The Winter Rose (115 page)

Fiona sat back in her chair. Her head was spinning.

"Are you all right, luv?" Joe asked.

She nodded. "I will be, I think. Blimey, will somebody pour me
another cup of tea?" she said, trying to take in all that she'd just
learned.

There were many questions after that. Fiona wanted to know
everything. How India and her brother had met. How they had lost each
other and found each other again. Why she had married Freddie Lytton.
India, saying she was tired of living lies, held back nothing. She also
told them what Sid had told her about his life in Kenya. Seamie was then
able to tell them how Sid had escaped, and that he'd been determined to
get to India, regardless of the risks involved, to find out for certain
if Charlotte was his.

After India told them how Sid had found them and brought them back to
Lady Wilton's bungalow, Fiona asked the question that was in all of
their minds: "Where is he now?"

"I don't know," India said. "He brought us back to the house, then
left. Without a goodbye. Without anything." Her eyes filled with tears
as she said, "I think he's very angry with me. For not telling him. I
had the chance when we met again. At Mrs. Carr's farm. And I didn't take
it. I didn't want to hurt him, you see. But I don't think he understood
that. I think he doesn't want anything to do with me now. Anything to
do with us."

Fiona's heart went out to India Lytton. She was suffering terribly.

"I can't accept that, India," Seamie said. "I was there when Maggie
Carr told him Charlotte was his. I saw his face. He was on fire to get
to you. To get to Charlotte. Why would he take the risks he did to see
you, then stalk off in a huff? It makes no sense."

"Seamie's right," Fiona said.

"Then why did he leave?" India asked.

"He was afraid of being caught," Joe said. "That's the only
explanation. When he escaped from the Nairobi jail, word hadn't got out
yet about Betts's statement. He had no idea that Freddie Lytton was
going to be questioned. As far as he knew, he was still going to hang
for Gemma Dean's murder."

"But why didn't he leave me any word about where he'd gone?" India said. "There was nothing. Not even a note."

"Are you certain?" Fiona asked.

"I'm positive. He left me nothing. Nothing at all."

"Perhaps he didn't have time. Maybe something spooked him," Joe said.

"Yes, maybe that was it," India said, but Fiona could tell from her expression that she didn't believe it.

The adults sat together talking for another half hour or so and then
India, looking exhausted, said that she would have to be going. Fiona
asked Foster to bring a carriage for them. She called the children to
her and told Katie and Charlie that they would have to say goodbye to
their new friend. But only for now.

"I'm so pleased to have met you, Charlotte," she said, kneeling down
to take her niece's hand in hers. "I think you're a very special little
girl."

Charlotte blushed. She put her arms around Fiona's neck and hugged
her. And Fiona hugged her back tightly and then kissed her cheek, before
reluctantly letting her go.

Please, Charlie, she thought, watching her and her mother get into the carriage, please come back to them. They need you so.

When the Lyttons had left, Fiona closed the door. Anna whisked the
children away to the nursery for a nap, and it was just the three of
them-- herself, Joe, and Seamie.

"I'm off for a kip, too," Seamie said. "And a bath. I'm knackered. I'll be back down in an hour or two."

"Take your time, Seamie, luv. It's good to have you home."

"It's good to be home," he replied. He started up the staircase then stopped. "Fee?" he said.

"Yes?"

"Did you go to see the Aldens? Did you tell them about Willa?"

"Of course. We went right after we got your telegram."

"How did they take the news?"

"It was very hard on them. On Mrs. Alden especially. Luckily Albie was there to be with them."

"Have they heard anything from her?"

"When we first visited them, they hadn't. But Albie's been by since
to tell us they've had a postcard from Ceylon. And another from Goa. She
said she was going to work her way north. To Darjeeling--"

"And then Tibet," Seamie said.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Everest. She wants to see Everest."

His voice was heavy, his eyes sad. Fiona could see that he was
hurting over his friend's terrible accident and wanted to say something
comforting to him, but he was already up the stairs, leaving herself and
Joe alone.

"More tea for you?" Joe said.

"No, something a bit stronger, I think."

They returned to the conservatory and sat down again. Joe said he was
tired of his wheelchair and wanted something softer, so Fiona helped
him ease himself onto the settee, then sat down next to him.

Foster brought them a bottle of vintage port and two glasses. When he
left, Fiona looked at her husband, her heart full of love for him. She
took his hand in hers and kissed it. He had confronted the man who'd
tried to kill him, Frankie Betts. He'd badgered the home secretary to
see that justice was done. He'd even brought herself and India Lytton
together-- so that he could make sure she learned the truth about Sid,
and about Charlotte.

"You did all of this, Joe. So much," she said softly. "For Sid. Even though you don't like what he was. What he did."

"I did it for you, Fee. I wanted to give your brother back to you.
Back to you and Seamie. I wanted you to stop grieving for him."

Tears came to her eyes. Tears she'd held back all morning. "Oh, Joe. I
was so wrong, all those years ago," she said. "I should never have
looked for him. Never should have tried to see him. If I hadn't, none of
these things would have happened. You wouldn't have been shot, you
wouldn't be in a wheelchair..."

"Ssh, Fiona, don't. I'm the one who was wrong. For trying to make you stop. Stop hoping. Stop loving. Stop believing."

He took her in his arms and held her and they sat that way, close and
silent, for some time. Until Fiona said, "Do you think he'll ever come
back to us?"

"I do."

"But it's been more than five weeks, luv," she said worriedly. "Five
weeks at least with no word. I didn't want to say anything in front of
India. But I know she feels it, too. How can she not? He was all alone
when he left her. All alone in Africa, and we all know what can happen
there. We know what nearly happened to Charlotte when she wandered off
from the campsite. And what did happen to Freddie."

"He'll be all right, Fiona. I know he will. Look what he's come
through already. He'll come through this, too. He'll find his way back
to them, Fee. He will." He took her face in his hands and kissed her.
"Don't give up on him, luv. Not you. Not now. Not after all these years.
All the heartbreak. All the pain. He needs you now like never before.
Needs you pulling for him. You helped him once before. Help him now."

"How, Joe?" she asked through her tears. "How?"

"That's easy, my love. Just do what you've done all along. Believe in him, Fee. Believe."

India sat in the drawing room of 45 Berkeley Square, sipping a glass
of brandy. It was late, after midnight, but she'd lit no lamp. Moonlight
poured in through the tall windows, washing the room in silver. She was
alone. All the servants had gone to bed.

She was weary after her long sea voyage, wrung out after visiting the
Bristows, yet she could not sleep, so she'd stayed up gazing at the
moon. It was full tonight and magnificent in its pale beauty. She
wondered if it was shining down on Africa now. And on Sid, wherever he
was.

The Bristows had been her last chance. When Seamie told her in
Nairobi that Joe wanted to see her, and that Fiona was his sister--and
Sid's--her heart had leaped. She felt certain that he would have
contacted them. They were his family. He would at least let them know he
was all right. But he hadn't. Perhaps he'd known somehow that she would
contact them. And he didn't want them telling her where he was. Or
anything else about him. It was hard, so hard, to know that he wanted
nothing to do with her now.

A clock chimed the hour from somewhere in the house. Some damned
antique that had belonged to her mother. She would sell it. She would
sell everything. She would leave this place soon, she and Charlotte. It
held too many bad memories, too many memories of Freddie.

She would return his personal effects to Bingham. And the ghastly
portrait of Richard Lytton, the Red Earl. It belonged to Longmarsh. It
had never belonged here.

"I never did, either, come to think of it," she murmured.

She would put the house on the market by the end of the week. Consign
its contents to an auction house. They would live with Maud--she and
Charlotte--until they found a new home. She didn't know where they would
go, or what she would do, but she would work it out. Slowly. One step
at a time. By herself.

"Mummy?"

India turned around. Charlotte was standing in the doorway in her nightgown and wrapper.

"What is it, my darling? Why are you up so late?"

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When we were on the train to Nairobi, Lord Delamere said Mr.
Baxter's name and it made you sad. I know it did. I saw your face. Did
you know Mr. Baxter before you went to Africa? Did you know him in
London?"

"My goodness, Charlotte, what a question."

"You have to answer, Mummy. You have to. It's very important."

"If I answer, will you go back to bed?"

"Yes. Did you?"

"I did."

"A long time ago?"

"Yes, a long time ago."

"Is he my father?"

"Charlotte!"

"Is he? I heard Father say that I wasn't his. In the study. I heard
him call me a bastard. Just before he took us to the plains and put us
in the pit. I didn't know what the word meant so I asked Mary, but she
scolded me for even saying it. So then I asked a boy on board the ship
and he told me. I'm glad I wasn't my father's child. I never felt like I
was his. Is Mr. Baxter my father? My real father? You have to tell me,
Mummy."

"Yes, Charlotte, he is."

"Did you love him once?"

"You are asking me some very grownup questions."

"I have had to be very grownup over the last few weeks."

India nodded. "Yes, you have. Fair enough, then. Yes, I loved him. Very much."

"Do you still?"

"Yes."

"Is he good?"

"He is."

"Does he make you sad?"

"Charlotte, why on earth do you want to know these things?"

"Answer, Mummy! Does he?"

India thought for a moment, then said, "He doesn't, no. He makes me
very happy. It's not being able to be with him that makes me sad."

"Mr. Finnegan, he's Mr. Baxter's brother, isn't he? That's what he said at Lady Wilton's house."

"Yes, he is."

"And he's also Mrs. Bristow's brother. So that makes him my uncle and
Mrs. Bristow my aunt. And Katie and Charlie and Peter and baby Rose are
my cousins."

"Yes."

Charlotte absorbed this, then said, "I think they are all very nice people and I like them very much."

"I agree with you. I like them, too."

Charlotte looked out the window at the moon, her brow crinkled in
thought. Then she said, "I have something I'm supposed to give to you.
From Mr. Baxter. I didn't want to for the longest time. Not until now."

She reached inside her dressing gown pocket and pulled out an envelope.

India gasped. "Charlotte, how long have you had this?" she asked.

"Mr. Baxter gave it to me just before he left Lady Wilton's house."

"Oh, Charlotte! Why didn't you give it to me then?"

"Because I thought he made you sad and I don't want you to be sad
anymore." She kissed her cheek. "Good night, Mummy. I hope whatever the
note says makes you happy."

"Don't you want to know what it says?" India asked.

"You can tell me in the morning. I'm awfully tired. It's very hard work being a grownup."

India opened the envelope. It contained a single sheet of paper with
handwriting on it--Sid's handwriting. And a photograph that was folded
in half and yellowed at the edges. India unfolded it and caught her
breath. She recognized it. She'd given it to him. A long time ago. It
was a picture of the land Wish had willed to her. Point Reyes. On the
coast of California. The image was creased, it had faded a bit, but it
was still beautiful. She opened the note with trembling hands.

My dearest India,

By the time you read this, I hope I will be miles away. I know the
police will find me if I stay. I'm afraid I might've been seen riding
out to the Wiltons' place. If I was, all of Nairobi will know by now.
The Kikuyu are unholy gossips and word travels faster by bush telegraph
than you can imagine.

I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to see you well again. I wanted
to begin to know the beautiful, brave creature that is our daughter. But
I'm afraid that if I don't go now, I'll lose the chance forever.

Although I told everyone at the Wiltons' house that I would head
east, I am making my way west across Africa. With any luck, I'll make it
to Gabon and Port Gentil, where I hope to find a ship. I haven't much
money and will probably need to take work where I can find it.

I think it will probably take me the better part of a year to get
where I want to go. It will not be an easy journey and I know I won't
come through it unscathed, but come through it I will. For more than
anything in this whole world, or the next, I want to see you and
Charlotte again. I want to live with you both and love you both and make
up for all the sad, hard, hopeless years, the years without you in
them.

You taught me what love is, India. What faith is. You made me believe in those things. I still do. I always will.