face, far from handsome: his nose was crooked, his mouth a little large and his fair hair was receding very considerably, and yet his presence was commanding, his intelligence apparent.
“I am sorry, ma’am,” he said stiffly, the color spreading up his bony cheeks. “I hope I have not hurt you?”
“Not in the least,” Nobby said with mild amusement. “And considering the encounter you were avoiding, your haste is understandable.”
The color in his cheeks became even deeper. “Oh … was I so obvious?”
“Only to one who would have done the same,” she replied, meeting his eyes squarely.
“Then we have something in common,” he acknowledged, but with no indication in his voice that he wished to continue further or to make her acquaintance.
“I am Zenobia Gunne,” she introduced herself.
His eyes widened; his attention became suddenly real.
“Not Nobby Gunne?”
“My friends call me Nobby.” Her tone of voice made it apparent he was not yet included in that number.
“Peter Kreisler.” He stood very upright, as if it were a military announcement. “I also have spent much time in Africa and learned to love it.”
Now her interest was quickened also. She introduced Charlotte and Christabel only as a matter of form, then continued the conversation. “Have you? In what part of Africa?”
“Zanzibar, Mashonaland, Matabeleland,” he answered.
“I was in the west,” she responded. “Mostly up the Congo and that region. Although I did also travel up the Niger.”
“Then you will have dealt with King Leopold of the Belgians.” His face was expressionless.
Nobby schooled her features just as carefully. “Only in the very slightest,” she replied. “He does not regard me in the same light as he would were I a man; for example, Mr. Stanley.”
Even Charlotte had heard of Henry Mirton Stanley’s triumphant progress through London only a week or so since, when on April 26 he had ridden from Charing Cross Station to Piccadilly Circus. The crowds had cheered him to the echo. He was the most admired explorer of the age, a double gold medalist of the Royal Geographical Society, a friend of the Prince of Wales and a guest of the Queen herself.
“There is some good fortune in that,” Kreisler said with a bitter smile. “At least he will not ask you to lead an army of twenty thousand Congolese cannibals up to defeat the ‘Mad Mahdi’ and conquer the Sudan for Belgium!”
Nobby was incredulous. Her face was comical with disbelief.
Christabel looked shocked. Charlotte for once was speechless.
“You cannot be serious!” Nobby cried, her voice rising to a squeak.
“Oh, I am not.” Kreisler’s mouth was touched with humor. “But apparently Leopold was. He had heard that the Congo cannibals are excellent warriors. He wanted to do something to make the whole world sit up and take notice.”
“Well that would certainly achieve it,” Nobby agreed. “I can scarcely imagine what a war that would be! Twenty thousand cannibals against the hordes of the ‘Mad Mahdi.’ Oh, my God-poor Africa.” Her face was touched with genuine pity beneath the wry amusement and the bantering tone. One could not mistake that she was conscious of the human misery it would involve.
Beyond their introduction, Kreisler had so far practically ignored both Christabel and Charlotte. He glanced at them to avoid rudeness, but all his interest was with Nobby, and the sense of her emotion had quickened it further.
“That is not Africa’s real tragedy,” he said with bitterness. “Leopold is a visionary, and frankly something of a lunatic. He poses very little real danger. For a start he is extremely unlikely to persuade any cannibals at all into leaving their own jungles. And for another, I would not be surprised if Stanley remains here in Europe anyway.”
“Stanley not go back to Africa?” Nobby was amazed. “I know he has been there for the last three years, and then in Cairo for about three weeks, I hear. But surely after a rest he will return? Africa is his life! And I believe King Leopold treated him like a brother when he went back to Brussels this time. Is that not so?”
“Oh yes,” Kreisler said quickly. “It is almost an understatement. Originally the king was lukewarm, and treated Stanley very offhandedly, but now he is the hero of the hour, studded with medals like a porcupine with quills, and feted like visiting royalty. Everyone is buzzing with excitement over news from Central Africa, and Stanley has but to turn up and he is cheered till people are hoarse. The king enjoys the reflected glory.” There was light in Kreisler’s blue eyes, laughter and pain at the same time.
Nobby asked the necessary question.
“Then why would he not return to Africa? He has left Belgium, so it cannot be that which is holding him.”
“Not at all,” Kreisler agreed. “He has fallen in love with Dolly Tennant.”
“Dolly Tennant! Did you say Dolly Tennant?” Nobby could scarcely believe her ears. “The society hostess? The painter?”
“The same.” Kreisler nodded. “And there has been a great change in her. She no longer laughs at him. It even seems she returns at least a good part of his regard. Times and fortunes have altered.”
“My goodness, haven’t they indeed,” she agreed.
That particular speculation continued no further because they were joined by Linus Chancellor and the tall woman Charlotte had remarked upon earlier. Closer to, she was even more unusual. Her face was curiously vulnerable and full of emotion, which did not detract in the slightest from the strength in it. It was not a weakness, but an ability to feel pain with more intensity than was common. It was the face of a person who would launch herself wholeheartedly into whatever she undertook. There was no caution in it, no withholding for the sake of safety.
Introductions were performed for everyone, and she was indeed Chancellor’s wife, as Charlotte had supposed.
Chancellor and Kreisler appeared to know each other, at least by repute.
“Recently back from Africa?” Chancellor asked politely.
“Two months ago,” Kreisler replied. “More recently than that, from Brussels and Antwerp.”
“Oh.” Chancellor’s face relaxed in a smile. “In the wake of the good Mr. Stanley?”
“By accident, yes.”
Chancellor was obviously amused. Probably he had also heard of King Leopold’s plans to conquer the Sudan. No doubt he had his sources of information every bit as immediate as Kreisler’s. Perhaps it was Kreisler himself. It occurred to Charlotte that it was more than likely.
Christabel Thorne took up the subject, looking first at Kreisler, then at Chancellor.
“Mr. Kreisler tells us he is more acquainted with the east of Africa and the new lands of Zambezia. He was about to tell us that the real tragedy of Africa does not lie in the west, nor in the Sudan, but he was prevented from elaborating by some turn of the conversation. I think to do with Mr. Stanley’s personal hopes.”
“For Africa?” Susannah Chancellor asked quickly. “I thought the king of the Belgians was building a railway.”
“I daresay he is,” Christabel returned. “But we were referring to his amorous intentions.”
“Oh! Dolly Tennant!”
“So we hear.”
“Hardly a tragedy for Africa,” Chancellor murmured. “Possibly even a relief.”
Charlotte was now quite sure he knew about Leopold and the cannibals.
But Susannah was genuinely interested. She looked at Kreisler seriously.
“What do you believe is Africa’s tragedy, Mr. Kreisler? You have not told us. If your regard is as deep as Miss Gunne indicates, you must care about it very much.”
“I do, Mrs. Chancellor,” he agreed. “But unfortunately that does not give me any power to affect it. It will happen regardless of anything I can do.”
“What will happen?” she persisted.
“Cecil Rhodes and his wagons of settlers will press further up from the Cape into Zambezia,” he answered,
