Politics and Poison at Princes Gardens: A Lady Marmalade Mystery, #8

By Jason Blacker

Frances is involved in her very first case as a young woman of 17. At the turn of the twentieth century, Mr. Chamberlain's housekeeper, Mrs. Buckham, at his London home is charged and convicted of murdering his personal secretary, Mr. Sefton.

 

In her final year at St. Mary's all girls shool, Frances, with her best friend Florence, is reading The Observer at a tea room and learning about the miscarriage of justice and the lazy police work that led to Mrs. Buckham's conviction.

 

Frances would like to know why no strychnine was found at either Mr. Chamberlain's home or at Mrs. Buckham's personal residence either. The motive appears weak too. Mrs. Buckham was found to have murdered Mr. Sefton to protect her daughter's honor. But is Mrs. Buckham cut from a killer's cloth? Frances doesn't think so.

 

From the halls of the Palace of Westminster to the South African Boer War and Irish Home Rule, there are suspects seemingly under every nook and cranny. But will Scotland Yard be interested in the findings of an amateur sleuth, a young women, just finished secondary school?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Blacker
• Release date: Dec 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781927623732

Jason Blacker

Jason Blacker was born in Cape Town but spent most of his first 18 years in Johannesburg. When not grinding his fingers down to stubs at the keyboard he enjoys drinking tea, calisthenics and running. Currently he lives in Canada.  Under his own name he writes hard boiled as well as cozy mysteries, action adventure, thrillers, literary fiction and anything else that tickles his muse. Jason Blacker also writes poetry and daily haikus at his haiku blog.  You can find his haikus and other poetry at his website www.haiqueue.com.  For FREE books and to stay up to date and learn about new releases be sure to visit www.jasonblacker.com where you can find more information about his writing and upcoming projects.  If you enjoy space opera in the tradition of Star Trek then take a look at Jason Blacker’s pen name “Sylynt Storme”. It is under the name Sylynt Storme where you can find both sci-fi and vampire fiction written by Jason Blacker.  “Star Sails” is the space opera series and “The Misgivings of the Vampire Lucius Lafayette” is his vampire series.

Book preview

una in diversitate

Wolke Van Oorlog

Paul Kruger was sitting at his wooden desk smoking a pipe and reviewing his correspondence. He was deep in thought when there was a knock at the door.

Ja! he yelled, taking the pipe from his mouth.

His assistant Janco De Wet opened the door and walked in. He stopped a few feet from Kruger’s desk.

Oom Paul, he said. Gerhardus Pienaar has just arrived from Krugersdorp and he wants to see you.

Kruger put his pipe back into his mouth and with a grim face nodded at the young man.

Let him in, said Kruger.

Thank you, Oom Paul, said De Wet as he turned around and left from the door he had entered in.

Kruger shuffled his papers and turned them over. He stood up and walked to the front of his desk. His pipe trailed smoke around his neck. There was another knock on the door.

Come in, he said.

De Wet walked in followed by the tall and stocky Pienaar. Pienaar was a loyal soldier and a fine farmer. He was one of Piet Cronjé’s closest men. If Piet had sent him there was news to be heard.

Kruger stretched his arm out at the chairs in front of his desk surrounding a small round table. There were ashtrays and matches on the table with an open cigarette case next to them.

Thank you, Janco, that will be all, said Kruger as Pienaar walked over.

Kruger and Pienaar shook hands and then hugged before they both sat down. Kruger waved his hand at the cigarettes.

Have a cigarette, Gerhard, you have come a long way, said Kruger.

Pienaar nodded. He picked up the cigarette case and took a cigarette. He was dusty from the ride here. His horse was being fed and watered at the back of Ou Raadsaal where he now sat in the President of the South African Republic’s office.

Pienaar tapped the cigarette on the back of the cigarette case and put it in his mouth. He took a match out of the matchbox and flicked his thumbnail up the shaft, scraping up against the phosphorous head causing the match to leap into flame.

Kruger never understood why Pienaar chose to strike his matches that way. He knew Pienaar as a man without much fear, yet this casual disregard of safety was worrisome.

Kruger watched Pienaar take a deep inhale as if he’d never tasted something as sweet.

What’s the news from Krugersdorp? asked Kruger.

Pienaar looked at his president. Pienaar had taken a relatively slow six hours to travel the seventy-five kilometers to get here. He had stopped at Oom Joubert’s farm at around the halfway mark to water and rest his horse. Tannie Joubert had fed and watered him. He was grateful for that. The backend of his journey here had been more enjoyable with a full belly.

Oom Joubert was a supporter of the South African Republic and of President Paul Kruger. Oom Joubert had not seen much activity from the British for some months. That was at least a bit of good news. Pienaar thought he would lead with that. He took another tug at his cigarette.

I stopped at Oom Joubert’s farm on my way here to water and rest the horse. Joubert hasn’t seen much British activity in months.

Kruger nodded and stood up. In his eagerness to hear from Pienaar he hadn’t offered the man a drink.

You came right here from Joubert’s? asked Kruger.

Pienaar nodded.

Straight here, Oom Paul, said Pienaar.

Then you must be thirsty. Let me get you a drink.

That would be nice, Oom Paul.

Kruger walked to the far side of this room to a small liquor cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of Van Ryn brandy and poured a few fingers into a glass for Pienaar and a couple of fingers for himself.

He walked back over and handed Pienaar the drink. Pienaar took a sip.

Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.

Kruger raised his glass and clinked with Pienaar’s.

Eendragt maakt magt, said Kruger.

Our unity is our strength, said Pienaar.

Tell me what is happening around Krugersdorp, said Kruger as he sat down.

Pienaar took another sip of his brandy.

Cronjé thought I should come up in person. We fear that the British have cut the telegraph wires.

I have received telegrams this morning from Johannesburg, said Kruger.

What about from Cape Town? asked Pienaar.

Those have been unusually quiet.

Pienaar nodded his head and sucked on his cigarette.

Perhaps the domkops have only managed to cut those.

Kruger smiled. It was a smile that belied his true feelings. The British were not to be underestimated. The problems now brewing in Krugersdorp did not have the support of the British parliament. And currently that was a small mercy.

Scouts have spotted a caravan of heavily armed uitlanders on their way towards Krugersdorp. We expect them to make it there by New Year’s Day.

That’s just a few days from now.

Ja, that’s right, said Pienaar.

How many, and what are their strengths? asked Kruger.

More than five hundred, perhaps as many as six hundred men. Most of them seem to come from the Matabeleland Mounted Police. The rest are likely volunteers. They’re armed relatively well. Every man seems to have a rifle. Many have pistols. Every man has a horse and there are a dozen Maxim guns being pulled by horses as well. We also saw about eleven light artillery weapons.

Kruger stroked his beard and sucked on his pipe. This was a worrying turn of events. Not the five or six hundred men that were making their way towards Pretoria but what it might indicate was yet to come.

Who’s leading these men? asked Kruger.

The Administrator General of the British South Africa Company, Leander Starr Jameson.

Then it shouldn’t be a problem to bring them to heel, said Kruger. Jameson is not a military man. In fact, he was my physician for a time.

That is correct, Oom, said Pienaar smoking the rest of his cigarette and putting it out in the ashtray.

But this is not what worries me, said Kruger, standing up and pacing back and forth.

Pienaar knew what was coming. Kruger liked to walk when he was thinking through a problem. It seemed that open spaces helped the cogs of his mind cogitate. That suited Pienaar just fine. He wasn’t a man of much leisure. He preferred to be busy and there was lots of work yet to be done. More than that, he wanted to be in Krugersdorp with Cronjé when they brought the British to heel.

Like most of his colleagues he was sick to death of the encroaching British with their holier-than-thou attitude towards slavery. And conveniently, they forgot that they had created the slavery problem in the first place and benefited financially very well from it.

Pienaar took the last swig of his brandy, cleansing his palate from the smoke and enjoying its warmth as it went down easily. He stood up. He should probably be going soon. He wanted to get back to Cronjé as soon as he could.

Let’s walk, Gerhard, and talk, said Kruger.

Ja, Oom Paul, there is a lot to talk about.

Ou Raadsal

Kruger got his coat and walked with Pienaar out to the main lobby where Janco returned Pienaar’s coat to him.

I am seeing Mr. Pienaar off, said Kruger to De Wet. I will not be long.

De Wet nodded.

You are giving a talk to the Association of Transvaal Business Leaders at five pm tonight, Oom Paul, said De Wet.

Kruger looked at the grandfather clock in the lobby. It was about ten minutes to four. That didn’t give him a lot of time to talk with Pienaar, but it gave him enough. Kruger nodded and he and Pienaar walked out into the warm summer air.

Outside the roads were filling up with people and horses as businesses started to close down for the day.

Your horse is in our stables? asked Kruger.

Ja, I put Boetjie in the stables.

Let’s walk round the back way. I want to show you something.

They exited the Ou Raadsal and walked along the front of it until they came to the first corner. Kruger stopped and pulled his pipe out of his mouth. He placed his hand on the ceremonial cornerstone.

It had a date on it and a bronze relief plaque of Paul Kruger’s profile. The date was the 6th of May 1889.

I placed this cornerstone here almost seven years ago, as you can see.

Pienaar looked at the cornerstone and rubbed his finger across the plaque that had the date on it.

I have been President of this Republic of ours for twelve years now, Gerhard, and I’d like to die knowing that our Transvaal, our Republic will continue on for the Afrikaner people indefinitely.

That is my wish also, Oom Paul.

I was a small boy when I left on the Great Trek, first to the Natalia Republic and then later to the Transvaal, said Kruger, looking out towards the bustling streets.

Our Republic is forty-three years old, Gerhard. We have spilled blood all over this land. But it has bloomed the Republic which was hard won and fought for.

Pienaar nodded and looked around at the people leaving work.

And yet I still feel our grip is tenuous at best.

Pienaar decided not to say anything. He would give his life for his country. He would kill all the kaffirs and the uitlanders if that’s what it took to keep this Boer republic.

We will keep this land, Oom Paul. If it costs the blood of each and every one of us.

Kruger nodded. That was not a price he was willing to pay and he was not convinced that the Afrikaners in Transvaal or the Orange Free State had enough men and enough weapons to defeat the British a second time.

I have had no formal education, Gerhard, said Kruger. Everything I learned, I learned from the bible. God’s word. But also the word of Andries Pretorius. One of the founding fathers of our South African Republic. I remember the Sand River Convention.

Wasn’t his son Marthinus our first President? asked Pienaar.

Kruger nodded.

Like father, like son. Marthinus Pretorius was another one of our great leaders. But this colony of uitlanders heading for Krugersdorp worries me Gerhard.

Paul took his pipe out of his mouth. It was no longer burning. He put it in his pocket.

I was a young man of twenty-seven when Andries signed the Sand River Convention, where the British promised to allow us self-government of the South African Republic.

And like they always do, those uitlanders didn’t abide by their own terms, said Pienaar.

That is right, Gerhard. That is why this colony of men under Jameson making its way towards Krugersdorp worries me. I don’t believe that it is Krugersdorp they want.

You think they’re coming for Pretoria?

Kruger shook his head wearily. A young woman and her husband walked by and greeted Kruger. They were Afrikaners. He tipped his hat at them and wished them well. He watched after them for a time before he returned to address Pienaar.

No, not Pretoria, Gerhard. It’s Johannesburg they want. There are about one hundred thousand inhabitants of Johannesburg. Most of them are uitlanders, and haven’t they been agitating for the vote?

We have given them concessions, Oom, and they still aren’t happy, said Pienaar.

They will never be happy until they have the Cape colony united with our South African Republic and the Orange Free State. Mark my words, Gerhard, the British will not rest until they have unified control of this part of Africa from the Cape colony up to Matabeleland and Mashonaland.

Why do you think that is so, Oom Paul?

For economic success. Look at how much involvement and political power the British companies have in the Cape. The British South Africa Company needs to expand in order to grow, and with that man Rhodes at the helm, they have the ear of the British government. Think of how rich the Orange Free State is with its diamonds. And here in the Transvaal, gold is in abundance. Most of the growth in Johannesburg is directly attributable to the gold found, first at Jan Bantjes farm in Vogelstruisfontein and now in the Witwatersrand. Large deposits, Gerhard. It will make Johannesburg the economic capital of Southern Africa. I am sure of it, and the British will want to control that.

All for a sparkling, yellow rock, said Pienaar.

He didn’t understand man’s lust for gold. The bible had taught him the importance of humility, hard work and the simple way of life. He wanted to be a farmer and raise a big family just outside of Krugersdorp. Business and politics did not appeal to him.

The yellow rock will make the South African Republic as wealthy as Europe, in time.

Pienaar didn’t say anything. He looked around. He liked Pretoria. It was full of his people, unlike Johannesburg where around two out of every three men were British. He was indifferent to the British, though slowly they were starting to anger him. Kruger was right, they had an insatiable thirst it seemed, to drive the Boers into the heart of Africa. And were it not the Boers who had arrived to settle and tame Africa first?

I don’t know about the wealth of Europe, Oom Paul, but I do know this land is rich. It grows crops and makes cattle fat. That is all that a simple man like me cares about. Seems to me there is plenty for everyone.

And yet the British want more. Politics is an ugly business, Gerhard. Sometimes as bad as war. Sometimes it is war. How old are you?

Forty-two.

Kruger nodded.

You are a young man. A year younger than our Republic. I remember my first battle. Did you ever hear of the Battle of Vegkop.

I have heard of it, Oom, but I don’t know much about it.

It was the sixteenth of October 1836. I was only eleven then. It was not even a week after my eleventh birthday. The King of Matabele, Mzilikazi, had shortly before murdered seventeen Afrikaners and abducted three children. On the sixteenth of October he thought he would use that victory to destroy us all. But he had not met Andries Potgieter. We only had thirty-five men, but we had ammunition. They only had spears. Potgieter went out to meet with them to try and disburse the tensions but they were under orders to take us at any cost.

Thirty-five men, Oom, that is all?

Kruger nodded.

Women and children of course. Some of the older boys were given rifles too. The younger boys like myself helped with the bullet casting. Five thousand of these kaffirs came at us, Gerhard. Yelling, with their war cries. With their large spears and their shields. It was a terrifying sight. But even my mother, Elsie, God rest her soul, like the other women, fought side by side with the men and the older boys. Five thousand of these Matabele warriors came at us. The battle did not last long. If it had lasted much longer we might not have been victorious. We did not have enough material to make five thousand bullets. But at the end of the fight. Which was short. It all started and finished within about a half hour, there were almost two hundred of those kaffirs dead and just two of our Boers.

That is a great victory, Oom, said Pienaar.

Kruger nodded and stroked his beard. He was tired of wars. Of fighting. At seventy years of age he had seen enough of it.

We have had a lot of victories, Gerhard, and I am tired. As you probably know, I was young during the Great Trek.

We owe a lot to the Voortrekkers, Oom Paul. The sacrifices you have made.

Kruger shook his head.

We did what we had to do to make a life for ourselves. But we did it to find our own lands. To build a country for our own people. And yet the British follow us up here. We find diamonds. They want them. We find gold. They take it. We build farms. They want the crops and fattened calves. And some of them are coming for our women.

The Afrikaner is a strong man. A proud people, Oom. If it comes to it, we will defeat them. Like we did in the Transvaal War.

We will fight them, Gerhard. They will give us no other alternative. But I am not sure we will overcome the British a second time. They learn quickly and they are stubborn. They think that all of Africa is theirs for taming. If a thousand men will not defeat the Boers they will send ten thousand. If ten thousand is not enough they will send a hundred thousand.

Then you must go to England and turn the British public’s sentiment against the war.

We will use whatever measures we can, Gerhard. But war takes a lot from you. It whittles away at you until there is nothing left but the essentials. That is why I want you and Cronjé to stop these uitlanders quickly and decisively before they get to Krugersdorp. If we can get this victory quickly perhaps it will give the British a chance to think about their longer term plans of war with the Boers. We must show might, but we must also show decency, Gerhard. Is that understood?

Ja, Oom Paul. I understand. We are farmers. We are not soldiers and we would rather not have the stains of war on our hands.

Let me walk you to your horse.

Kruger and Pienaar walked the rest of the short distance in silence. Boetjie was just finishing up a feeding of barley. The young black stable boy brought the horse out to Pienaar. Pienaar climbed onto his horse. Pienaar looked down at Kruger.

We will be quick and decisive in our victory, Oom. You can count on that.

I look forward to hearing of this victory by telegram. Godspeed, Gerhardus.

Kruger slapped Boetjie’s rump and Pienaar cued the horse. Kruger watched them for a few moments trot off. Then he turned around and walked back to the Ou Raadsal to prepare a speech for the businessmen tonight. He needed to assure them of two things.

The first was that the economic boom would continue. And the second was to reassure the uitlander businessmen that their rights would be upheld even without giving them the full franchise.

Two opposing positions that required similar reassurances. This was politics and Kruger loved it.

Stubborn Fools

Leander Starr Jameson and his almost six hundred men were in a valley. Jameson might not have been a military man but even he knew that being in a valley during a fight with anyone, especially the Boers, was not advantageous. He was trying to figure out where the Boers were. It was hard to see them up in the hills and on the ridge amongst the long grass, bushes and trees. They called this place Doornkop. But Krugersdorp was right there. He could practically see it. And if they could get past Krugersdorp they could get to Johannesburg and agitate all the British there who didn’t have the vote.

That was Jameson’s plan and it was a good one. Or so he thought. Until he’d heard that the British Colonial Secretary, Joseph Chamberlain was agitating in London to have his raid quashed. Some sniveling sycophant of the arrogant Chamberlain had cabled him.

Jameson had known about this because he’d just received a letter yesterday from the Cape Prime Minister, Cecil Rhodes, indicating that he was now on his own. Rhodes was interested in keeping the charter to his British South Africa Company. All these men were small minded. They couldn’t see the big picture.

If Britain could annex the Orange Free State and the South African Republic, the diamonds and the gold would fund Great Britain’s global expansion across the undeveloped world. Britain’s greatness would shine around the world. A new dawn of civilization with the British people at the helm would enrich everyone. And all that stood in the way of that were a few Afrikaner farmers pinning them down here in the valley.

Yesterday, being New Year’s Day, was not a celebratory one. They had lost three men in a small skirmish with the Boers and Jameson had received the letter from Rhodes. And Jameson should have known better. He knew Chamberlain was two-faced. Chamberlain had transferred the Pitsani Strip to Jameson some time before to help plan and train the group of Matabeleland police that Jameson’s group of men was mostly made up of. And now, Rhodes was telling him he was on his own because Chamberlain had had a change of heart.

With friends like that, who needed enemies, thought Jameson. Jameson looked around. Already there were a couple more men dead, a man dying just a stone’s throw from him and several horses had been shot dead by the Boers. They were uncivilized and uncouth. Who shot horses out from their riders? It was poor form. Not how you engaged in battle. These damn farmers had no sensibilities.

Jameson turned to his right hand man, Raleigh Grey. Grey had had some success in military operations in the Anglo-Zulu war and the Matabeleland rebellion of just a few years before.

How long until we bring these Boers to heel? asked Jameson.

Grey looked at him as if he were looking at a madman. He had been second-guessing his decision to join Jameson on this raid. Originally, he’d been inspired by the man. Jameson had a way of convincing you his course was just and right. We were going to annex the Transvaal for Britain and the British South Africa Company.

But then there was yesterday. A day that had been planned for their arrival in Krugersdorp to free it from the Boer. That didn’t go as planned. And to add insult to injury, Chamberlain, that two-faced lying bastard had become a turncoat and Rhodes, their only true ally was getting cold feet. What a start to the New Year and it was only the second of January.

We’re not in a good spot, Lee, said Grey to Jameson.

Yes, I can see that, said Jameson.

And on top of that, Rhodes is getting cold feet and Chamberlain. Well, Chamberlain is being himself which shouldn’t be all that surprising except he’s handing us to the gallows master.

You’re talking about a lot of things that I haven’t asked you about, Raleigh, said Jameson. I want to know how long it’s going to be until we turn the tide here.

Grey looked at Jameson with a raised eyebrow. Jameson was searching the ridge for the Boers. Grey shook his head slowly. Then he looked up at the ridge. The Boers were hard to see. They wore khaki and olive colored clothing primarily and that helped them with camouflage.

Grey looked around. It seemed there was an opportunity to pincer the Boers if they could make it further down the valley where it seemed that some brush would give them cover in coming back up around on either side of the Boers. Other than that, they might as well surrender. And surrender is something that Grey never preferred.

We’ve got ourselves in a bit of a spot here, Lee. Our best option is to gather the men into two groups and head on down the valley, there and there, Grey said, pointing in opposite directions, and see if we can’t pincer them around the back of that ridge.

Jameson looked around where Grey had just pointed. It looked like the best option.

I’d usually suggest we send a scout down either side of the valley to make sure we can pincer around. But we’re pinned down here and we’re vulnerable. The longer we stay, the more men we’ll lose.

Jameson nodded. Then he turned to face Grey.

I agree. Let’s spread the word and get going.

Grey huddled around the other group leaders. He told them his plan and he divided them into two groups. One group would be under his command and they’d head east before turning north and coming back west to pincer the Boers with the other group heading west before turning north and then turning back east to pincer the Boers on the other side.

The light was dimming and evening was crouching towards them like a black cat. The timing was perfect. Already the volley of bullets from the Boers had started to slow. It was hard to see a man in the dark just by the light of the stars. But they didn’t just have the stars, the moon would become a lit lamp in the sky which didn’t help.

But then again, what did Grey expect? Jameson wasn’t a military man and he wouldn’t have considered fighting at night and therefore he probably thought the phases of the moon were irrelevant to his raid’s plans.

Grey looked up at the darkening sky. The moon wasn’t out yet. It would likely be a few hours before it rose. And maneuvering this many men, artillery and horses in this valley, through this scrub and up around a ridge would take most of the night. Most of it under the glaring eye of an almost full moon. Grey and Jameson had their sergeants ready the men and horses. Grey turned to Jameson.

The sooner we start, Lee, the better. The moon is almost full and bright tonight and I’d rather make use of as much of the cover of darkness as we can.

Jameson nodded.

Twenty minutes then, and I want us on the move, he said.

They split up and went over to their respective groups. Jameson thought about what Grey had just said. This was one of the reasons why he was happy to have Grey along with him. The man with his military background was exceptionally useful. It had never occurred to Jameson that he should consider the moon in his planning for this raid.

Certainly a new moon would have been preferable. But hindsight gave you perfect vision. Nevertheless, they’d make do with what they had. And as Grey had pointed out, the moon was not yet above the horizon and the sky was quickly darkening. They would make the best use of the short darkness as they could.

Pincers Without Claws

Jameson watched his men and horses struggle over the veld. The surprise attack yesterday had put him on the defensive. It had also pushed him and his men off the well-worn path. And now they found themselves trying to make a way through hard scrub and brush. It was slow going.

Ever since shortly after they had started off on this pincer attempt the Boers had been awfully quiet. Jameson was grateful for it of course, but it seemed odd. If he were a suspicious man he’d believe the Boers were tracking them. But he’d looked. In fact he’d searched up on the ridge to look for any sign of the Boers. Not even a small fire. Perhaps, by his God and his Queen, the tides were turning. As soon as they had finished the pincer maneuver, Jameson was going to call for a quick strike. Better to strike while the iron was hot, or in this case, the Boers were sleeping.

And this was one of