Trade Wind (86 page)

“Inside an hour, I guess,” replied the Consul promptly.

“I’m afraid it won’t be quite as soon as that, sir. There will be a good many arrangements to make.”

“And your Consul’s permission to get.”

“Of course, sir. But I do not think that will be difficult, because he has already received similar suggestions from other residents, and it’s getting plainer every day that as far as the pirates are concerned the cholera will prove a far more effective deterrent than any force we could provide. They will not be back this year, and if they have put in at any other coastal port the chances are that a good many of them are dead by now.”

Colonel Edwards had already come round to the same opinion, and as Dan had predicted, it had been easy enough to gain his consent to embark any families of foreign residents who wished to leave, and to take them at once to the Cape, from whence they could return to their several countries or wait until it was safe to rejoin their husbands in Zanzibar.

“No one is going to raise any riots at a time like this,” agreed Colonel Edwards grimly. He had sent word to the consulates and the houses of the European merchants, and helped to see that the
Daffodil
was adequately provisioned for such a voyage and provided with such medicines as could be spared from his own and Dr Kealey’s all too slender resources.

At no time during the busy hours that elapsed between the decision to sail and the moment when the
Daffodil
’s weed-hung anchor rose dripping from the harbour bed, did either Colonel Edwards or Daniel Larrimore spare a thought for Captain Emory Frost of the
Virago
, left a prisoner in the Arab Fort. And even if they had remembered him it would have been impossible to take him on board, since every spare foot of space was crammed to overflowing with women and children, cots, perambulators, travelling trunks and bulging valises. They had, however, quite simply forgotten him: and as the white coral town and the green trees of Zanzibar began to fade in the heat haze, it was Cressy’s face that Dan looked at and not the walls of the Arab Fort, still visible beyond the rocky outline of Grave Island.

The wives and families of most of the city’s white colony had gathered on deck to wave a tearful’ Goodbye’ to husbands and fathers standing on the shore. But Hero Hollis had not been among them. She had refused to leave the Island as quietly and as stubbornly as she had refused to leave The Dolphins’ House, and when at the urgent insistence of his wife and daughter her uncle had called at the house with the intention of ordering her obedience, he had not been admitted. The only foreigner permitted entrance was Dr Kealey, and it was he who in the end had carried letters to Hero: letters from Aunt Abby, Cressy and Clay, a brief note from Uncle Nat and a verbal message, equally brief, from Dan. He had also carried the answers, which were all substantially the same; though he too had done what he could to persuade her to change her mind.

“I have to tell you,” said Dr Kealey reluctantly, “that in my opinion the child stands very little chance of recovery. And if she dies after the ship has sailed—”

“She won’t,” said Hero.

“They cannot wait for you,” warned Dr Kealey.

“No. They must go as quickly as they can. Give Aunt Abby and Cressy my dearest love, and tell them that I am sorry, but I cannot go with them. And please thank Lieutenant Larrimore for his offer, and say he must not let Cressy worry. She gets so easily upset.”

“
He
doesn’t,” said Dr Kealey dryly.

“I know. I used to think he would not do at all for Cressy, but now I am not so sure, for he will always love her and look after her, and be…’ Hero hesitated for a moment and then said: “dependable. Cressy needs someone like that, and maybe it’ll turn out after all that she has shown a great deal of sense in falling in love with him.”

“I think so,” agreed Dr Kealey.

“Do you? I’m glad. Tell her that I No. You had better not tell her anything. Just say ‘
thank you
’ to them all for troubling about me and that I hope they may forgive me for not wishing to go with them, but that you will be here to see that I come to no harm.”

“I will do that,” said Dr Kealey; and added with a wry smile: “Millicent will not go either.”

“Your wife?—is she staying?”

“She insists that she must remain to see that I take the precautions I urge upon others. But that is only an excuse. The real reason is that she is a damned obstinate woman who is as stubborn as—as—”

“Myself!” finished Hero with a faint smile.

“I was going to say ‘as a mule,’” confessed the doctor, “but perhaps you are right. Try and get a bit more rest, my dear. You are looking very worn.”

He had conveyed Hero’s messages to her relations, and informed Dan that Miss Hollis found herself unable to accept his kind offer.

“I never thought she would,” admitted Dan. “Is the child still too ill to be moved?”

“The child is dying,” said Dr Kealey bluntly: and saw Dan’s face stiffen.

“I’m sorry, I had hoped that perhaps…How long?”

“I don’t know. A day. Two days? Three at most.”

“We can’t wait that long. If we go at all it must be at once.”

“She knows that She said to tell you not to let Miss Cressida worry.”

Dan did not say anything for several minutes but stood looking fixedly at the floor, and at last he said curtly: “Tell her I’ll try.”

He lifted his head and grinned at the doctor: “Mr Hollis told me that it was her father who insisted on giving her that damned silly name, but it seems as though he knew what he was about when he did it!”

36

Hero did not know when the
Daffodil
sailed, but Batty had seen the smudge of smoke against the hot sky, and he had fetched Rory’s brass-bound telescope and watched her go. And when she had been swallowed up at last by the heat haze he had sighed with relief—because the Captain was still in Zanzibar and so was Miss Hero, and he had been deadly afraid that one or both of them would sail with her.

At least Danny and his bluejackets had gone! And it was a long haul from Zanzibar to the Cape—and a longer one back again, with the wind against them! It would be several weeks before there was any chance of their return, and Batty was inclined to think that it would be nearer three months, and that Dan would receive orders to wait until the epidemic had passed and the end of the “Long Rains’ brought the south-east Trade Winds to aid his return to Zanzibar under sail—thereby saving a parsimonious Admiralty the expense of fuel. But now that the threat of his armed seamen and the
Daffodil’s
guns had been removed, there was every chance that the Baluchi troops in charge of the Fort would prove amenable to bribery and the Captain be permitted to escape. The
Virago
was still in harbour and ready to leave at short notice, and there was no one now to prevent them sailing or to pursue them once they had left They could quit just as soon as Amrah—

Batty’s thoughts jerked to a stop as though the child’s name had been a yawning crevasse that gaped suddenly across a pleasant path he had been wandering along; for though he would not admit it, he too could see that she was getting no better (even to himself he would not put it into any stronger words).

She was small, thought Batty, but she was strong and sturdy for her age. Not like these frail little native brats who went out like a candle-flame in a puff of wind at the first touch of sickness. She would soon begin to pick up; Miss Hero would see to that. Miss Hero wouldn’t let her go; she was a fighter, miss was. Look how she had stood out against them all when they’d wanted her to go back to her uncle’s. And when they’d wanted to ship her off to the Cape? She wouldn’t let Amrah die—not Miss Hero!

Batty shivered, remembering the slightness of the little body that had once seemed so sturdy and was now so small that it barely showed under the single thin sheet. He pushed the thought behind him with an effort of will, and putting away the telescope, closed the shutters against the burning day and lay down to get some sleep, for he had taken the last watch of the night while Hero slept, and surrendered his place to her an hour after dawn.

The morning had been hot and still, for the Trade Wind too had been sleeping; but it awoke at midday, and before the afternoon was over it was blowing strongly, sweeping swollen rain clouds before it and sending clouds of evil-smelling dust whirling down the narrow streets of the city. It slammed an unfastened shutter in The Dolphins’ House, and Amrah stirred restlessly and when Hero laid a hand on hers she clutched it weakly with small, hot fingers and said in a parched whisper: “Tell…tell…”

“What is it, sweetheart?—what is it you want?”

“Story. Story ‘bout…‘bout…”

“About the mermaid?”

“No…‘bout the—the man what planted…apperseeds.”

“Johnnie Appleseed? All right, pet. If you’ll promise to lie as quiet as a mouse while I tell it. ‘Once upon a time—’”

“No!”—the child’s fingers tugged feebly at her hand—“that ain’t…right. It’s “This is a true story “bout a real live…” The whisper failed; but Hero’s heart leapt and she thought:
She’s better! She must he. She’s talking sensibly and she knows me
! (she had known no one the previous day, but babbled deliriously, in a mixture of Arabic, Kiswahili and Cockney, to Zorah). Surely this must mean that she was better? Aloud she said: “So it does. I’d forgotten. I’m sorry, sugar, “—and began the story again; this time as it had always been told before. Amrah sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, and presently, lulled into drowsiness by the narrator’s low-pitched and intentionally monotonous voice, she fell asleep.

The wind moaned under the doors and the shutter banged again, echoing hollowly through the quiet house, and Hero rose softly and went out onto the verandah; and hearing voices in the courtyard below, leaned over the rail and saw a woman in a white dress and a wide, floppy hat decorated with roses and ribbons. It was only a very brief glimpse, for the next moment the rain came down and courtyard, woman and voices were all blotted out in a cloud-burst of falling water. But Hero had recognized the hat, and motioning to Dahili to take her place at Amrah’s bedside, she picked up her skirts and ran along the verandah and down the winding staircase, thinking that it was just like Olivia to wear that preposterous confection in a high wind and when it was obviously going to rain!

Mrs Credwell was clutching the hat with one hand and still arguing with the doorkeeper when Hero touched her on the arm, and she turned and said as though it was the most natural thing in the world: “Oh, there you are, Hero. I have just been telling this silly old man that I wished to see you, and—Oh, dear, the
noise
! Can we not go somewhere where we can talk? I can hardly hear myself think!”

She had to raise her voice to be heard above the roar of the rain, but she appeared more concerned with keeping her hat straight and her flounces dry than with any other matters. So like Olivia! thought Hero again, surprised to find how glad she was to see her. It seemed an age since she had last seen or spoken to a white woman, and yet it was less than a week—!

“Come upstairs,” said Hero, clutching her visitor’s arm.

The room in which months before she had removed those black, Arab wrappings was dark and gloomy and smelt strongly of mildew, and its great damp-spotted looking-glasses reflected the wild wetness of the afternoon and the ghostly palm trees that flung themselves to and fro beyond the streaming window panes. But the noise of the rain was less audible here, and the wind no more than a draught that billowed the curtains and rippled the Persian carpets that covered the floor.

“I cannot decide,” said Mrs Credwell, frowning over the problem, “whether it is worse when it rains, or not. One is so pleased when it begins, but it does not really make it much cooler, does it? And if you stand out in it, it is actually
warm!
How is the little girl, Hero? Dr Kealey says—”

“Does he know you are here?” demanded Hero, interrupting her.

“Well, not exactly, but—”

“Olivia, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. Haven’t the others gone yet?”

“Oh, hours ago. They went this morning and I expect they’re all being dreadfully seasick by now. With this wind, you know.”

“Why ever didn’t you go with them?”

“I didn’t want to,” said Mrs Credwell simply.

“But the cholera—!”

“Well, after all, Hero,
you
were not going, so I could see no reason why I should not stay if I wished. Naturally Jane had to go, because of the twins. And she wanted Hubert to go too, but he said he could not possibly leave his work, so I decided that if he could stay I could; because after all, he is my brother.”

“They shouldn’t have let you stay. They had no right to.”

“They didn’t want me to,” admitted Olivia frankly. “They all talked at me and talked at me, but I was quite firm. I told them that I should be far more comfortable here than being deplorably seasick in a tiny cabin with Jane and the twins and I don’t know how many other mothers and children as well. Which is quite true. And besides it seemed like-like
deserting
, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know,” said Hero.

“I knew you would.” The pink in Olivia’s faded cheeks deepened into an embarrassed flush, and she said hesitantly: “It’s different for the others. They have their children to think of, or— But I haven’t anyone; only Hubert, and he has never worried very much about me. So there was really no reason why I should not stay. Someone has to—if only to show all these poor people who would wish to leave too, and cannot, that we have not
all
run away. There is nothing else, really, that one can do.”

“No,” said Hero slowly, seeing Olivia Credwell with new eyes and wondering if it took disaster to bring out the best in people who would normally be accounted merely foolish and sentimental. Olivia was both. But the foolishness that had led her to prefer the horrors of a cholera epidemic to the possibility of seasickness in an overcrowded cabin, and the sentimentality that had urged her to stay behind in order to bring a little reassurance to “all those poor people’ for whom she could do nothing, had become changed by the changing circumstances into courage. An addle-headed courage, since it had obviously never occurred to her that she risked infection by walking through the fetid streets or visiting a house where a child lay sick with typhoid fever. But courage all the same. Olivia was not clever, but she was generous and warmhearted; and that, thought Hero, who had often been irritated by her gushing silliness, was enough—and more than enough!