Zulu Hart (46 page)

support
of a portion of the Native Contingent which he had

brought
up and which was engaging with the enemy. Had Lt

Col Pulleine not been interfered with and been allowed to carry

out
his distinct orders given him to defend the camp, it cannot be

doubted
that a different result would have been obtained.

The paper also contained transcripts of the evidence given to the court of inquiry by various officers who had fought at Isandlwana and lived to tell the tale, including Lieutenant Smith-Dorrien and others who had been with Chelmsford, like Colonels Crealock and Glyn, and Major Clery. It made George’s blood boil to read Crealock’s falsehood that he had ordered Durnford to ‘take command’ of the camp on 22 January. But he had been expecting nothing less, and it came as no surprise to discover that Chelmsford, to protect himself from criticism, had limited the scope of the inquiry to the ‘loss of the camp’; nor that Chelmsford had silenced Colonel Harness, the man he had prevented from returning to the camp during the battle, by making him one of the three members of the court, none of whom were allowed to give evidence.

George, of course, had not been asked to testify; but then nor had he been singled out as one of the heroes of Rorke’s Drift in any of the early reports. He would, he knew, receive no official recognition of the part he had played in either battle. That was his punishment for not going along with Chelmsford and Crealock’s cover-up, and he was happy to accept it.
For now.

The door opened and in stepped a vision of loveliness in a green satin day dress with matching hat and shoes. Her chestnut hair was piled high on her head, the pale beauty of her face offset by a little rouge. She looked so elegant and poised, every inch the
lady
, that it took George some time to recognize her. When he did, his jaw fell.

‘Lucy? Can it really be you?’

She nodded, tears in her eyes. ‘Yes, it’s me. I saw your name in the casualty lists and came as quickly as I could. Tell me you’re not badly hurt!’

‘I’m fine,’ he said, patting his bandaged arm. ‘It’s just a scratch.’

‘It looks more than a scratch. But it seems you’ll live. It’s so good to see you.’

‘And you.’

Lucy bent forward over the bed, put her arms round George’s neck and kissed him on the lips. ‘I missed you,’ she whispered.

‘And I you,’ said George, with genuine conviction. The sight of Lucy, the taste of her lips, had roused feelings of desire he had not expected. They were accentuated by the smell of her perfume, so sensuous in the austere confines of the hospital. ‘Sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to. You’ve obviously done well for yourself.’

‘I get by,’ she said, settling on the side of the bed. ‘I used the last of the money you gave me to get to Kimberley, where I found work in a saloon owned by a former actor called Barney Barnato. He and his brother have some of the most valuable claims in the Kimberley diamond mine. Anyway, he must have thought I had potential because it wasn’t long before he put me in charge. It’s the best saloon in town, with the highest prices, and Barney says he’ll give it to me one day.’

‘Does he now?’ said George, feeling more than a little jealous. ‘And what exactly does this Barney expect in return?’

Lucy blushed. ‘He’s not like that, George, and nor am I. But you haven’t told me about
your
adventures. You joined up, then, like I said you would.’

‘Yes,’ said George, looking out through the window at the hills beyond, ‘though there were times when I wish I hadn’t. War’s a cynical business.’

‘I’m just glad you’re out of it, George. Was it as bad as the papers say?’

‘Worse. My best friend, Jake Morgan, was killed at Isandlwana.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Lucy, taking his hand. ‘But you survived; that’s all that matters to me. What will you do next?’

‘Go back to London. There’s something I have to do.’

‘But you can’t go back!’ said Lucy, her face all concern. ‘They’ll still be looking for Thompson’s killer.’

‘I’ll take my chances. I have to.’

Tears began to roll down Lucy’s cheeks. ‘Please come back to Kimberley with me. At least until
you’re
better.’

‘That’s a tempting offer, Lucy, and very generous considering the way I left you to fend for yourself. But I can’t take you up on it. Not yet, at any rate. I plan to leave Durban by mail packet as soon as I’m well enough to travel.’

‘Well, come for a short stay. I live in a spacious house and you won’t want for attention. I’ll nurse you myself.’

‘I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you.’

‘Why ever not?
I love you, George, I always have.’

‘And I’m very fond of you. But I must tell you this: I’m in love with someone else.’

Lucy released George’s hand.
‘Who?’

‘Her name is Fanny Colenso.’

‘Does she love
you?’

‘I think so.’

‘You
think?
You’re not sure?’

‘No. It’s complicated.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘At her father’s home, I imagine, not far from here.’

‘Has she been to visit you?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve written asking her to come, but she hasn’t yet.’

‘Forgive me for saying this, George, but it doesn’t sound like love to me.’

‘No, not when you put it like that. It’s hard to explain.’

‘Try.’

George closed his eyes. After a pause he said, ‘I wasn’t the only one vying for her affections. I think she was in love with both of us.’

‘Was?’

‘He was killed at Isandlwana.’

‘Leaving the way clear for you.
How very convenient,’ said Lucy, attempting sarcasm but sounding bereft.

‘Yes. No. It’s not like that.’

‘Isn’t it?’

George was silent. What could he
say ?
After a long pause, Lucy stood up. ‘I’m staying at the Plough Hotel and leave for Kimberley at eight tomorrow morning. If you change your mind …’

‘I’m sorry. I won’t.’

‘Goodbye, then.’

‘Goodbye.’

For a long time after Lucy’s departure, George reproached himself for being so heartless. She had, after all, travelled hundreds of miles to see him. Surely he could have found a way to let her down more gently? Possibly, but anything less than brutal honesty would have encouraged false hopes. No, he decided at last, what he had done was for the best. And with that moral certainty clear in his head, he fell asleep.

It was almost dark when George woke from his nap. He was lying on his back, facing the ceiling, and could just make out a shadowy figure seated to his right. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded.

There was no reply, but as George’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he could see it was a woman in dark clothes, wearing a veil. ‘Lucy, is that you again?’

‘No, it’s me.’

‘Fanny! You’ve come at last!’ said George, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve been longing for this moment.’

Fanny’s response was cool, almost distant. ‘There’s something I need to ask you.’

‘Ask away.’

‘Is it true what everyone’s saying, that Anthony’s to blame for the disaster?’

George sat up and turned towards her. ‘No, it’s not true, Fanny. His decision to leave the camp was an error, but he did it because he genuinely believed the Zulus were retreating and might threaten Lord Chelmsford. He still thought of his command as independent of Glyn’s.’

‘But Colonel Crealock has testified under oath that he ordered Anthony to take command of the camp.’

‘He’s lying to save Chelmsford’s skin, and his own of course. I saw the order. It simply instructed Colonel Durnford to move his column to Isandlwana.’

‘So if he wasn’t ordered to take command, he wouldn’t have inherited Pulleine’s orders to act defensively?’

‘Exactly.
At that stage nobody but me had any suspicions the camp might be in danger.’

‘Why were
you
suspicious?’

‘Because we’d received various bits of intelligence the previous day that suggested the main Zulu
impi
was approaching the camp. But Chelmsford ignored all of this. He had been convinced by certain members of his staff, namely Fynn and Crealock, that the Zulus wouldn’t risk a frontal attack and were instead planning to hide in the broken ground to the southeast.’

‘And he was wrong on both counts?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which is why he’s blaming Anthony?’

‘Yes. Dead men can’t defend themselves.’

‘No, but you can defend him. If you know all this, why haven’t you said something?’

‘I intend to, but not in Natal. While Chelmsford is still in command, my voice would quickly be drowned out in a chorus of denial. I might even meet with a convenient accident.’

‘Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?’

‘No, I don’t think I am. Chelmsford and Crealock are fighting to save their reputations, as is Frere. Such men are extremely dangerous. But in Britain I’ll be beyond their reach.’

‘When will you go?’

‘By the next mail.’

‘Meanwhile Anthony’s reputation is being dragged through the mud. It was bad enough hearing about his death. But this is worse. I feel so helpless.’

George leant forward and took Fanny’s hand. ‘He asked me to tell you something, in case he didn’t survive.’

‘What?’
she said eagerly.

‘That he loved you, and would always love you. And that you were right: he should never have fought in a war he didn’t believe in.’

Even before George had finished the first sentence, Fanny began to sob, great heart-rending cries that told him what he did not want to hear: that Fanny loved Durnford and not him. When she had calmed down a little, she asked George why Durnford had not tried to escape.

‘I don’t know. I think he felt partly responsible for the disaster and wanted to make amends by saving as many of the men as possible.’

‘And did he? Make amends, I mean.’

‘I think so. I know I owe him
my
life, which is why I will move heaven and earth to clear his name.’

‘Thank you, George,’ she said, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. ‘That means a lot to me. I know I won’t be able to rest until Chelmsford admits his responsibility.’

‘I will strive for that too, Fanny, but you must accept it might never happen.’

‘Why must I?’

‘Because Chelmsford is a powerful man with many friends to protect him, here and also in Britain.’

‘I don’t care. If he refuses to take his share of the blame I will hound him until my dying day.’

‘That’s madness, Fanny. You’re grieving, and angry, but you can’t let this bitterness destroy your life.’

‘Why should it matter to you?’

‘You know perfectly well. Because I love you,’ he said, his voice quavering with emotion, ‘and
hope
one day to marry you.’

Fanny seemed genuinely shocked. ‘How can you say such a thing, when you know I’m grieving for Anthony? I love you too, George, but not in the way I loved Anthony. From now on all my energies will be devoted to restoring his reputation. I simply won’t have the time, or the inclination, for romance.’

‘You say that now, but—’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Believe me when I tell you my mind is fixed.’

The night passed agonizingly slowly as George drifted in and out of consciousness, his dreams a surreal echo of the past few weeks. In one it was Durnford and not he who rode away from Isandlwana as the Zulus closed in. But the worst, by far, took him back to the hospital at Rorke’s Drift. This time he was not saved by the falling roof; instead he was dragged from under the mattress, pinned to the ground and disembowelled while still alive, his screams continuing long after he woke, his pyjamas bathed in sweat. After that he lay for some time listening to the quiet moans of the other patients, and only as it got light did he allow himself to sleep.

He was woken at 9.30 by the pretty nurse. ‘This was left for you,’ she said, handing over a small white envelope.

He struggled to open it with one hand, so the nurse helped him. She pulled out a folded note, and as she did so something fell from it on to the bed. George looked down and gasped. There, nestling in a fold of the bedclothes, was a cut diamond the size of the nail on his little finger. He picked it up and turned it, its many faces sparkling like a star.

‘Oh, Lieutenant Hart,’ said the nurse, her eyes wide, ‘it’s huge.’

George nodded.
‘Isn’t it just.’

He knew the identity of the donor at once, and the note provided confirmation:

The Lucky Strike Long Street Kimberley Cape Colony

7
February 1879