The Winter Rose (110 page)

"I can't do that, Maggs," he'd said, slinging the rifle over his
shoulder. "I have to go north. To Mount Kenya. I have to see her. See
them. I have to know."

"Lytton'll have you arrested again. You know that, don't you?"

"It's a chance I have to take."

She shook her head. "You damned stupid man," she sighed. "Be careful, won't you?"

He kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Maggs. For everything."

She waved his words away with her bound hands. "Don't forget the gag," she said. "Use my handkerchief. It's in my pocket."

He had ridden out of Nairobi on the backstreets and only fifteen
minutes later he was streaking north toward the plains. He'd reached
Thika by nightfall and quickly skirted around it, not stopping to camp
until he was well past it, for his face was too well known there.

When he arrived at the Wiltons' house, he was prepared to find
himself in danger. He was prepared for vicious rows and threats, for the
possibility that Freddie might try to have the servants overpower him
or even shoot him.

He was not, however, prepared for what he did find--nothing. No
India, no Freddie, no Charlotte, just half a dozen worried servants
clamoring around him, anxious for news of the family.

The most senior of them, a man named Joseph, told him he'd found a
note on the kitchen table early that morning. It had been written by the
Bwana and it said that they would ride out early because the missy
wished to see lions. They would picnic in the hills and return home in
time for tea. But they hadn't. The Bwana liked his tea at four sharp,
Joseph said. It was half past seven now and there was no sign of him. It
was most irregular. Something had happened, he was certain. He felt it.

Sid felt it, too. His sixth sense, the one he'd relied on during his
London days to tell him when a job felt right and when it didn't, was
talking to him again. It was shouting at him.

"Which way did they head?" he'd asked Joseph, his eyes already scanning the horizon.

"The note says they went to the hills. That means north. But the cook
was up early--her baby would not sleep--and she saw them from her
house. She saw them leave and says they rode west, toward the plains.
She says the child was riding with her father. On his horse."

"Why?" Sid asked, thinking it strange. "Didn't she have her own horse?"

Joseph shrugged. "I do not know. The pony is gone, but she was not on
it. Had I seen them I would have stopped them. Where they've gone is no
place for a woman and child. The lions in the hills are bad. But on the
plains they are thick as ticks on a dog."

"What time did they leave?"

Joseph turned to the cook and spoke to her in Swahili. "She says half past three."

Sid swore. It was now nearly eight in the evening. The trail was nearly sixteen hours old.

"Can you get me a fresh horse?" he said. "I'm going to start after them," he said.

"No, Bwana. Not at this hour. It is too dangerous. Go in the morning."

"I'll be fine. They may not be."

Joseph had a horse brought. He also had two canteens filled and some
food prepared. Sid put the provisions in his saddlebag and thanked him.
And then he was off, riding hard down the drive, his keen eyes fastening
on a trail of flattened grass he saw up ahead. It veered in a westerly
direction, just as the cook had said.

"What have you done, Freddie?" he said aloud. "What the hell have you done?"

India held Charlotte tightly against her. Between them, they had
managed to untie themselves. She could feel her little body trembling.
Above them, three lionesses circled the edge of the pit. One dipped a
paw into the void, overbalanced, and skittered backward. Another growled
constantly, angry at being so close to prey yet unable to get at it. A
third, the most fearsome, crouched still as a statue, bright eyes
glinting, a silver thread of saliva suspended from her lips.

"Will they jump down, Mummy?" Charlotte whispered.

"No, darling. They're too afraid. They know they can't get out again if they do."

India hoped to God she was right. She had no idea what lions could or
couldn't do. What if they did jump down? She and Charlotte would be
defenseless against them. She knew it would be a horrible death, and yet
she'd started to think it would be a merciful one. They'd been in the
pit for nine hours now. Hunger and thirst had set in.

India had been a doctor once. In what seemed like another lifetime to
her now. She knew what death from starvation looked like. The body lost
fat and muscle tissue as it began to consume itself. The skin became
pale and dry. Lethargy set in, followed by swelling of the limbs, and
then heart failure. She knew, too, that it wouldn't be starvation that
killed them, but dehydration. As a student, she'd read about cases where
victims had lasted five, even six, days without water, but a period of
three days was more typical. Two in hot weather.

It was a hard death, dehydration. The mouth and lips dried out. The
tongue swelled and cracked. The eyes became sunken, the cheekbones sharp
beneath the skin. The urine dried up and the bladder burned. The heart
raced. Breathing became rapid. Victims suffered pounding headaches,
nausea, grogginess, and delirium. But worst of all was the thirst. It
tortured people, drove them mad.

India wanted only one thing now--the strength to outlast Charlotte.
She wanted Charlotte to die first, so that she did not have to witness
her mother die and then spend her final hours alone. India wanted to
live long enough to comfort her at the end, to hold her in her arms as
she died.

And she would die. India accepted that now.

During their first few hours in the pit she had wanted to rage and
scream at the sky, to crawl insanely at the walls of their deep grave.
She had tried everything she could think of to get out. She'd stood
Charlotte on her shoulders, hoping that she could reach the edge and
pull herself out, but they fell several feet short. She tried to stretch
herself horizontally across the pit and climb up and out, but it was
too wide. When the realization had sunk in that they could not get out,
that they had no food and no water, that there was no one--no human
being--for miles and miles, she had nearly come apart. It had taken
everything she had, every ounce of courage and self-control, not to.

One of the lionesses roared again. India scrabbled at the bottom of
the pit until she had a clumpy handful of red dirt. She threw it at her.
It missed and the animal snarled. "Go away," India shouted at it. She
threw more dirt. Handful after handful, not bothering to squeeze it into
clumps anymore. "Go away," she sobbed. She threw until she was panting.
Until Charlotte wrapped her arms around her waist and buried her head
in her skirts and said, "Stop, Mummy, stop. They're gone."

She sat back down then, leaned her back against the wall, and pulled Charlotte to her.

"It will be all right, Mummy," Charlotte said.

"Will it, my love?" India murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"Yes, Mummy. Look." She plunged her small hands into her skirt
pockets and pulled out a treasure trove of diamonds, gemstones, and
gold.

"It's the jewelry," she said, spreading the pieces out over her skirts.

"My goodness. How did you get it?"

"I took it from the box while I was in Father's study," Charlotte
said, turning the dragonfly comb over in her hands. "Before you noticed
me. I took it so we can give it to the police in Nairobi. Just like you
said. Once we get out of here we'll give it to them and tell them what a
bad man he is." Charlotte went quiet for a bit, then said, "He'll come,
Mummy."

"Who will?" India asked tiredly.

"Mr. Baxter. He'll come for us. He found me when no one else could. He'll find me again. He will."

"Yes, darling, he will," India lied, knowing that the end might be
easier for her if she had something, some small shred of hope, to hold
on to.

She thought of Sid now. He would be on his way to London. She took
comfort in knowing that she'd never told him the truth about Charlotte.
At least he'd never have to know it was his child who'd died on the
plains of Kenya. If he even lived long enough to hear about it.

India was just closing her eyes when she heard a low growl. It was
one of the lionesses. She was back. India could see her head silhouetted
against the night sky. Her fangs gleamed whitely in the moonlight.

"Go!" Charlotte shouted at the animal, just as India had moments ago. "Go away!"

She stood up, still clutching the dragonfly comb, and threw it at
her. By some miracle, she hit her. The teeth must have dug into a
sensitive place on the animal's face, for she snarled and ran away.

"Good shot, darling," India said, trying her best to smile.

Charlotte sat down again, nestling back into her. It was cold in the ground. And damp.

India closed her eyes for a few seconds, intending only to rest.
Instead she fell into an exhausted sleep. She didn't see Charlotte
staring up at the distant stars. She didn't hear her whispering fiercely
to the night.

"He'll come, Mummy, you'll see. He will," she said. "He'll come."

Seamie had wanted flowers, but there was no florist in Nairobi. He'd
thought about chocolates, but he couldn't find those, either. Nairobi's
Victoria Street was not London's Bond Street. Far from it. He'd finally
been able to find a shop that provisioned safaris, and there he bought a
new clasp knife and a canteen. He left the shop pleased with his
choices. He knew that Willa would like them better than flowers and
sweets.

He was walking down Victoria Street with his gifts now, on his way to
the surgery. He was going to see if Dr. Ribeiro would let him take
Willa to the Norfolk for lunch. He knew her; knew she'd be bored out of
her mind in the hospital. He would see if he could hire a donkey cart
and show her something of the town. Take her mind off herself and what
had happened to her. He was looking forward to a leisurely meal himself.
He desperately needed to rest, to go slow for a bit, to recover from
the shocks of the last week.

It had been several days since he'd last visited Willa. And for a
while it had looked like it might be a damn sight longer. Everyone--from
George the prison guard, to Ewart Grogan the judge, to the governor
himself--had been highly suspicious of his and Maggie's story. They'd
been accused of helping Sid to escape, and had been jailed for a night
themselves. Seamie's resemblance to Sid Baxter was noticed, and he was
grilled about it. He insisted that he was no relation to Sid, produced
his papers to confirm his name was Finnegan, and told them he and Sid
had been friends in London. He said he'd read of Sid's arrest in the
papers and had been distressed to hear of a friend's troubles. He went
to visit him, to try to help him keep his spirits up, and treachery was
what he'd received for his troubles.

The police had tried to shake his story--and Maggie's--but they'd
both stuck to their statements. With no proof to confirm their
suspicions, the officers who'd questioned them were finally forced to
release them. That had been late yesterday evening. He'd wanted to see
Willa then, but the surgery was closed and he hadn't been able to scare
up the doctor. Instead he'd gone with Maggie to the Norfolk--not to the
dining room, but straight to the bar. He'd never in his life been so in
need of a whisky. The need had grown even stronger when Maggie told him
where Sid had gone.

"He'll get himself thrown right back in the nick," Seamie had said.

"If he does, he can bloody well get himself out," Maggie had replied. "I'm too old for any more prison breaks."

They'd emptied a bottle between them, then stumbled off to their
rooms, utterly exhausted. He'd said goodbye to Maggie over breakfast
that morning. She had to get back to her farm, she said. She had her
coffee to worry about. She invited him to come and visit her at Thika.
He said he would. He thought that Willa would like her. Perhaps, when
she was a bit stronger, they could make the trip out to Thika.

He bounded up the surgery's steps now. When he opened the door he got
a surprise: Willa's bed was empty. He walked over to it, confused. The
small table next to it was bare. Every time he had come to see her it
had been covered with books, newspapers, a packet of biscuits, a water
glass. Her boots were gone, so was the clothing he'd bought her. Had she
been moved somewhere else?

"Mr. Finnegan?"

He turned around. It was Dr. Ribeiro.

"Miss Alden's checked herself out," he said. "Over my strenuous objections, I might add."

"Checked out? Where is she? Is she at the Norfolk?" he asked. How could he have missed her?

"I don't believe so. She had my assistant help her to the station."

"But that can't be," he said. "I don't understand."

"Perhaps this will explain," the doctor said, handing him an
envelope. "She left this for you. If you'll excuse me, I need to attend
to another patient."

Seamie sat down on Willa's empty bed, placed his parcel next to him,
and opened the envelope. There was a single sheet of paper inside. It
had yesterday's date on it.

Dearest Seamie,

By the time you get this, I will be gone. I'm taking a train to
Mombasa today and getting on the first ship out. I'm sorry to say
goodbye this way, but I don't know what else to do. I can't see you
again. It hurts too much.

You saved my life and nearly lost your own into the bargain, and I
know I should be grateful to you, but I'm not. I'm angry and
heartbroken. I wake up every morning in despair and go to sleep the same
way. I don't know what to do. Where to go. How to live. I don't know
how to make it through the next ten minutes, never mind the rest of my
life. There are no more hills to climb for me, no more mountains, no
more dreams. It would have been better for me to have died on
Kilimanjaro than to live like this.