"Your dress is soaked," he pointed out complacently, "now you have no choice take it off!" Naked, she sat with her back to -him in the galvanized bath with her knees drawn up under her chin, and her damp hair piled on top of her head, but still she continued her protest.
"Even Louise could bear the man's arrogance and misogyny no longer. She made your father take her back to King's Lynn, so now I have to bear him on my own!" "You always were a brave girl," Ralph told her and ran the soapy flannel cares singly down her smooth back.
"And now the word has gone out to every dead-beat and drifter in Matabeleland that he is here and they are riding in from every direction for the free whisky." "Mr. Rhodes is a generous man," Ralph agreed, and tenderly slid the soapy flannel over her shoulder and down the front.
"It is your whisky," said Cathy, and caught his wrist before the flannel could reach its obvious destination.
"The man has an infernal nerve." For the first time Ralph showed some emotion. "We will have to get rid of him. That whisky is worth 10 pounds a bottle in Bulawayo." Ralph managed to slip the flannel a little further south.
"Ralph, that tickles." Cathy wriggled.
"When are your twin sisters arriving?" He ignored her protest.
"They sent a runner ahead, they should be here before nightfall.
Ralph, give me that flannel immediately!" "We will see how steely Mr. Rhodes" nerves really are-" "Ralph I can do that myself, thank you kindly, give me the flannel!" "And we will also see how sharp Harry Mellow's reflexes are-" "Ralph, are you crazy? We are in the bath!"
"We will take care of both of them with one stroke." "Ralph, you can'd You can't not in the bath!" "We will have Jordan out of your kitchen, Harry Mellow overseer of the Harkness Mine and Mr. Rhodes on his way to Bulawayo an hour after those two arrive "Ralph, darling, do stop talking. I can't concentrate on two things at once," Cathy murmured.
The tableau at the trestle-table in the dining tent seemed unaltered since Ralph had last seen it, rather like one of the productions at Madame Tussaud's Waxworks. Mr. Rhodes even wore the same clothing as he dominated the tent with his expansive charisma.
Only the bit players seated in the position of petitioners facing the long table had changed. These were a motley bunch of out-of-luck prospectors, concession-seekers, and impecunious promoters of ambitious ventures, who had been attracted by Mr. Rhodes" reputation and millions like jackal and hyena to the lion's kill.
It was the mode in Matabeleland to display one's individuality by adopting eccentric headgear, and the selection which faced Mr. Rhodes across the table included a Scottish bonnet with an eagle feather pinned to the brim by a yellow cairngorm, a tall brushed beaver girl with a green St. Patrick's ribbon, and a magnificent embroidered Mexican sombrero, the owner of which was relating a meandering tale of woe which Mr. Rhodes cut short. He did not enjoy listening as much as he did talking.
"So then, you've had enough of Africa, have you? But you haven't the passage money? "he asked brusquely.
"That's it exactly, Mr. Rhodes, you see my old mother-" "Jordan, give the fellow a chi tty to see him home, and charge it to me personally." He waved away the man's thanks, and looked up as Ralph came into the tent.
"Harry tells me your trip was a great success. He panned your crushings from the Harkness reef at thirty ounces a ton, that's thirty times richer than the best ban ket reef of the Witwatersrand. I think we should open a bottle of champagne. Jordan, don't we have a few bottles of the Pommery'87 left?" "At least I'm not providing the champagne as well as the whisky," Ralph thought cynically, as he lifted his glass to the toast. "The Harkness Mine." He joined the dutiful chorus and the moment he had drunk he turned on Dr. Leander Starr Jameson.
"What is this about the mining laws?" he demanded. "Harry tells me you are adopting the American mining code." "Do you have any objection?" Jameson flushed, and his sandy moustache bristled.
"That code was drawn up by lawyers to keep themselves in fat fees in perpetuity. The new Witwatersrand laws are simpler and a million times more workable. By God, isn't it enough that your Company royalty will rob us of fifty per cent of our profits?" As Ralph said it, it dawned upon him that the American mining code would be a smoke-screen behind which the artful Rhodes could manoeuvre at will.
"Remember, young Ballantyne," Jameson stroked his moustache, and blinked piously. "Remember who the country belongs to. Remember who paid the costs of the occupation of Mashonaland and who financed the Matabele war." "Government by a commercial company." Despite himself, Ralph felt his anger rising again and he clenched his hands on the table in front of him. "A company that owns the police force and the courts. And if I have a dispute with your Company, who will decide it surely not the BSA Company's own magistrate?" "There are precedents."
Mr. Rhodes" tone was reasonable and placatory, but his eyes were not.
"The British East India Company-"And Ralph's reply crackled. "The British government eventually had to take India away from those pirates Clive, Hastings and that ilk, for corruption and oppression of the natives. The sepoy rising was the logical outcome of their administration." "Mr. Ballantyne." Mr. Rhodes" voice always went shrill when he was excited or angry. "I am going to ask you to withdraw those remarks, they are historically inaccurate, and by implication insulting." "I withdraw, unreservedly." Ralph was angry with himself now, he was usually much too cool-headed to allow himself to be provoked. There was no possible profit to be gained from a head-on collision with Cecil John Rhodes. His smile was easy and friendly as he went on. "I am sure we will have no need of the services of a Company magistrate." Mr. Rhodes answered his smile with the same ease, but there was a steely blue flicker in his eyes as he raised his glass.
"To a deep mine and a deeper relationship," he said, and only one other person in the tent recognized it as a challenge.
Jordan moved restlessly in his camp chair at the back of the tent.
He knew these two men so well, loved both so dearly. Ralph his brother had been with him through all that lonely and tempestuous childhood, his protector and his comfort in the bad times and his joyous friend through the good.
Looking at his brother now, and comparing Ralph to himself, it seemed impossible that two brothers could be so different. Where Jordan was blond and slim and graceful, Ralph was dark and muscled and powerful, where Jordan was gentle and self-effacing, Ralph was hard and bold and as hawk, fierce as his Matabele praise-name implied. Instinctively Jordan looked from him to the big burly figure facing him across the camp table.
Here Jordan's feelings went beyond love itself to a kind of religious fervour. He did not really see the physical changes that a few short years had wrought in this godhead of his existence. the thickening of Mr. Rhodes" already bulky body, the bloating and coarsening of features already mottled with cyanosis caused by the labouring of the damaged heart, the reddish-blond curls receding swiftly now and slashed with grey at the temples. The way a loving woman places little store on the appearance of the man she has chosen as her own, so Jordan saw far beyond the marks of suffering and sickness and the racing years. He saw to the steely core of the man, the ultimate source of his immense power and brooding presence.