CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After Van Dijk had taken his leave, Suzanne left Florence with some warm milk and brandy and went to visit Judith.

She discovered her friend exhausted, though uncomplaining as ever: Catrina was running a fever and Petronella was waking several times a night, but mostly the girls were exhibiting no ill-effects from what they had witnessed a fortnight ago. At least, none that could be easily seen.

‘In truth, they are more concerned about what is to come, although mijnheer Van Dijk says I should not worry.’ Judith bit her lip. ‘Now we are in this house, I am growing to like the town. It is not Rotterdam, but there is a pattern to life that suits me. I don’t want to leave. I have never lived in the country and, well . . . I am used to company.’ She tailed off, then stared out of the window. ‘The weather, of course, helps. This rain and drizzle are familiar friends. I had expected the heat of the tropics, sun that burns your skin and renders any activity a trial.’

‘That will come. It is winter now.’ Suzanne laughed. ‘So has mijnheer Van Dijk visited often?’

Judith’s eyes lit up, transforming her aquiline face. ‘Once or twice. But there is nothing improper in it, I give you my word.’

‘I am not suggesting for a moment there is. I am merely glad you have a friend and that his attentions are welcome.’ She paused. ‘Are they?’

‘There is nothing that gives me more pleasure.’

‘Then I am glad,’ she said, putting her hand on her friend’s arm. ‘Now, I came to ask if you would accompany me to the harbour this afternoon. Another ship is due to dock and the Commander wants me to assist again with the refugees who do not speak Dutch. I wondered if you might like to come too. Be relieved of your nursemaid duties for a while.’

Judith’s eyes brightened, then clouded again. ‘I would like nothing more than to go further than these few streets, but I can’t leave the girls alone.’

‘My grandmother would be delighted to have their company for the afternoon. If it pleases you, we could take them there now.’

Judith clapped her hands in a rare moment of girlish delight, then hurried to the back of the chamber where her charges were sitting at a table sewing clothes more suitable for the southern climate. It appeared Adriaan van Dijk had suggested that they should forsake their grey pinafores and had even provided the cloth for new dresses.

‘Ladies,’ Judith was saying, ‘we are going on an adventure. Brush your hair, gather your shawls and caps. Make yourselves presentable. You are to spend the afternoon with Suzanne’s grandmother. Quickly, now. Before the heavens open.’

By the time two soldiers arrived to escort Suzanne to the harbour to greet the Zuid-Beveland, Florence had the seven girls sitting on chairs in a circle sewing and playing a counting game. It was too childish a pastime for the older ones, but it worked as a way of occupying their minds as well as their hands. Suzanne and Judith left to the sound of laughter.

‘It is good to hear them happy,’ Judith said, as she stepped out into the stormy air behind Suzanne. The wind had picked up and she had to raise her voice to be heard. ‘They ask questions of me all the time – where they are to live, when they will meet their husbands – and it grieves me not to be able to answer.’

‘Whatever the plans are, I am sure they will have been thought through thoroughly,’ she replied, hoping her confidence was justified. ‘Commander Van der Stel seems an honourable and upright man. And mijnheer Van Dijk, I am sure, will tell you anything he knows, if he can.’

‘He is a good Christian,’ Judith replied, then added: ‘He has said he will accompany us to chapel this coming Sunday. I am most grateful to him for I had not felt able to attend before.’

Suzanne nodded as a plan took hold. Increasingly she had realised the VOC man might help her uncover intelligence about Louise. It could do no harm to ask.

Despite the rough weather and the north-westerly wind howling over the bay, there was a lively atmosphere at the port. There was a bustle of commerce and trade: stalls selling cooked meat, bread and brandy, hawkers with tawdry peacock feathers and strings of wooden beads. The disembarking refugees might be poor, but the officers and sailors were not. Black stevedores, the blue, white and red of VOC soldiers, Malagasy porters and dark-eyed women with vivid cloth headscarves with baskets of fruit and bread. A chorus of languages, the clicking and whistling and yelling of men who had found a way to communicate in order to barter and trade. Despite the dismal weather, there was so much life, so much colour. Even among the Huguenots, there was almost a carnival atmosphere. Suzanne put it down to the fact that the French pastor was on board.

Pierre Simond was from Dauphiné, like so many of the refugees including Madame Niel, who had welcomed them to the meeting rooms on their first evening. The exiles had been deprived of regular worship and spiritual leadership, despite having sacrificed much for their faith, so his arrival was keenly awaited. A man of God, one of their own, bringing solace and hope to his flock in this strange land.

As she and Judith slipped through the crowds towards the VOC registration building, Suzanne marvelled at how familiar it already seemed and how quickly she had become acclimatised to life in the Colony. Only two weeks ago, she had been the person standing at the taffrail, seeing Table Mountain and the Castle of Good Hope for the first time. Now, here she was, greeting her new friends, reacquainting herself with her fellow travellers: she waved to Pierre Jaubert and Pierre Grange, passed the time of day with the Malan family. She felt as if she had been a resident of the Cape for months, not just a handful of days.

Suzanne made herself known inside the registration building and was relieved to find she was expected. This time she was greeted with courtesy by the regisseur who had previously looked down his nose at her. She felt a moment of pride and belonging. Here, at least for the next few hours, she had a purpose and a value. And remembering the abruptness of their welcome a fortnight ago, the coldness in the eyes and voices of the official who had taken them to be registered, she determined to do better for those about to set foot on African soil for the first time.