Page 86 of Lizzie’s Spirit
They walked to Senhor Nunes’s office in Riebeck Street. His African guard opened the heavily reinforced, thick wooden door. Stepping aside, he bid them enter the shop.
“Ntsikana, tea for the lady. We will take some wine.” Nunes spoke to the guard in Portuguese. Elizabeth noted the man’s physique, the beaded necklace—he was certainly not Khoikhoi.
“If you have it, a little milk with the tea.”
“You speak the Xhosa language!” She was rewarded with a beaming smile, Ntsikana’s white teeth flashing in pleasure.
“Mrs. Darcy, perhaps I should explain the issue. A while ago, I foolishly accepted casks of wine as payment instead of notes drawn on English banks. The wine is of good quality, stored in oak barrels in a warehouse nearby. The man I dealt with is honest, but I should never have allowed myself to agree to the transaction—perhaps it was because of my kind Jewish heart.”
Captain Webber laughed. “Nunes is a Shylock if ever there was one.”
“You wound me; I would never ask for a pound of flesh —maybe two pounds or even three!”
“Come, gentlemen,” admonished Elizabeth, “your knowledge of Portuguese seems well enough, Captain, but what is the sticking point?”
The debate continued for another hour and a half, at which time most of the trade had been agreed upon. The Unicorn would carry the wine to Manchester on Nunes’s account, offset by a cargo of cotton bales for the mills.
“Why Manchester for wine? Surely London is a better market?” asked Elizabeth, cognisant of her uncle’s trade from Madeira and Portugal.
“Manchester is a good hub for distribution to the north. It is not only Londoners who drink wine and brandy. No, I like the idea very much.” Captain Webber made another note in his journal, then turned to Nunes. “Give me some time to check the arithmetic, and we have an understanding.”
“’Tis time to feed little Ben. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will retire to an adjacent room, for I need some privacy.
” Elizabeth arose, and Ntsikana accompanied her down a narrow corridor to a small parlour.
Unconsciously, she removed her jacket and began unbuttoning her blouse, so accustomed was she to feeding little Ben in the company of Xhosa men.
Ntsikana had remained in the room to ask if she required refreshment.
Beneath the jacket, she had hung her beaded necklaces—many blue, white, and black, several multicoloured. Little Ben put up his hand and pulled at her bonnet, which came loose— her long, braided hair tumbled over her shoulders.
Ntsikana stepped back, unabashedly staring at her—the long serpentine braids, the Xhosa necklaces. The stories coming from the Eastern Cape became alive: Mamlambo—she was the sea spirit, and the boy born in Xhosa country.
Returning to the gentlemen, Elizabeth found them all smiles. They had agreed on a simple contract for the sale of the wine, but were struggling to formalise it.
“Gentlemen, let me write the deed, for I had much experience in New South Wales, where my husband was judge-advocate and we traded with several merchants. You will find it fair, and neither will suffer if there were any dispute.”
To this they heartily agreed. Leaving her and Nunes to complete the document, Captain Webber left to acquire a cargo of cotton.
Elizabeth wrote up the contract and made copies for both Nunes and Webber, the original to be posted with the Fiscal’s office here in Cape Town once signed by both parties.
It had been a long morning, and Elizabeth was feeling weary.
She must find a respectable inn and take a room.
She had only a little money, given to her by Charlotte when she left Port Frederick, not expecting that the governor would be absent and trusting that accommodation at the castle would be available to her.
“Senhor Nunes, if you would bear with me. I have little coin, and, mayhap, since you trade in gems and the like, you might buy some pink citrine that I found on the eastern coast. It may be of little value but, perchance, enough to purchase accommodation whilst I await the governor’s return.”
She took a small, rough pebble, no larger than a bean, from her pocket and placed it on the table.
Nunes picked it up in astonishment. He took out a small eyepiece, turning the stone around, using a small curved mirror to focus the light from an oil lamp. Carefully, he placed it back on the table.
“No, Mrs. Darcy, I cannot take it.”
Tears came to Elizabeth’s eyes. A last chance: “If it is not enough, there is more.” She took out a small leather bag and emptied the contents.
A range of rough stones skittered across the smooth wooden surface, the original pebble the least in size and colour.
Nunes’s hand went to his heart; he spread out the stones.
“Ntsikana, bolt the door, pull down the shutters!”
“Oh, my dog Bumper is sitting outside—please, let him in. Otherwise, he’ll fret so awfully,” cried Elizabeth. “But, whatever’s the matter?”
“Mrs. Darcy, I didn’t take the first stone you showed me, not because it has no value, but because it has too much. I’ve not enough money in my shop to pay for it. And now, you have tipped a fortune in pink diamonds into my hands. You have no idea of their worth?”
“I found them in a stream near to where we were washed ashore. I thought them citrine and gathered them for good luck. But diamonds? Surely, you are mistaken.”
“For thirty years I have been a diamond merchant, ‘tis my trade, learning from my father. No, these are amongst the finest diamonds I have ever seen.”
“They have some value? ‘Tis enough to purchase my fare on the Unicorn to England? The crew dislike women, but I’m sure a bonus for the journey would satisfy them. Captain Webber spoke of two hundred and fifty pounds. Would these stones equal that amount?”
Nunes groaned. Ntsikana moved closer, a deep rumble resonating from his chest.
“Don’t bother threatening, Ntsikana, the lady has caught me on a bad day. Mrs. Darcy, the stones are rough, uncut. But in London or Antwerp, they’re worth thousands, tens of thousands of pounds—of such quality, a deep pink, almost flawless. Even the smallest is worth more than the fare to England.”
“Can you buy them, senhor, for I dearly wish to return home? I’ve been away from my husband for more than twelve months; he has never seen his son.” Elizabeth searched his face. Would a Jew feel her need? Would he show compassion?
Nunes picked up the contract. “I’ve not the money, senhora. But if we alter the price for the wine, then insist that Captain Webber takes you as a passenger to England—to Runcorn, near Manchester.”
“Senhor, you have my undying gratitude. Please, take them all, for I have no need of such wealth.”
Again, Nunes was disarmed. “It must be a very bad day. No, Mrs. Darcy, as I said, I cannot take them. Though, perhaps I’ll have the small gem as a token to remember you by—and the day I lost my mind.”
Ntsikana leant down and whispered in his ear.
After some time, his face lightened, and a broad smile spread across his countenance.
“I am reminded that Ntsikana comes from Xhosa country; he knows their songs and territories. You were washed ashore near where the Grosvenor struck, which location has been lodged with the Fiscal. Could you also, perchance, draw an outline of the coast and promontories thereabout? You carry a guitar—you must perform, but do you also have a memory for rhythm and melody? Without a doubt, there was a homestead close by. Did they sing a song of farewell?—for they would be greatly honoured by Mamlambo coming from the sea onto their shore. Each song is distinctive; Ntsikana will know them by it. ”
“Indeed, I remember their song,” replied Elizabeth, “but why do you ask?”
“I would like a fortune, senhora, but not to steal yours. Ntsikana and I will seek the place you were washed ashore. Because where you found a few diamonds, there will be many more.”