from anyone. It was a barefaced abduction!”

“Of course it was,” agreed the Colonel. “Nevertheless, I think it would be wiser not to contradict that version, since as far as Miss Hollis is concerned, the truth will not do.”

“You mean we’ve got to let that man pose as having gallantly rescued her from a raving mob? I never heard of anything so downright crazy! Why, I thought you meant to string him up when you caught him! How in thunder do you think you’re going to do that if we support this story? Or do you suggest that we thank him instead?”

“Hardly, Mr Mayo.’ The Colonel’s voice was aloof and reproving. “Nor do I propose that we make any mention of what has occurred unless we hear that it is being talked of If that should happen you would be wiser to support the version we have just been given, and I can assure you that it will make no difference at all to my dealings with Frost I warned him of what I intended to do before there was any question of his abducting Miss Hollis, and I shall stand by it.”

“The question at the moment,” said Dan Larrimore curtly, “is where is he now? Has Miss Hollis been on the
Virago
, and if so, where was she landed and when, and where is the
Virago
? Surely she can tell us that much?”

“She won’t,” said Aunt Abby unhappily. “I asked her myself. But she said she didn’t want to talk about it tonight, and would we please leave her alone. And I’m sure I don’t blame her.”

“But cannot you see, ma’am, that we need to know at once? We can’t afford to give him time to get clear away. Could you not put that to her?”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t do a mite of good to ask her again. The poor child has not only been through a harrowing time, but is soaked to the skin and may well contract a fever. You can see her in the morning, but not before that.”

Aunt Abby could when she chose be quite as stubborn as her niece, and they had had to be content with that. But when the morning came Hero had refused point-blank to see either Colonel Edwards or Lieutenant Larrimore, or to answer any questions put by her aunt until she had first seen Clayton.

She had seen him an hour later in the drawing-room. But she had not answered questions. She had asked them instead, and Clayton had been deeply wounded and concluded a hurt and dignified speech by saying that although in the circumstances he could make every allowance for her, he found it astounding that she should think it necessary to ask him to deny the trumped-up charges of a venal slave trader such as Rory Frost.

“But you haven’t denied them, Clay,” said Hero quietly.

“Nor do I intend to. If you have so little faith in me—so little trust or affection as to even ask me to do such a thing—then I cannot believe that denials will do any good. How
could
you believe such a thing of me, Hero! How could you listen while a vile libertine like Frost attempts to blacken me to you in order to excuse his own inexcusable behaviour?”

Hero had wanted to be convinced, and he had almost convinced her. And yet…She had expected Clay to be shocked and outraged at the recital of such appalling charges, but he had been reproachful instead, and there had been something in his manner—in the colour that patched his cheekbones, a wariness in his eyes and a certain lack of surprise—that did not quite square with his words, and suggested that he might have been prepared for some such thing and had decided in advance how to deal with it.

She remembered then, and wondered why she had not done so before, the two occasions on which she had seen Clayton in the city in a lane near the Changu Bazaar, and the fact that on the second occasion she had seen Thérèse Tissot ride out of the same cul-de-sac not two minutes afterwards…

She said slowly: “Clay, you haven’t got rooms in the city, have you?”

“Is that something else he told you?”

“He said you rented the top floor of a house in the city.”

“‘
He said!—he said!
’ Hero, I would not have believed it of you! He’s probably seen me coming out of the house where Joe Lynch has a room, and used that as a basis for this pack of lies that you seem to have listened to so eagerly.”

“Joseph Lynch! I—I didn’t think of that. Has Mr Lynch got rooms in a house near the Changu Bazaar?”

“Yes, he has, if you want to know. And I have occasionally been there. But not with Arab trollops!”

“I’m sorry Clay. But—but I had to ask. You do see that?”

But Clayton did not see it; or would not. He abandoned hurt reproach and became angry, and listening to him. Hero wondered why his anger should suddenly seem to her as unreal and as calculated as his initial reproach had been, and hating herself for the thought, could not dismiss it He was accusing her now of trumping up these wild and monstrous charges in order to deflect attention from her own unhappy situation, and it was difficult not to wonder if he had only ceased being hurt and dignified—and cautious!—simply because she herself had begun to apologize, and so he felt the danger to be past and could now afford to be angry?

“Don’t think I can’t understand it,” said Clayton, returning at last to a more reasonable tone of voice, “because I can. I can fully appreciate your feelings, and you have all my sympathy. And in spite of what has happened, my love. But that you should try, in order to forget your own im-happy predicament, to persuade yourself that my case is no better than yours, and to accuse me of sharp practice and immoral behaviour, is unworthy of you. I have not blamed you for what has occurred, for you could not have prevented it, and we will agree never to talk of it again but to forget that it ever happened.”

“You mean you are still prepared to marry me?”

“Of course, dear.”

“That is very noble of you Clay. Very…generous.”

“It would be ignoble and ungenerous of me if I were to cast you off for something that was no fault of yours. I have told you, we will forget it.”