India knew she must show no fear. On the contrary, she must make him afraid.
"I'm going to Nairobi," she said. "With Charlotte. I'm going to tell them what you've done. I'm going to set Sid Malone free."
"That's quite a daring plan," he said, slowly walking toward her. "It might've even worked, that plan. If you'd had the music box. Or rather, what's inside it. But you don't, do you?"
The servants, India thought. They didn't live in the house, but in out-buildings. Get to the door, she told herself. Get down the hall and to the porch. Then scream like hell. Freddie must have read her mind, for he was suddenly on the other side of the room, at the door, locking it.
"You won't be going after the servants, I'm afraid," he said. "And you won't be going to Nairobi. The only place you're going is back to bed. And when you wake in the morning, this little episode will be forgotten. Never to be mentioned again."
India's anger got the better of her. "It will be mentioned again," she said, when she should have said nothing. "To the police. And the magistrate. To the governor. You found those combs, didn't you? You found them, offered one to Hugh, and kept one. What a perfect plan! When he pawns the first one, everyone assumes he has the second. He goes to jail for refusing to return it. Even though he can't return it. Because he doesn't have it. You do."
"Very clever, old girl. You've grown devious over the years." He moved closer to her, but she moved away.
"And you've grown vicious. When did it happen, Freddie? When did it start? You didn't used to be this way. We used to walk in the woods, you and I. When we were children. At Blackwood. When did you change?"
Freddie looked at her, suddenly stricken, then dropped his eyes. Hope flared inside India. She thought she might have him. Might have wounded him. She continued, hoping to cow him, to break him.
"You killed Wish, didn't you? You killed him and took his ring off his hand and then told us he'd pawned it. How close were you to him when you shot him, Freddie? Did he see you pull the trigger? Did he beg you not to do it?"
"Please, India... don't," he said. He took a halting step toward her, then another, and then he stopped. His hands came up to his face. He pressed his palms over his eyes.
India pressed her advantage. She moved closer to him, leaned in, and said, "He was your friend, Freddie. Your oldest, dearest friend. Was. Until he started meddling where he shouldn't have. It was the clinic, wasn't it? You killed him right after he talked about getting donations for me. He was a threat. The clinic was a threat. It might've kept me from marrying you. And poor Gemma Dean. She wasn't a threat, was she? Just a bloody good way to frame Sid Malone."
"Oh, God," he said, his voice breaking.
"You killed three innocent people. You took everything from me. Everything I ever loved. You're a murderer. You're the criminal, not Sid."
Freddie's head snapped up. His hand shot out and closed around her neck. He pushed her backward, slamming her into the wall, and held her there, squeezing.
It had all been an act. A way to gain her trust. To get close to her. How could she have been so stupid?
"Let me go!" she rasped.
"You want to go, India? You want to leave? Fine. You'll go. But not to Nairobi. Not you and not Charlotte."
"You wouldn't! You wouldn't hurt her, a little girl."
Freddie laughed. "I'm tired of raising your cuckoo, India. I want heirs. Proper children. My children. From a proper wife. I'll have them, too. Just as soon as I get rid of you and your bastard."
"Let Mummy go!" a voice said from behind them.
It was Charlotte. She was standing behind Freddie's desk, holding Jane ...and the music box.
She must have come in through the veranda doors, India thought. She must have heard us.
"Charlotte, put that down," Freddie said.
Charlotte shook her head. She took a step backward, toward the doors.
"Put it down. Now," Freddie ordered. "Or I will beat you black and blue."
Charlotte turned and darted out through the doors into the night.
"Charlotte!" Freddie bellowed, starting after her.
India lunged at him; she caught his arm and pulled him back. He whipped around and punched her viciously in the face. White lights went off inside her head, blinding her. Her lips were slick with blood.
She ducked her head down, trying to avoid his blows, dug her nails into his fiesh, and screamed, "Run, Charlotte! Run!"
Chapter 122
Tom Meade ran down the long corridor and up the staircase that led from his office to the governor's, leaving a score of bewildered clerks and functionaries in his trail. No one ran in Government House. Ever. For any reason.
He charged past the governor's secretary and barged into the man's office, redfaced and panting.
Sir James Hayes Sadler was seated at a large round table with a dozen other men. He turned around, looked at Tom, and said, "Have you lost your mind?"
"No, sir."
"You've interrupted a very important meeting."
Tom looked around the room. His immediate superior, the district commissioner for Kenya Province, was there, as well as other DCs, Lord Delamere, and leading members of the Colonists' Association. "I realize that, sir," he said. "And I'm very sorry, but I have a telegram--"
"Can't it wait?"
"I'm afraid it cannot. It's from the home secretary's office."
Hayes Sadler blinked at him. "Are you quite certain?"
"Here, sir," Tom said, handing it over.
Hayes Sadler read the message. "I'll be damned," he said. "I can hardly believe this." He looked at Tom. "You're positive this came from Gladstone's office?"
"I am. I didn't believe it myself. I replied, asking for confirmation. It's genuine."
"What is it, James? What's happened?" Delamere asked.
Hayes Sadler sat back in his chair. He took off his glasses. "It appears that the home secretary wishes to speak with Lytton--to question him, actually--about his possible role in the murder of Gemma Dean. He wants him to return to London as soon as possible."
Cries of disbelief were heard.
"Believe me, I'm as shocked as you are," Hayes Sadler said. "Apparently an accusation against Lytton has been made back in London and a rogue MP is championing the man who made it--a convict--threatening to go to the papers with a sworn statement. Gladstone's trying to defuse him and spare Lytton the embarrassment of having this nonsense appear in the papers. I'm to get word about this to him as quickly as possible."
The table erupted into a tumultuous discussion. Most believed Lytton entirely incapable of such a deed. There's nothing in it, they said. It's utter rubbish. But a few wondered why, if there was nothing to it, had the home secretary involved himself?
When the hubbub died down, Hayes Sadler said, "We'll have to send someone to fetch Lytton back from Mount Kenya. Tom, you go. See Grogan before you leave. Ask him if he can spare two men to go with you. For form's sake. I'm sure there's been a mistake. Perhaps Lytton can get it sorted with a few telegrams. A pity we have to trouble him on his holiday. Oh, and Tom, inform Sid Baxter of what's happened, will you? This is all damned perplexing, I must say."
"Um... yes... well, you see, sir, that's the other thing I came to tell you," Tom said, wincing. "As regards Sid Baxter... we're going to have some difficulty informing him of anything. You see, he's not at the jail--"
"What do you mean, he's not at the jail? He hasn't left for Mombasa yet. I know that for a fact. I signed the papers myself."
"Yes, well, I'm afraid he has already left... but not on the train. And not for Mombasa. You see, sir, it appears Sid Baxter has escaped."
Chapter 123
Charlotte, her cheek swollen where Freddie had slapped her, her mouth cruelly gagged, turned around, trying to catch a glimpse of her mother, trying to make sure she was all right. Her tiny face, her fearful eyes, were like a knife to India's heart. She was so brave. Freddie had brutalized her. He had bound her hands and stuffed a rag into her mo
uth. He had given her no food or water and had made her ride hatless in the blazing sun. She was terrifled, in pain, and yet she was worried for her mother.
India smiled at her as best she could--her own face was horribly swollen from Freddie's fists. She ached to comfort her child, to put her arms around her, but it was impossible. Freddie had beaten her senseless. He had caught Charlotte and taken the music box from her. When India came to, she saw Charlotte seated on the stallion Freddie always rode. She herself was seated on the mare she'd saddled earlier. The animal was tethered to Freddie's horse, as was Charlotte's pony, but India would have followed even if it had not been and Freddie knew it. He knew she would never let Charlotte out of her sight.
"Sit up," Freddie had said to Charlotte before they'd set off. "Hold on to the pommel. If you fall, I'll leave you on the ground." And then he'd spurred his mount and they were cantering down the drive in the predawn darkness.
It was now approaching noon. India had tried to pay attention to where they were going. She knew they'd ridden west of Mount Kenya, but that was all she knew. She'd never come out this far before. She looked at Freddie, at what he was wearing, at what he'd brought with him, for clues. But he had only a saddlebag and a canteen and they told her nothing.
India would have killed Freddie if she could have, for hurting Charlotte. She told herself he meant to teach them both a lesson. To scare them into silence. She could not bear to think about the alternative--that he was going to murder them. He wouldn't, she told herself. He couldn't. There would be too many questions. A search party. He'd never get away with it.
They rode on. India was parched; she knew Charlotte would be, too. Finally, when the sun was nearly overhead, they stopped by a river. India thought for sure that Freddie would allow them to get down, to take a drink. He didn't. Instead he jumped down himself, drew the music box from his saddlebag, and threw it into the water. India watched it sink and her heart sank with it. Her evidence was gone. The only proof she had of what he'd done. Then he bent down by the riverbank, cupped his hands, and took several long drinks. When his thirst was slaked, he climbed back onto his horse and dug his heels into the animal's sides. India screamed at him through her gag as her mare lurched forward. Charlotte needed water. Couldn't he see that?
A voice inside her, the same voice that had spoken to her when she'd first found the jewelry, said, Of course he can see it. He doesn't care.
India started to weep then. She couldn't pretend any longer. He had taken them out here to do away with them. She prayed now that he would be quick and that he would kill Charlotte first. They rode for another half hour. Then Freddie stopped again. He got down and lifted Charlotte down. He took a pistol from his saddlebag and stuck it into his waistband. India saw it. Her eyes grew wide with fear. He walked over to her and pulled her down off the mare.
India's wrists were still bound, but she could use her fingers. She clawed at the gag, pulling it out of her mouth. "Freddie, please. I beg you..." she said.
"Start walking. That way," he said, pointing straight ahead at an acacia tree. Charlotte did so. India did not.
"You can't do this. Please! Not to an innocent child."
"Go!" he shouted, pointing the gun at India's head. Charlotte, frightened, broke into a run. India turned and ran after her. As she did, she was horrifled to see the girl vanish. Right into thin air. One second she was there, the next she was not.
"Charlotte? Charlotte!" she screamed, still running. She saw it at the very last second--a black, yawning pit opening at her feet--and only barely managed to stop short of the edge. She knelt down. She could see her daughter at the bottom, struggling to her feet.
"Charlotte! Are you all right?"
India never heard Charlotte's answer. She felt a rough hand on her back and then she was tumbling into the pit herself. She twisted as she fell, trying to avoid Charlotte, and landed on her right side, knocking the wind out of herself. She writhed on her back, trying to draw air into her lungs. She heard Charlotte crying. Smelled soil and blood. When she could finally breathe again, she stood up and clawed at the pit's earthen sides.
"It's no use," Freddie said. He was kneeling at the pit's edge, looking down at them. "It's twelve feet deep. You'll never get out. It's a Kikuyu game pit. I'd heard about them. Never seen one until two days ago when I nearly fell into it. Damned handy things. The natives use them to catch food. And marauding lions. They dig them deep then cover them over again with grass. The animals never suspect a thing until it's too late."
"Freddie, don't do this," India pleaded.
"It's already done."
"You'll never get away with it."
"Oh, but I will. I'll ride back to the house in a day or so. Sunburned, parched. Half out of my mind with fear and grief. I'll tell the servants we rode out at dawn to see lions. I'll say that we stopped to eat. You and I became drowsy and napped. Charlotte wandered off. Everyone will believe me. She's done it before. We split up to look for her and lost sight of each other. I kept hunting for you both for days. Finally decided to come back and get help. I'll get a search party together and we'll head off in a totally different direction. You'll never be found, of course. It'll be assumed that lions got you."
India tore her gaze away from Freddie and looked at Charlotte. She was white with terror. "Leave me here, Freddie, but take Charlotte. Please take her back. She's done nothing. You cannot be this cruel. Not even you."
Freddie shook his head. "She's far more valuable to me dead than alive. She's about to make me a very wealthy man."
India realized what he meant--with herself dead, and Charlotte, too, the Selwyn Jones fortune would automatically go to Freddie. She knew now that there was no help for them. None at all. They would die here. Slowly and brutally.
Freddie stood. He was leaving.
"No!" India screamed raggedly. "You can't leave us to die like this. Give me the pistol. For God's sake, have mercy on us!"
Freddie smiled regretfully. "Can't do that, old girl. Should someone ever find you, they'll find the pistol, too. Don't want them to put two and two together, do I?"
And then he was gone. And there was nobody. Nothing. Only the blue sky above them and the merciless African sun.
Chapter 124
By the time Sid had reached the Wiltons' house, he'd ridden for nearly two days, stopping only when total darkness made it impossible to continue. A ride this far upcountry usually took three if not four days, but he'd driven his horse hard, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and Nairobi.
He remembered walking down the corridor to the guardroom--certain George would see that he wasn't Seamie and raise the alarm. But George, absorbed by the racing sheet, hadn't even raised his head. He and Maggie had sailed out of the guardroom, through the foyer, and down the steps to the street. The stern askaris posted in front of the prison, their eyes trained straight ahead, took no notice of them.
Maggie had hurried him across the street to the Norfolk. But instead of going inside, she led him around the back to where Ellie, her horse, was stabled. She pulled him inside one of the barns, then made him crouch down in Ellie's stall.
She pulled out some rope that had been buried in the hay on the floor. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Quickly, tie my hands and feet."
"Why?"
"So I can tell whoever finds me that you overpowered me and took my horse. Otherwise it'll be me sitting in a jail cell."
"Good idea," Sid said, looping the rope around her ankles.
"Your brother's."
"What's going to happen to him?"
"He'll tell them the same thing. With a variation or two. You pulled the handle off the chamber pot, sharpened it on the stone floor, then picked the lock. You got out and held the handle to my throat, hit Seamie, threw him into the cell, and forced me to accompany you out of the building."
"All without attracting George's attention?" Sid said, starting on Maggie's wrists. "That's very impressive of me."
&
nbsp; "The story has its flaws, but it's all we've got," she said. She nodded at her horse. "Ellie's saddled and ready to go. There are two canteens in the saddlebags, enough food to last you three days, and twenty quid. My rifle is buried in the hay, just to the left of the door. Yes ...right there. You've got to go now, Sid. Before George twigs. Get out of Kenya as fast as you can. Head south for the German border."
"I can't do that, Maggs," he'd said, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "I have to go north. To Mount Kenya. I have to see her. See them. I have to know."
"Lytton'll have you arrested again. You know that, don't you?"
"It's a chance I have to take."
She shook her head. "You damned stupid man," she sighed. "Be careful, won't you?"
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