The Winter Rose (105 page)

Sid recognized that voice, too.

"Hello, Maggs," he said, as she strode into view. "You got past George, I see."

"Self-important fool," she growled. "You'd think he had Jack the
Ripper in here. Crikey! Who's this? He's the spitting image of you!"

Seamie stood.

"Meet my brother, Seamus Finnegan. Seamie, may I present my employer, Mrs. Margaret Carr."

"How did you get here?" Maggie asked him.

"It's a long story, ma'am," Seamie said.

"You can tell me later, then. We've other things to discuss now." She
sat down heavily on the empty chair. "I've been to see Tom Meade, the
weasel. I shamed him into telling me what's going on. They're going to
hold you for three more days then put you on a train to Mombasa. Then
it's a packet ship to London and Wandsworth."

Sid closed his eyes at the mention of the prison. He felt sick to his very soul.

"Sid? Sid! Are you listening to me? Pay attention. We have to make a plan. We have to talk about this."

He opened his eyes. "Talk about what?"

Maggie lowered her voice. "Your escape."

"I'm not escaping. They can take me to London. I don't care anymore. I've got little enough to live for."

"Don't talk that way. Don't even think that way. You have to get out
of here. Go on the lam. To Ceylon. China. Somewhere Lytton'll never find
you."

"How, Maggie? How?"

"We'll think of a way. This isn't Newgate, you know. It's a two-bit
ramshackle chicken coop of a jail. People have broken out before. You
can, too."

Sid shook his head. Despondency had overtaken him once more. He had lost the will to fight.

"Come on, Charlie. Mrs. Carr's right. You have to try," Seamie said.

"Charlie?" Maggie echoed, her eyes widening.

"It's his real name. The one our parents gave him," Seamie explained.

"Charlie." Maggie sat back in the chair. She was quiet for a few
seconds, then she said, "I knew it. I bloody knew it. The first time I
set eyes on her."

"Knew what?" Sid asked.

"When did you leave London?"

"Nineteen hundred. Why?"

"Timing's right. She's nearly six years old. She would've appeared a
bit early, mind you, but many of them do. Women always put it down to a
fright or a fall."

"Maggie, what are you on about?"

"I wanted to say something, Sid. I did. Back when Mrs. Lytton first
came to see me. I wanted to, but I didn't think it was my place. And who
could blame me? You're not the easiest man to talk to about things like
this. Can't stand anyone's nose in your business. Even if it is for
your own good."

"Maggie..."

"Couldn't you see it? It's all there. The shape of the face. The eyes. The smile. Did the possibility never even occur to you?"

"See what?"

Maggie leaned back in the chair. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Think about this, Sid. Think real hard. India Lytton named her
daughter Charlotte. Charlotte."

"So?"

Maggie rolled her eyes. "She didn't name her Fredericka, did she?"

It took a few seconds for her meaning to sink in.

Sid stood. He walked the bars, wrapped his hands around them. "Maggie, you don't think..."

"Oh, but I do."

Seamie looked utterly confused. "Would someone like to tell me what's going on?" he said.

Sid looked at him, with light in his eyes. And pain. And wonder. And joy.

"I have a daughter, Seamie," he said. "Her name is Charlotte."

Seamie returned to the Norfolk at noon in a state of profound
exhaustion. He had soldiered on bravely for days--driving his weary body
beyond the limits of its endurance in order to get Willa to safety. And
now, instead of a well-earned rest, he was faced with an entirely new
problem--the brother he never expected to see again, the brother he
loved, was in jail awaiting trial for murder.

He went to his room and lay down on his bed, meaning only to close
his eyes and rest for a half hour before getting up again to check on
Willa. Instead he fell into a deep sleep and didn't wake up again until
eight the following morning.

"Bloody hell," he groaned as he opened his eyes. He looked out of the
window, at the bright sky and then at his watch. He stood up, washed,
then raced downstairs. He was supposed to have met Maggie Carr for
dinner. She was seated in the lobby when he got downstairs. She stood
when she saw him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I slept like a dead man."

"I'm not surprised, lad. I knocked on your door last night, but got
no answer," she said. "I decided I'd let you sleep. You're no good to
anyone half dead. Are you better now? Feel up to some breakfast?"

Seamie explained that he had to get to the hospital. He was supposed
to have checked on Willa last night and hadn't. He was worried about
her. He was worried about his brother, too.

"Stop worrying," Maggie said. "We'll work something out. You got the
girl off the mountain, didn't you? You can get Sid out of Nairobi jail.
Go check on her. Meet me back here at noon. We'll talk then."

Seamie ran all the way. When he got to the surgery he was astonished
to see Willa, pale and thin and drawn, hobbling between her bed and the
window on a pair of crutches. He rushed to her side, terrifled she would
fall.

"It's a bit soon for those, don't you think?" he said. "You've only
just come through an operation. Whose idea was this? Is the doctor
pushing you to do it?"

"It's all right, Seamie. No one's pushing me. I asked for them to be brought."

Dr. Ribeiro appeared at the foot of Willa's bed. "I think that's enough for now, Miss Alden. You mustn't overdo it," he said.

Willa nodded. She sat down on the bed and surrendered the crutches.
The doctor gave her water to drink, then helped her lie down, propping
pillows behind her back. Seamie noticed that she gritted her teeth when
she moved her right leg. When the doctor left to attend to a new
patient, he asked her again if she wasn't doing too much too soon.

"I only did it for a few minutes. Just to try it out," she said. "I have to. I have to get used to them, you know."

"How are you feeling?"

She mustered a smile. "Better. Though I tire easily."

She's calmer, he thought. Not despairing, like yesterday. Not hysterical, like the day before. That's good.

Calm was not a word Seamie would normally have used to describe Willa
and if he hadn't been so tired himself and so worried about his
brother, he might have looked a bit more closely into her eyes and seen
the anger there simmering just below the surface. He might have listened
a bit more closely to her voice and heard the frayed note in it. He
might have realized that this sudden calmness was nothing but a front.
But he did not.

Willa asked him how he was doing and if he'd gotten some rest. She
asked about Nairobi and his hotel. And then something happened between
them that had never happened before--their conversation ran dry.

After a moment of awkward silence, Willa said, "I apologize. I'm a
terrible bore, aren't I? I'm tired again. Want to sleep all the time."

"No, I'm sorry," Seamie said. "I'm keeping you from resting. I'll go."

He poured her another glass of water, then said, "Willa, I may not be able to come to visit you tomorrow. Or the next day."

"Is something wrong? Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine, but I've a friend who's in a bit of trouble."

"Here in Nairobi? I didn't know you had friends here. Who is it?"

"Um ...he's...no one you know. He's an old school chum. I may need to
accompany him on a bit of a hasty trip. Up country. Just for a day or
two. I'd be back by the end of the week. If I even go at all. Will you
be all right if I do?"

She smiled. "I'll be fine," she said. "Do you have the rest of my
things? My wallet and money and such? I'd like to have some cash at hand
in case I need something while you're gone."

"That's a good idea. If I don't get back here tonight, I'll send someone from the hotel over."

"Seamie," she said, suddenly catching his hand in hers.

He turned around.

"Seamie ...I love you."

"I love you, too, Willa. So much." He took her in his arms and held her tightly. How he had longed to hear those words.

"And I'm sorry."

He released her. "For what?"

"For everything."

Her eyes were welling. He didn't want her to cry.

"Shh, Willa, it's all right."

"It's not."

"It will be. Rest now."

She nodded and lay down. He checked the cuts on her head and hands,
to make sure they were healing properly. She told him to stop fussing,
so he pulled the sheet up over her shoulders, kissed her forehead, and
left.

He saw Dr. Ribeiro on his way out, and stopped him to ask him if he was certain it was good for Willa to be on crutches so soon.

"It's a good sign, Mr. Finnegan," the doctor said. "It means she's
accepting what has happened to her. Most amputees won't even talk about
crutches for weeks, never mind trying them out only days after they've
lost a leg. Miss Alden seems determined to deal with her new
circumstances. She's a strong woman. A brave woman. I would encourage
her if I were you."

Seamie left feeling encouraged himself. They had survived a terrible
ordeal, the two of them, and Willa was mending, body and soul. She loved
him still. She'd told him so. Just knowing that made him feel strong
and sure again.

He knew he would need that strength in the next few days. Willa was
out of the woods, but his brother was in dire trouble. Sid needed him,
needed his help. He believed what Sid said about Freddie Lytton--that
he'd stop at nothing to hang him. And he knew that Sid had to escape.
Now. While he was still in Nairobi. He would have armed guards on the
train ride to Mombasa and there would be no hope of escaping once he was
on board the ship to London. Or from an English prison. They had to get
him out, and they had to do it now, but how? Nairobi prison might not
be Newgate, but it still had a warden, and a jailer, and armed askaris
standing guard. Whatever they tried would be risky and dangerous.

He hurried out of the surgery, down its shaky wooden steps, and out
into the dusty Nairobi streets, eager to meet Maggie and hear what she
had to say. If the two of them didn't end up in jail themselves by the
end of the week, it would be a miracle.

Seamie did not look back as he walked away from the hospital. He was
too intent on what lay ahead of him. He did not see Willa standing in
the window, propped up on her crutches again, her hand pressed to the
glass, her face wet with tears.

"This is preposterous! Outrageous!" Herbert Gladstone sputtered, throwing a document down on his desk.

"Betts swears it's true," Joe Bristow replied. He was seated across from the home secretary.

"Then why has he waited for six years to say anything?"

"He didn't think anyone would believe him."

"He's damned right nobody will believe him. Nobody. I'd advise you to
drop this, Joe. Immediately. You'll only end up making a laughingstock
of yourself, of me, and of my office."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I believe him. And I want you to officially reopen the Gemma Dean case."

"Think about what you're asking. You want to accuse a government
minister, a man who's never been in any sort of trouble with the law,
who, in fact, has a sterling record of service to king and country, of
murder. Murder. On the word of a convicted criminal! It's absurd! It's
utter madness!"

"It's also the bloody truth!" Joe said hotly. "I got you a sworn
signed statement from Betts. And I want you to reopen that case. Sid
Malone did not kill Gemma Dean, and I want to clear his name. I know how
it looks, Herbert. But how it looks is not how it is."

Gladstone gave Joe a long look. "No, not at all," he said at length.
"How it looks to me, at least, is like a political assassination. A
radical Labour MP trying to do his Liberal rival in."

"Blimey, Herbert," Joe said, disgusted. "You know me better than
that. If I wanted to go after Lytton politically, I'd do it in the
Commons. As I've already done. Many times. I'm not after any kind of
political victory. I'm after justice."

Gladstone continued to eye Joe, weighing his sincerity. Then he
picked up the document he'd thrown on his desk minutes ago--Betts's
sworn statement--and began to read it again.

Joe watched him, remembering how stunned he himself had felt when
Frankie Betts told him it was Freddie Lytton who'd murdered the actress.
And that he knew it was Lytton because he'd seen him do it.

"I was there," he'd told Joe, the last time Joe had gone to visit him
in prison. "I went over to Gemma's place a few days after I shot you.
I'd brought her a present. A white kitten with a pink collar. She was
feeling low, you see, over Sid. She liked cats and I thought it would
cheer her up. And butter her up. I was hoping to get information out of
her. I thought she might've heard from Sid. Might know where he was
hiding. Might even be hiding him herself. When I got there I heard
voices coming from inside the flat. Angry voices. A man's and a woman's.
At first I thought it was Sid and that he and Gem were having a row.
But the voice was too plummy to be his."

"Where were you?" Joe asked.

"In the hallway."

"If you weren't in the flat, how did you see the killing?"

"Picked the lock. Walked in. Then walked down the hallway to have
myself a gander. That was the hard part--getting down the hallway. It
was long, and I had to keep that damned mog quiet. Stuffed it under my
coat. Almost smothered it. I saw them both. Plain as day. Lytton
walloped her, then he choked her. She kicked him in the balls and broke
away. Then she tried to get to the hallway. And out the door, I
imagine."

"Why didn't you stop him, Frankie? Why didn't you help her?" Joe had asked.