The Winter Rose

by Jennifer Donnelly

  Charlotte ran.

  The footsteps were getting closer. She scooped up the jewels and dumped them into the drawer. She picked up the music box with trembling hands and slid the drawer back into place. She tried to push it closed, but it stuck.

  "Come on ...come on!" she whispered.

  The footsteps stopped outside the door.

  "Ah, there you are," she heard her husband say.

  She pulled the drawer out and felt inside with her finger. A tiny spring had come loose. She yanked it out and pushed the drawer in once more. It clicked shut. She set the music box back on the table. It tilted to one side. Freddie would notice it immediately. The foot, she thought. Where's the bloody foot?

  "... not the black ones. Do you understand me? The brown brogues."

  She crawled around on the carpet, feeling for it. Something small and hard bit into her knee. It was the foot. She snatched it up and carefully placed it under the box. There was no time to glue it. She prayed that Freddie did not want to listen to it now. She was about to dash out of the study to the veranda when she heard the doorknob turn. It was too late; she would never make it in time. He would see her and demand to know what she was doing in there. She looked wildly about the room, desperate for a place to hide. There was nothing, nowhere.

  And then, at the very last second, she spotted a tiny porcelain hand poking out from under the massive mahogany desk and dived for it.

  She was on her knees under his desk when he opened the door. He was confronted by the sight of her backside.

  "What the devil are you doing?" he barked.

  "Looking for Jane."

  "Who?"

  "Charlotte's doll. Ah! Here she is," India said. She backed out from under the desk, clutching Jane, and stood up. Her face was flushed, her breath short--not from her exertions under the desk, but it would look that way to Freddie.

  "Why is Charlotte's doll in here? Charlotte is not supposed to be in here," he said.

  "She was playing under your desk. Pretending it was her fort."

  "She's not to be in here. See that it doesn't happen again."

  "I'm sorry. I will."

  The toto came in bearing a pair of Freddie's shoes. Joseph was on his heels with a tea tray.

  "Not the black wingtips!" Freddie bellowed. "The brown bloody brogues! How many times do I have to tell you?"

  The boy, confused, turned to go.

  "Look, just bring what you've got. I don't have all damned day. Put them down and help me with my boots."

  India, grateful for once for Freddie's foul mood, hurried out of the study and down the hallway to her bedroom. Once there, she locked the door and sat down on her bed, clutching Jane tightly.

  "It's not true," she moaned. "It can't be true."

  Voices, urgent and frightened, whispered inside her head. Hugh's and Wish's.

  She heard Hugh telling her, tears in his eyes, that he'd taken only one comb, that he'd never touched the second one. Never even seen it.

  She saw her lovely, laughing cousin, just before he'd died, telling her about the donations he'd secured for her clinic, his voice full of pride and excitement.

  She remembered a picture she'd seen of Gemma Dean in a magazine, bright and beautiful, wearing her dazzling diamonds.

  "Why?" she said aloud. "Why would he do it?"

  A voice, a low, cold voice deep down inside her, answered her question.

  "For you," it said. "For your money. Everything he's done, he's done to get your money. He killed them because they were in his way. And if he finds out that you know, he'll kill you, too."

  Chapter 119

  "Good morning, George," Maggie Carr said as she walked by him on her way to the cells. She stopped suddenly, held her hand to her mouth, and coughed until she was red in the face. Seamie put a comforting hand on her back.

  "You all right, Maggie?" George Gallagher, the prison guard, asked.

  "No, I'm bloody well not. I started coughing yesterday and it's only getting worse." She coughed again and dug in her skirt pocket for a tin of cachous.

  "Nairobi throat," George said. "Comes from all the dust. Never mind those lozenges, they don't do a thing. Drink hot water with honey and lemon. That's what my wife gives me. Works like a charm."

  Maggie said she would and George returned to his newspaper. He knew better now than to argue about the one-visitor-at-a-time rule.

  Maggie coughed again and Seamie gave her a look. She was not to overdo it. They walked out of the guardroom and down the corridor to Sid's cell. He stood up when he saw them, hands grasping the bars.

  "Morning, lad," Maggie said. "We've come to sit with you for a bit. How are you feeling today?"

  "I'm fine," Sid said. "Have you..."

  Maggie held a finger to her lips. "Oh, yes. I've news of the harvest. Roos sent a letter with the Thompson boy, telling me the plants are all fine."

  Sid stood tensely as Maggie talked on and Seamie fished in his jacket pocket.

  Sid no longer looked despondent; he looked like a trapped and frantic animal. Everything had changed for him two days ago when Maggie had told him that Charlotte Lytton was his daughter. He hadn't believed it at first, but then he'd told them that he had to get out, one way or another. That he couldn't go back to London. He'd do anything, take any risk, but he wasn't going to be hanged. Not now. Not before he'd had a chance to ask India face-to-face if Charlotte truly was his.

  Seamie had assured him that they'd think of something. "Just give us a little time," he'd said.

  "I don't have any time," he'd replied. "They're putting me on the train in a few days."

  Seamie glanced over his shoulder now. The corridor was empty. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Sid. Keep talking while you read this, was written at the top. He knew that George could hear them. And that he'd become suspicious now if they all suddenly went silent.

  Sid made mechanical comments to Maggie's news about the farm while he read the paper he'd been handed. Seamie knew what it said; he'd written it out in his room last night after he and Maggie had finalized their plans.

  We're breaking you out. We trade clothes. I go in the cell. You walk

  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 a
fter 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.

  Chapter 120

  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?"

  Chapter 12
1

  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."