A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,65
it back and she put on a deliberately blank expression.
Ryder rose and thanked her. “I’m going back to my place to put a few things in order. I’ll be back after luncheon and we’ll head out then.”
When he left, Dora looked up sharply from the teapot. “I don’t see why you must do this. Surely Sir Nigel never intended—”
“Nigel isn’t here,” I reminded her.
She went on patiently. “Even so, if he knew, I cannot believe he would want you to risk your very life over such a thing.”
“Such a thing?” I kept my voice gentle. “A child is dead, Dora.”
She winced. “I know. And I don’t mean to sound uncaring—”
“Then don’t.”
Her pale complexion flushed deeply. “I say, that isn’t fair. I take an interest in their welfare, a healthy interest,” she said, stressing the word healthy. “But I think it shows a strange sort of arrogance to involve oneself so deeply in their affairs.”
“Arrogance?”
“Yes,” she said, two spots of colour still high on her cheeks. “We are not meant to understand them, Delilah. Their ways are simply too different. The role of the white in Africa ought to be a simple one—to set an example of learning, of civilisation, of good management.”
I let her ramble on in that vein for a few minutes before I stopped her with an upraised hand and a thin smile.
“I’ve heard it before, Dora. You forget, I was brought up in a place not terribly different from this. The blacks do their work, the whites count their money—at least that’s what most people think. The reality is quite different. There has to be understanding on both sides. And it begins with not being afraid of them.”
The hot colour ebbed. “That isn’t fair.”
“Isn’t it? I see how you draw back when you have to speak to an African.”
“That isn’t because of their skin,” she returned hotly. “I’m simply unaccustomed to giving orders. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“You do well enough back in England. You bawl out the butcher if the chops are too fatty or tear a strip off the boy at the garage if he tries to charge too much to mend a puncture on your bicycle. You’ve no trouble speaking your mind to them.”
“Of course not! They’re—” She broke off, setting her lips stubbornly. “Oh, never mind. But I still say it’s wrong, it’s very wrong for you to mix with them as if you were friends. You ought to hold yourself above them to set the very best example you can.”
“I’m nobody’s best example,” I reminded her. “Anything else?”
“Yes, in fact, there is. He’s a good man, Delilah.” She didn’t say his name, but there was no mistaking who she meant.
“Is he? I’m not sure I would know a good man if I saw one.”
“Then take my word for it. He is a good man.”
I shrugged. “If you say so. But you probably don’t know the half of it.”
“I’m not talking about local gossip. I know he’s a bit of a philanderer and his morals are unique.”
I snorted, but she went on, her cheeks heating up again. “Laugh if you like, but there’s something fine about him. Underneath the wildness, there’s something pure.”
Pure might have been the last word I would have chosen to describe Ryder White, but Dora did have a point. I decided not to tell her about his threat to violate me and feed me to the hyenas. Her illusions were too pretty to shatter. Besides, for all I knew she was right.
She broke a piece of toast to bits and threw it out into the garden.
“What did you do that for?”
“There’s a tortoise living under the veranda. He likes toast.”
I rose and she put her hand to my arm. “I know you think I’m a fool, but I mean it, Delilah. Don’t hurt him.”
I thought of the miserable bet he’d made about getting me into bed. If I did hurt him, it would only be fair. He’d drawn first blood.
“I’m not sure I could,” I told her.
“Then you’re not half as smart as I gave you credit for,” she said, releasing my arm.
“Go feed your tortoise, Do,” I told her as kindly as I could. “And leave my life to me.”
* * *
True to his word, Ryder appeared after luncheon, Gideon trotting quietly behind. I had prepared as best I could, packing a small bag with necessities and making sure my guns were clean. I left Dora in charge of Fairlight, or at least, as in charge as she could