The Last Horseman (26 page)

‘I can make tea,’ she offered. And then apologetically, ‘I don’t have coffee – well, we do, chicory, but...’

The two men shared a glance like two schoolboys in the presence of a benevolent teacher. They both nodded and muttered their acceptance.

She smiled as if it was a small victory. ‘Good.’ She stepped to the kitchen and half turned. ‘I have only tinned milk, by the way, there’s no fresh milk... or fruit or vegetables come to that... which is why there is so much illness in the camp.’

‘Black tea would be fine, thank you, Mrs Charteris,’ said Pierce.

She gazed at them for a moment longer. ‘It is an absolute miracle you’ve come. And at exactly the right time. The conditions in the camps are deteriorating and we are sorely in need of a champion like yourself, Mr Radcliffe. I want to hear everything that you have planned, when the others are coming, what the government has said. I can’t tell you what an enormous relief it is that you’ve responded to my letter. I knew that would do the trick.’

Radcliffe fingered his hat, uncertainty gnawing at him. ‘What letter might that be?’

Benjamin Pierce sipped his tea as he sat in the shade of Evelyn Charteris’s stoep. The verandah offered a view of the dusty street and in the distance the start of the barbed wire encampment. Best leave Joseph and the woman alone, he had decided when she learned that no delegation from England followed them. He shook his head and sighed. That woman had a temper. By God she did. She’d fair torn a strip off Joseph. Made it plain as day what she thought. Why in God’s name had he come all this way if it was not in response to her letter begging him to reach out to those people of influence whose liberal thoughts and concerns needed to be expressed with action? If a delegation could not be brought from England to see the conditions in these camps then women and children would die in their thousands.

Pierce nursed the china cup and touched a finger to the moisture on his moustache. Mrs Charteris had calmed when Radcliffe told her about Edward, and the belief that he might have been wounded. The woman knew nothing of Radcliffe’s son, but a father’s pilgrimage had softened her temper. Pierce drank the cup dry. A warm sense of contentment settled momentarily on him. It was gratitude. Thank God he had never married.

*

Sallow-faced children peered across their fingertips beyond the barbed wire. Their dirt-streaked faces and imploring eyes cut into Radcliffe’s heart as he and Evelyn walked past.

‘Women and children shouldn’t be treated like this. I’ll do what I can, but I have to find my son first,’ said Radcliffe.

The children obviously knew Evelyn and muttered words of respectful greeting to her. One of the women was bent over a washboard at the entrance of a bell tent and straightened to look at them as they passed. Radcliffe noticed that despite the dire conditions these women endured they showed no sign of being victims at the hands of their captors. The proud-looking woman faced them and gave an almost imperceptible nod to Evelyn.

Evelyn Charteris did not slow her pace or alter her stride; she wanted Radcliffe to walk the wire and see what could not be experienced in a letter, no matter how passionately it had been written.

‘These people scraped a living from the land but they ate fresh food. They were healthy. Now they’re given only tinned beef. There’s no milk for the babies, no vegetables, no jam, a pound of corn meal and half a pound of meat a day. There was no meat at all to start with. Our Lord Kitchener has the ear of the British government; they like his proposals of using reduced-scale army rations. Not feeding these people properly saves the government money. Their diet is more restricted than that of soldiers in the barrack room; it leaves these people malnourished and allows the rapid spread of disease.’

‘But there are civilians running the camps?’ said Radcliffe. ‘Or so I’ve heard. It’s not all military, is it?’

‘No, but who controls everything? The military, of course. We have one doctor and a few nurses for all these women and children. They are mostly
bywoners.
Sharecroppers, dirt-poor tenant farmers,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘Few of them knew any illness because they lived such remote lives but now there’s a dozen or more to a tent, disease goes through the camp like wildfire. This is why I wrote to you.’

‘I passed your letters on to the newspapers,’ he answered. ‘There was not much more I could do.’

‘It wasn’t enough,’ she said.

Radcliffe offered no defence. There was little concern in Britain for the fate of farmers’ wives. ‘But I promise you, I will do anything I can to make them aware of what the high command is doing here. I will stop this,’ he said.

A couple of soldiers guarding the perimeter fence walked by, rifles slung over their shoulders. They looked suspiciously at Radcliffe, but nodded to Evelyn.

‘Mrs Charteris,’ said one in greeting. ‘Not planning any trouble today, I hope?’

‘Not today, Albert,’ she answered. She was obviously acquainted with the soldier. Once the men were out of earshot she glanced back at them. ‘I’ve seen him give boiled sweets to the children. Even those who serve here don’t necessarily like their duty.’

‘Pierce and I have witnessed violence inflicted on women and children before now. Soldiers don’t have the luxury of refusing to do their duty. Thank God these women and children are not flogged... or worse,’ Radcliffe said. Rape was not unknown to armies at war but as far as he could see the British held their men in check. Despite these being harsh times he knew that soldiers guilty of violating their orders were dealt with by the severest punishments. Some soldiers had been hanged for looting, despite it being commonplace and almost considered a soldier’s right – but more violent acts against women were perhaps held in check by the hatred the Boer women felt for the invaders and the fear of severe retribution by the military.

She glanced at him. She knew that he had been a cavalry officer. Had he been one of those who had ordered such violence in his time? If that was the case then her own judgement of the man was wrong. She quickly dismissed the thought. Joseph Radcliffe’s reputation went before him.

‘These women are not abused by their captors. I’m not saying the superintendents of the camps are bad people, they have no evil intent, but their incompetence is magnified by their lack of supplies. Their own soldiers are dying in their hundreds from disease... but women and children are suffering and dying needlessly.’

He waited patiently as she expressed her frustration and helplessness at the hollow-cheeked torment that stared at her from the other side of the barbed wire.

‘There are times when enteric fever goes through them like a bushfire. It’s malignant. If we had fresh milk that would help nourish them, give them strength. We have a few chickens which give us a meagre ration of eggs, for the really sick, and giving that with biscuits and rice helps. But when the fever grips they need ice packs and where would we get those? Sponge baths are the best we can do for the children, but when it turns to pneumonia we need poultices. We manage to get some supplies – not always legally. Codeine, beta-naphthol, zinc sulphocarbonate, tincture of capsicum, ergotine for haemorrhage.’ She hesitated, a frown creasing her forehead. ‘Some of the women use it to bring on abortion. I’m not sure I can blame them.’

She fell silent. Radcliffe knew that she did not have a child of her own. Perhaps a childless woman saw the purging of a baby from the womb as some kind of irretrievable loss.

As if the thought of the dying children triggered her desire to help, she remembered Radcliffe’s torment. ‘I’ll ask about your son. There’s a fairly decent officer here; he might know something and then –’

‘Missus!’ a voice called. They turned to see Sheenagh O’Connor rein in her horse. She was already clambering down from the buggy. ‘Missus Charteris. Thank God I’m not too late.’

Evelyn stepped quickly to her and took her by the arm. ‘Not here, Sheenagh. The house.’

Radcliffe took the horse’s bridle and guided it after the women.

‘But the train,’ said Sheenagh. ‘I’ve brought another sack of...’ She glanced nervously at the stranger who held her horse. ‘Y’know... for the women and kids, those on the train. They’ll need it.’

‘What train?’ asked Evelyn.

‘The one they’re sending out today to Swartberg.’ She glanced towards the railway siding and the idling steam engine. ‘I was worried I’d be too late but I see they’ve not loaded them yet.’

‘What are you talking about? There’s no train leaving here today.’

Sheenagh suddenly looked frightened, eyes darting from the rail siding back to Evelyn.

‘What is it?’ Evelyn asked.

‘Mother of God. It’s a trap is what it is.’

*

Evelyn and Radcliffe escorted a flustered Sheenagh O’Connor into the house. Pierce, as requested by Evelyn, tipped a decent measure of brandy into a glass for the Irish girl.

‘You gave favours to British officers to get medicines for the camp, and one of them told you that they were shipping women and children from here. Today?’ said Radcliffe.

‘Aye, the bastard... Oh!’ She quickly looked in apology to Evelyn.

‘You’re not the only woman to hear rough language from soldiers,’ said Evelyn as Radcliffe pulled up a chair to sit close to her and take one of her trembling hands in his own.

‘Were the British testing you? Just wanting to see who it was that brought medicines to the camp?’ he asked.

Sheenagh looked startled. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that’s all it is. Do you think?’

Radcliffe tried to reason it out with her. ‘You were fed a lie to bring you here today. If someone has followed you then they still have no proof against you unless they saw you with the army satchel.’ He sensed that another piece of the story was missing.

So did Pierce. ‘They would have wanted to catch you red-handed with the medical supplies because then you would have been forced to tell them where you got them from. Perhaps they’re after one of their own for aiding and abetting the enemy.’ Pierce eased the lace curtains aside. ‘Well, there’s no sign of anyone tailing you.’

Sheenagh clung to that hope for a few moments. ‘That’d be fine. Worst they could do was put me away. That’s what it must be.’

‘It’s an officer you know?’ Evelyn asked.

‘A friend... of sorts... if you see what I mean.’

‘His name?’ said Radcliffe.

‘Ah, well, now, I’m asking m’self just how involved he is in this. Mebbe it’s him they want to snare as well. If they nab me then I’ll tell them who it was that gave me the stuff. Sometimes it’s best to keep your trap shut until you need to spill the beans.’ She looked to Radcliffe and Pierce. ‘I don’t know who you are, sir, but I thank you for your kindness and concern for my welfare.’

Evelyn pressed a hand against her arm. ‘Forgive me. These gentlemen are from Dublin –’

‘Dublin is it? That’s the damnedest accent I’ve heard from those parts.’

‘Mr Radcliffe and Mr Pierce are here looking for Mr Radcliffe’s son,’ Evelyn explained. ‘There’s a chance he’s joined the irregulars.’

Sheenagh’s hand went to her lips. ‘Mary, Mother of God. Edward Radcliffe is your boy.’

Radcliffe pushed the chair back in surprise.

Sheenagh swallowed the brandy and looked at the startled faces around her. ‘There’s a story I have to tell you.’

She told them what little she knew of Edward being shot and how Liam Maguire had brought him to her. He was a brave enough lad, there was no doubt about that, but he certainly wasn’t riding with the British. Radcliffe and Pierce listened without interruption until she had finished.

‘Someone had to attend to his wound,’ she said finally. ‘The British would have been too suspicious and Maguire and the others couldn’t risk that.’

‘It’s more than you they want,’ Radcliffe said. ‘There has to be another train leaving from somewhere else. They want to draw the commando into an ambush. Is my boy a part of Maguire’s group?’

‘No, the lad’s just riding to tell them is all.’

‘Then we have to get to them before they spring the trap. And you must make yourself scarce. I thank you for the risk you took in caring for Edward.’

‘He’s a stubborn lad, and I’ve no doubt he’ll make himself useful. But, Mr Radcliffe, it’s damned near a day’s ride to the commando from here.’

‘I’ll find them,’ Radcliffe said.

Evelyn took Sheenagh’s hands in her own and brought her to her feet. ‘The British must realize that you’ve been passing on medical supplies and perhaps even information. You need to get away. There’s a train to Cape Town from Langfontein. That’s a few hours down the line.’

‘You’re right. Time I made m’self scarce,’ said Sheenagh as Pierce opened out the map case on the table.

‘Don’t go back to town. Stay away from any soldiers,’ Radcliffe told her.

She thought of her hidden stash of money beneath the floorboard in her room. Hard-earned money. She’d need that if she was to escape. ‘Difficult that, for a girl like myself, Mr Radcliffe, but under the circumstances I’ll heed your advice,’ she lied and added a smile.

There was little time for anything more to be said. They ushered the girl outside and with a wary eye for any suspicious activity from the garrison soldiers Radcliffe and Pierce tightened their saddle cinches as Evelyn helped Sheenagh on to the buggy. Radcliffe took Evelyn to one side.

‘I promise you I will do whatever I can to help when I get home,’ he said.

In the moment that she cupped his rough hands between her own, she felt something more than his warmth. In the brief time since they had met, his kindness and strength had caught her unawares, so marked was the contrast to the harsh world that surrounded her. Whatever this new feeling was, it caused a flush of colour to her neck. Had he noticed? she wondered.

‘I wish the circumstances of our meeting had been different,’ he said gently, and let his eyes settle on her longer than was necessary. His smile seemed one of regret.

She nodded. ‘Do take care, Mr Radcliffe. And I will pray for your son’s safety.’