The Winter Rose (109 page)

Freddie's head snapped up. His hand shot out and closed around her
neck. He pushed her backward, slamming her into the wall, and held her
there, squeezing.

It had all been an act. A way to gain her trust. To get close to her. How could she have been so stupid?

"Let me go!" she rasped.

"You want to go, India? You want to leave? Fine. You'll go. But not to Nairobi. Not you and not Charlotte."

"You wouldn't! You wouldn't hurt her, a little girl."

Freddie laughed. "I'm tired of raising your cuckoo, India. I want
heirs. Proper children. My children. From a proper wife. I'll have them,
too. Just as soon as I get rid of you and your bastard."

"Let Mummy go!" a voice said from behind them.

It was Charlotte. She was standing behind Freddie's desk, holding Jane ...and the music box.

She must have come in through the veranda doors, India thought. She must have heard us.

"Charlotte, put that down," Freddie said.

Charlotte shook her head. She took a step backward, toward the doors.

"Put it down. Now," Freddie ordered. "Or I will beat you black and blue."

Charlotte turned and darted out through the doors into the night.

"Charlotte!" Freddie bellowed, starting after her.

India lunged at him; she caught his arm and pulled him back. He
whipped around and punched her viciously in the face. White lights went
off inside her head, blinding her. Her lips were slick with blood.

She ducked her head down, trying to avoid his blows, dug her nails into his fiesh, and screamed, "Run, Charlotte! Run!"

Tom Meade ran down the long corridor and up the staircase that led
from his office to the governor's, leaving a score of bewildered clerks
and functionaries in his trail. No one ran in Government House. Ever.
For any reason.

He charged past the governor's secretary and barged into the man's office, redfaced and panting.

Sir James Hayes Sadler was seated at a large round table with a dozen
other men. He turned around, looked at Tom, and said, "Have you lost
your mind?"

"No, sir."

"You've interrupted a very important meeting."

Tom looked around the room. His immediate superior, the district
commissioner for Kenya Province, was there, as well as other DCs, Lord
Delamere, and leading members of the Colonists' Association. "I realize
that, sir," he said. "And I'm very sorry, but I have a telegram--"

"Can't it wait?"

"I'm afraid it cannot. It's from the home secretary's office."

Hayes Sadler blinked at him. "Are you quite certain?"

"Here, sir," Tom said, handing it over.

Hayes Sadler read the message. "I'll be damned," he said. "I can
hardly believe this." He looked at Tom. "You're positive this came from
Gladstone's office?"

"I am. I didn't believe it myself. I replied, asking for confirmation. It's genuine."

"What is it, James? What's happened?" Delamere asked.

Hayes Sadler sat back in his chair. He took off his glasses. "It
appears that the home secretary wishes to speak with Lytton--to question
him, actually--about his possible role in the murder of Gemma Dean. He
wants him to return to London as soon as possible."

Cries of disbelief were heard.

"Believe me, I'm as shocked as you are," Hayes Sadler said.
"Apparently an accusation against Lytton has been made back in London
and a rogue MP is championing the man who made it--a
convict--threatening to go to the papers with a sworn statement.
Gladstone's trying to defuse him and spare Lytton the embarrassment of
having this nonsense appear in the papers. I'm to get word about this to
him as quickly as possible."

The table erupted into a tumultuous discussion. Most believed Lytton
entirely incapable of such a deed. There's nothing in it, they said.
It's utter rubbish. But a few wondered why, if there was nothing to it,
had the home secretary involved himself?

When the hubbub died down, Hayes Sadler said, "We'll have to send
someone to fetch Lytton back from Mount Kenya. Tom, you go. See Grogan
before you leave. Ask him if he can spare two men to go with you. For
form's sake. I'm sure there's been a mistake. Perhaps Lytton can get it
sorted with a few telegrams. A pity we have to trouble him on his
holiday. Oh, and Tom, inform Sid Baxter of what's happened, will you?
This is all damned perplexing, I must say."

"Um... yes... well, you see, sir, that's the other thing I came to
tell you," Tom said, wincing. "As regards Sid Baxter... we're going to
have some difficulty informing him of anything. You see, he's not at the
jail--"

"What do you mean, he's not at the jail? He hasn't left for Mombasa yet. I know that for a fact. I signed the papers myself."

"Yes, well, I'm afraid he has already left... but not on the train.
And not for Mombasa. You see, sir, it appears Sid Baxter has escaped."

Charlotte, her cheek swollen where Freddie had slapped her, her mouth
cruelly gagged, turned around, trying to catch a glimpse of her mother,
trying to make sure she was all right. Her tiny face, her fearful eyes,
were like a knife to India's heart. She was so brave. Freddie had
brutalized her. He had bound her hands and stuffed a rag into her mouth.
He had given her no food or water and had made her ride hatless in the
blazing sun. She was terrifled, in pain, and yet she was worried for her
mother.

India smiled at her as best she could--her own face was horribly
swollen from Freddie's fists. She ached to comfort her child, to put her
arms around her, but it was impossible. Freddie had beaten her
senseless. He had caught Charlotte and taken the music box from her.
When India came to, she saw Charlotte seated on the stallion Freddie
always rode. She herself was seated on the mare she'd saddled earlier.
The animal was tethered to Freddie's horse, as was Charlotte's pony, but
India would have followed even if it had not been and Freddie knew it.
He knew she would never let Charlotte out of her sight.

"Sit up," Freddie had said to Charlotte before they'd set off. "Hold
on to the pommel. If you fall, I'll leave you on the ground." And then
he'd spurred his mount and they were cantering down the drive in the
predawn darkness.

It was now approaching noon. India had tried to pay attention to
where they were going. She knew they'd ridden west of Mount Kenya, but
that was all she knew. She'd never come out this far before. She looked
at Freddie, at what he was wearing, at what he'd brought with him, for
clues. But he had only a saddlebag and a canteen and they told her
nothing.

India would have killed Freddie if she could have, for hurting
Charlotte. She told herself he meant to teach them both a lesson. To
scare them into silence. She could not bear to think about the
alternative--that he was going to murder them. He wouldn't, she told
herself. He couldn't. There would be too many questions. A search party.
He'd never get away with it.

They rode on. India was parched; she knew Charlotte would be, too.
Finally, when the sun was nearly overhead, they stopped by a river.
India thought for sure that Freddie would allow them to get down, to
take a drink. He didn't. Instead he jumped down himself, drew the music
box from his saddlebag, and threw it into the water. India watched it
sink and her heart sank with it. Her evidence was gone. The only proof
she had of what he'd done. Then he bent down by the riverbank, cupped
his hands, and took several long drinks. When his thirst was slaked, he
climbed back onto his horse and dug his heels into the animal's sides.
India screamed at him through her gag as her mare lurched forward.
Charlotte needed water. Couldn't he see that?

A voice inside her, the same voice that had spoken to her when she'd
first found the jewelry, said, Of course he can see it. He doesn't care.

India started to weep then. She couldn't pretend any longer. He had
taken them out here to do away with them. She prayed now that he would
be quick and that he would kill Charlotte first. They rode for another
half hour. Then Freddie stopped again. He got down and lifted Charlotte
down. He took a pistol from his saddlebag and stuck it into his
waistband. India saw it. Her eyes grew wide with fear. He walked over to
her and pulled her down off the mare.

India's wrists were still bound, but she could use her fingers. She
clawed at the gag, pulling it out of her mouth. "Freddie, please. I beg
you..." she said.

"Start walking. That way," he said, pointing straight ahead at an acacia tree. Charlotte did so. India did not.

"You can't do this. Please! Not to an innocent child."

"Go!" he shouted, pointing the gun at India's head. Charlotte,
frightened, broke into a run. India turned and ran after her. As she
did, she was horrifled to see the girl vanish. Right into thin air. One
second she was there, the next she was not.

"Charlotte? Charlotte!" she screamed, still running. She saw it at
the very last second--a black, yawning pit opening at her feet--and only
barely managed to stop short of the edge. She knelt down. She could see
her daughter at the bottom, struggling to her feet.

"Charlotte! Are you all right?"

India never heard Charlotte's answer. She felt a rough hand on her
back and then she was tumbling into the pit herself. She twisted as she
fell, trying to avoid Charlotte, and landed on her right side, knocking
the wind out of herself. She writhed on her back, trying to draw air
into her lungs. She heard Charlotte crying. Smelled soil and blood. When
she could finally breathe again, she stood up and clawed at the pit's
earthen sides.

"It's no use," Freddie said. He was kneeling at the pit's edge,
looking down at them. "It's twelve feet deep. You'll never get out. It's
a Kikuyu game pit. I'd heard about them. Never seen one until two days
ago when I nearly fell into it. Damned handy things. The natives use
them to catch food. And marauding lions. They dig them deep then cover
them over again with grass. The animals never suspect a thing until it's
too late."

"Freddie, don't do this," India pleaded.

"It's already done."

"You'll never get away with it."

"Oh, but I will. I'll ride back to the house in a day or so.
Sunburned, parched. Half out of my mind with fear and grief. I'll tell
the servants we rode out at dawn to see lions. I'll say that we stopped
to eat. You and I became drowsy and napped. Charlotte wandered off.
Everyone will believe me. She's done it before. We split up to look for
her and lost sight of each other. I kept hunting for you both for days.
Finally decided to come back and get help. I'll get a search party
together and we'll head off in a totally different direction. You'll
never be found, of course. It'll be assumed that lions got you."

India tore her gaze away from Freddie and looked at Charlotte. She
was white with terror. "Leave me here, Freddie, but take Charlotte.
Please take her back. She's done nothing. You cannot be this cruel. Not
even you."

Freddie shook his head. "She's far more valuable to me dead than alive. She's about to make me a very wealthy man."

India realized what he meant--with herself dead, and Charlotte, too,
the Selwyn Jones fortune would automatically go to Freddie. She knew now
that there was no help for them. None at all. They would die here.
Slowly and brutally.

Freddie stood. He was leaving.

"No!" India screamed raggedly. "You can't leave us to die like this. Give me the pistol. For God's sake, have mercy on us!"

Freddie smiled regretfully. "Can't do that, old girl. Should someone
ever find you, they'll find the pistol, too. Don't want them to put two
and two together, do I?"

And then he was gone. And there was nobody. Nothing. Only the blue sky above them and the merciless African sun.

By the time Sid had reached the Wiltons' house, he'd ridden for
nearly two days, stopping only when total darkness made it impossible to
continue. A ride this far upcountry usually took three if not four
days, but he'd driven his horse hard, wanting to put as much distance as
possible between himself and Nairobi.

He remembered walking down the corridor to the guardroom--certain
George would see that he wasn't Seamie and raise the alarm. But George,
absorbed by the racing sheet, hadn't even raised his head. He and Maggie
had sailed out of the guardroom, through the foyer, and down the steps
to the street. The stern askaris posted in front of the prison, their
eyes trained straight ahead, took no notice of them.

Maggie had hurried him across the street to the Norfolk. But instead
of going inside, she led him around the back to where Ellie, her horse,
was stabled. She pulled him inside one of the barns, then made him
crouch down in Ellie's stall.

She pulled out some rope that had been buried in the hay on the
floor. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Quickly, tie my hands and
feet."

"Why?"

"So I can tell whoever finds me that you overpowered me and took my horse. Otherwise it'll be me sitting in a jail cell."

"Good idea," Sid said, looping the rope around her ankles.

"Your brother's."

"What's going to happen to him?"

"He'll tell them the same thing. With a variation or two. You pulled
the handle off the chamber pot, sharpened it on the stone floor, then
picked the lock. You got out and held the handle to my throat, hit
Seamie, threw him into the cell, and forced me to accompany you out of
the building."

"All without attracting George's attention?" Sid said, starting on Maggie's wrists. "That's very impressive of me."

"The story has its flaws, but it's all we've got," she said. She
nodded at her horse. "Ellie's saddled and ready to go. There are two
canteens in the saddlebags, enough food to last you three days, and
twenty quid. My rifle is buried in the hay, just to the left of the
door. Yes ...right there. You've got to go now, Sid. Before George
twigs. Get out of Kenya as fast as you can. Head south for the German
border."