The Winter Rose (108 page)

out with Maggie. She'll explain outside. Pick the lock.

Sid looked at him when he finished reading. He mouthed two words, "With what?"

Seamie held up a finger. He was talking now. He was babbling on about
an imaginary firm of solicitors in London whom he'd engaged to take
Sid's case. As he spoke, he quietly took off his boot and pulled out a
butter knife, a fish fork, and a corkscrew, and handed them through the
bars. It was the best he could do on short notice. He didn't dare risk
buying screwdrivers and awls in the local hardware store. The shopkeeper
might remember.

Sid examined the implements, then put the corkscrew down. He threaded
his hands through the bars and got to work. Progress was slow and
fumbling. He was working backward, his wrists bent at a painful angle in
order to get leverage. Maggie and Seamie babbled on, desperate to cover
the sounds of scraping metal. The lock was massive and the tumblers
heavy. Five minutes elapsed, then ten. Sid's brow was slick with sweat.
Seamie was running out of things to talk about. And then they heard it, a
metal thunk. It echoed loudly down the dank hallway. He and Maggie
exchanged panicked glances.

"Oh, blast!" she exclaimed, waving Sid back from the door. "I've dropped my cachous! Fetch them for me, Seamie, lad. Will you?"

Seamie heard George rise from his chair. He motioned for the tin.
Maggie dug in her pocket and gave it to him. He opened it, frantically
scattering lozenges across the floor. When George came around the
corner, Seamie was on his knees, tin in hand, picking up the lozenges.

"Everything all right?" George asked, casting his eye over Sid, who
was at the back of his cell, sitting in his customary spot on the floor.

"I've lost my cachous," Maggie said petulantly.

Seamie made as if to hand the tin back to her.

"I don't want them now," she said, aggrieved. "Not after they've been
on the floor." She took the tin from him and handed it to George. "Will
you toss them in the rubbish bin for me, George, please?" she asked.

"No loss, Maggie. I told you, it's honey and lemon you're wanting, not these."

He returned to his desk and Seamie felt his heart start beating
again. Still talking, he gingerly opened the door, stepped into the
cell, and exchanged his clean shirt and jacket for Sid's dirty ones.
Then he handed Sid the corkscrew and fish knife. He held on to the
butter knife. Sid slipped the implements into his boot.

When they were both dressed again, Sid hugged him hard. Seamie took
his cap off and placed it on Sid's head, and then Sid was gone, closing
the cell door behind him. They said their goodbyes loudly, then Seamie
watched as Maggie and Sid disappeared down the corridor. Sid had his
clothes on; they looked almost exactly alike. Seamie prayed that would
be enough.

He wedged himself into the front corner of the cell. He could just see the guard's room from there, if he stood on his tiptoes.

"We'll be off, then, George," he heard Maggie say.

"Bye, now," George said, not bothering to look up from his paper. "Don't forget the honey and lemon."

Seamie walked to the back of the cell and stood under the window,
holding his breath, listening for shouts, the sound of running feet,
gunshots--but he heard nothing. Just the sounds of a typical Nairobi
morning--horses and carts, builders pounding away, the odd shouted
greeting. He exhaled. Relief washed over him. They'd done it. Now all
Maggie had to do was get Sid out of town. Quickly.

He walked back across the cell, picked up the chamber pot, turned it
upside down, and hit himself in the face with it. When he could see
straight again, he sat down on the floor and, using his butter knife,
started prying the handle off the pot. It was only riveted on and it
didn't take him long before he had it off. He turned the mattress over,
made a small hole in the ticking, then buried the knife and handle
inside it. Then he flipped it back over. He thought about Willa as he
worked, hoping that she was all right. It would be hours before George
came to bring Sid lunch and discovered he was gone. Once the alarm was
raised, they would hold him here. They'd question him, ask him how it
had all happened, try to shake his story. It might be a day, maybe two,
before he was able to get back to her. He silently told her that he
loved her and promised her that he would be with her soon.

Then he closed his eyes and did his best to look unconscious.

India lay in bed. The house was silent. The clock in the sitting room
had just struck three. She waited a few more minutes, blinking in the
darkness, then threw back the covers and rose, fully dressed. She found
her boots where she'd left them and hurriedly put them on. She pulled a
small bundle from under her bed. It contained bread and cheese, a
canteen of water, and a good deal of money. It was all she was bringing.
They needed to travel like the wind, she and Charlotte. Extra weight
would slow them.

Carefully, quietly, she made her way to her bedroom door. She turned
the knob slowly, telling herself to be patient. Holding her breath, she
opened the door, slipped out into the hallway, then closed it behind
her. Charlotte's room was across the hall. Freddie's was down at the
end.

She had lain awake in the dark since eleven o'clock, willing him to
go to bed. He'd finally done so just after one. She'd heard him retire
and then she'd made herself wait for two hours to elapse, until she was
certain he was deeply asleep. It had been agony, the waiting, but she
knew she must not be hasty. If Freddie was not fully asleep, if he heard
her, she was done for. She had made her plan yesterday--after she'd
found the jewelry--and she knew she would get one chance and one chance
only.

She crossed the hallway now. Halfway there, a board creaked under her
foot. She waited, every muscle tensed, ready to dash back into her room
should Freddie's door open. Five minutes passed, ten. She pressed on.

"Mummy?" a little voice said, as she slipped inside Charlotte's room.

"Shh, my darling," she whispered. She knelt down by her bed and said,
"Charlotte, you need to do exactly as Mummy tells you now. I want you
to get up and get dressed. Put your riding things on. Be as quiet as a
mouse and don't light the lamp. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mummy."

"We're going traveling, you and I. I'm going to saddle the horses
now. I want you to meet me on the porch in ten minutes. Walk down the
hall in your stocking feet. Unlock the front door and leave it unlocked.
Put your boots on outside. Do not make a sound, Charlotte. Not one
sound. Can you do that for me?"

Charlotte nodded, her eyes large and worried in the darkness.

"Good girl. I'll meet you on the veranda. Hurry."

India left her room and headed for the kitchen. She went out the back
door and ran to the barns. There she risked lighting a small lantern
and saddled two horses, a mare and a pony. She talked softly to them,
patting them and reassuring them so that they would not kick. They were
lively animals, high-spirited and fieet, but she knew Charlotte could
handle the pony. She was a fearless rider. She'd taught her herself.

When she had them saddled, she poured oats into two feed bags and
attached them to the horses' heads. If they were eating, they would not
whinny. She led them out of the barn, toward the house. As she drew near
she could see that Charlotte was on the veranda, dressed and ready.

"Mummy, may I take Jane?" she asked softly.

India nodded. She motioned for her to mount. When she was in her
saddle, India gave her the mare's reins to hold, and the bundle of food
and water. There was only one thing left to do now--she had to get the
music box. Without it she had no proof of what Freddie had done.

Steeling her nerve, India went back into the house. "Carefully, now,"
she told herself as she opened the door. She walked into the hall and
glanced up the staircase. No one was there. The house was still. All she
could hear was the ticking of the clock. She made her way to the study,
slowly placing one foot in front of the other. Her heart was pounding.
If Freddie woke up... if he found her now...

She forced herself not to think about it. She thought about Sid
instead. The music box--and what was inside of it--would save him; she
knew it would. She and Charlotte would ride as hard and as fast as they
could to Thika, rest for a few hours overnight, then continue on to
Nairobi. Once they got there she would go to Sir James Hayes Sadler and
show him the jewelry. She would tell him how she found it, how she
thought Freddie had gotten it, and demand that he be arrested and Sid
freed. And if she failed to convince him, she would travel to London on
the same boat with Sid. She would hire the best barristers in London. No
matter what it took, she would see that Sid was spared and that Freddie
paid for what he'd done.

As she reached the study, India prayed she was not too late. She
prayed that the governor had not already sent Sid back to London. Moving
quickly, she opened the door and made her way across the room in the
dark. A movement caught her eye. She stopped short, stifling a cry of
fear ...but it was only the curtains fluttering in the night breeze. The
study, like the rest of the first floor, had French doors which led
outside. The maid must have left them open.

She rushed to the small ebony table where Freddie kept the music box.
She misjudged the distance in the dark, however, and banged into the
table, barking her shin. Her hands fluttered over the top, feeling for
the box.

It wasn't there.

She felt for it again, worried she'd somehow missed it, but no, it
wasn't there. It was gone. Could she have forgotten where she put it?
Frantic now, she stumbled to the fireplace, feeling along the mantel.
But it wasn't there either.

A small cry of desperation escaped her. She had to go. Now. But she couldn't leave without the music box.

"Where are you?" she whispered in the darkness. "Where the hell are you?"

She heard a noise from behind. Gasping, she spun around. A match
flared. In its glow she saw Freddie's face. He was sitting at his desk,
smiling. The music box was in front of him.

"Hello, darling," he said. "Looking for something?"

Freddie held the flaming match to the wick of a lamp. It caught. He trimmed it, then replaced the chimney.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he asked.

India made no reply. Her mind was racing. She had to get to
Charlotte. Get to the horses. Freddie knew. The music box was lost now.

"I knew something was wrong when I went to play it tonight. The foot
fell off and the drawer was broken. You saw them, didn't you? You saw my
treasures."

India took a step backward, then another. If she could get to the door ahead of him, she might have a chance.

"Where are you going?" He came out from behind the desk. "I asked you a question."

India knew she must show no fear. On the contrary, she must make him afraid.

"I'm going to Nairobi," she said. "With Charlotte. I'm going to tell them what you've done. I'm going to set Sid Malone free."

"That's quite a daring plan," he said, slowly walking toward her. "It
might've even worked, that plan. If you'd had the music box. Or rather,
what's inside it. But you don't, do you?"

The servants, India thought. They didn't live in the house, but in
out-buildings. Get to the door, she told herself. Get down the hall and
to the porch. Then scream like hell. Freddie must have read her mind,
for he was suddenly on the other side of the room, at the door, locking
it.

"You won't be going after the servants, I'm afraid," he said. "And
you won't be going to Nairobi. The only place you're going is back to
bed. And when you wake in the morning, this little episode will be
forgotten. Never to be mentioned again."

India's anger got the better of her. "It will be mentioned again,"
she said, when she should have said nothing. "To the police. And the
magistrate. To the governor. You found those combs, didn't you? You
found them, offered one to Hugh, and kept one. What a perfect plan! When
he pawns the first one, everyone assumes he has the second. He goes to
jail for refusing to return it. Even though he can't return it. Because
he doesn't have it. You do."

"Very clever, old girl. You've grown devious over the years." He moved closer to her, but she moved away.

"And you've grown vicious. When did it happen, Freddie? When did it
start? You didn't used to be this way. We used to walk in the woods, you
and I. When we were children. At Blackwood. When did you change?"

Freddie looked at her, suddenly stricken, then dropped his eyes. Hope
flared inside India. She thought she might have him. Might have wounded
him. She continued, hoping to cow him, to break him.

"You killed Wish, didn't you? You killed him and took his ring off
his hand and then told us he'd pawned it. How close were you to him when
you shot him, Freddie? Did he see you pull the trigger? Did he beg you
not to do it?"

"Please, India... don't," he said. He took a halting step toward her,
then another, and then he stopped. His hands came up to his face. He
pressed his palms over his eyes.

India pressed her advantage. She moved closer to him, leaned in, and
said, "He was your friend, Freddie. Your oldest, dearest friend. Was.
Until he started meddling where he shouldn't have. It was the clinic,
wasn't it? You killed him right after he talked about getting donations
for me. He was a threat. The clinic was a threat. It might've kept me
from marrying you. And poor Gemma Dean. She wasn't a threat, was she?
Just a bloody good way to frame Sid Malone."

"Oh, God," he said, his voice breaking.

"You killed three innocent people. You took everything from me.
Everything I ever loved. You're a murderer. You're the criminal, not
Sid."