Promise the Night (7 page)

Correspondent: What provisions will you bring for the big flight?

Markham: Some roast chicken. Dried fruit and nuts. Five flasks of coffee. I’ll need to stay awake, you know.

Correspondent: And how do you…how should I ask this? After all, there’s no W.C. at two thousand feet!

Markham: Can you possibly ask anything more personal? Even in the solitude of the cockpit, I can’t get away from you.

Correspondent: Mrs. Markham?

Markham: Very well. I’ve trained since I was a child to master my body’s needs. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!

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ARAP MAINA SOUNDED THE GONG EVERY MORNING TO CALL THE men to work. Beryl waited by the door to her hut, her feet already laced into her boots, her linen shirt tucked into her khaki trousers.

Dong. Dong.

That was the signal. Beryl sprinted to the main house. She and Kibii raced to the porch each morning, she from her hut and he from below the stables. They were scrupulous about the rules: neither could start before the gong, and the distance was precisely measured in paces. On this day, both sets of feet, booted and barefoot, hit the steps of the wooden porch at precisely the same time.

“I win!” Kibii crowed. His scarlet shuka was fastened securely around his waist, and his dark skin glistened with a faint sheen of perspiration.

“I won!” Beryl shouted.

“You are fast, but you are still only a girl.”

With that, Beryl launched herself at Kibii’s stomach, determined to take him down. But Kibii had taught her that move and he slipped easily out of her way. As she barreled past him, he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. With his other hand, he grabbed a hank of her long hair.

“Ow!” Beryl cried, glaring over her shoulder.

“You see,” he said triumphantly. “A boy would never cry out!”

“That’s not fair,” Beryl said, wincing as she tried to free herself. “You don’t have hair.”

“You choose to give me that advantage,” he crowed. “Admit that I won!”

“No!”

“Are you quarreling hyenas, or are you children?” came the quiet, amused voice of Arap Maina.

Instantly, Kibii let go of Beryl’s arm and hair. Beryl smoothed her tangles behind her ears. Arap Maina examined them both. A shadow of disapproval crossed his face.

“Beru,” he said, “you must do something about your hair.”

“Not you too!” Beryl complained.

“Kibii shaves his head so that bugs will not find a home. You invite insects to live in your hair.”

Kibii nodded in solemn agreement. His bald skull was indisput-ably bug-free.

Beryl scratched her scalp, which suddenly itched everywhere.

The door to the main house opened and her father appeared, immaculately dressed in polished boots, jodhpurs, and a neat white shirt. He carried a riding crop in his hand.

“Good morning,” he said to them all. Shielding his eyes against
the rising sun, he watched the workers arrive with satisfaction. A few months ago there had been two dozen men; now there were more than a hundred, and his cleared land stretched for a hundred acres. He was defeating the forest, transforming its felled trees into planks of wood to build houses for British settlers and provide firewood for the train. Beryl loved how her father stood with his weight settled back on his heels, proudly surveying his kingdom.

The moment was ruined when Arthur came out to the porch. He was wheezing, even in the cool air of morning. Beryl noted bitterly that he was dressed like a miniature version of her father. The Captain’s hand rested casually on Arthur’s shoulder. Beryl felt her heart skip a beat.

“What’s he doing here?” she asked.

“I’m going to teach him to ride,” the Captain replied, his attention still on the workers streaming in to the stables and the mills.

“He’s a crybaby,” Beryl said. “And he’s only eight.”

“I’m nine,” Arthur interrupted.

“And you’re only ten,” her father said.

“I’m eleven now, Daddy.”

“The Baron was foaled the same year you were born, and he’s in his tenth season.”

“I’m not a horse, Daddy. I have birthdays.”

“Did I miss your birthday?” he asked, momentarily distracted from the farm.

Beryl shrugged. The calendar meant little to her.

“And I’m not a crybaby,” Arthur chirped.

“You are so!”

“Beryl, leave him alone.” The Captain paused, then said, “The stable is growing; I’m going to need more lads. Might as well use
what we have.” He switched to Swahili. “Kibii, you’ll be learning to ride, too.”

“A horse?” Kibii asked, his voice a pale echo of his usual confident tone.

Beryl forgot her nervousness to lord over Kibii. “Come on—you said it didn’t look hard. I dare you!” She grinned at her father, who smiled back. He was always telling her stories about the dares he and his fellow cavalry officers had performed in his military days.

Kibii narrowed his eyes at Beryl. “Your British horses do not frighten me. I accept your dare.”

“We’ll need some boots—even Kibii can’t ride barefoot.” The Captain turned to Beryl. “We’re schooling Camiscan today. He’s already saddle-broken, but he has to be in top condition. The racing season starts in three months.”

Beryl smiled. Watching her father train the great stallion would be a treat.

“And Beryl, you will be riding him.”

“Me?” she squeaked.

“I’ll be working with you, but you’ll be on his back. He likes you. We’ll need every advantage with that horse.” He glanced down at her and grinned, a challenge in his eyes. “Do you think you can do it?”

Kibii had a wicked grin on his face as he worked out what the Captain was daring Beryl to do.

She swallowed hard on her fear and nodded. “I won’t let you down, Daddy.” But her mind’s eye was filled with Camiscan’s bulk and the wild tossing of his massive head.

Arap Maina waited patiently for his assignment. The Captain spoke in Swahili. “I need you supervising at the mill. The men are
getting careless. Yesterday one lad nearly crushed his hand in the grindstone.” Arap Maina nodded and moved off.

Thirty minutes later in the paddock, Beryl regretted her rash words. Camiscan seemed intent on proving his superiority to mere humans, lowering his neck and charging anyone who came near. Only when the Captain held the horse’s head still was Beryl able to throw a lightweight saddle across his back. The moment the stirrups touched his sides, Camiscan began snapping with bared teeth.

“Daddy, he doesn’t like the stirrups,” Beryl said, proud that her voice was steady.

“He’s been ridden before. He’s just trying to show you he’s in charge. He can’t race without stirrups, but can you mount without them for now?”

Beryl reached up and caught hold of the pommel and vaulted onto Camiscan’s back. The stallion neighed nervously, but the Captain held the horse’s head steady. Beryl perched on his back, seventeen hands high. Kibii and Arthur pressed themselves into a corner and stared up at Beryl, wide-eyed.

“Move out.” The Captain watched closely, but Camiscan behaved himself, responding to Beryl’s signals. “All right. Walk him around the paddock while I get the boys sorted out. Don’t do anything else until I’m with you.”

Beryl didn’t spare the boys a thought as they began their lesson on two small ponies. She was too busy establishing a relationship with the giant horse.

“Good boy,” she said. “You’re a beauty. Not another horse in Africa can touch you.” Camiscan snorted and pranced sideways, but gradually began to tolerate her on his back. Each turn around
the paddock, Beryl grew more confident. She only wished her father would notice how well she was doing.

Instead of admiring Beryl’s light touch with Camiscan, the Captain was occupied teaching Arthur and Kibii the basics of pos-ture and where to put their feet. After he set the boys to plodding around the track, he came back to her and they put Camiscan through his paces. Beryl was perfectly content until she spied a figure marching down from the house.

“That Woman is coming.”

“Don’t call her that,” the Captain said, not taking his eyes off Camiscan’s stride. “Her name is Emma.”

Emma marched with a determined look. She was dressed in a bright white blouse and an impeccable khaki skirt. By afternoon, her ensemble would be covered by the dust that swirled around the farm and her dustcloth. And then she would change into an evening gown for dinner. Beryl shook her head, disgusted by all that wasted effort.

“What does she want now?” the Captain muttered. “She chased me out of my own study with that damned dust rag.”

“Clutt, when are you coming to breakfast?” Emma called as she approached the fence. Her arms were tightly crossed across her chest. “It’s been ready for half an hour.” The color rose in her cheeks and she began breathing quickly. “Oh, my goodness! You put Arthur on a horse?”

“Of course; he lives on a horse farm.”

“He’s too delicate—”

Beryl and Camiscan snorted, united in their scorn of Emma.

“I’ll toughen him up,” the Captain said.

For the first time, Emma noticed who was riding Camiscan. “Beryl’s on that terrible stallion?”

Now it was the Captain who shot her a scornful look. “That horse is the future of this farm.”

“He’s too dangerous for a little girl. Why aren’t you riding him?”

The Captain scowled. “Emma, I can’t do everything around here. Camiscan needs exercising every day. Beryl is my best rider. Don’t worry; Arthur and Kibii will soon be good riders, too.”

“You’re teaching them together?” Emma glanced over at Kibii, whose long legs practically dragged on the ground from the back of his little pony. His expression was bored, even embarrassed, while Arthur looked petrified, clutching the reins as though his life depended on it.

“What’s wrong with Kibii?” Beryl demanded, bringing Camiscan to a stop in front of Emma.

“Nothing, not a thing,” Emma stammered, stepping behind the Captain to be as far from Camiscan as possible. “But Kibii and Beryl are strong, and Arthur is…”

“Del-i-cate.” Kibii carefully pronounced the syllables of the strange word he heard so often.

The Captain and Beryl burst out laughing.

Wringing her dustcloth between her hands, Emma’s jaw tightened. Her eyes were furious. “It’s all very well for the two of you to cackle like witches. But Clutt, you should have consulted me before you put Arthur on a horse.”

“It’s not a horse, it’s a measly little pony,” Beryl called from her perch high on Camiscan’s back.

“Some people have the sense to be afraid of large animals that
could kill them,” Emma said, glaring at Beryl.

“Enough, Beryl,” the Captain snapped. “Emma, you’re upset-ting Camiscan.” He slapped his riding crop against his leg. “Beryl, Emma and I have to talk. Take him around at a half gallop.”

As the Captain and Emma argued at the fence, Beryl took a deep breath, clucked for Camiscan to run, and pressed her heels to his flank. The stallion nearly unseated her with a half leap and a burst of untamed speed. She burst out laughing from exhilaration mixed with a little bit of terror. She passed Kibii and Arthur as if they were standing still. The look on Kibii’s face was pure envy. Beryl felt as if she could soar off into the sky above the valley.

The third time she rounded past the boys, Arthur’s pony veered into her path. As though they were all moving extraordinarily slowly, Beryl saw Arthur turn his head to face her, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream. She could see the whites of the pony’s eyes as he saw Camiscan charging up on his flank. The pony reared and Arthur slid to the ground like a sack of maize.

Beryl pulled the reins toward the inside of the paddock, dragging Camiscan’s head with all the power in her arms. Furious at such disrespect, the stallion bucked and kicked, doing everything he could to dislodge his rider.

“Arthur!” Emma screamed. She began to scramble through the fence, catching her skirt on a nail.

“Beryl, pull up!” the Captain shouted. “Pull up!”

Camiscan arched his back and kicked out with his rear legs at the same time. Beryl was thrown back and she bit her lip. She tried every trick she knew to keep her seat, but the stallion’s bucking was too violent. She was losing.

“Rein him in, Beryl!”

“I’m trying, Daddy,” she cried. “He’s too strong.”

Arthur lay ominously still on the ground. Emma gathered him in her arms, screaming for the Captain. “Clutt, help him!”

“Beryl, hold on,” the Captain said. He tore his eyes from Camiscan and Beryl and moved quickly to Emma’s side to check on Arthur.

As though he had been showing off for Captain Clutterbuck, Camiscan came to a sudden halt. Beryl heaved a sigh of relief and leaned forward to pat the stallion’s long neck.

“Bad boy. Bad, bad boy,” she whispered. Holding the reins in one hand, she wiped her forehead with the other. She glanced at Arthur, who was sitting up with a dazed look on his face.