Her hand was on her revolver, and it was her intention to wheel round and shoot before he could aim his gun. But as she turned she heard a shot from behind him and saw him fall. Daphne heard his assailant retreating in the bush behind him, and then on the veldt track the fading sound of bicycle wheels.
Old Tuys was still conscious. He had been hit in the base of the neck. Daphne looked down at him.
“I’ll send them to fetch you,” she said.
The following week the police made half-hearted raids on the native dwellings in the district. No firearms were discovered. In any case, Daphne had called in at the police station, and told her old friend, Johnnie Ferreira, that if any man black or white was brought to trial for shooting Old Tuys, she would give evidence for the assailant.
“Old Tuys was after you, then?”
“He was. I had a revolver and I intended to use it. Only the other got him first.”
“Quite sure you didn’t see who shot him?”
“No. Why?”
“Because you say ‘black or white’. We have been more or less assuming it was a native since we understand the man had a bicycle.”
“Black or white,” said Daphne, “it makes no difference. He was only doing his duty.”
“Oh, I know,” said Johnnie, “but we like to know the facts. If we got the man, you see, there are good grounds for having the charge against him dismissed, then we should bring Old Tuys on a charge when he comes out of hospital. It’s about time Chakata was rid of that slug.”
“Well, you haven’t got the man,” said Daphne, “have you?”
“No,” he said. “But if you have any ideas, come and let’s know. Think it over.”
Daphne parked the car at the foot of Donald Cloete’s kopje and climbed slowly, stopping frequently to look at the wide land below, the little dorp, the winding main road, and faintly, the farm roofs in the distance. She took in the details like a camera, and as if for the first time, for soon she would be gone to England.
She sat on a stone. A lizard slid swiftly between her feet and disappeared among the grasses.
“Go’way. Go’way.”
The sound darted forth and vanished. Two or three times she had seen the go-away bird. It was quite colourless, insignificant. She rose and plodded on.
“D or S, Donald?”
“So-so. Come in.”
“Johnnie Ferreira wants to bring a charge against Old Tuys,” she said, “for his attempt on me the other day.”
“I know,” he said, “Johnnie’s boys have been here.”
“What did you say?”
“I told them to try elsewhere.”
There were few white men in the Colony who rode bicycles, and only one in the district. Bicycles were used mostly by natives and a few schoolboys. All the children were away at school. Daphne’s unknown protector was therefore either a passing native or Donald doing his rounds. Moreover, there was the question of the gun. Few natives, if they owned firearms, would be likely to risk betraying this illicit fact. And few natives, however gallant, would risk the penalty for shooting a white man.
“Why not let them put Old Tuys on charge?” said Daphne.
“I don’t prevent them,” he said. “They can go ahead.”
“They need a witness,” she said. “Otherwise it’s his word against mine. Old Tuys would probably be acquitted on appeal.”
“Nothing doing,” he said. “I don’t like the law-courts.”
“Well, it was very nice of you, Donald,” she said. “I’m grateful.”
“Then don’t talk to me about law cases.”
“All right, I won’t.”
“You see,” he said, “how it is. Chakata wouldn’t like the scandal. All the past might come out. You never know what might come out if they start questioning Old Tuys in the courts. Old Chakata wouldn’t like it.”
“I think he knows what you did, Donald. He’s very grateful.”
“He’d be more grateful if Old Tuys had been killed.”
“Did you catch Old Tuys on purpose or did you just happen to be there when Old Tuys came after me?” she inquired.
“Don’t know what you mean. I was putting up the Foot and Mouth notices that day. I was busy. I’ve got more to do than keep Old Tuys in sight.”
“I’m going away next week,” she said, “for about two years.”
“So I hear. You have no conception of the greenness of the fields. It rains quite often … Go to see the Tower … Don’t return.”
2
Linda Patterson, aged twenty-eight, was highly discontented. Daphne could not see why. She herself adored Uncle Poohbah with his rheumatism and long woollen combies. Only his constant threats to sell the damp old house and go to live in some hotel alarmed Daphne at the same time as the idea gave hope to her cousin Linda. Linda’s husband had been killed in a motor accident. She longed to be free to take a job in London.
“How could you leave that lovely climate and come to this dismal place?” Linda would say.
“But,” Daphne said happily, “this at least is England.”
Not long after she arrived Aunt Sarah, who was eighty-two, said to Daphne, “My dear, it isn’t done.”
“What isn’t done?”
Aunt Sarah sighed, “You know very well what I mean. My nightdresses, dear, the rayon ones. There were three in my drawer, a green, a peach, and a pink. I only discovered this morning that they were gone. Now there is no one else in this house who could have taken them but you. Clara is above reproach, and besides, she can’t climb the stairs, how could she? Linda has lots of nighties left over from her trousseau, poor gel –”
“What are you saying?” said Daphne. “What are you saying?”
Aunt Sarah took a pin out of her needle-box and pricked Daphne on the arm. “That’s for stealing my nighties,” she said.
“She’ll have to go to a home,” said Linda. “We can’t keep a daily woman for more than a week because of Aunt Sarah’s accusing them of stealing.”
Pooh-bah said, “D’you know, apart from that one thing she’s quite normal, really. Wonderful for her age. If we could only somehow get her to realize how utterly foolish she is over that one thing –”
“She’ll have to go to a home.”
Pooh-bah went out to look at the barometer and did not return.
“I don’t mind, really,” said Daphne.
“Look at the work she causes,” said Linda. “Look at the trouble!”
Next day, when Daphne was scrubbing the kitchen floor Aunt Sarah came and stood in a puddle before her. “My Friar’s Balsam,” she said. “I left a full bottle in the bathroom, and it’s gone.”
“I know,” said Daphne, scrubbing away, “I took it in a weak moment, but now I’ve put it back.”
“Very well,” said Aunt Sarah, trotting off and dragging the puddle with her. “But don’t do it again. Pilfering was always a great weakness