There was a middle-aged man and his wife in the front seat, and he called to Mark. Where are you going, son? Ladyburg sir. Jump in the back, then. Mark rode the last twenty miles sitting high on bagged maize, with a coop of cackling hens beside him and the wind ruffling his stiff newly cropped hair.
They rattled over the bridge across the Baboon Stroom, and Mark marvelled at how it had all changed. Ladyburg was no longer a village, but a town. It had spread out as far as the stream itself, and there was a huge new goods yard below the escarpment in which half a dozen locomotives busily shunted trucks heavily laden with freshly sawn timber from the mills, or with bagged sugar from the new factory.
The factory itself was a monument to the town's progress, a towering structure of steel girders and huge boilers.
Smoke and steam boiled from half a dozen stacks to form a grey mist that smeared away on the gentle breeze.
Mark wrinkled his nose at the faint stink of it on the wind, and then looked with awe down Main Street. There were at least a dozen new buildings, their ornate fagades decorated with scrolls of ironwork, and beautifully intricate gables, stained glass in the main doors and the owner's name and date of construction in raised plaster lettering across the front; but these were all overshadowed by a giant structure four stories tall, crusted with ornamentation like a wedding cake of a wealthy bride. Proudly it bore the legend Ladyburg Farmers Bank. The driver of the truck dropped Mark on the sidewalk in front of it, and left him with a cheery wave.
There were at least a dozen motor vehicles parked among the scotch-carts and horse-drawn carriages, and the people on the streets were well dressed and cheerfullooking, the citizens of a prosperous and thriving community.
Mark knew one or two of them from the old days, and as he trudged down Main Street with his pack stung over one shoulder, he paused to greet them. There was always a momentary confusion until they recognized him, and then, But, Marky, we heard, we thought you'd been killed in France. It was in the Gazette. The Land Deeds Registrar's Office was in the sprawled labyrinth of Government offices behind the Magistrate's Court and Police Station. There had been plenty of time to think on the long journey up from Andersland, and Mark knew exactly what he was going to do, and in what order.
There was a cramped space in the front of the office with an uninviting wooden bench, and a plain deal counter.
There was an elderly clerk with nearsighted eyes behind steel-rimmed spectacles, and a peaked green eyeshade on his forehead. He looked like an ancient crow in his black alpaca jacket with paper guards over his cuffs, and a bony beak of a nose, as he crouched over his desk making a Herculean task of stamping a pile of documents.
He worked on for a few minutes. Mark patiently read the Government notices that plastered the walls, until the clerk looked up at last with the exasperated air of a man interrupted in a labour that might alter the destiny of mankind. I'd like to look at a land deed, please sir A certain piece of extinguished quit-rent land situate in the division of Ladyburg being Err. No. 42 Of Division A of One. The farm known as ANDERSLAND . . .
Deed of Transfer passed in favour of Ladyburg Estates Ltd registered at Ladyburg on ist day of June, 19. rg.
Knowall men whom it may concern that DENNIS PETERSEN
appeared before me, Registrar of Deeds, he, the said appearer, being duly authorized by a power of attorney executed at Ladyburg on the 12th day of May, 1919, by JOHN ARCHIBALD ANDERS which power was witnessed in accordance with law . . . and that the said appearer declared that his principal had truly and legally sold. . .
Mark turned to the next document.
Agreement of Sale of Immovable property That TOHNARCHIBALD ANDERS, hereinafter known as the Seller, and LADYBURG ESTATES LTD hereinafter known as the purchaser, the Farm known as ANDERSLAND, together with all improvements and buildings, standing crops, implements and livestock for the consideration of Three Thousand Pounds Sterling In witness whereof the parties set their hand.
JOHN ARCHIBALD ANDERS (his mark) X For and on behalf of LADYBURG ESTATES LTD DIRK COURTNEY (DIRECTOR) As witnesses of the above:PIETER ANDRIES GREYLING CORNELIUS JOHANNES GREYLING Mark frowned at the two names. Piet Greyling and his son had accompanied the old man up to Chaka's Gate almost immediately after witnessing the Deed of Sale, and they had found him dead a few days later and buried him out there in the wilderness.
General Power of Attorney in favour of DENNIS PETERSEN.
I, the undersigned, JOHN ARCHIBALD ANDERS do hereby empower the above-mentioned DENNIS signed JOHNARCHIBALD ANDERS X (his mark)
as witness PIETER ANDRIES GREYLING.
CORNELIUS JOHANNES GREYLING.
Mark pored over the bundle of stiff legal parchment with its fancy printing and red wax seals with dangling ribbons of watered silk. Carefully he copied out the names of the parties involved in the transaction into his notebook and when he had finished, the clerk who had been jealously watching his precious papers reclaimed them and reluctantly handed over an official receipt for the five-shilling search fee.
The office of the registrar of companies was directly across the narrow lane, and here Mark was received in a different mood. The keeper of this gloomy cavern was a young lady dressed in severe dove-grey jacket and long sweeping skirt which was at odds with her lively eyes and pert air.
The pretty little face, with freckled snub nose, lit with a quick appreciative smile as Mark came in through the door and within minutes she was helping him in a comradely and conspiratorial manner as he perused the memoranda and articles of association of Ladyburg Estates Ltd. Do you live here? asked the girl. I haven't seen you before. No, I don't, Mark answered warily without looking up at her. He was finding it difficult to concentrate on the documents, and he remembered vividly his last encounter with a young girl. You're lucky. The girl sighed dramatically. It's so dull here, nothing to do after work in the evenings. She waited hopefully, but the silence drew out.
The Directors of Ladyburg Estates were Messrs Dirk Courtney and Ronald Beresford Pye, but they held only a single share each, just sufficient to qualify them to act as officers of the company.
The other nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight ordinary fully paid up five-
