“If some of Linus Chancellor’s plans go forward, and the men he is allied with, who are putting up enormous sums of money to colonize the interior … I’m speaking about Mashonaland, Matabeleland, the shores of Lake Nyasa, or on towards Equatoria … as they plan to, because they believe there is unlimited gold there,” she replied, “then hordes of people will follow who are not in the least interested in Africa or its peoples, or in developing the land for themselves, or their children, but simply to rape it of its minerals.” A butterfly drifted past them and settled on an open flower.
“There’ll be profiteers of every kind, swindlers and cheats will be the least of them; there’ll be violent men with their own private armies, and one by one they will draw in the native tribal chiefs. The internal wars are bad enough now, but they are only armed with spears. Think of it when some have guns and others don’t.”
She turned to face Vespasia. “And don’t underestimate the Germans. They have a very powerful presence in Zanzibar, and are keen to press inland. There’s been fearful bloodshed there already. And that may not be the worst of it. The Arab slavers will protect their interests by force, if they can. They have risen against the Germans once already.”
“Surely the government is aware of all this?” Vespasia asked dubiously.
Nobby turned back to the garden, shrugging her shoulders very slightly. “I don’t know if they believe it. It all seems different when you talk about it in England, so many names on paper, secondhand accounts, and all very far away. It’s different when you’ve been there, and loved it, when you’ve known the people. They are not all noble savages with clear eyes and simple hearts.”
They were walking again very slowly over the soft grass. She laughed jerkily. “They can be as devious and exploitative as any white man, and just as despotic. They can sell their enemies into slavery to any Arab who will buy them. It is the customary way to deal with prisoners of war. I don’t think it’s the morality that’s the difference; it’s the degree of power.” She blinked hard. “It’s our modern inventions, gunpowder, steel, our massive organization … we can do so much more evil, or good, with it. And I am so afraid with the greed for profit, the hunger for empire, it will be mostly evil we do.”
“Is there anything to be done to prevent it?” Vespasia asked her. “Or at least to moderate it?”
“That is what troubles me,” Nobby replied, starting to walk away from the border back across the lawn towards the shade of the cedar tree. They both sat down on the white bench.
“I am uncertain, and confused at present, but I feel that there is. I have spoken a little lately to Mr. Kreisler. He is very recently returned, and I respect his opinions.” There was a very faint trace of color in her cheeks, and she did not look at Vespasia. “He was familiar with Abushiri, the leader of the rebellion against the Germans in Zanzibar. I gather it was principally a group of ivory and slave traders, who were beginning to feel restricted in their activities, but it was put down very messily. I confess, I know very little. Mr. Kreisler only mentioned it in passing, but it left me with an increasing anxiety.”
Vespasia felt it too, but for different reasons. She was aware of the fall of Otto von Bismarck, the brilliant chancellor of Germany, the virtual creator of the new unified country. His nominal master, the old Kaiser, had been ill at the time, and died very shortly afterwards, of cancer of the throat. Now the sole ruler of the young and enormously vigorous state was the youthful, headstrong, supremely confident Kaiser Wilhelm the Second. German ambitions would know no cautious or restraining hand.
“I remember Livingstone’s early years,” Nobby said with a self-conscious smile. “That makes me sound old, doesn’t it? How excited everyone was then. Nobody said anything about gold or ivory. It was all a matter of discovering people, finding new and wonderful sights, great cataracts like the Victoria Falls.” She stared up through the dark green boughs of the cedar at the brilliance of the sky. “I met someone who had seen it once, just a few months earlier. I was standing outside in the evening. It was still hot, really hot. England is never close to the skin like that, touching, breathing heat.
“All the acacia trees were flat-topped against a sky burning with stars, and I could smell the dust and the dry grass. It was full of insects singing, and half a mile away at the water hole, I heard a lioness roar. It was so still, I felt as if I could have reached out and touched her.”
There was a sadness close to tears in Nobby’s face. Vespasia did not interrupt her.
“The man was an explorer who had set out with a party. A white man,” Nobby went on quietly, almost as if to herself. “He was ill with a fever when he reached us. He staggered into our camp so exhausted he could barely stand. He was wasted until he was skin and bone, but his face lit up when he spoke and his eyes were like a child’s. He had seen it some three months before … the greatest cataract in the world, he said … as if the ocean itself poured off the cliffs of the sky in an endless torrent, leaping and roaring into a chasm of which one could not see the bottom for the white spume flying and the endless rainbows. The river had a dozen arms, and every one of them flung itself into that gorge and the jungle clung to the sides and leaned over the brink in a hundred different places.” She fell silent.
“What happened to him?” Vespasia asked.
Somewhere above them a bird was singing in the cedar tree.
“He died of fever two years later,” Nobby answered. “But please God the falls will be there till the end of time.” She stood up again and began to walk back across the grass towards the house, Vespasia behind her. “I’m sure tea must be ready. Would you care for some now?”
“Yes please.” Vespasia caught up with her.
“Mr. Kreisler hunted with Selous, you know,” Nobby continued.
“Who is Selous?”
“Oh! Frederick Courtney Selous, a marvelous hunter and scout,” Nobby replied. “Mr. Kreisler told me Mr. Selous is the one leading the Rhodes column north to settle Zambezia.” The shadow was back in her face, and yet there was a lift in her voice, a subtle alteration when she spoke Kreisler’s name. “I know Mr. Chancellor is backing Rhodes. And of course Francis Standish’s bank.”
“And Mr. Kreisler disapproves,” Vespasia said. It was not really a question.
“I fear he has reason,” Nobby answered, looking across at Vespasia suddenly. “I think he loves Africa genuinely, not for what he hopes to gain, but for itself, because it is wild and strange, beautiful and terrible and very, very old.” There was no need to say how much she admired him for it; it shone in her face and whispered in the gentleness of her voice.
Vespasia smiled and said nothing. They continued side by side across the lawn, their skirts brushing the grass, and went up the steps and in through the French window to take tea.
There was a charity bazaar the day after which Vespasia had promised to attend. It was being conducted by an old friend, and in spite of disliking such events, she felt obliged in kindness to support her efforts, although she would far rather simply have donated the money. However she thought Charlotte might find it entertaining, so she dispatched her carriage to fetch her if she wished.
As it turned out, it was not at all as she had expected, and the moment she and Charlotte had arrived, she knew it would at least be entertaining, at best possibly informative. Her friend, Mrs. Penelope Kennard, had omitted to tell her that it was a Shakespearean bazaar, where everyone who had any official part in the proceedings dressed as a character from a Shakespearean play. As a result they were greeted at the garden gate by a very handsome Henry V, who bade them welcome in ringing tones. And almost immediately after they left him, they were assaulted by a villainous Shylock demanding money or a pound of flesh.
Startled only for a moment, Vespasia good-naturedly handed him a handsome entry fee for herself and Charlotte.
“Good gracious, whatever next?” she murmured as they passed out of earshot and towards a stall where a young society matron was attired as Titania, Queen of the Fairies from
“Effective!” Charlotte said with reluctant admiration.
“Oh very,” Vespasia agreed, smiling to herself. “The last time Penelope did one of these bazaars it was all characters from Mr. Dickens, and not nearly so much fun. They all looked rather alike to me. Look! There! Do you see Cleopatra selling pincushions?”
