by Vered Ehsani
It goes without saying that a formal, afternoon tea, particularly when held so soon after a failed hunt and missed meal, was a tiresome affair. Gossip was mentally debilitating at the best of times. But it degenerated into an embarrassing farce when there weren’t enough people to gossip about. In London, one was spoiled for choice, but not so in the railroad station and camp of Nairobi.
I wasn’t complaining in the least, but others at Lilly’s tea were agitated by the lack of conversational targets, apart from Mr. Timmons, who seemed contented and aloof. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why he’d bothered to come. From what little I knew of him, Lilly wasn’t his type, not to mention she was too young and civilized for him, and too set upon capturing a young Englishman come to hunt lions or something of the sort.
Mrs. Steward apparently thought differently, particularly once she discovered that Mr. Timmons was in charge of importing a significant portion of the supplies required by the railway company. I could see her eyes light up as he casually mentioned his modest business empire. Here indeed was an eligible man.
But back to the gossip. I was tempted to mention the possessed zebra decimating Mrs. Steward’s marigolds, if only to provide some fodder. However, as a matter of principle, I didn’t engage in gossip, if for no other reason than to protect my intellectual and moral capacities. In addition, raising the topic of the serpent spirit would break the Society’s Mandate #2: Maintain the secrecy of the Paranormal Realm.
Eventually, Lilly realized the social pleasantries were flagging terribly. She was twisting her fan in her lacy-gloved hands, her face puckered up in thought. When she straightened up with a smile, I knew we were in trouble.
“I’ve got it,” she said. “Let’s go for a stroll in the nearby forest. It should be much cooler in there than out here.”
“What a splendid idea,” Mrs. Steward said into the ensuing silence.
“What an astonishingly dim-witted idea,” I said but only Mr. Timmons was near enough to hear me. He glanced at me, smirking.
“Yes,” Mrs. Steward continued as no one else spoke, “that’s just the thing to alleviate the stupor brought on by this horrendous heat.”
It wasn’t the heat that had put everyone in a stupor, and I wondered if I should point out that a meander through lion-infested forests was nothing like a stroll through an English garden. But before I could comment along those lines, Lilly hit upon another of her ideas as if a forced march through hostile terrain while gossiping about nothing wasn’t mentally and physically draining enough.
“And while we’re at it, let’s have a picnic,” she said, clapping her gloved hands.
“Splendid,” Mrs. Steward said again. “Jonas, do come.”
Jonas appeared rather too quickly, and I suspected he’d been lurking behind a door, listening to our jabber. While his tone was the usual respectful one he used with the Stewards, his eyes twinkled, and I wondered what else was in the forest apart from flea-bitten monkeys.
“There’s a trail entrance not far from here,” Lilly said as Mrs. Steward gave Jonas orders. “A hike through nature’s wonders would do us all a world of good.”
I suspected a lobotomy might produce similar miracles for some of us.
“I think I shall have to pass on the delights awaiting you,” Mr. Steward said and stood a little too rapidly. “You see, the British have ended the war in Sudan. Marvelous victory.”
Mrs. Steward huffed. “And thank goodness for that, but what’s it to do with you?”
I suspected very little, but Mr. Steward continued as if he were personally in charge with sorting out whatever had to be sorted out after a war ended. “Yes, you see,” he said, “I have quite a lot of… um, paperwork to process.”
Before Mrs. Steward could interfere with his decision, Mr. Steward dashed away to his small home office he sometimes used in the evenings and weekends. The door’s firm and decisive slam echoed through the house.
Mrs. Steward, for her part, seemed not the least perturbed by the lack of interest on the part of her husband; indeed, if anything, she was more enlivened by it. For a brief moment, I contemplated warning them of the Shongololo, but I would only be consigning myself to a lobotomy for seeing imaginary beasties or, worse yet, to a lecture by Mrs. Steward, who didn’t tolerate fantastical stories unless they were about a neighbor.
We set off, most of us rather reluctantly. Lilly’s lacy dress draped to the ground, its bottom edge trailing in the weedy grass bordering the trail, picking up mud and ticks along the way. At least, I rather hoped they were ticks; a bout of tick fever should cure her of any ideas for future forest walks.
At one point on the forest path, we reached a shallow river, across which lay a plank. Cilla crossed it while placing a hand on Jonas’ shoulder. For a moment, I envied Jonas with his bare feet splashing through the cool stream. It was such a horridly hot and dry day; while the trees provided shade, the sun eagerly poked its way through to penetrate our sun hats in an effort to burn our fair skin into oblivion, or at least into a blistering red mess.
I was tempted, sorely tempted, to yank off the constricting boots and splash along behind the gardener. That would’ve caused my aunt to protest vehemently. Instead, I pretended to slip off the plank and landed, boots and all, into the water.
“Beatrice!” Mrs. Steward shrieked as if I’d just jumped ship in the middle of the ocean. “Help her, Mr. Timmons, help her at once.”
Without hesitation, Mr. Timmons scooped me up in his arms and before I had time to protest, deposited me on the other side of the stream with a wide smile and a wink. Provoked by the lost opportunity to cool my feet, I silently cursed him to a slow, painful death. But despite the existence of lions and Shongololo, the impertinent man made it out of the forest alive, despite the dark look I gave him. It was a most disappointing turn of events.
Mrs. Steward shrieked even louder, and I wondered if a lion had caught up to us. Once I realized it was not a lion but Mrs. Steward’s concern for her own safety while crossing the plank, I smiled back at Mr. Timmons. “Perhaps, sir, you would be kind enough to assist my aunt in a similar fashion?”
With a smirk at his less-than-enthusiastic expression, I continued strolling along, until I heard him say, “Jonas, please assist Mrs. Steward,” and he reached my side a breath later.
“You truly are the most vexing creature,” I said, although my mouth twitched as if attempting to smile.
I couldn’t unfortunately ignore Mrs. Steward castigating poor Jonas as he attempted to emulate Mr. Timmons’ approach at rescuing damsels.
I glanced back. Jonas seemed little concerned with the verbal abuse as he deposited the protesting lady on the other side of the river; he simply shrugged and displayed that blank look on his face, as if he hadn’t understood a single word. But I knew he comprehended very well for when he thought no one was watching, he chuckled.
Lilly said in her shrillest voice, “Dr. Cricket, I’m in great need of your assistance.”
“Oh?” he said, his attention fixed on whatever he was viewing through his binoculars.
“Lilly, perhaps ask Mr. Timmons,” her mother suggested, and I gathered Mrs. Steward had decided that a wealthy business man was a far more worthy catch than an inventor and scientist, even if that inventor was a doctor.
I didn’t wait to hear what Lilly or the dear doctor did. Nor did I pay any attention to Mr. Timmons, who was determined to walk by my side. I maintained an unwavering silence apart from the wet squelching of my boots and the gentle thump of my walking stick on the ground.
I nursed a reassuring thought that perhaps if the Shongololo did happen to poison one or two of our less observant and considerably slower members of the party, I could return to my room. Yes, an afternoon nap would be a wonderful way to spend the remainder of the day.
Sadly though, the Shongololo were not so disposed and stayed well enough away. I could hear them though, crunching through the leaves.
“The Shongololo are certainly busy,” I said and
then covered my mouth with one hand as I realized I’d voiced my thought out loud.
Fortunately, no one apart from Mr. Timmons was close enough to hear me. Cilla and Lilly were several paces behind, chatting about the latest London fashion. Mrs. Steward was farther back, exhausting Dr. Cricket with her diatribe against all the inconveniences she had experienced in her new home. I couldn’t see Jonas.
“Those aren’t Shongololo,” Mr. Timmons said, lowering his voice. “I believe that’s a pair of Tokolosh. They make the Shongololo look like a house pet. Fortunately for us, they don’t attack groups of people.”
“Delightful,” I said, desperate to know what sort of creature a Tokolosh was, but reluctant to ask him of all people. Curiosity won over pride. “What’s a Tokolosh?”
Before he had the chance to answer, Mrs. Steward shouted, “I think this is a perfect place for a picnic, don’t you?”
“Not really,” Mr. Timmons said.
Mrs. Steward gave him a sharp look he ignored, but I agreed with him. The soil was mushy with decaying leaves, the foliage oppressively thick and I had the distinct impression we were being watched. I glanced back and saw Mrs. Steward leaning against a tree, her pale face red and sticky, her chest heaving with effort.
Dr. Cricket must have noticed the same for he said, “Absolutely. Let me spread a blanket for you, Mrs. Steward.”
“Most kind, most kind indeed,” she said, fanning her face in a vain effort to cool down.
“And may I suggest that after this delightful stroll, we retire to my home?” Dr. Cricket said as he flicked out the blanket. “My cook is preparing some refreshments.”
Mrs. Steward beamed. “How very thoughtful, Doctor. Isn’t he very thoughtful, Lilly?”
Lilly smiled vaguely and sat as far away from the thoughtful doctor as she could.
In short order, we had a few snacks laid out on a large, red picnic blanket, upon which we all collapsed. I ignored the dampness creeping through the material and focused on a piece of cold chicken creeping down my throat.
There was a flicker of movement off to the side. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at some dark form creeping through the foliage toward us.
Cilla peered in the direction I had gestured, frowned, and glanced back at me with a confused look. Mr. Timmons smiled in that ghastly way of his, his thick and highly unfashionable sideburns bushing up around his ears. Jonas sighed and lowered his dark head, while Dr. Cricket spun around, his binoculars crammed up against his eyes.
“Where, Miss Knight?” he nearly shrieked, startling the creature and sending it bounding away. “Where? And what?”
By then, I realized my mistake, for it may have been a Tokolosh. I opened my mouth to make some excuse when Mr. Timmons intervened. “I believe the young madam is referring to a bird that alighted briefly on that branch over there.” He gestured toward a tree, his energy field shimmering with the lie.
Dr. Cricket, not having seen either the energy or the odd little creature scuttling away from us, spun about again, his binoculars jutting out of his face, anxiously searching for the mysterious bird.
I narrowed my eyes at Mr. Timmons, who, being the rogue he was, waggled his eyebrows at me. How could he be so insufferable even when he was playing at being a gentleman? It was nothing short of miraculous that Cilla was able to engage with polite society. But her godfather, I decided, was best left at home, preferably locked up in the cellar.
At that moment, my dark deliberations were interrupted by a piercing scream.
Chapter 19