Minnie Chesterton used a felt brush to wipe the words "British Empire" off the blackboard.

The last history lesson of the year was done, the children had left, and Minnie sighed heavily. She took out her embroidered handkerchief, and dabbed at a trickle of sweat that rolled off her temple. A tight whalebone corset, a layer of undergarments, and her best wool dress made the early June warmth quite unbearable.

The corset was giving her a bit more pain than usual, because she'd forgone her morning pip, wanting to be at her sharpest on this most important of days. She gave her parasol a quick glance, wondering if she would be able to use it today.

The one-room schoolhouse was empty. The only school in Rava, the chief village in East Nissouri, had until quite recently been filled with children in a state of great excitement. Not only was the school-year over, but the Afrikaner Army was going to pass through Rava on its way to fight the last British holdouts on the Bruce Peninsula. To many, the march through town would signify the final defeat of the Empire, and to Minnie, she might have once described it as a day of liberation -- not that she would ever share that sentiment with anyone she knew.

None would want to miss the Afrikaners, and their new terror-weapons. The boys in Minnie's class talked endlessly of the automatic repeaters, the moving fortresses, the flying machines, though they never mentioned the dread Afrikaner persecution squads. They had an unhealthy fascination with the modern weapons and tactics of the Boers that thankfully, the girls didn't share.

Minnie went to her desk, and collected her notes for the completed history lesson: After the defeat of the British in South Africa, the Boers had consolidated their grip on first that country, and eventually all of the continent, including the Suez Canal. It marked the beginning of the end for the British Empire, for without a reliable passage to the wealth of India, its economy suffered. Under their ruthless tutelage, the wealth of Africa made the Boers a world power to rival Britain, Russia, and even the growing strength of America. There were rumors of horrific deeds in the Dark Continent, though neither innuendo, nor the British Army, had been able to stop the Boer onslaught.

They invaded and captured India, Australia, New Zealand, and now it looked as though Canada would be the last Dominion to fall, leaving only the island fortress of Britain unconquered. The Boers claimed to have no other territorial ambitions, but Minnie knew better. She knew the Krijgvader, the Afrikaner supreme commander, and she hoped to see him leading his victorious troops that very day . . .

#

. . . Nurse Minnie Chesterton tried to pin the man down on the camp cot, but he was too powerful for her, more horse than human. He was raving. A lunatic. For a few brief moments, Minnie thought that she might be falling in love with him. The man she was trying to restrain was Karl de Miggen, a prisoner in the East Nissouri Concentration Camp, where the British Empire sequestered about 50,000 Boer men from the Transvaal, nearly 100 times the population of East Nissouri itself.

At first, her flirtation with the charismatic man had seemed harmless enough. While she spent most of her days in the camp infirmary, she had noticed him watching her from beyond the barbed wire that separated the infirmary from the rest of the camp. He was a tall, striking man, with piercing black eyes and a shock of blond hair. One day, she approached him and said, "you sir, are a rogue. You have been quite brazenly watching me."

"And why shouldn't I? You are the best thing to look at around here. Besides, the men tell me that you seem to care for our health."

"It is my job, sir. The Christian thing to do, is to succor the infirm. The weak."

"If it's the Christian thing, then I'm not sure I approve of your motives. Perhaps it might be better to let the weak die. No, I think you do it out of guilt. You see how we are forced to live here. But do you let your countrymen know?"

"No! The authorities would not take kindly to it. Besides," Minnie stopped herself. She didn't have to explain herself to this man.

A sergeant came over, his chest pushed out: "can I help you Sister?"

"No, sergeant. This prisoner here felt that he had the right to talk with me. Clearly, he was wrong."

"You're best not talk with the likes of them at all Sister, they're little better than animals." With that the British soldier indicated that she should return to the infirmary, and the Boer gave Minnie an ironic smile. "You see, Sister," he emphasized the word, "you are at their beck and call as much as we."

"Shut up you 'friker maggot!" shouted the sergeant, "or I'll give you one."

But as the days turned into seasons, the prisoner was always there, waiting to talk with her when she could. No matter the weather. He was there. And something drew her to him. She discovered that he was brilliant. A politician, an inventor, a scientist . . . a visionary. But it took some time to discover the breadth of that vision . . .

#

. . . Minnie collected her parasol, and left the building. She hoped to return later, though if she didn't - well, it would be worth it.

She made her way down to the main street, about a mile's walk, which didn't cool her down any. The parasol might have helped a little, but she preferred to leave it unopened. There was quite a crowd gathered at the town square, where an impromptu party had broken out - the Reeve of East Nissouri was there, welcoming the conquerors. No doubt, he would have welcomed the British with a more formal ceremony, had their former masters won the war. He and the well-to-do of Rava were sipping lemonade with several Boer generals and the Krijgvader, while the troops marched past and the hoi-polloi watched excitedly.

Heads turned as Minnie approached. Even without the sadistic ministrations of the corset, she had a fabulously thin waist and an amble bosom that all the women in the village envied. With the corset, she was spectacular. The dress had a stiff, tall collar, and it covered her ankles properly, so there was nothing for which the ladies of the village could chastise her.

"Ah," said the Reeve. He was a detestable, corpulent man by the name of Quentin Fargman, of the London Fargmans. The former British lick-spittle turned to his new masters, and said: "this is Miss Minnie Chesterton, the mistress of our school." He emphasized the word mistress in a most despicable manner.

The Boers nodded their heads to her, but the Krijgvader of the new Afrikaner Empire, looked at Minnie strangely.

"Have we met, Miss Chesterton?"

"Oh, I would certainly remember if we had, sir. Does one call you sir?"

"My men call me sir. You must call me Karl. I am surprised that we have not met, for you look most familiar. Perhaps in another time, we knew one another. Or perhaps your beauty simply reminds of Venus."

"Perhaps in --" Minnie started to respond, and was stopped by a tremendous rumble. The moving fortresses had arrived! The mighty machines were made of iron and steel plating, angled so that shells would ricochet off them. Inside each machine there was a crew of men to work the engine that propelled the device and the terrible automatic repeating cannon. Similar to the Gatling gun, the repeating cannon fired 30 calibre shells at a shocking rate; the technology had sealed the Boer victory in India.

Tara's citizens watched as their new masters demonstrated this palpable force, as did the Generals, still enamored of their cunning weapons. But the Krijgvader watched the exquisite face of Minnie Chesterton, and tried to remember where he had seen her before. . .

#

. . . It was easy for her to get the man into the infirmary. She gave him small doses of narcotics and purgatives, enough of both to make it seem as though he had cholera, a common enough occurrence in the camp, which was becoming a place of death and disease. The doctor was too busy to take note of every patient, so she sequestered him in a private corner of the infirmary.

She loved talking with him. He had the most interesting mind. And body. She tried to suppress that thought, but was largely unsuccessful as they talked between kisses.

"Tell me again how you were captured."

"Ah. No. It is a bitter story, woman. I'll tell you what I plan to do when I escape, though."

"What, Karl? Tell me you don't want to escape from me."

"No. But this place. Our destiny. I know that if I could lead the Boers, I could win. I have ideas for new war machines, machines that would win us the war."

"And then what? Farming?" Minnie sniggered at the thought of the restless man settling down on a farm, like the men of East Nissouri. Not that she did not think farming was admirable, important even, but she craved adventure.

"No, no, I have other plans. . ." and he made it abundantly clear that some of them included her. As he pulled her down to the camp cot, Minnie doubted quite sincerely that the Sisters of Mercy would approve of the Boer's intentions . . .

#

. . . When the last of the moving fortresses left the square, clanking over the bridge on the Medway, it was possible for conversation to resume. De Miggen turned to chat with Minnie, and was surprised to see that she was gone, talking with two elderly gentlemen.

Minnie noticed him, and smiled. A trickle of sweat ran down her temple again, as she was intensely aware of his scrutiny. He was walking towards her!

It was then that the flying machines droned overhead. They were huge armored dirigibles that carried bombs, guns, and specially trained troops who could drop behind enemy lines on long ropes. Everyone, except for the Krijgvader looked up to watch them pass. . .

#

. . . They were in a flight of passion. He was raving. A lunatic. For a few brief moments, Minnie thought that she might be falling in love with him. Then he revealed to her the germ of his ideas. He hated. He hated all the races that were not Boer.

He gasped his evil truth and the fire turned to ice within her: "The earth is meant for the Boer race, and none other. At first we will probably let some of the less inferior white races survived, but eventually, they will all be - " he paused at the height of his fervor, and then groaned. "Exterminated."

As he fell asleep, Minnie lay there, horrified and so very cold . . .

#

. . . He walked towards her, the crowd looking upward, with recognition dawning in his eyes. Minnie knew that she only had a moment to decide if she would go through with it. She was surrounded by her fellow East Nissourians and entire army of Afrikaners, but she knew what she had to do . . .

#

. . . the nurse knew what she had to do, and really, it was so easy. It was unlikely that Karl de Miggen, prisoner at the East Nissouri concentration camp, would escape, but she was not going to take that chance. She returned later that evening.

"Karl," she whispered. "No, don't wake up. I have to give you another shot, because the doctor insists on checking you."

"Oh, must you?"

"Yes, Karl. It's best. It won't hurt, I promise." She took out the needle, and swabbed his arm with alcohol.

It's tip was in his vein, her thumb poised on the plunger; he looked at her, his intense eyes, black, she now knew, with passion, yes, but evil too. And in that moment, as she looked back with pity and revulsion, he understood what she was about to do . . .

#

. . . Minnie watched as full recognition dawned on the face of the Krijgveder, Karl de Miggen. He walked towards her and opened the flap on his holster. This time would be different! The triumph in his eyes said.

Minnie smiled sadly, and drew her parasol up so that it was pointing at his heart. His laugh was cut short by the crack of a gunshot. . .

#

. . . The plunger went down, and enough drug entered the prisoner's system to send him into a sleep from which he would never awaken. Never would he slaughter millions because of the colour of their skin . . .

#

. . . Minnie screamed theatrically, while a blossom of crimson appeared on the torso of the Krijgveder's uniform. He toppled, a look of shock on his face, the unvoiced words, "not again," still on his lips.

Minnie brought the tip of the parasol down to hide the smoke coming from its end. No one had seen the shot. No one ever guessed that in another time and place, it was not only common, but quite proper for a young lady to have a rifled gun hidden in the stem of her parasol.

Minnie Chesterton walked back to her school, hoping that one day, there would be a history worth teaching.

The End

Mark A. Rayner, ©2001

 

Emily Chesley (1856-1948)

Emily Chesley was a little-known speculative fiction writer who lived for some time in the region of London, Ontario in Canada. Chesley is best known as a writer of the Edwardian period, penning such works as The Afrikaans of East Nissouri and The Brain Beasts of Blenheim Township. "The Afrikaners of East Nissouri" is one of Chesley's unpublished short stories and the precursor to her infamous novel. You can learn more about Chesley at the website for the Emily Chesley Reading Circle. (emilychesley.com)