Love and Death Among the Cheetahs Page 27

  “The haunch of meat was in our tent,” Darcy said. “Cyril must have known exactly what he was doing. He stood by and watched.”

  “Who did you tell about this?”

  “No one. We’ve told no one,” Darcy said. “So what do we do now?”

  “Van Horn has already booked to fly out of Kisumu on Monday. We’ll have him and his baggage searched, but other than that he’s committed no crime.”

  “And Cyril?” I asked.

  “We’ll keep a close eye on him in future but from the cable it’s clear they’ve already decided he is not the type to lead their little scheme.” Freddie sighed. “I don’t expect for a moment that they will give up. I’m sure that Hitler is setting up agents in every country of the empire.”

  “You really think he is planning for a massive war?” I heard my voice tremble as I said it.

  Freddie nodded. “I’m afraid so. We must just try to be one step ahead of him, even in backwaters like Kenya.”

  There was a long pause during which we all digested this.

  “You said there were developments, in the plural?”

  Freddie nodded. “I received a second cable.”

  “And?” Darcy demanded..

  Freddie smiled this time. “There is no such person as Jocelyn Prettibone.”

  “Then who is he and why is he here?” Darcy asked.

  Freddie shrugged. “You tell me.”

  “The jewel thief?” I asked.

  “Possible,” Freddie replied. “I’ll make sure I get his fingerprints today and send them to Scotland Yard to match. And as I say, we’ll search Van Horn on his way out. But now it seems apparent that he wasn’t here to receive stolen property.”

  “None of this throws any light onto who killed Lord Cheriton,” Darcy said. “Certainly not Van Horn, who was miles away in Gilgil with no transportation. And Prettibone, or whoever he is, was at Idina’s house.”

  “I suppose it is just possible that Jocelyn could have killed Bwana,” I said. “He didn’t sleep in the main house but in one of the outbuildings. What if he called, pretending to be Angel. He does have a high voice, doesn’t he? And as Bwana went out to get into his motorcar Jocelyn was ready and killed him. Then wrapped him in some kind of blanket, bundled him into the car, drove to that spot, tipped him out of the blanket onto the grass and left a shoe print and the motor running.”

  Freddie was looking at me warily. “You seem to be surprisingly au fait with methods of murder,” he said.

  “Trust me, she is.” Darcy flashed me a grin. “You don’t ever want to cross her.”

  “You make a good point,” Freddie said, “but how did he get back to Idina’s?”

  “He’d have to have walked back in the dark. It’s at least six miles,” Darcy said. “Unless he had an accomplice who followed him in another vehicle.”

  “But we didn’t notice any other tire tracks,” I said.

  “If there were, we drove over them,” Darcy pointed out.

  “You’re right.”

  Freddie opened the door of the backseat for me and I climbed in. “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “Not much we can do until we find out more about Prettibone and why he’s here. As I say, I plan to get his fingerprints today.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “Hand him a glass. Easy.” He grinned. I thought how different real spies looked from the ones you read about in books. With his freckled face and easygoing manner he would have been at home at a village cricket match.

  We set off. The road down there by the lake was a bit better than the track through the valley, but not much. I was glad when we pulled up beside a white wooden church. There were many other cars parked on the grass and a crowd had already assembled at the gravesite. We picked our way past other graves and I glanced at the names of the few Europeans who had come out here then died too early. Aged fifty-one. Aged eleven. Aged forty-three. As I walked I found myself wondering what had killed them. An accident? An animal? A tropical disease? Too much booze? And I thought how sad it must be to die so far from home.

  The new grave had been dug near the white picket fence that surrounded the churchyard. It all looked remarkably English and I realized how much we need the comfort of feeling at home in a strange country. The only thing that jolted the illusion was a group of small monkeys who bounded away from the roadside as our motorcar approached. We joined the other mourners beside the open grave. Angel stood there, looking elegant in a sleek black dress, her face completely hidden under a long black veil. Rupert and Rowena were beside her. I looked around for Joseph and spotted him standing off to one side, behind the cluster of Europeans. Everyone was suitably dressed for mourning. Babe Eggerton was dabbing at her eyes. Tusker was either glaring or fighting with emotion. Idina looked white and shaken. I noticed the Tomlinsons—had they driven all the way from Nairobi or had they stayed with Idina all this time? And there, in the background, was Inspector Windrush, observing everyone’s behavior, no doubt. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d held a notebook and pencil in his hands.

  The vicar came out of the church and the service began. I have always found burial services incredibly unsettling. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. One doesn’t like to think about it. I glanced across at Darcy, hoping that I never had to stand beside a grave at a funeral for him. And as I looked around I saw a movement beyond the fence. Someone was standing outside the churchyard, almost invisible in the shade of a big tree. As I looked more closely I saw that she was a native woman, wearing traditional dress, with heavy collars around her neck and many bangles on her arms. An attractive woman with high cheekbones and a proud expression, staring out at the mourners, almost defiantly. Then her gaze seemed to fasten on a particular person and she nodded almost imperceptibly. I looked across and saw Joseph giving her a brief smile. I noticed his expression, and then hers. And suddenly I understood.

  The vicar finished the prayers. The family came forward to throw the first earth onto the coffin. One by one the mourners moved off. Instead of following I slipped behind the other mourners and made my way to Joseph. “That’s your mother,” I said. It was a statement, not a question, and he nodded.

  “She was the one who used to live in the cottage?”

  “Bwana built it for her,” he said. “When he first came here she helped him. She took care of him. He would not have survived without her. And through her he learned the ways of my people. How to keep cattle in this land. How to thrive here.”

  I dared to take this one stage further. “And he was your father.”

  “Yes,” he said. He was staring out past me, out across the lake. “He was my father. And he said to my mother, ‘Don’t worry. I will recognize this boy as my son. I will educate him in the British way. He will have a good life and I will provide for him.’”

  “But he didn’t treat you like a son.”

  “When he brought home the first white woman as his wife, my mother continued to live in the cottage and the wife said nothing. She was agreeable with this arrangement or she did not dare to cross my father’s wishes. But then the American woman came and she demanded that my mother leave and go back to her people. And he started to treat me more and more like a servant. Then he learned that he was now a lord, and he sent for his children from England. Until then he had never talked about them, never wanted to see them. But when they came, he made it clear that these were the children that mattered.”

  “And so you killed him.” The words just came out. I could hardly believe what I was saying.

  He was still staring out past me. “He deserved to die. He banished my mother, who had devoted her life to him. Who loved him. And he was writing a will. I saw it. There was no mention of me. It was as if I didn’t exist.”

  “But how . . .” I stopped.

  “How did I manage to kill him?” His expression was stil
l composed. If anything he looked pleased with himself. “I placed the telephone call when they had all gone to bed,” he said. “I told him, ‘Come home soon. Your wife is not at all well.’”

  I was about to ask how he could have placed that telephone call and then been at the spot where Bwana was killed. He anticipated my question. “I put down the receiver and then I ran. I am Maasai. Running is in my blood. I knew I had time, that he would not leave right away, that he would come home grudgingly. I knew I would intercept him somewhere along the road. It did not matter where. But I was lucky. I got as far as the place where the motorcar must slow down to cross the stream. And when his car came through those rocks I was standing there, in the road, with my spear in my hand and my lion skin cape around my shoulders.” He looked proudly defiant. “He stopped the car and got out and said, ‘Is it bad news, Joe?’ and I said, ‘Bad news for you.’ And I threw the spear into his heart. As he fell I removed the spear and carried him into the bushes. And he spoke to me as he died. He said, ‘I’m sorry, son.’”

  “Your cape caught on a thorn,” I said. “We saw what looked like lion’s fur.”

  He nodded, still quite composed.

  “But there were no footprints that we saw.”

  “My people are used to covering our tracks,” he said. “And it is easy when one does not wear white man’s shoes.”

  We stood for a while in silence as the last stragglers of the crowd moved away. I heard Lord Delamere saying, “Luncheon will be served on the lawn outside the hotel. You’re all welcome.” And then the sound of a motorcar starting.

  “Who have you told about this?” he asked me.

  It was the first time I realized that I might be in danger. Would he now have to silence me? But I couldn’t lie to him. “Nobody. I only realized the truth when I spotted your mother standing outside the fence.”

  “But you will now go to the police or Lord Delamere?”

  “I don’t know.” I paused, fighting with conflicting emotions. “I suppose I have to. We can’t risk someone innocent being arrested for this crime, can we?”

  “You have to do what your conscience tells you, just as I followed mine,” he said. “But I believe that Lord Delamere has just driven off in his motorcar. You will not be able to tell him for a while. Maybe you will only share your suspicions with him when the luncheon is over so that the atmosphere of the day is not spoiled.” Now he looked directly at me. And I saw the look of the European in his expression—the uncertainty, the fear, that is never seen in the face of a Maasai warrior.

  “And what will you do?” I asked.

  “I will be far away when they come looking for me. I shall have to go far from this place but maybe I shall cross the border to Tanganyika and then I can live out my life in peace among my people there. Maybe I shall not make it that far; I will be caught and I will be hanged and that will be the end of it. But I hope not.”

  “I hope not too,” I said. “One question, Joseph. You didn’t bring that lion into camp to kill us, did you?”

  His eyes flashed then. “Why would I do that? I killed the lion, even though it will bring bad luck to me.”

  “Of course. Thank you,” I muttered. “You should go now.”

  He held out his hand to me. “I wish you God’s blessing, memsabu.”

  And I heard myself saying, “And I you, Joseph.”

  Then he took off running with easy grace. When I looked under the big tree, the woman had gone.

  Chapter 34

  AUGUST 17

  AT LORD DELAMERE’S ESTATE

  I debated long and hard whether to tell anyone or not. Much as I liked Joseph and could appreciate his reasons for killing his father, it was murder. A life had been taken.

  Darcy sensed that something was wrong as we sat at the luncheon. As soon as we were alone he asked me about it and I told him exactly what had happened between Joseph and me. When I had finished he frowned. “You have to tell someone. You can’t let him get away with murder.”

  “I realize that. It’s just that there hasn’t been an opportunity to get Lord D alone and I’m certainly not going to tell Inspector Windrush. He’d be particularly brutal because he hadn’t figured it out for himself.”

  “But Joseph did kill a man, although I won’t say he wasn’t provoked.”

  “A life for a life,” I said. “Is that always fair?”

  “It’s not up to us to judge,” Darcy said. “And we can’t let them try to pin the crime on an innocent man, just to appease the white community.”

  I sighed. “I’ll wait until the inspector leaves and then I’ll tell Lord Delamere. At least that will give Joseph a fighting chance.”

  “You might find yourself in trouble for aiding and abetting,” Darcy pointed out.

  “I’ll say he ran off before I could try to stop him.”

  Darcy smiled. “You are too soft.”

  “No, I like justice to be fair.” I looked up. “Ah, it seems that people are leaving. I’ll go and tell Lord Delamere now.”

  * * *

  IT WAS A difficult conversation and I wasn’t completely surprised at Lord Delamere’s reaction.

  “I always suspected that he was Bwana’s son,” he said. “Well, poor chap. I can’t say that I blame him, do you? But a native killing a white man. My God.”

  We went back to Lord D’s estate but somehow the magic of Africa had been spoiled. The Prince of Wales and Mrs. Simpson left, heading in different directions, he to resume his royal tour in Nigeria and she presumably back to Europe. And Darcy suggested to me that it might be time to go. “Van Horn has gone,” he said. “He was searched and nothing incriminating was found on him. And now it seems that Cyril is not deemed fit to lead a coup in Kenya, I suppose we can breathe in peace for a little while. Although I don’t doubt that the Nazis will be fomenting trouble anywhere they can in the world.”

  “So you’ve given up looking for the jewel thief?” I said. “Now that you’ve decided Mr. Van Horn wasn’t here to obtain the diamond.”

  “I don’t think we’ll ever know that,” Darcy said. “As he told you, he does broker deals as well as being a Nazi spy. It might have been passed to him, although it didn’t turn up when he was searched.”

  “Pity,” I said. “I rather hoped that Rupert or Rowena might have been our jewel thief.”

  “You really dislike them, don’t you?”

  “Don’t you?” I replied. “They are both horrid. And you should have seen how mean she was to me at school.”

  Darcy laughed. “If I bore a grudge about all the boys who weren’t exactly pleasant when I first went to boarding school I’d be a basket case. I just got even when I became a good rugby player.” He paused, thoughtfully, then he said, “So let’s forget about those twins and think about us. Are you ready to leave, do you think?”

  “Yes, I believe I am. I’ve seen every animal and bird. We have a lion skin coming to us when it’s cured. What more could we want? And frankly I would like to be back home where people behave normally.”

  “Your mother behaves normally?” He chuckled again.

  “Well, except my mother. And Belinda, maybe. But I do have one request.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Could we go home by ship instead of by aeroplane? I don’t think I’m ready to give up our honeymoon just yet and on a ship I’d have you all to myself with no crimes and no intrigues.”

  Darcy laughed. “Of course. I’ll book us passage on the next steamer from Mombasa.”

  * * *

  LORD DELAMERE GAVE a farewell dinner for us. Diddy came down to join us. Cyril did not join her and she let it be known that he was moving back to Nairobi. He found life in the country too restricting. “And I tell you who else has gone,” she said. “That affable twit Jocelyn. Apparently his father has flown into a rage and demands that Jocelyn return home ins
tantly. Between ourselves he wasn’t at all cut out for the life here, was he?”

  So it looked as if we might never find out who Jocelyn Prettibone was and why he had come to Kenya. We took the train from Nairobi to Mombasa, where we enjoyed the beach and the sights for a few days until we caught the steamer home, up through the Red Sea, the Suez Canal, and the Mediterranean, arriving home in late September. England was already in the middle of autumn. The skies were heavy and gray and the pavements were piled with dying leaves. After that great arc of blue sky it seemed terribly dull. Zou Zou was over in Ireland so we decided to go straight down to Eynsleigh, where we were greeted by my mother.

  “You look frightfully well, my darlings,” she said, embracing me as she always did, with a kiss three inches from my cheek. “You see, I was right. All that sex is good for one. Did you have a good and relaxing time?”

  “Good but not all relaxing,” I said.

  “Well, of course not. All that energetic stuff in the bedroom gives one an appetite, doesn’t it?”

  “I was thinking more about being charged by elephants and nearly eaten by lions,” I said.

  “Heavens! How frightfully uncivilized. And how was Idina? Is she really naughtier than me?”

  “Much,” I said. “She made a pass at Darcy. I didn’t want to like her, but I did, in spite of everything.” I looked around. “Where’s Granddad?” I asked nervously. “He’s all right, isn’t he?”

  “He went home, darling. About a week ago. He said he’d left his little house for too long and he wanted to get back to his routine. He said he didn’t feel right being waited on. He’s promised to come often to visit you, after I’ve gone.”

  “You’re leaving?” I asked.

  She nodded. She had that excited but uncertain look on her face, like a child about to do something risky and maybe naughty. “I’ve heard from Max,” she said. “He misses me terribly. He says he can’t live without me. He begs me to be patient. He can’t risk upsetting his mother at the moment and he is overwhelmed with work but he suggests I go to our villa on Lake Lugano and he’ll join me whenever he can.”