The Sun Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘No, of course not, ma’am,’ the official said, eyeing both Lankenua and Stella. ‘Do they speak English?’

  ‘Not well, no,’ said Cecily quickly. ‘But it’ll be fun for them to see Manhattan, won’t it?’

  ‘It will.’ The official stamped Lankenua’s and Stella’s passports. ‘Welcome to the United States, and a very merry Christmas to all of you.’

  Cecily breathed a sigh of relief as she left the hut, briefly looking back and seeing a queue of goodness knew how many people stretching from the ship gangplank, standing out in the freezing cold.

  ‘Okay,’ she said as they emerged into the arrivals area. ‘We made it! Oh my! I’m so excited!’ She laughed as she saw Mama, Papa and their chauffeur, Archer, waving at them. ‘Let’s go meet my family!’

  Neither her mother nor her father seemed to have aged a bit and after an emotional reunion on the quayside, Archer ushered the party towards the waiting car.

  ‘Why, who is this?’ asked Dorothea, for the first time spotting Stella, who was hiding shyly behind Lankenua.

  ‘This is Stella, my very special friend, aren’t you, honey?’ Cecily smiled down at her.

  ‘I didn’t realise we had an extra body to ferry home,’ Dorothea said. ‘The maid can sit up front with Archer, but this child . . .’

  ‘She can sit on my knee, Mama, there’s plenty of room for three and a half of us in the back, after all,’ Cecily said firmly, taking Stella’s hand.

  On the ride home, Cecily ignored her mother’s bristling disapproval, and instead peered out of the window with Stella, pointing out various buildings, as the little girl ooh-ed and aah-ed at the skyscrapers above them.

  Back at the house on Fifth Avenue, Cecily was greeted by the whole family, who had assembled in the drawing room. Priscilla stood beside her husband Robert, with seven-year-old Christabel at their side. Hunter had his arm slung around Mamie, who was holding a toddler in her arms, while two more young children were hiding shyly behind their parents. A huge pine tree decorated with candles and baubles stood in pride of place, and the family’s cheerful red stockings hung over the fireplace.

  ‘Mary, take the maid and her child up to their room so Miss Cecily can get acquainted with her family,’ Dorothea ordered their housekeeper.

  Reluctantly, Cecily let go of Stella’s hand, realising she should have told her mother that Stella was to sleep on the same floor as her, but she hadn’t known how to explain it.

  ‘Cecily!’ Mamie and Priscilla came over to shower her in hugs and introduce little Christabel, Adele, ‘Tricks’ and Jimmy. Cecily hugged them all in turn, and whilst the girls seemed awed at finally meeting their mysterious aunt, three-year-old Jimmy was more focussed on his toys which were sprawled all over the rug.

  ‘You look swell, Cecily,’ Priscilla said approvingly. ‘You’ve turned into a real beauty since you’ve been away.’

  ‘Are you saying I wasn’t when I left?!’ Cecily giggled.

  ‘Oh now, don’t you go twisting my words! You never could take a compliment, could she, Mamie?’

  ‘No.’

  Cecily looked at Mamie, who, with her pale face, deep red lipstick and cropped dark hair, looked ridiculously fashionable. Priscilla was as pretty and wholesome as ever, if a little weightier than when Cecily had last seen her.

  ‘And how are you both?’ she asked them.

  ‘Bored to tears with motherhood, but what can a girl do?’ Mamie drawled as she lit a cigarette at the end of her holder. ‘I can’t seem to stop having the damned things.’

  ‘She’s only teasing, Cecily, aren’t you?’ said Hunter, coming to stand next to his wife.

  ‘Don’t you just wish I was?’ Mamie sighed dramatically.

  ‘Now, you’re to sit down here, and tell us absolutely everything about the last seven years of your life,’ Priscilla said as she steered Cecily to the couch.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that tonight,’ she said. ‘It’s been such a long journey, but I’ll do my best to begin.’

  ‘Of course she can’t,’ said Dorothea. ‘I must say, honey, I’m just surprised you haven’t returned to us the same colour as your maid and that child of hers with all that sun.’

  ‘I wore a big hat, Mama, that’s all.’ Cecily winced inwardly at her mother’s words.

  ‘Well.’ Dorothea took a glass of champagne from the tray. ‘Welcome home, sweetheart. We’ve all missed you, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we have,’ Walter nodded, also taking a glass. ‘And next time you tell us you’re leaving for a few weeks to visit some far-flung place, we simply won’t let you go!’

  ‘It was hardly my fault that the war began, was it?’ countered Cecily.

  ‘No, of course it wasn’t. Were there food shortages out there?’ Walter asked.

  ‘Yes, there were, but I had my own vegetable garden, so we ate quite well.’

  ‘Vegetable garden?’ Priscilla looked at her sister in amazement. ‘You dug up your own carrots and cabbages?’

  ‘I did indeed, with the help of Lankenua’s son, Kwinet. And then, of course, if we got very hungry, I’d just go to the end of the garden, shoot an antelope and put it on a spit over the fire.’

  Ten faces looked back at her in astonishment; even Jimmy stopped playing with his toy car.

  ‘You are joking, aren’t you?’ Priscilla asked.

  ‘Well, maybe not at the bottom of my garden, no, but if Bill and I went out on safari, that’s exactly what would happen. Bill’s a dab hand with a rifle. He once saved me from being eaten by a lion.’

  ‘Bang bang!’ shouted Jimmy from the rug.

  ‘Yes, Jimmy, that’s the right noise, but in real life it’s a deal louder,’ Cecily smiled, enjoying their rapt expressions.

  ‘You are teasing us, aren’t you, Cecily?’ Priscilla said.

  ‘As a matter of fact, not much, actually,’ she chuckled. ‘And then, of course, there are the snakes, great shiny vipers and cobras who slither into your room at night. I have so many photographs to show you all.’

  ‘The good news is, we’re not likely to find snakes slithering down Fifth Avenue, and that dinner will be served without us having to kill the feast first,’ said Walter dryly.

  ‘We’ve invited Kiki to join us,’ said Dorothea. ‘You heard about the death of her son in action, no doubt?’

  ‘I did, yes. I called round to see her at Mundui House at the time, but Aleeki, her houseboy, said she wasn’t seeing anyone,’ Cecily said soberly. ‘Is she feeling better?’

  ‘I’ve only spoken to her on the telephone. She’s been staying at the Stanhope with her mother and Lillian, her companion. She doesn’t sound too good,’ Dorothea sighed, ‘but then, who would, after all the tragedies she’s suffered? That friend of hers she was so fond of – Alice . . .’

  ‘Yes, the two of them went way back and Kiki was so broken up when Alice killed herself. We all were,’ said Cecily.

  ‘I read it was because the dashing Earl of Erroll was the love of her life,’ interjected Priscilla. ‘Did you really dance with him on your wedding night, Cecily? Was he as much of a dream as the newspapers said?’

  ‘He was certainly very handsome and charming, yes.’ Cecily was finding her new status – that of being the most interesting person in the room – rather trying. ‘So, come now, tell me what’s been happening here.’

  Later that night, Cecily excused herself from after-dinner coffee and virtually crawled up the stairs to her bedroom. Kiki had not shown up after all, a fact that hadn’t surprised Cecily in the least, knowing how unpredictable her godmother was. Stopping on the landing that led to her room, she looked up at the steep set of stairs that led to the attic floor above her.

  Taking off her formal heeled shoes – she wasn’t at all used to wearing them at home in Kenya – Cecily mounted the steps. At the top, she ducked down beneath the eaves of the house as she walked along to the bedroom Lankenua and Stella were sharing.

  She heard Lankenua coughing as she knoc
ked on the door. The poor woman had had a cold since they’d boarded the steamer for New York in Southampton.

  The room was bitterly cold and Cecily shivered in her thin silk blouse, which had been perfectly adequate in the heated rooms downstairs.

  ‘Kuyia?’ A voice from one of the narrow iron beds whispered. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’ Cecily tiptoed across the rough floorboards to reach Stella. Even though the attic window was closed, a chill draught emanated from it. ‘Are you okay?’ Cecily asked. Stella was curled up in a ball with only a thin blanket to keep her warm.

  ‘I’m c-c-cold.’ The little girl shivered. ‘It’s cold in this New York place, and Yeyo says she doesn’t feel so well.’

  ‘Here, let me give you a hug,’ Cecily said as she put her arms round the little girl.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Stella asked her.

  ‘Downstairs having dinner with my mama and papa and my sisters.’

  ‘Can I come and have some dinner with you tomorrow? We only got a sandwich for our supper and the bread didn’t taste half as good as the bread you make at home.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Cecily, who realised that Stella was used to eating a full nursery tea with her when Bill wasn’t at home – which was most of the time.

  ‘And I don’t like it up here in the roof,’ Stella continued. ‘It’s scary.’

  ‘Don’t worry, honey, we’ll sort out everything tomorrow, I promise. But for now, how about you tiptoe downstairs with me and sleep in my bed? You’ll have to be very quiet because Mr and Mrs Huntley-Morgan are asleep and will be mad if we wake them up, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Taking Stella’s blanket, she tucked it around Lankenua for extra warmth, then led the girl by the hand back along the narrow corridor and down the stairs, holding her breath in case she bumped into her parents. Once inside her room, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘There now, you climb in and get comfy while I get ready for bed.’

  ‘Okay, Kuyia. I like it much better down here,’ Stella pronounced from the centre of the big bed. ‘It’s warm and pretty.’

  ‘This is where I slept as a little girl,’ Cecily said as she got in next to her then switched off the light. Stella raised her arms for a hug. ‘Better?’ asked Cecily as she folded her arms around the child.

  ‘Better.’

  ‘Sleep well, my darling.’

  ‘Sleep well, Kuyia.’

  The following morning, having set her alarm to make sure she was awake so that she could go back upstairs and dress Stella before Evelyn came in with the breakfast tray, Cecily arrived in the attic to find that Lankenua was burning up. She flew downstairs to the kitchen to find some cloths to wet and place on Lankenua’s forehead to cool her down.

  ‘Where on earth are you going and what are you doing with those, sweetheart?’ Dorothea asked as she passed her daughter in the hall.

  ‘My maid is sick, Mama – she’s had a cough since we left England and this morning she has a high fever. I need to get it down.’

  ‘Surely Mary or Evelyn can see to her, Cecily? It’s probably just a cold.’

  ‘Well, I’m hardly surprised she’s sick; it’s freezing upstairs in that attic.’

  ‘The other servants have never complained about it.’

  ‘The other servants haven’t just arrived from Africa, Mama. Please get someone to bring a bucket of coal up to the room and we’ll get a fire going in there.’

  ‘Will Yeyo be all right?’ Stella asked as Cecily wiped Lankenua’s sweating, shivering body with the cool cloths. Her cough was deep and rasping and she was muttering indecipherable words to herself.

  ‘Sure she will, honey. If she’s not better by this evening, I’ll call the doctor to come see her. Don’t worry,’ Cecily said as Stella sat on the windowsill looking out at the snow that was falling thickly outside. Cecily had wrapped the girl in one of her own woollen cardigans to keep her warm.

  ‘I hope so, Kuyia. I love her very much.’

  ‘So do I, darling. And I swear she’ll be better soon. When she is, maybe you’d like to go out shopping with me? We need to buy you some new winter clothes – oh, and of course, there’s the toyshop, and we could add in a trip in a horse-drawn carriage around Central Park . . .’

  ‘You mean, like Santa Claus’s sleigh pulled by reindeer?’ Stella’s face lit up. ‘At least there’s snow here for him to land on.’ She clapped her hands together excitedly as Cecily added more coal to the fire now burning in the small grate. ‘Only . . .’ – Stella counted slowly on her fingers – ‘five more nights until he’s here!’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ agreed Cecily, remembering how unhappy Bill had been with her for telling Stella the Santa Claus story.

  ‘It simply isn’t her culture, and now she’ll expect presents to arrive down the chimney for the rest of her childhood,’ he’d said.

  ‘And what’s wrong with that? Africans are allowed to believe in Jesus, aren’t they? And more and more of them do.’

  ‘Which I don’t approve of either,’ Bill had shot back. ‘Destroying indigenous cultures that have been in place for hundreds of years is wrong, Cecily. Can’t you see that?’

  Of course she could, but as this year was the first one that Stella had really been able to understand the concept of Santa Claus, the excitement and anticipation on her face had been enough to wipe out any guilt. It was simply a fairy story like any other and she couldn’t see the harm in it. Besides, Bill was a long way away in Kenya . . .

  ‘Mama, I need you to call a doctor to come see Lankenua. I can’t get her fever down and I’m worried she has pneumonia,’ Cecily said that afternoon as she barged into the drawing room where Dorothea was taking tea with a friend.

  ‘Excuse me one moment, Maud,’ she said to the woman as she ushered Cecily out of the drawing room and into the entrance hall.

  ‘Can you give me the number and I’ll call him,’ Cecily urged her.

  ‘Honey, we don’t call doctors for the servants. If they’re sick, they can go to the free clinic and see someone there.’

  ‘I do call doctors for my staff, Mama, especially given the fact I’ve brought Lankenua over here. She is my responsibility, can’t you see that?’

  ‘Please, Cecily, keep your voice down! Maud is a very rich widow who I’m trying to entice onto our Negro orphans committee.’

  ‘Well, Mama, you may very well have an orphan right under your own roof if we don’t call a doctor now!’

  ‘Okay, okay . . . the number for Dr Barnes is in the address book on your father’s desk.’

  ‘Thanks, and don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,’ she called after Dorothea, who was already hurrying back to her rich widow.

  On the telephone to Dr Barnes’s secretary, Cecily omitted to mention it was a black maid she was calling him over to see. When she opened the door to him an hour later, she was relieved to see that he was a younger version of Dr Barnes – probably his son – and had a far kinder face.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming, Doctor. I’ll take you up to see the patient.’

  Six flights of stairs later, Cecily pushed open the door to the attic room. ‘Her name is Lankenua, and she arrived just a few days ago from Kenya with me,’ Cecily said, studying the doctor’s face for his reaction.

  ‘All right then, let’s have a look at her, shall we?’

  Cecily took Stella’s hand and they both moved out of the way so that Dr Barnes could examine Lankenua.

  ‘Before I touch her, I must ask you if you think it could be whooping cough? A number of cases have been reported recently, I suspect due to the number of immigrants entering the city.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s definitely not whooping cough, Doctor. It’s a very bad chest cold that I’m concerned may have turned to pneumonia.’

  ‘You sure sound as though you know what you’re talking about when it comes to sickness, Miss Huntley-Morgan,’ he smiled.

  ‘It’s Mrs Forsythe, actually. Well, one has to
when one lives miles from the only doctor who serves an area the size of Manhattan,’ she said. ‘Lankenua also taught me about the plants her people use for sickness. Her mother was a wise woman and I reckon her remedies work.’

  ‘I’ll bet they do, Mrs Forsythe,’ Dr Barnes said as he drew his stethoscope out of his bag and listened to Lankenua’s chest. ‘Right, could you help me sit her up so I can listen to her back?’

  ‘Of course. When I called, I was expecting your father to arrive here.’

  ‘My father has retired and I’ve taken over the practice. I’m sorry if you are disappointed . . .’

  ‘Oh! Not at all.’ Cecily shook her head. ‘How does her chest sound?’

  ‘Too wheezy for my liking. I think your diagnosis is correct, Mrs Forsythe. Your maid is on the cusp of developing pneumonia. It’s a good job you called me when you did.’

  ‘Do you have anything to give her?’

  ‘I do indeed. It’s a new wonder-drug called penicillin and it’s technically only available in hospitals and administered by injections. I had a couple of patients presenting with much the same symptoms as your maid here and was able to beg some from the hospital. They are both recovering beautifully.’

  Dr Barnes dug in his bag once more and produced a small bottle and some syringes. ‘It has to be administered four times daily over five days. Have you ever given an injection, Mrs Forsythe?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have, yes. My husband Bill was deeply clawed by a dying cheetah some years ago and our doctor prescribed morphea for it. He taught me how to inject it to ease the pain while he recovered.’

  ‘You were allowed to administer morphea yourself?’ Dr Barnes looked shocked.

  ‘As I said, when one lives miles from anywhere, one becomes quite self-sufficient,’ Cecily said. ‘I’m quite capable of giving an injection.’

  ‘That’s very helpful,’ Dr Barnes said. ‘The posterior is the best place of entry for such drugs. I’ll supervise your administration of the first one, and then it’s the same dose four times daily. You should see a change within forty-eight hours. Also, bring up some steaming bowls of water to help with her breathing.’