To Chase the Storm: The Frontier Series 4 (19 page)

‘Drop it,’ he menaced. ‘Drop it now or I’ll kill ya as you stand.’

‘I was going to kill the wounded man, Sergeant,’ Bronkhurst replied calmly. ‘Not goot he die like this.’

The sergeant’s feverish expression took on a cunning look. ‘Do it, Dutchman,’ he said quietly. ‘Then drop the rifle.’

Bronkhurst fired a shot into the badly wounded soldier’s head, killing him instantly. He released the rifle knowing full well that he would not have a chance of reloading before the English sergeant shot him. ‘We blame the Jewess for killing your man,
Sergeant,’ he said as the rifle lay on the ground beside him.

Karen could taste blood in her mouth and felt that the blow from the soldier’s big fist had smashed some of her teeth. Her head throbbed with pain as the raw nerve ends of where her teeth had been felt the cool night air.

‘You look through her saddlebags,’ the sergeant commanded. ‘An’ I’ll search this bitch meself.’

The Afrikaner obeyed as the sergeant reached down and ripped open the front of Karen’s shirt revealing her small, firm breasts. The soldier felt his lust rising at the sight.

‘Where you got the diamonds hidden, girlie?’ he asked with a snarl. ‘Got ’em in yer fanny?’ he continued as he rose to his feet and stared down at her with glazed eyes. ‘Maybe I should ’ave a look.’

Karen knew that she was a dead woman. She knew with the certainty of her love for the men she treasured in her life – her father, brothers and Saul – that neither Bronkhurst or the English sergeant would let her live. They would use her – probably torture her when they did not find the diamonds – then kill her. She remembered that the sharp knife she had sliced the
biltong
with was beside the fire. The sergeant had not seen it. Now, with all the strength she could muster, she rolled sideways to snatch up the knife.

Her hand wrapped around the handle and she hurled herself at the startled English soldier. He tried to step back but stumbled and fell heavily on his back. She was on him and the knife came down in a
deadly arc, slicing along the side of his face and severing the lobe of his ear. He screamed as Karen raised the knife to deliver the killing thrust to his chest. But it did not come. She reeled back from the bone-snapping blow of a rifle butt to the side of her head. The knife fell from nerveless fingers as she sprawled on the grass, staring up with open eyes.

Bronkhurst stood holding the barrel of the rifle he had snatched from beside the soldier killed moments earlier. The sergeant rose shakily to his feet clutching the side of his face where the blade had carved him open from eye to ear. ‘The bloody bitch is dead,’ he moaned. ‘You killed her, you stupid Dutchman.’

‘Mebbe better she kill you, ya?’ Bronkhurst replied as he crouched beside Karen and expertly ran his hand inside her trousers. ‘She is not carrying the diamonds on her. No diamonds anywhere.’

‘So all this was a bloody waste of time,’ the sergeant snarled as he used a handkerchief to stem the profuse bleeding along the side of his head. ‘There never was any bloody diamonds. All I got is two dead men who I’ve got to explain back in Bloemfontein.’

‘She had diamonds,’ the Afrikaner said quietly as he crouched beside Karen’s body. ‘She was very smart. She has hidden them somewhere we will not find.’

‘Leaves us with burying my men and getting back. And I’m goin’ to need you to come back with me. You can tell how it happened here with the exception of a couple of minor points and that should stop any embarrassing questions. You get what I mean, Bronkhurst?’

‘Ya, I understand, Englisher. Ve vill bury your soldiers. But the Jewess, she can stay here for the animals.’

Bronkhurst dug two shallow graves and the soldiers were buried. When the work was complete the two men mounted their horses and led the other horses, including Karen’s, back towards Bloemfontein. Neither man realised that Bronkhurst had almost found the leather satchel of diamonds as he dug. For Karen Isaacs had prepared her camp very well. She had scraped away some tussocks of grass and buried the bag containing the precious stones a few yards from her campsite. Then she had carefully replaced the tussocks to conceal her hiding place. Bronkhurst had only been mere inches from digging them up. In the morning the scavengers of the
veldt
would come to tear apart the body of the woman Saul Rosenblum loved.

SEVENTEEN

T
he housemaid, Betsy, was immediately impressed by the man with the black leather eye patch who stood tall with the arrogance of a man who feared nothing. She was further charmed when he remembered her name after a period of fifteen years and flattered when he said that she had not aged in all those intervening years. She blushed like a young girl, not a spinster in her early forties.

Michael Duffy was escorted to the library where Lady Enid met him. Tea was ordered and Enid gestured for him to sit in the big leather chair that Patrick so often occupied when he was home. She took a seat behind the great mahogany desk. Having received a letter from Patrick to say that he would be visiting, Enid was not surprised to see Michael.

‘I must say that you are looking exceptionally well for a man reported dead so many times,’ Enid said
with a touch of mirth. ‘Remarkably well, Mr Duffy. Or is it Mr O’Flynn?’

Michael’s grey eye reflected the warmth of a smile for his old adversary. ‘Mr O’Flynn, Lady Macintosh,’ he replied. ‘I’m afraid there is no statute of limitations on a charge of murder in New South Wales. Not even after almost forty years.’

‘Patrick has told me the events surrounding your meeting in South Africa. And of your latest wound,’ Enid said with a note of genuine sympathy. ‘I do hope that you are well recovered.’

‘Yes, thank you. I was once again fortunate with Lady Luck.’

‘He also informed me that you would like to meet with your grandchildren,’ Enid added. ‘You are fortunate too that they are all here today.’

‘I am glad, as I have come for that very reason,’ Michael replied softly. ‘But I would prefer that they meet me as Michael O’Flynn, and not as their grandfather.’

Enid looked at him in surprise.

‘I have my reasons,’ Michael answered her unasked question. ‘Reasons that may not make a lot of sense – except to me.’

A light tap at the library door distracted them as Betsy entered the room with a silver salver upon which she balanced a sterling silver coffee pot, china cups and a small silver jug containing thick, yellow cream. Enid thanked her as Betsy placed the tray on the library desk and left the room.

‘If I remember correctly, you do not take cream in your coffee, Mr O’Flynn,’ Enid said as she poured.

‘You have a good memory,’ he commented with a warm laugh. ‘You forget nothing.’

‘I have forgotten much, I’m afraid,’ she frowned. ‘But I have not forgotten the mistakes that I have made in my life.’

‘We can do little for what is in the past,’ he said to reassure her. ‘I have long learned to live with where I am and who I am with in the present.’

‘Thank you, Mr Duffy,’ Enid said. ‘I have a need to hear your forgiveness. What I have foolishly done in the past has cost us both the same woman.’

‘Your daughter and I were never meant to be together,’ Michael said gently as he accepted the cup and saucer from her frail hand. ‘I believe that she found her truest love with the countess.’

‘I hope God will forgive her the transgressions of her strange love for my niece,’ Enid sighed. ‘I was finally able to reconcile her love for another woman. And I doubt that the Lord is half as judgmental as I. If I may ask,’ she changed the subject that had brought pain to them both, ‘what are your intentions when you leave Sydney, Mr O’Flynn?’

‘I intend to go north to Townsville to see my sister. Her son has enlisted and gone to South Africa with the Bushmen’s Rifles, as no doubt you are now aware from Patrick. She will be in need of my company.’

‘Yes. I had the good fortune to meet your nephew here at this house but I’m afraid none of us suspected who he really was at the time. Otherwise, I would have used my influence to thwart his attempts to enlist. He is a fine boy and I pray the Lord will protect
him. Captain Thorncroft was most distressed losing his services as a photographic assistant. He had a promising future as something called a camera operator, Arthur said, just before he left for England.’

‘I’m sure young Matthew will return safely,’ Michael said. ‘I knew his father and knowing him I feel the boy will survive.’

‘Will you be staying with your sister for a while then?’ Enid asked.

‘Long enough,’ Michael answered. ‘Then I will travel the far reaches of the colony in an attempt to paint again. It is something that I yearn to do before I die.’

‘You appear a long way from death, Mr O’Flynn,’ Enid said with a warm smile. ‘I suspect that you will fill a wagon with your paintings before then.’

‘Well, I hope so. I’ve got this far and I have no intentions of ever seeing another war.’

Enid’s expression suddenly changed and it was as if something had only now dawned on her. ‘Mr O’Flynn,’ she said, ‘I have a rather unusual proposition to put to you.’

The last time Lady Enid Macintosh had put a proposal to Michael he had ended up in the Sudan seeking his son, only to find that she had reneged on the deal. She noticed his concern.

‘Oh, do not appear so worried. No, my proposition is that you take your youngest grandson, Alexander, with you to stay for a short while at our property of Glen View. I know you may not have been considering such a detour in your itinerary, but I hope you might warm to the idea when you meet him.’

‘I would have no objections to having Alexander accompany me,’ Michael replied. ‘In fact I would like to visit the grave of my father on Glen View while I’m out that way.’

‘Good,’ Enid concluded, as if closing a business deal. ‘With both his parents away I know Alexander would benefit from your company on the trip north. I shall write to the manager of Glen View to inform him that you will be coming. You will also have the opportunity to meet Fiona’s eldest daughter, Helen, and her husband while you are there.’

‘Fiona’s daughter,’ Michael echoed, suddenly reminded that his own son had two half sisters. ‘Isn’t Helen married to one of Count von Fellmann’s sons?’

‘Yes, his son Karl,’ Enid answered. ‘He is a Lutheran minister seeking to establish a mission station for the blacks,’ she continued. ‘Helen has requested that the family turn Glen View over for a mission station, but Patrick and I have rejected her request. The property is where my husband and eldest son are also buried, not to mention your father and that nephew of yours.’

‘Peter Duffy,’ Michael offered. ‘He was the son of my brother and a darkie girl called Mondo.’

‘Oh yes, I am sorry, I had forgotten his name. But, as you probably appreciate, the land has great meaning to both our families and as none of the original blackfellows who once inhabited the land around Glen View are left it makes little sense to establish an Aboriginal mission station now. There are many other places Helen and her husband could choose.’

‘I agree, Lady Macintosh,’ Michael said. ‘The old days have gone and the blackfellas have lost their land forever.’

‘I see you understand,’ Enid said. ‘It would be different if any of the full-bloods still lived but it does not appear so. They are all gone.’

‘If any of the full-bloods still lived would that have altered your decision on Glen View?’ Michael asked quietly. ‘Would you have turned the property over to a mission station?’

His question brought a cloud to Enid’s face. He could see the struggle in her expression as she fought to find an answer. ‘If even one full-blood still lived then I would consider my grand-daughter’s request, Mr O’Flynn,’ she finally answered. ‘Then, possibly, we could make recompense in a small way for the injustice we brought down upon these people. I firmly believe that the consequences of that day, almost forty years ago, continue to haunt our present lives. There’s a kind of heathen curse we will never understand. I know I sound like a silly old woman but the passing years have only strengthened my conviction in this. But let us not dwell on things beyond our control. If you have finished your coffee, perhaps it is time to meet your grandchildren.’

EIGHTEEN

P
retoria fell to the British army in early June.

A young lieutenant of the New South Wales Mounted Rifles under the command of Lieutenant Colonel De Lisle, the commander of the Mounted Infantry Brigade, rode alone into the town under a flag of truce to meet with the Boer commander, Commandant General Botha.

Lieutenant Watson from Sydney had tied a white handkerchief to a riding crop and passed through the Boer lines to meet with the famous commander at his private residence. Mrs Botha kindly served tea and sandwiches to the young Australian officer who had not eaten in two days. The British column, under the overall command of Lord Roberts, had pressed relentlessly forward despite a constant hail of bullets and shells.

Botha agreed to meet with Lord Roberts the next
day at Lieutenant Colonel De Lisle’s camp. The surrender was followed by Roberts marching twenty-six thousand of his troops into the last of the Boer capitals to fall to his army.

Saul Rosenblum was struck by the quaint beauty of the town that nestled in a hollow between picturesque hills. The houses reflected their Dutch origin: round turrets and wide verandahs set amongst shady gardens. But everywhere the dust of the
veldt
left a thin sheet of crimson as thousands of iron shod hooves churned up the earth. What also struck the young colonial soldier was the absolute silence of the Afrikaners who lined the streets to witness the bitter acceptance of their defeat against the hated
rooinek Uitlanders.

Saul searched for the street where Karen had told him her father lived. An Englishwoman finally gave him directions and, after his squadron took up a campsite just outside of town, Saul slipped away.

The house was just as Karen had described to him, reflecting a comfortable affluence in its well-kept gardens and traditional Dutch design. A young African woman answered his knock and after a short time returned to say that Mr Isaacs would meet him in the garden. Saul was escorted through the house with its lingering scent of strong tobacco, leather and exotic herbs. At the rear, he found Mr Isaacs bent over, pruning a native shrub with secateurs.