Authors: Jennifer Donnelly
Joe sat staring at the door, scowling in frustration. He'd been so
close. So bloody close. He would have to come back and push at Frankie
again until he broke him. But he needed more information first. He
needed to find out who the mysterious doctor was.
His frown faded. A look of determination took its place. He knew just
the person to help him. She was connected. She knew everyone. Most
important, she knew doctors. She would help him; he knew she would
because she owed him. He'd gotten her ten thousand pounds of government
money and five thousand more in private donations several years ago to
put a new children's wing on her clinic.
"Home, sir?" Joe's driver asked, as he came to the visitors' room to fetch him.
"No, Myles," Joe said. "Not yet. I want to go to Gunthorpe Street first. To the Whitechapel Free Clinic for Women and Children."
India and Charlotte Lytton climbed the steps to Sid Baxter's house and peered inside.
"Hello? Mr. Baxter?" India called.
There was no reply.
"Didn't think he'd be in," Maggie Carr said from behind them. She'd
met them at the gate as they'd rode up from the McGregor farm. "He told
me last night that he was going to ride out to the plains today. Hoped
to bag a gazelle for Alice, my cook. I'll tell him you called."
"May I leave him this note, please, Mrs. Carr?" Charlotte asked, holding up an envelope.
"I wrote it to tell him thank you for saving me."
"Of course you may. Why don't you put it on his table?"
Charlotte nodded. She entered the house. India followed, looking all
around the small, single room. It was tidy and cozy, yet lonely somehow,
as if all the comfortable little touches--the red Masai shawl draped
over a chair, the chipped teapot and mugs by the fire, the books stacked
on a wooden bench--had been made in expectation of company that never
arrived.
"I would like to live here, Mummy," Charlotte suddenly said. "I would like it very much. Do you think Mr. Baxter would let us?"
"I think he would find it awfully crowded, darling," India said.
"I like it here better than camp. Better than Nairobi, too. The governor's house is stuffy. And Lady Hayes Sadler fusses so."
"She does, doesn't she?" India said, smiling conspiratorially.
There was something so wonderfully comforting about Sid Baxter's
modest bungalow. So welcoming and familiar. India found herself drawn to
the house, and--though she'd never met him--to the man who lived in it.
"I should like to sit at this table and eat a bowl of porridge,"
Charlotte said. "And then I would like to sleep in that bed. I would
have a lovely sleep there. Much better than on a lumpy old camp bed."
India laughed. "You sound just like Goldilocks. Maybe we'd better leave before the bears return."
"Will you join me for a pot of coffee?" Maggie asked.
"Don't you drink tea, Mrs. Carr?" Charlotte asked.
"I certainly do not! Not on the best damn coffee plantation in all of Africa!" she said, grinning.
Charlotte giggled.
"Care for a cup? I'll have Alice fix it for you with a bit of sugar and lots of milk. Plus a biscuit or two."
"Oh, yes, please!" Charlotte said, before India could refuse.
Maggie led them to her house. It was a modest affair, like Sid
Baxter's, but much larger. It had a proper sitting room, a kitchen,
dining room, two bedrooms, plus an attic. Maggie asked her cook to bring
coffee and biscuits, then led her guests to the veranda.
India sat down. She looked out over the fields of glossy green coffee
plants. They gave way to the warm, golden plains. Beyond them she could
see Mount Kenya towering in the distance, its peak piercing the
cloudless sky.
"Mrs. Carr, if I had this view, and this veranda on which to sit and gaze at it, I should never accomplish anything," she said.
Maggie laughed. "If you had seven hundred acres under coffee, you would, my dear. You'd have to."
"Have you no help?"
"I do. The best. That's what Sid does for me. Oversees the farm and
workers. Gets my harvest to market. We set a record in London last year.
Most money ever paid for British East African coffee. At the moment we
have to do our roasting at a neighbor's farm. And pay for the privilege.
But soon we'll be roasting right here. I've ordered the machinery. It's
supposed to arrive in September. Have to build a barn for it, of
course, but we've started. Should be done by summer." Maggie turned to
Charlotte. "You tell that father of yours that if he wants to help the
planters, he should build a train line from Nairobi up to Thika. Help us
get our crop to market faster."
"My father doesn't listen to children, Mrs. Carr. He believes we should be seen, not heard," Charlotte said solemnly.
"Well, isn't he old-fashioned? I get some of my best advice from
children. Just the other day little Mattie Thompson told me I should
climb trees at sunset. I tried it. He's right. You get the most
beautiful view of the evening sky. You tell your father to come and see
me, Charlotte. I'll set him straight. On coffee and on children."
"I'm sure he would love to come, Mrs. Carr. Unfortunately, he may not
have the time. He works very hard," India said quickly, apologetically.
Maggie Carr nodded, listening to India, but looking, thoughtfully, at Charlotte.
"How old are you, Charlotte?"
"I'm nearly six years old, Mrs. Carr."
Maggie shook her head. "Six is far too young to be sitting on the
veranda for long periods of time with grown-ups. There's a new calf in
the cattle pen, a dozen new chicks in the henhouse, and we've a tame
gazelle named Mocha who walks around the farm as though she owns it.
Would you like to see them?"
"Yes, please!" Charlotte said.
"Go into the kitchen and ask for Baaru. He'll take you. Just steer clear of the barn. There's a very bad-tempered ox in there."
"Yes, ma'am. I will."
Maggie smiled as Charlotte clattered off to the kitchen. "Beautiful girl, your daughter," she said.
"Thank you."
"Takes after you."
India blushed, then said, "I can't tell you the agony I suffered when
I learned she was gone, Mrs. Carr. I couldn't stop thinking of her all
alone out there. With lions and snakes and God knows what else.
Apparently I went a bit mad. Had to be sedated to be kept from riding
out after her myself. The men all thought it was a bad idea."
India told Maggie about the days spent waiting for news. She
remembered going to look in on Charlotte in her tent and not finding
her. She remembered turning the entire camp upside down and still not
finding her. And she remembered a guide saying footprints had been found
leading to the river... that they'd checked the river... that Charlotte
was not there. She remembered collapsing and sobbing and little else,
until three days later, when Florence Delamere came rushing to her side
to tell her that Charlotte was alive and being looked after at a nearby
farm. She'd gotten up from her bed then, still groggy from the sedative,
and asked that a horse be brought. Florence had tried to talk her out
of riding. Freddie, too. India didn't tell Maggie Carr what had passed
between them.
"India, for God's sake be sensible," Freddie had said to her. "You're
in no condition to ride. Charlotte is fine. It's better that she stay
where she is. They'll bring her to us as soon as she's able to travel."
"Pretend you care, Freddie," she'd replied acidly. "For appearances' sake at least, if not for Charlotte's."
She'd mounted her horse and ridden the nine miles with Tom Meade.
She'd run into the McGregors' house, barely greeting them. Mrs. McGregor
had taken her to Charlotte immediately and India had sunk to her knees
by her daughter's bedside, smiling and crying all at once, scolding her
dreadfully for wandering off, then embracing her and covering her in
kisses. Freddie, who'd decided to follow after all, sat on the edge of
the bed, affecting concern. After India had calmed down a little, she
remembered herself; she stood and made the proper introductions. She
took Mrs. McGregor's hands in hers and thanked her over and over again.
"I was rather effusive," she said to Maggie now. "I quite flustered
the poor woman. She kept trying to take her hands back. Kept telling me
it was Sid Baxter I should be thanking, not her. We are so lucky that
Tom Meade knew of him and thought to get him."
"You are indeed. No one knows this area like Sid."
India put her coffee cup down. "You know, Mrs. Carr, it's quite an
unusual thing, Mr. Baxter's reticence. Most men would not have
disappeared after rescuing the undersecretary's daughter. Most would
have been front and center, hand out, hoping for some sort of reward. Or
busy telling stories to newspapers for money."
"Sid Baxter's not most people," Maggie said.
"So I gather," India said. She dropped her gaze to her coffee cup,
then haltingly continued. "Charlotte is my entire life, Mrs. Carr, I
cannot imagine what I would have done if I had lost her. I am forever in
Mr. Baxter's debt. If there's ever anything I can do for him, anything
he needs..."
"He was only happy he got to her in time. That's all the reward he wants."
India smiled. "That sounds like something he told you to say. Is he avoiding us?"
It was Maggie's turn to blush. "You have to understand something
about Sid--he's a very shy man. Doesn't like people much. Wouldn't be
out here in the middle of nowhere if he did."
"I see. Well, I'm disappointed to have missed him. I had very much
hoped to thank him in person. But perhaps you would do that for me?"
"I'd be glad to."
India said they must be getting back.
"Are you still on safari?" Maggie asked.
India shook her head. "I've had enough of safaris to last me a
lifetime," she said. She explained that she and Charlotte were staying
with the McGregors. Most of the others were staying on at the campsite,
enjoying a few more days' shooting. Freddie and Hayes Sadler had
traveled back to Nairobi as they had a few days' business there. When
that was concluded, he would fetch them from the McGregors' and they
would travel together to Mount Kenya for a fortnight's holiday before
returning to England.
Maggie and India went to find Charlotte. She was sitting on the steps
of Sid Baxter's house with Baaru, a boy of ten. They were feeding Mocha
pieces of carrot. India thanked Maggie for her hospitality. She and
Charlotte said their goodbyes, then Baaru brought them their horses,
which had been borrowed from the McGregors. Charlotte's was a pony.
Maggie stood in her yard and waved them off. She watched until they'd
ridden all the way down her drive to the road, then she turned and
walked past her house through her backyard and into her barn. Hands on
her hips, she scowled up at the hayloft and shouted, "You can come down
now, you bloody great coward!"
A head appeared over the edge of the loft. "They're gone?" Sid said.
"They are. You're safe."
Sid lowered a wooden ladder to the ground and climbed down it.
"You could have said hello to them. The little girl was sad to have missed you."
Sid said nothing.
Maggie gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Beautiful child, that one,
isn't she? Spitting image of her mother. Six years old, she is. Nearly."
Sid still said nothing, just made his way to the barn door.
"Did you see them from the window?"
"No."
"Liar." She shook her head, then said, "I don't know about you
anymore, Bax. Running off with the surveyor. Hiding in the barn. Moping
and mooning. I just don't understand it. India Lytton's a fine woman, to
be sure, but she's not worth all this. No woman is. No man, either.
It's time you got over her."
Sid turned and looked at her. "Great idea, Maggs," he said. "Thanks. Care to tell me how?"
"Bloody hell," Seamie swore. He threw his gloves on the ground and
shoved his blue, aching hands under his clothing and into his armpits to
warm them. "It's an icefall. A bloody great icefall! How on earth could
we have missed it?"
"The snow," Willa said, gazing up at the glistening slope. "The light
it throws plays with your eyes. Shortens distances. Blurs features.
I'll bet we saw it. We just thought it was part of the couloir."
She turned to look at him and he swore again. "What is it?" she said.
He touched his fingers to her lips and held them up so she could see them. They were smeared with blood.
"It's nothing," she said.
"Willa, you're sick. And in case you haven't noticed, there's an
icefall ahead of us. It's probably sixty feet high. The angle's seventy
degrees. At least. You're in no condition to tackle it. We have to go
back."
"I'm fine."
Seamie shook his head. "The sun's too high. We took too long. It's
melting the ice. We dodged rockfalls all the way up the couloir."
"We're off the couloir now."
"Willa--"
"Look, Seamie, I'm knackered, I admit it. My head's pounding like a
tomtom. I want to throw up all the time. But I know I've got enough left
in me to make the summit. I know it. I also know that it's all I've
got. If I go down now, I won't get back up."
"That's no way to climb."
"It's going to have to be."
"For Christ's sake, look at the chance you're taking!" Seamie yelled.
"You're sick, tired. You're not thinking straight. You're too ...too
..."
"Too what?"
"Too damned competitive!"
"Oh, I am, am I?" she said hotly. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"Say I were to go down. Right now. What would you do?"
Seamie hesitated, just for a second, then said, "Go up."
"Of course you would, you bastard."
"Your point?"
"I didn't come this far to let you steal all the glory, Finnegan. I'm
summiting Mawenzi with you. I don't care if I have to crawl the rest of
the way to do it."