Wild Honey Part 10

However, if instead of possessing the beauty of a May Day Miss Heywood had been the dullest and plainest of girls she would still have enjoyed, for a time at least, the rather enchanting experience of having all the men in Fort Salisbury buzzing about her like bees round a rose on a June morning, and every woman hanging on her lips as if she were the Oracle of Thebes. For she had come straight from England and the charm of "home" still hung about her even as the colour of "home" stayed in her cheeks. She had seen fields--little square fields with hedges growing round them, and b.u.t.tercups growing in them--plucked blackberries and cowslips, ridden to hounds in the Black Vale; heard the jingle of hansom bells, and 'busses rumbling on asphalt, and the boom of Big Ben; tasted London fog, smelt the Thames; seen Charles the First riding down Whitehall, and Nelson's c.o.c.ked hat lost in the mist. She, the latest comer, had seen and done and heard all or any of these dear and desirable things later than any of the homesick exiles in Salisbury; therefore was she most dear and desirable beyond all things that be.

"She was London, she was Torment, she was Town."

There were in Rhodesia women whom men loved or reverenced or tolerated or disliked or desired as the case might be, but, for the time being, one and all of these were neglected and forgotten for the society of "the girl from home."

Five men were on the verge of proposing to her--one of whom by the way was already engaged--when suddenly Maryon Hammond with his dog Boston at his heels dropped up from his mining camp out beyond Mazoe. And when "Marie" Hammond set his gay, bad eyes on a woman's face, and his feet on the path that led to that woman's heart, the other men were just wise enough to drop out of the running and pretend they didn't mind.

Like all great pa.s.sions, it did not take long to come to a head--only a few afternoon rides across the short springy veld gra.s.s, a few moonlit evenings with music in the house and loungers in the verandahs, a supper or two up in the old Kopje Fort, and then the ball got up by Hammond and his cronies at the club.

When, after the fifth waltz, Diane Heywood came into the ballroom from the dim verandah where she had been sitting-out a dance with Maryon Hammond, her eyes were like two violets that had been plucked at dawn with the mists of the night still on them. She had the lovely dewy look of a girl who has been kissed in the darkness by the man she loves; a girl whose heart has waked up and found itself beating in a woman's breast.

They had known each other only a week, but it was plain to see what had come to them. She wore the news in her parted lips, her tinted cheeks, and the little rumple of her hair. He walked as one whom the G.o.ds had chosen to honour, pride-of-life written across his face, yet in his eyes a humility curious in Maryon Hammond. He had met his Waterloo.

Some of the women gave little sighs, not in envy so much as in a kind of sadness that certain beautiful things only come once in each woman's life, however much she may try and repeat or give base imitations of them; and most men felt a sort of warmth in their veins as they looked at those two radiant beings. But a number of people merely contented themselves with feeling extremely glad that the career of Maryon Hammond as a pirate in love was at an end.

For it must here be admitted that the spectacle of a woman holding out her soul in both hands for Maryon Hammond to play with, or walk over, or throw into the fires that burn and consume not, was not an altogether novel one to some at least of those present; it had been witnessed before in various parts of Africa--and the entertainment, it may be mentioned, is not a pretty one when the man concerned is not worrying particularly about souls. People said that Marie Hammond took toll of women's souls for something a woman had once done to his own, long ago in his own country America; but none knew the rights of the story.

Then there was his friends.h.i.+p with the beautiful Cara de Rivas. No one had been quite sure how far, if at all, her soul had entered into that matter; but it was certain that tongues had been set a-wagging, for Maryon Hammond's friends.h.i.+p was a dangerous if fascinating thing for a woman to possess, unless she happened to be the woman he was going to marry. And Cara de Rivas was already married. That was the trouble.

For Nick de Rivas, a big, handsome, if slightly morose fellow was plainly something less than sympathetic with his wife's mid-summer madness; even though, until Hammond called his attention to the matter, he had appeared to be blind and indifferent to the fact that he had a pretty and charming wife.

There had been considerable relief felt when de Rivas in spite of his home and large mining interests being in Mashonaland suddenly decided to take his wife away on a trip to England.

"And no bones broken," sighed Rhodesians, though they sought in vain for confirmation of that or any other legend in the stony stare of Maryon Hammond. They were a romantic people those Rhodesians in the far-off days of 1896, with no rooted objection to illegal adventure, but though Hammond was neither good nor beautiful he had endeared himself to the country in many ways and everyone was glad to think that his stormy career was likely to come to an end in the peaceful harbour of marriage instead of in some more tragic fas.h.i.+on. And no one could help rejoicing that Fate had arranged for the advent of Jack Heywood's sister while the de Rivas were still away, and that the whole affair was likely to be fixed up before the de Rivas' return which, by the way, after the lapse of nearly a year had already been signalled.

The Hammond-Heywood engagement then, was announced about two weeks after the ball at the Club, though everyone knew perfectly well that it had been signed and sealed, so to speak, on that night, the extra two weeks being thrown in as a concession to conventionality and a sort of bonus to the men who had been about to propose. Besides Miss Heywood had a family in England whom it was Hammond's business to consult and beguile, and consultations and beguilements take time as well as money when they have to be conducted by cable. In the meantime, it was plain to see that Love had found Maryon Hammond at last, and that he was loved openly and gladly back. It was for all the world to see--as patent as the silver stars on a purple African night. He would walk rough-shod over everybody in a drawing-room or cricket-field or polo-ground to reach her side, and she would openly and obviously forget everybody else in the place and in the world when he was there. No matter how big or how curious the crowd these two were alone in it when they were together.

People said that it must have been a strange, almost piquant, sensation to Hammond so expert in secret intrigue, so versed in the dissimulation and duplicity of illegal adventure, to be at last conducting a love affair in the open, reckless of the eyes of men, and the tongues of women, because for once the woman in the case had nothing to fear! Be that as it may, a pa.s.sion so fine and frank and careless had never before been seen in a land where great pa.s.sions are not rare, and Salisbury genuflected before it in all reverence and admiration.

It was at this propitious juncture that the de Rivas elected to return.

Their home was not in Salisbury but about seventy miles off, out Mazoe way too, and incidentally not above ten miles from Hammond's own camp, but they put up at a hotel in town for a week or two to give Mrs de Rivas time to recover from the fatigue of a long coach journey, and be welcomed back by old friends. Promptly all the women in the town went to call, and take the news of the Hammond-Heywood engagement.

The Spanish Inquisition is no more, but the gentle art of putting the question accompanied by the watching torture has not yet been lost.

Even when malice is absent, who can eradicate curiosity from the feminine temperament? Cara de Rivas' dearest and most intimate Inquisitors were tender for her, however. They considered it only human that they should desire to know how she was "taking it," but they had no coa.r.s.e intent of putting questions. Merely they hoped to extract a few answers--eyes and lips and incidentally clothes tell so much!

And behold! two of the answers were entirely unexpected.

The first was that Cara de Rivas was as deeply in love with her husband as he was plainly and profoundly in love with her. This was for all the world to see and all the world proclaimed it instantly; but the other and charming piece of news was more subtly distributed. Women conveyed it by means of their eyebrows, with benign little smiles, and cryptic remarks, such as that--"It was all for the best;" "It would make such a bond"; "No more dangerous friends.h.i.+ps;" "_It_ would help the poor thing to forget (if there was anything to forget)!"

Afterwards, all wise people let the story of "the dangerous friends.h.i.+p"

die and be buried, as all things that are dead as nails ought to be buried and put out of sight. And no one but a few scandal-lovers talked of anything but the speedily approaching marriage. The men of Salisbury made Bernard Carr's life a torment to him, accusing him of being busier than a hen with a tin chicken getting Maryon Hammond's trousseau ready, while they went into the matter of that same trousseau with profane and particular detail. For Carr was Jonathan to Maryon Hammond's David, and his love for his friend was outrageous and notorious, pa.s.sing all bounds. Like the mother of Asa he had made an idol in a grove; and the name of the idol was Hammond. The other friend and partner of Maryon Hammond was Girder, a dry, lean fellow of cynical disposition, professing affection for neither man, woman, nor dog; but throughout the long sun-smitten days and rain-soaked nights of that wet, hot January, he was the only man who refrained from joining in the general ribaldry at Carr's expense, just because Carr, the perfect friend, neglected his own affairs to put Hammond's in order, so that the latter might in due time marry and leave the country. While Hammond, gay of heart and wonderfully brilliant of face considering he had no looks, irreproachable always in white duck riding-kit--_grande tenue_ for Salisbury--idled away the sunlit, starlit hours with the moon of his desire that knew no wane.

Strange that the affair of Maryon Hammond's trousseau should occupy the minds and tongues of his friends far more than the threatened rising of the natives! But that was ever the way of Rhodesians in '96. "Take care of the affairs of your neighbour," ran their motto, "and the affairs of the country will take care of themselves." Besides, the natives had threatened so often; it was absurd to be disturbed about them.

The growing restlessness and insolence of the Mashona tribes kraaled in the Salisbury, Mazoe, and Lomagundi districts--that is, within a sixty-mile radius of the capital was in fact notorious, and many of the outlying farmers and miners professed uneasiness; but the Native Commissioners whose business it was to know such things scoffed at their fears. The notion of a rebellion amongst a tribe of people long down-trodden and brow-beaten by the fierce Matabele, and now for the first time enjoying prosperous and unharried life under the white man's rule found the Commissioners sneering incredulously.

"Makalikas show fight!" scoffed Brebner, Head of the Native Department and terror of every black face from Vryberg to Blantire. "Great Lord of War! There is not one 'liver' among the whole fifty thousand of them.

But of course they're cheeky--all n.i.g.g.e.rs are when they get fat, and it takes only one good season with the crops for that. Moreover you must remember that it is now about six years since the Matabele knocked annual spots off them, and they are beginning to forget who it was stopped that by smas.h.i.+ng the Matabele. Therefore they are cheeky, also inclined to think they are great. But you give me ten men and three Cape 'boys' and I'll settle the hash of any ten thousand of them in this blessed country."

This last to the Administrator for whose permission he was nagging to go and "remonstrate" with the ringleaders of a tribal fight down Victoria way. The Administrator smiled at the word. He was aware that Brebner invariably "remonstrated" with a riding-whip, but being a wise man and one who had lived a great part of his life amongst natives he was also aware that Brebner's mode of argument was the best and only one properly appreciated by "our poor black brothers in South Africa" as they are fancifully described at Exeter Hall.

So, eventually, Brebner and suite were allowed to depart upon their hash-settling expedition. They rode out one pink dawn and the veld swallowed them up; thereafter peace fell upon Salisbury, and all talk of a native rising was dismissed. The discussion on Hammond's trousseau was resumed at the Club.

Only Hammond himself did not think it good enough to stay on with his bride in a country which seemed to him unsettled and breathing of war, and he did not hesitate to state his intentions in spite of jeers.

"Why, h.e.l.lo, Marie!" they mocked him at the Club, and quoted remarks from the Gadsbys:

"White hands cling to the bridle rein!"

"You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred," etc.

"_That's_ all right," laughed Hammond serenely. "But I'll take a year off for my honeymoon just the same, and you fellows can put things straight with the n.i.g.g.e.rs. Afterwards, I'll come back and congratulate you and bring up the new machinery for the Carissima."

The Carissima Gold Mine belonged to Hammond and Carr and Girder, and looked like panning out wealth untold in the near future.

"Oh, you're crazy, Marie," said Billy Blake, Head of the Mounted Police, striving to be patient with the renegade. "Love has gone to your head.

There isn't going to be any row with the natives. Compose yourself, my son."

Hammond composed himself as requested in a large lounge chair, his feet on another. Leisurely, and with obvious enjoyment of his pipe he explained that in _his_ opinion Love and War were each good and great and highly desirable things, but he preferred them separate.

"They don't mix," said he; "so we'll divide them this time. You can have the war all to yourself, Blake, and I'll--" he flushed under his copper skin and added gravely, for he made and took no jests on the subject of his amazing happiness, "It's a long time since I've seen Kentucky--I'll take a trip home."

"Oh, you ought to take medicine, Marie--"

"Take a rest--"

"Take a drink--"

"Man, I tell you--"

"Show me the chief of these tin-pot Makalikas who has got the gall to fight--"

"Why, you've got nerve to clear out--"

They clamoured and jeered about him, but he remained cool. His personal courage was too well known for there to be any doubt of it. He had more than earned his laurels as the most daring of scouts in the Matabele trouble of '93, and many another "little war," and could afford, if so inclined, to trim himself from top to toe with white feathers without likelihood of being misunderstood. So he left them to wrangle it out among themselves, and it being after dinner and a whole three hours and a half since he last saw Diane, he went to call on her at the house of Mrs Tony Greville, and Boston, as usual, slouched beside him.

Now Boston as a dog and a gentleman deserves a few words to himself. He was a large, dust-coloured bull-terrier whom Hammond had raised from puppyhood, and in whose muscular carca.s.s the man had by rigid training developed many of his own physical characteristics--that is to say, though Boston was of large ungainly build and always appeared to flounder rather than to walk, he was really as speedy as a greyhound, brave as a lion, and silent in his movements as Fate herself. He could track down anything, and scout with the best man in the country (who happened to be his master), but he spent most of his time tracking that same master; for it was one of the practical jokes and never-failing joys of Salisbury to hide Hammond from his dog. Boston would go through fire and water to regain his love--even the great Ice Barrier wouldn't have stopped him long--but the moment he had Hammond in sight he would a.s.sume an air of cynical indifference, and with his hands in his pockets, so to speak, lounge up and sling himself down with a weary air as though he'd given up all idea of finding what he was searching for,-- certainly not Hammond at all! As for Hammond, he loved his dog as he loved few men; it is doubtful whether, if asked to choose between Boston and his best friend for company in exile, he would have chosen the man.

Knowing full well for what destination his master was now bound, Boston presently went ahead, and before Hammond had reached the house of Tony Greville, where Miss Heywood was staying because Tony Greville was Jack Heywood's best friend, Boston had returned to report that Miss Heywood was not in her usual place in the verandah. Neither was she in the drawing-room; and search by the servants found her absent also from her bedroom. It was only when Boston set his blunt nose towards the Gymkhana Ground that Mrs Greville remembered to have seen Diane strolling off in that direction directly after dinner.

"She's not quite herself this evening, I think, Marie. There were a lot of women here when she got in from her ride with you, and I fancy she overheard something she didn't like. That wretched little gossip Mrs Skeffington Smythe was here."

Mrs Greville looked a little anxiously into his face, and the hard, blue eyes looked back unflinchingly, but as he walked swiftly in the direction of the Gym Ground, alone and with his mask off, his face showed signs of strain.

The night under a rising moon was clear as crystal, and he had no difficulty in descrying Diane's figure across the course where he and she since their engagement was announced (escaping for a little while from an army of friends) often walked in the evenings. Some of their dearest moments had been pa.s.sed sitting where she now sat on the pile of heavy timber by the Grand Stand.

Boston, arrived before his master, sprawled at Diane's feet, and she was gazing before her at the moonlight coming up in waves from the horizon, flooding all the land with cold silver light. Something colder than the moonlight gripped the man's heart for a moment, but he held out his hands to her and spoke her name as though he had nothing to fear. She stood up quickly and put out her hands too--but with a difference; in her gesture there was a subtle suggestion of defence, of warding off something--and when he would have taken them in his, she drew back.

"No, Marie--not yet--there is something you must tell me--"