NO WOMAN'S LAND

Wairarapa Times-Age, 30 June 1938, Page 14

NO WOMAN'S LAND

Published by special-Arrangement copyright

BY

JANE ENGLAND

(Author of “Sjambok,” “Trader’s License,” &c.)

CHAPTER IV (Continued.) Dolly hesitated. She had never come home before without David to take the mules down to the stables. She looked at Nella, but Nella was huddled away from her, and was seemingly impervious to everything except her own thoughts, How long would it be, she wondered before David would get back. Nella roused herself. “I can outspan those mules,” she said flatly. “Well, you do that, thought-reader,” said Dolly with relief, “and I’ll rout out a boy and get some coffee going.” At least if that girl had something to do, it might break this tension. What did you do with raw girls who had just lost their fathers in tragic circumstances, and who seemed to suspect their young men of -having committed murder? Because, without any shadow of doubt, that was what Nella had thought .had happened. “I’m not good at this,” Dolly bemoaned, as she went over to the huts. “I’d know what to do right enough with someone of my own world; but I just don’t know what to do with this girl. Besides, it’s stupid and dumb of her to suspect, Archie Fellowes. If he had done anything reckless, he’s the last person on earth to try and cover it up by a wholesale burning of huts.” She called aloud, “Jacob! Jacob, wake up. Jacob!” Her voice sounded very shrill in the silence. After a minute or two Jacob came out of his hut, with a grey blanket draped round his shoulders, and looking strangely dignified. He held a small axe, rather like a tomahawk, in his hand, and his eyes gleamed fiercely.

“I want some coffee,” said Dolly. Jacob’s dark face dissolved from a savage nobility into a wide, white grin. “Ja, missis,” he said. “In a minute, Missis.”

■ She remembered that he had been a cookboy in Salisbury, sighed for a j. vanished freedom, and turned on her heel towards the small brick hut with its tin roof glimmering under the stars. This hut was the stable. Nella was watering the mules. The s cart stood to one side of the shed, with its shafts on the ground. There was y always something rather drunken r about an unhorsed cart, thought Dolly. ■. “Hup!” said Nella, and jerked the 7 mules away from the buckets of water 1 and led them into the dark stuffiness of e the shed. Dolly stayed outside, and ■ considered how much of a coward she was. She was terrified of being in i there with either mules or horses. 7 Their big bodies with hoofs shuffling and stamping, made her break into a cold sweat; her mind was held by the though of' iron hoofs lashing out madly in the darkness. Nella came out of the stable, and f without a word followed Dolly up to the house. A lamp stood in the centre of a stained deal table, and this Dolly lit. The ’ flame flared and smoked in the draught . from the open door and sent a stream of sparks flying upwards to the ceiling- - less roof. She looked at Nella, who 1 was standing stonily behind her, and J said abruptly: ’ “Sit down.” ’ But the girl leaned forward and ad- : justed the lamp, so that the flame t steadied into a yellow glow. Dolly ’ laughed faintly. “I can’t fix those things,” she said. "I’m used to them,” said Nella somberly, “they’re dangerous if you let them flare up; especially . . and here she looked up at the steep pitch of the roof with its dark, wispy thatch, ' and the dry cross-beams that hung I over the table “especially when there’s thatching,” There was no fireplace in the room, but a brazier glowed dully in the middle. The air smelt stuffy, and of rotting wood and thatch. Near one wall was a divan, covered in cretonne, with a few cushions flung on to it. Dolly looked at it thoughtfully. There was no spare bed made up. Nella still stood by the table. Why . the something couldn’t the girl move? In the warm glow of the lamp she looked drawn and tired, with her eyes sunk back into her head. “Come here,” said Dolly sharply, and taking her by the elbow, she pushed her over on the divan. Nella collapsed on to it as if she had been a jointed doll, and incredibly, the instant her head touched one of the cushions, she fell asleep. Dolly sat in ar) aged chair and smoked, Jacob transformed from a noble savage into a cookboy with torn khaki shorts and a singlet, had brought her coffee and gone away again. Nella slept on the divan, and the lamp, properly adjusted by her, burnt serenely. Sometimes in the lamplight (it depended exactly where the lamp was placed, of course), the shadowy heights of the room achieved a grotesque gracefulness which enabled Dolly to forge the intrinsic ugliness of the house as a whole. The room was oblong, and at each end a door opened into a bedroom. The walls were rough-plastered and whitewashed, and ended unevenly ■ against the brown thatch. And the room was haunted by endless rustlings and whisperings, as insects on little : black legs crawled across it, and wing- 1 ed things, hatching out, broke their ! wing cases. ' There was only one decent piece of 1 furniture, and how it got there nobody knew. A fine old Colonial cupboard 1 stood against one wall, and held the ' two blue glass decanters with scrolled 1 silver labels that David had brought out with him. The chairs were of can- f vas, and pushed back against the wall. s Two quite dreadful oleographs of Queen Victoria and King Edward VII. hung on the wall opposite the two warped French windows that opened n into the verandah. They had been t' there when the Hastings had first ar- s ' rived, with all the rest of the furni- a ture, and though Dolly had at first

whistled and then groaned when she saw them, she had never had the energy to take them down. After all, they had not intended to stay more than a few weeks, so why bother? They had meant to fix capital for the mine, put in a trustworthy man, and then go back to England. But they had been here now —how long? Six months! And still no capital, and still no trustworthy man. How could there be, without the capital. And so still the pictures hung on the wall. “I’ve got to get out,” she thought desperately. “I’ve got to get out before I sink down entirely and don’t care how I live any more.” She looked at Nella, who slept exhaustedly on the- divan, her long bare legs curled up under her cotton frock, her yellow hair falling like a curtain over .her face. One hand was flung out and flopped over the edge of the day bed, a thin hand with long, sensitive fingers; but the nails were cut square and rimmed with dirt, and the palm was calloused. Dolly looked at her watch. Five o’clock. Surely David would be here soon, oh surely. What were they doing back there? Surely he must come soon!

She shivered. The brazier had gone out, and had left behind a staleness in the room. She stretched her legs and got up, and then went to the door. There was not a sound. “He must have coffee,” she muttered aloud, and went into the room to get the tray. But when she got inside she stumbled over the leg of a chair, and fell forward. She grasped at the table. “I’ve got to keep awake,” she murmured. “I’ve got to keep awake,” and poured out a cup of cold black coffee and swallowed it. It tasted foul, but at least it brought her back into wakefulness. She went back on the verandah. The distant sky was perceptibly lighter, and the stars were nothing but pale wraiths. They seemed to flash, like miniature explosions, and then got out. And against the growing light she saw two horsemen riding along the road to the house. David was one, and she was sure that the other was Archie Fellowes.

“I must get them something to eat,” she said to herself, and then to her immense relief she saw Jacob coming round the corner of the house.

” They both looked haggard. David was riding Nella’s mustard-coloured e pony. He dismounted like a tired man, 11 but Archie remained in the saddle. >• “The police are there,” said David S wearily, “and thank God they’ll carry a on now. There’ll be a funeral at sune down tonight,” he added grimly. f “Don’t be horrible,” said Dolly. “Come, in, Mr Fellowes.” “I’ll get back to my own place, if you a don’t mind,” said Fellowes. “Thank you, all the same. How’s Nella—Miss - Howard? c “Asleep,” said Dolly. t “Well, I’ll get on. Thanks. Good1 bye.” He touched his pony with his stir--5 rups and cantered away. Jacob came 1 up and took the mustard-coloured pony, and led it away. David passed a hand across his eyes. “Gosh, I’m nearly dead, Dolly,” he - said. “How did you get on?’ ’ “Better than you’d think,” said Dolly, and rubbed hex- tired eyes with her fists, like a child. “Ach, so!” said David, in a tired imit tation of Piet Groenwald. “Oh, by the - "way, Corporal Hudson is very suspicr icus of Archie Fellowes. It seems that , he had the devil of a bust-up with the ! old man two days ago. But Hudson > has a nasty mind. He seems to think that the natural result of a difference , of opinion is murder, to say nothing : of arson. ■ “Be quiet,” said Dolly, and put fin- ? gers to her mouth. She saw, through , the French windows, that Nella was . awake, and was sitting on the side of ■ the divan with her hands clenched together. David raised his eyebrows. .“Shut up!” she hissed, and nodded ■ her head towards the sitting-room-‘CHAPTER V. As the Hastings went into the room, where the lamp, nearly out now, glowed redly and angrily in the growing light, Nella stood up. Sleep had entirely washed, away the fatigue that had painted her face the night before. Her hair was rumpled, but her eyes had regained their astonishing depth . of colour; and Dolly thought as she stifled a yawn, that it was grand to - be as young as that, and that she herself had been a fool to keep vigil all night long. David looked at his wife, and grinned in an exhausted way. “Were you idiot enough to sit up all night?” he asked. She nodded and put her hand over her mouth as a yawn, inevitable and overpowering as a tidal wave, swept over her. “If you want to go to bed,” said Nella Howard in her flat, childish way, “I shall be all right.” David looked at her suspiciously. “Oh, you will, will you?” he said. “No silly games, no leaving this place and going off somewhere. Dolly needs sleep; so do I. But we can’t sleep unless you promise to be sensible and stay here.” Dolly heard him with a dim amusement. It was rather sound to talk like that; the only way of talking to that child, in fact. “I won’t go anywhere," said Nella. “I haven’t got anywhere to go. But . . .” she hesitated, her eyes dropped, and a hot, painful colour stung her cheeks, “but . . . when is . . .’ ” “Your father’s funeral is this afternoon,” said David gently. “It’s going to be in Klinter’s Dorp. The police are seeing to everything. We’ll drive over £ after lunch.” "I see,” she said. I

"Go to bed," said David to Dolly, who was now leaning against the table with her eyes half shut.

“All right.” she mumbled and went off. swaying with tiredness, to the room on the right. “You and I will have breakfast,” said David to Nella, “and then, if you don't mind, I’ll snatch some sleep myself.” The light was growing stronger every minute, pouring in a golden stream through the French windows. “What do they think happened?” asked Nella.

She looked at him intensely, her eyes very blue and strained. “How can they tell?’’ said Hastings. “If I were you, I wouldn’t think about it just now. You’re too near it. You can’t think straight. It's rotten for you, I know, but don’t make it worse by thinking all sorts of things.” “I’ve got to think,’’ she answered, and her face became convulsed. Tears poured out of her eyes. “I’ve got to think. I can’t help thinking. All my life I’ve thought and thought. There was nothing else to do. Until . . . oh, never mind that. Daddy—Daddy never did anyone any harm, except himself — and they hated him. I don’t see why. They hated me, too. But we weren’t the only people in Rhodesia who were poor, and Daddy wasn’t the only one who drank a lot of brandy. There was Canny Scaife up at Gin Kopje ... he drank. He drank a lot, but no one hated him!” It was all coming out now, thought Hastings, and a good thing perhaps. But it would have been better if it had happened at some other time, at a time when he felt less tired. He got up stiffly and went over to the cupboard, and took out a decanter and glass. Brandy was the only salvation just now. He remembered about Canny Scaife . . a drunken scoundrel if ever there was one. But a convivial scoundrel. A man who drank and swore, like the private of the Buffs, and who cheated newcomers. But this was no time to go into a psychological discussion on mob mentality. The answer was simple, he supposed. Scaife had been a self-confident, roistering scoundrel, with plenty of courage; and he had no women-folk. And Howard had been a miserable failure. It was a curious, thing that single men, unencumbered by women, always got away with things. Nella went on talking. Hastings poured himself out some brandy and came back to the table. “I didn’t love Daddy,” she was babbling, in a wretched scourging honesty. “I—he never gave me a chance. It was my mother he was always thinking about. But he was there, he was somebody who belonged to me. There wasn’t anyone else, no one. Sometimes, people like Hudson would come over,, and they’d talk to him and drink brandy, and they are always laughing at him underneath. I hated them. I hated Hudson. And —I hated Smith, the storekeeper—he used to come over sometimes, too. I hated him! He used to look at me. And there was a man who farms over the other side of the river who used to come. Beasts, all of them. And then —Archie came. He was different. He meant something. I wasn’t alone any longer. But Daddy tried to stop that, he shouted, he ” (To be Continued.)-