Mark of the Lion

by Suzanne Arruda

  “Yes, but the bast—er, the scoundrel always managed to do it legally, or at least in such a way that a man could not charge him with anything.”

  Jade nodded her understanding. “Then that explains why so few people came to mourn him. But back to my original question. Why did you come?”

  “Satisfaction, I suppose. And to make certain the man was really dead.”

  Madeline made a slight snort of disbelief, and Jade put her hand on Maddy’s arm. “Oh, we can vouch for that, Mr. Donaldson,” said Jade. “They found most of him, but in bits and pieces. Most men don’t recover from injuries like that.”

  She paused a moment before asking him her next question. “Do you think this was an accident, Mr. Donaldson? I mean, what in the world could he have been doing out there?” Jade intentionally did not state just where “out there” was. When she had told the commissioner about the car, she had suggested he keep the location of its discovery at the flumes quiet since only the killer would know it. It might lead the person into revealing something since everyone else assumed Kenton had died on Colridge’s farm. The commissioner had not been overly impressed by the idea at the time.

  Mr. Donaldson put his hands in his coat pocket. “I heard the old boy was in two spots, and I don’t mean after his death.” He snickered. “Probably met a lady friend at the flumes, then headed off to Colridge’s estate for some dalliance,” he added as he waggled his eyebrows.

  Jade gritted her teeth. Her suggestion to the commissioner had fallen on deaf ears.

  “Then why hasn’t the woman come forward?” asked Madeline. “Why wasn’t she killed?”

  Donaldson chuckled. “Several reasons, Mrs. Thompson, perhaps not obvious to a polite lady such as yourself.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “One, she killed him. Two, she’s married and doesn’t need trouble from hubby. Three, and my personal favorite, it’s an accident, and she wasn’t killed because she could outrun him.” He slapped his thighs in obvious glee. “Anyway, he’s gone and good riddance. If it was murder, and I doubt it, we’d all just as soon buy the guilty party a drink as turn her or him in. And,” he added, “that includes the widow and the commissioner. Kenton caused enough trouble that the commissioner’s workload will lighten visibly.” He touched his hat brim in farewell and headed for his car.

  Madeline put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Well, that was by far the most outrageous . . .” She ended with another exasperated sniff.

  “Yes, it was,” agreed Jade. She caught sight of the commissioner and tugged Maddy’s arm. “I want to speak with him.”

  Jade succeeded in capturing the commissioner’s attention before he left the cemetery. “Sir, why did you reveal where the car was found?”

  The commissioner leaned back as though he sensed he was under attack. “Miss del Cameron, I wasn’t aware you headed our criminal bureau.”

  Jade pressed her point. “All sarcasm aside, sir, that was potentially valuable information.”

  “Only if a crime was committed, miss. There is no evidence of that.”

  Jade sucked in her breath in a frustrated hiss. “The car’s location was the evidence. It proves his body was moved.”

  The commissioner puffed out his chest like a posing gamecock and looked down his nose at her, a task rendered more difficult as they were the same height. “As we discussed earlier, a large carnivore dragged the body away.”

  Jade shook her head. “Carnivores don’t drag full-grown men over six miles cross-country. He had enemies, sir. Lots of them. He cheated Donaldson out of a broodmare. He tried to get Harry Hascombe’s cattle killed by starting another false anthrax scare.”

  “He cheated on his wife,” added Madeline.

  The commissioner raised his right hand for the two women to stop. “Calm yourselves, Miss del Cameron, Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Kenton does not care to have this matter pursued. She only wants to bury her husband and the past. And,” he added quickly when he saw Jade inhale in preparation for another attack, “without other evidence of foul play, there is nothing I can do.”

  Jade saw the futility of pressing her point. She took a different tack. “Have you learned anything else about Gil Worthy that can help shed light on finding his son or his killer?”

  The commissioner assumed a look of patronizing patience. “Still on that as well, Miss del Cameron? You read too much into ordinary deaths.” He waved his hand at the headstones. “Only look around you. You will find many deaths attributed to animal attacks here.” He saw Jade’s dark brows furrow and stepped back a pace.

  “I’m leaving the day after tomorrow on safari to Tsavo,” she said. “When I return, I plan to continue my inquiries.” Jade pulled a slip of notepaper from her pocket. “Here are the names of guests in the Norfolk at the time of Gil Worthy’s death. I presume you’ll want to interview them.”

  The commissioner glanced at the list. “John Smith! You must be joking.”

  Jade shook her head. “I don’t suppose there’s much use in my asking about what’s been done about this laibon that terrorized the Kikuyu village, is there? Kenton supposedly cheated Maasai out of cattle. Perhaps a laibon killed him.”

  “Really, miss. Killed by native witchcraft?” He snorted. “As I understand it, you took care of the laibon already when you killed his hyena.” He doffed his hat to them. “Good day, ladies.” He turned on his heel and strode briskly away.

  Jade folded her arms across her chest. “Well, that was a waste of breath.”

  Madeline patted her on the shoulder. “You did very well, my dear. Really, one cannot move stubborn male mountains. But do you really suspect a laibon for all these deaths?”

  Jade shoved her hands into her skirt pockets. “I suppose it does sound silly, but I can’t shake the suspicion that all these deaths are related.” What, she wondered, was the connection between Kikuyu natives, Godfrey Kenton, and Gil Worthy? Someone may have wanted to stop Gil before he found his son in Tsavo. That would also explain the attacks on her.

  “When I find the son, I’ll find the connection.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Safari. The very word conjures up more romantic notions than all the Arabian Nights tales. It is an incantation as powerful as open sesame. It unlocks the rhythmic chanting of porters, the excited whisper of the gun bearer, and the hypnotic eyes of the lion that studies you in the golden grass that seems to spring from its very mane. Enough danger, excitement, and adventure to generate a lifetime of personal sagas travel with you by day and camp with you at night as you relax around a fire, dine on eland steaks served on fine bone china, and swap tales of impossible shots. Of course, all this romance will cost your pocketbook and make it many ‘pounds’ lighter, but how can you put a price on legends?”

  —The Traveler

  THE TWO DAYS BEFORE THE SAFARI blew by in a whirlwind of last-minute shopping for “woolies,” more socks, another pair of heavy trousers suitable for the thorny bush, and any other items deemed indispensable.

  All nonpersonal items such as tents, cots, mess gear, blankets, and food had already been sent ahead in boxes with the hired porters and Roger on the return train after the Dunburys’ arrival. They would travel by train as far as the Tsavo station, where an oxcart waited. From there, the porters would hike west towards Kilimanjaro and set up camp. Roger would wait for the hunting party at the Tsavo depot.

  On the day of departure, the party convened on the Nairobi station platform in midafternoon to wait for the returning train south. The usual laughing children, scolding sentries, native women and their produce, and assorted colonists crowded the platform. Above all the ruckus rumbled the voice of Harry Hascombe, first hunter for the safari.

  “Good day, Jade,” his deep baritone voice purred. “Pity about poor Miles and his leg. I presume everyone else is ready.”

  “Yes, and allow me to introduce you to Lord Avery and Lady Beverly Dunbury.”

  Harry shook hands with Avery, and the two men sized each other up. They matched in heig
ht, but Harry’s build was far more powerful than Avery’s slighter, almost willowy frame. Jade didn’t doubt, however, that in a test of courage, it would be a very close match. Avery had taken nearly as many risks as David during the war, and Harry had already shown at Ruiru that he didn’t care to be bested by anyone. This could be interesting, she thought. Two bulls sparring for dominance. Jade wondered where Roger fit into this herding scenario.

  “I brought the hyena skin to town with me, Jade,” Harry said. He released Avery’s grip but kept his eyes riveted on the younger man’s face. “Took it to the hotel. They’ll keep it for you.” Beverly, disgusted by the dominant-male staring contest, held out her hand.

  “How do you do, Mr. Hascombe?”

  Harry tipped his battered, wide-brimmed felt hat to her and to Madeline, who stayed in the background. Pili sat quietly behind them near their luggage. “Good day, ladies. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Dunbury.” Harry kissed Beverly’s hand. Avery scowled.

  Beverly grinned. “Mercy, I do love hearing people say my new name. I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Hascombe. Jade has told us so much about you.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear, Lady Dunbury.” He flashed a wide, roguish smile that exposed all his white teeth. “I’m much worse than all that.” He turned back to Avery. “What are you carrying for weapons, Your Lordship?” The title sounded mocking, coming from Harry.

  “First of all,” said Avery, “drop the title. There’s little room for that nonsense in the field. I’d hate to see myself mauled because someone was busy spitting out ‘Your Lordship’ instead of just shouting ‘lion.’ ”

  Jade agreed. “Reminds me of the American author James Fenimore Cooper. No one could have survived the wilderness if they talked as much as his Hawkeye did. He once spent an entire paragraph warning everyone to be silent lest the Iroquois hear them. With his gums flapping, they should have been dead, scalps neatly hanging on a belt.”

  Everyone laughed and, with the previous tension relieved, Harry and Avery began conversing more genially about their hunting rifles. They were still talking when they heard the train approaching. Pili rose from his seat like a white phantom and picked up Jade’s new rifle and ammo box. Harry noticed him for the first time and looked at him in surprise. Jade wasn’t sure what surprised him more, her new rifle or having Lord Colridge’s personal man for a gun bearer. She didn’t ask. Memories of their last dance flooded her mind, and she decided the less private conversation she had with Harry the better.

  They boarded the train with their personal gear and sped off towards Tsavo and Colonel Patterson’s famous bridge. It was there that two man-eaters had claimed more than a hundred railroad workers as victims before Patterson managed to kill them. Harry sat alone in the back of the car. Avery seated himself next to Pili, and Beverly and Madeline sat together and compared Jade stories. Jade first sat in front of the other women, but after announcing, “I don’t need to hear all those blasted lies and tall tales,” she moved over closer to Avery and Pili.

  The small-gauge engine stopped frequently for water, and the station names of Machakos Road, Kiu, Sultan Hamud, and Simba rolled out of the passengers’ view and into their memories. Most of the stops were merely at water towers. Some had high-walled stone buildings maintained by the railroad for workers or for travelers on foot either hoping to catch the train or just there to pass the night in something more defensible than a ring of thorny brush.

  Later on the train, a porter brought tea (to Jade’s disgust), and they dined on scones (courtesy of the Norfolk) and tinned beef. The party was in high spirits. At first, everyone amused themselves with looking through the smoked-glass windows at distant herds of wildebeest or giraffes and debated whether or not that golden tan lump in the grass was a rock or a lion. When the train whistled to chase away an animal, they placed bets on what it would be and laughed as the frightened kongoni or any other antelope raced away.

  Avery declared his desire to try for one of the sable antelope if only the train would stop long enough for him to get off a shot and retrieve the carcass. He opened the window for a better look and was met with the universal red dust of the plains. His wife coughed loudly, the window was closed, and the sable antelope survived another day.

  Eventually, the air inside their car became more stifling in the late-afternoon heat, the tinned beef lay heavily in their stomachs, and the passengers grew lethargic. Antelope herds ceased to interest anyone. No one cared about the pseudolions anymore, and Avery protested that the engineer should “stop the bloody whistle and just run down any infernal animal foolish enough to stand betwixt the metals.”

  Only Jade maintained her inner excitement. At its base lay a sense of coming closer to the truth about David’s father and brother. Her large camera bag rested on the floor between her feet, and she nudged it gently. In the bottom, hidden from view, were the second ring, the map of names, and the packet marked Abel. Somewhere out there, she reasoned, was David’s half brother, and she wanted to be ready for him. Since Gil had listed the Chyulu Hills on his map, there was a good chance she could pick up his trail there. Perhaps she’d find this Kruger fellow nearby. Eventually the sun set, and stars crystallized out of the cooling night air. She drifted off to sleep, which, for once, was not disturbed by nightmares.

  The train stopped at the Tsavo station just before one o’clock in the morning. Jade and Pili were the first to disembark and Harry the last as he made certain everyone in their party was off with their personal belongings. Nothing rustled in the distant grass or called out in the night except a few nocturnal insects that played the rhythm by which the stars arced across the sky. The first sound to send a ripple through the darkness was Beverly’s sleepy voice.

  “There had better not be any man-eaters about. It’s positively uncivilized to be mauled at this hour of the night,” she said, and Avery growled behind her.

  Tsavo boasted a better station than most of the previous water stops. Besides its famous bridge, there were several round huts, and a small, wood-frame station house. The usual veranda ran around the building, but the floor was packed earth without a platform. A little house for the Indian stationmaster sat farther back surrounded by thick, thorny scrub. The train started off for Voi and left them alone with the stars and whatever lurked in the brush beyond.

  A small fire crackled a few feet in front of the station door, and Roger materialized from behind it. He touched his hat brim in greeting. “I took the liberty of setting cots up inside the station for tonight. Borrowed them from the old stationmaster. That way, we won’t have tents to take down and we can snag another hour’s sleep before starting out in the morning.” As he took in the party members, his eyes opened a little wider in puzzlement. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought there were only two ladies in the party. Who are these other two people?”

  “We replaced one lord with another,” said Harry. “It seems Thompson and Colridge are out, but Lord and Lady Dunbury are in instead. Same number. Supplies shouldn’t matter.” As an afterthought, he introduced Roger to the Dunburys.

  “I see,” said Roger in a confused tone that indicated he didn’t. He roused two natives from one of the huts and directed them to move the baggage into the station. Jade didn’t wait for anyone to assist her. She left her untried Mannlicher with Pili, took her Winchester and the camera bag inside, selected a cot, and set them beside it. Beverly staggered in after her and threw herself on the very cot Jade had marked for her own.

  Jade looked down at her and kicked the cot. “Nice of you to think of us, Bev, and help out,” she said. Beverly only groaned.

  “Let her be,” whispered Madeline. “She’s exhausted.” Jade made a scoffing sound.

  Madeline and Jade moved one of the men’s cots to their area without waiting for the porters to do it, and Jade made certain to again “accidentally” kick Beverly’s cot in the process. This time Bev didn’t stir, and Jade knew she’d fallen asleep already. Roger brought in blanke
ts. Jade tossed one on top of Beverly, rolled herself up in another, and fell asleep.

  She woke before the others and went out to stand on the tracks, facing west. She heard Roger wake the rest just after the first golden rays shot across the horizon from behind her. She heard Avery groan and Beverly comment on nocturnal ambulance runs. The comment turned into a mild swear, and Jade presumed Bev had discovered Jade’s cot was empty.

  “There you are, Jade.” Bev stood beside her friend, their long shadows cast like advance scouts into the scrub. Jade held her camera idly at her waist and gazed out to the distant hills while Beverly hugged herself against the morning dampness.

  The Tsavo station stood on a sidehill and looked out over the Tsavo River valley with its steep gorges, buttes, rounded hills like native huts or sugar loaves, and expansive thornriddled grasslands. The scene spread before them like a golden brocaded cloak trimmed in plush velvet greens around the waterways.

  “He’s out there somewhere,” said Jade in a hushed voice. “I’ll find him, and once I do, I’ll find out who killed his father.”

  Beverly took Jade’s hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Of course you will, love.”

  Madeline called from behind them in a cheery voice, “Good morn—Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb a private conversation.”

  Beverly graciously eased the moment by releasing Jade’s hand and extending her own towards Madeline in invitation. “Good morning to you, Madeline. May I call you Madeline? And you must call me Beverly. I feel I know you very well after our little talk yesterday.”

  “Lies, all lies,” muttered Jade.

  Madeline joined them and yawned. “Please do. I know I should feel dreadful this morning knowing poor Neville is home harvesting the crop, but I don’t. I feel like a schoolgirl on holiday. Isn’t that wicked?”

  Beverly grinned. “Terribly, and good girl, I say. But you and I also have an important job. Who knows what would befall our American friend here if we weren’t around to take care of her? Only consider the mischief she’s gotten into so far, killing bewitched hyenas and slapping pistols out of strange men’s hands. And look at the consequences. Now she has to go about smelling like an incontinent ferret in heat.”