CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Thursday, 19th August

Suzanne quickly became accustomed to the pattern of life in the Colony.

Damp days and moonlit nights passed quickly as she visited the VOC stores to acquire provisions, took short walks around the streets with Florence on her arm, and solitary longer walks to the sand dunes and back, and down to the water. She regretted the lack of books, but she called upon other families from the China and visited Judith and the girls. Suzanne was pleased to hear how Adriaan van Dijk had paid several visits and that he had even offered to accompany Judith to the United Reform service in the Castle chapel on the coming Sabbath.

For her part, Florence had become a regular at the ladies’ rendez-vous in the afternoons, and this new-found companionship helped ease Suzanne’s guilt. Florence seemed to be thriving, the burdens of their recent life in La Rochelle finally lifting from her shoulders. The refugees gossiped about how very hard life was for the settlers, how the land in Groot Drakenstein was not suitable for planting vines and how the resources put aside for the refugees were inadequate. It seemed they were as poor here as they had been in France, and as little regarded. Commander Van der Stel had been petitioned to apply to the Batavia Fund for more funds to distribute, but the ladies held out little hope. And more ships were expected, bringing destitute Frenchwomen and men to the Cape. Who was going to pay?

Suzanne used these visits to pursue her researches. But no one other than Madame Lombard had ever heard of the she-captain with a red scarf. She came to the conclusion that she might have better luck in the taverns. If it was true that Louise had settled near Olifantshoek, the men who travelled the grassy veldt and on through the mountain passes, the settlers and the farmers, were more likely to have heard rumours. But such a thing was impossible. As a respectable woman, she could not visit a tavern and Commander Van der Stel’s edicts did not permit free conversation with the Black or Malagasy residents of the town.

‘It is early days,’ she told herself, but she felt her mission had stalled before it had ever got going.

Early on the morning of Thursday, the nineteenth of August, fifteen days after the China had dropped anchor in Table Bay, there was a knock at the door.

They had no servant, so Suzanne was cleaning the house herself. Besides, her conscience baulked at the thought of an enslaved person working for them.

‘Are you expecting a visitor, Gran’mère?’

Florence looked up from her sewing. ‘Pas si tôt.’ Not this early.

Suzanne removed her apron and straightened her cap, put the cleaning cloths in a pail and pushed it under the table, then went out into the hallway. She opened the door to find Adriaan van Dijk standing there, no longer in the uniform of a soldier, but rather in the black justaucorps, narrow breeches with white stockings and black polished shoes of the senior VOC officials. The attire suited him better and Suzanne could understand why Judith admired him.

‘Dag, mijnheer.’ Good morning.

He tipped his hat. ‘Forgive me for calling on you unannounced, and at such an hour. Might I come in?’

‘Of course.’ She ushered him into the parlour. ‘May I offer you something to drink?’

He held up his hand. ‘Nothing, thank you. I am here on official business.’

Suzanne’s heart skipped a beat. Their papers were in order, but the legacy of many early-hours calls to their house in La Rochelle by the dragonnades had left a scar.

‘This is not then,’ she muttered.

‘Are you unwell, juffrouw Joubert? You are turned quite pale.’

‘It’s nothing,’ she said, vexed to have given herself away.

Van Dijk raised his hat to Florence in her armchair, then gestured to a chair at the table. ‘May I?’

‘Please.’

He waited until Suzanne had sat down, then did the same.

‘In point of fact, I have two pieces of business. One official, one less so. This afternoon, all being well, the Zuid-Beveland should drop anchor in Table Bay. We have been tracking its progress from the shore these past two days. I am here on behalf of Commander Van der Stel to request your assistance in interpreting for those refugees who cannot speak our language—’ He stopped. ‘That is to say, Dutch.’

Suzanne smiled. ‘I am not offended, mijnheer. And, of course. I gave my word.’

‘We would be in your debt, not least because Pierre Simond, the Huguenot pastor the refugees have been waiting for, is on the ship. I will send someone to accompany you to the harbour.’

‘There is no need. I have the measure of the town now. I can find my own way to the jetty.’

‘The harbour is not a suitable environment for a lady. I would prefer to know you were safe.’

Suzanne raised her hand in submission. ‘Very well.’

‘Second, there is also a piece of intelligence I would share with you.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Several nights ago, the lodgings where juffrouw Verbeek was previously staying with her charges was broken into. Some degree of damage was done. We have reason to believe that it was the work of Lars Eltorp. He has been sighted at several locations within the town, but I regret to say remains at large.’

Suzanne turned cold. ‘Was he looking for Judith, do you think?’

‘We have pieced together the events of the night of the murder. Eltorp was seen drinking with three companions in a tavern by the water. The tapster identified him and confirmed that Driek Holsteen joined them.’

‘In other words, you have proved Driek and Lars Eltorp were together.’

‘Precisely. But juffrouw Verbeek is the only witness to the murder – he does not know that you also saw him. I fear he went looking for her.’

‘Have you told her this?’

Van Dijk met her eye. ‘I saw no reason to worry her until we knew for sure.’

Suzanne nodded. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘Keep close to her,’ he said. ‘It will not take Eltorp long to find out where the new lodgings are if he sets his mind to it.’ His brows furrowed. ‘She is a young woman of a sweet and gentle nature. I would not wish any harm to befall her.’

Lars Eltorp watched the VOC man leave the merchant’s house on the square.

Over the past fifteen days, fellow blackguards and shifters within the town had been persuaded, at the tip of his knife, to give him shelter and assistance. In this way, he had acquired a musket, paid a boy to retrieve his belongings from the boarding house at the harbour, and kept his belly full.

The longer he evaded capture, the more Eltorp’s confidence had grown. During the day, a cooler head prevailed – no sense drawing attention to himself. But by nightfall, once his throat had been whetted by a quart or two, his burning head returned to thoughts of revenge, to silencing the one witness who could finger him for the sailor’s murder.

Eltorp had gone back to the girls’ lodgings, but had discovered the nest empty. In his temper, he had rendered it uninhabitable and then kept watch in case they returned.

Then, he’d had a moment of good fortune. He had previously observed this VOC cur hanging around and realised he might lead him to the girl. This morning, Eltorp had tracked him to this more salubrious part of town. Although the merchant’s house looked too fine to be housing a brood of orphan-brides, he was prepared to wait. The girls might be here. For all his fiery temper and his lack of restraint when he was in his cups, Eltorp could be patient.