A Spear of Summer Grass

21



The next morning a council of war was held at Fairlight. I had sent out a summons, asking Tusker and Rex and Ryder and the Halliwells to come. Rex was in Nairobi making funeral arrangements for Kit, but Tusker and Ryder appeared with Jude in tow. Dora came with Mr. Halliwell, although Evelyn stayed behind to mind the school. Helen was there, looking older and more fragile, a damp handkerchief clutched in her hand. We convened in the drawing room to compare notes. Ryder was the last to arrive, hollow-eyed with fatigue and shaking dust out of his hair.

“Where’s Gideon?” I asked him.

“In the barn. He couldn’t stay in his village. The police have already been there again asking questions. We’ve been one step ahead of them for the last day and night. It’s only a matter of time before they find him.”

“We cannot let that happen,” I said flatly. I turned to the others. “I wanted you to come because we must devise a plan to protect Gideon.”

Helen spoke up, her voice sharp with emotion. “We can’t take him. That’s far too obvious. Ours will be one of the first farms they search, as will Nyama.” Tusker nodded. Jude said nothing, and Halliwell frowned. Dora was busy passing out sandwiches, although no one ate. I turned to Halliwell. “Can you keep him for a little while at the school?”

He gave me a sorrowful look. “I’m afraid not. He was a student there. It’s only logical that they would search the place, and I cannot let that happen. I have the children to consider.”

I thought of Helen pounding drinks back with both fists as Halliwell leered at her cleavage and I stared him down. “What about friends of yours? I know the mission has connections all over Africa. We could put him in touch with one of them and send him out of Kenya altogether.”

He hesitated and I pushed forward. “We just need time. I talked to the inspector yesterday and I think he is fixed on Gideon because he’s the easiest suspect. Once he finishes his inquiries and doesn’t turn up another suspect, he’ll stop looking. He will bring a case against Gideon and he will make certain Gideon hangs. Can you live with that? Because I can’t.”

Halliwell’s eyes slipped away from mine as Ryder spoke up. “The inspector hasn’t fixed on him because he is easy. He has evidence.”

“What evidence?” I demanded.

“They found a bracelet at the scene, a Masai piece, and the colours indicate it came from Gideon’s village.”

I opened my mouth in astonishment, but before I could say a word, Jude broke in.

“I’ll take him.”

“The hell you will,” Ryder cut in. “You heard what Helen said. Nyama is one of the first places they’ll search. Besides, Anthony already thinks Gideon is guilty. If you take him home with you, Anthony will shoot him on sight.”

“Not if—”

“Jude, leave it,” Tusker instructed firmly. “Ryder is correct. Anthony would either shoot him or turn him in for the reward.”

“What reward?” My voice was hollow and Ryder jumped to his feet swearing.

Helen wiped at her eyes again. “The news came out of Nairobi this morning. There’s a reward for Gideon’s capture. Every white and half the blacks in Kenya will be looking for him now.”

“But it should have been days yet,” I began. Tusker waved me away.

“Things can happen quite quickly out here when people have a mind to make them. It’s a frontier, child. With frontier justice. Just be glad they specified he was to be taken alive.”

Ryder swore again and I sat down. Even Dora put down the damned sandwiches and looked stricken. “There must be someone loyal enough to him to resist the money,” she said quietly.

“There is,” Ryder said. He exchanged a meaningful look with Tusker.

“Excellent plan, my boy. But you’ll have to go with him to make sure he’s protected.”

“Of course.”

“What are we talking about?” I demanded.

Ryder flicked a glance towards Halliwell. “Nothing I would care to get specific about.”

Halliwell flushed. “Now see here—”

Dora cut in sharply. “He’s right, Lawrence. It’s best if none of us know.” I raised a brow at her. Things must have gotten quite cozy at the Halliwell establishment if she was on a first-name basis with the master of the house.

He nodded. “As you say, Dora.” Of course he would agree, I thought bitterly. The less he knew, the faster he could wash his hands of the whole thing. He was staring at Dora intently and she blushed a little. I thought with a pleasurable little shiver of how much I would enjoy telling her about his antics at Helen’s last party.

“When will you go?” Tusker asked.

“Now. The sooner the better.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jude said. Her chin was set and Ryder nodded slowly.

“Jude,” Tusker began, but Jude took a step forward, her fists balled.

“It’s my decision, Tusker. If Ryder will have me, I’m going. I’m a better tracker than Ryder and a better shot than Gideon. They can use me.”

I went to the rack over the door and took down the Rigby and handed it to her. “Take this. It’s a better gun than yours.”

She gave me a long, level gaze, then put out her hand. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t shoot it any more than you have to. Those bullets are damned expensive.”

She gave me a faint smile and pocketed the ammunition. “One shot, one kill.”

I followed Ryder and Jude to the barn. Dora had collected food and Ryder took all the extra ammunition he could carry. I helped, my head buzzing. I itched to go and look in my jewel box to see if my bracelet was still there, but there was no chance. They say in a crisis everything slows down, like when you hold your breath and walk underwater. But that wasn’t true, not this time. Every moment was speeding by so fast, if I had stopped I would have fallen over from dizziness. So I kept on going, pushing through as things happened around me. My hands knew what to do even when my brain didn’t. When we reached the barn door, Ryder turned and kissed me hard.

“You will come back,” I told him. “That’s not a question.”

He kissed me a second time and unlocked the barn door. Gideon crept out of the shadows.

“Bibi?”

“I’m here, Gideon. You’re going to go with Jude and Ryder. Somewhere safe.”

He stood in front of me, tall and straight as a spear. “I understand.” He put out his hand. “I would like to shake hands with you, Bibi.”

I shook it, clasping that broad warm palm. I turned it over and looked at it. There was all of Africa in that palm. The line of the Mara River flowed across it, with the high plains where a man might be free and the deep ridge of the Rift where time stood still. I put the hand to my face and he held it there briefly before removing it.

“I cannot come back,” he said, putting into words what I already knew.

“I will not forget you,” I promised him. “As long as Africa endures, I will remember you, my friend.”

I could hardly see him then. The tears obscured his face, and my last view of him was watery and insubstantial as a ghost. Already he was fading. I made to go, then turned back again. “What is your name, Gideon? I want to know your real name, not the one the white school gave you. I want the one your people gave you. The name God calls you.”

He smiled. “I am Ole, Delilah.”

“Ole,” I said slowly. “Good. Because if I ever get to heaven, I want to know how to find you.”

“This is a thing that I know—you are my friend, Delilah.”

I turned then and walked to the door. But it was too late. The police had arrived.

* * *

The inspector emerged from his car with a selection of policemen and he smiled at me, lifting a piece of paper over his head. “I have a warrant for the arrest of the Masai known as Gideon. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” I called out, “but you’re just in time to see where the foreman Gates assaulted my cow herder. The blood has been scrubbed, but you can still make out traces. Would you like to investigate that?” I asked, stepping forward. Tusker and Jude closed ranks behind me as Ryder casually shut the barn door behind him. There were few places to hide inside, and we would buy him only a few minutes at best, but I could not stand by and let them take him, not on evidence that could have just as easily implicated me. Dora and Halliwell appeared on the veranda and Halliwell put his arm about her shoulders.

The inspector came nearer to me, and his men formed a wall behind him. He smiled again. “I have something more significant than the assault of a native boy on the docket today, Miss Drummond. Now, this will all go a great deal easier if you simply tell us where he’s gone and let us get on with it.”

“Get on with what?” Jude demanded. “Hanging an innocent man? Tell me, Inspector, what sort of trials do black men get in this country? I think we both know the answer to that.”

His smile slipped a little. Bless her, I thought. Ryder had edged around to my left and I realised that between this action and Jude’s theatrics, the police might just be diverted long enough for Gideon to effect an escape through the far side. He could hide in the lugga if we could just keep them occupied.

Jude started yelling then, stepping right up until she was toe-to-toe with the inspector. It was a step too far. As soon as she got within arm’s length, the inspector shifted his attention to the barn itself. He signalled a pair of his men to take Jude and as soon as they moved forward, Ryder cocked his rifle.

“Try putting a hand on her,” he told them. “I’m begging you.”

They stood at a stalemate for a moment, the air charged as Jude refused to give ground and Ryder held the position at her back. The policemen drew their weapons, and all it would take was the slightest twitch and all hell would break loose.

“I did it.” The words were out of my mouth before I even knew I was going to say them. Every single person on that farm turned to look at me, and I stepped forward again, squaring my shoulders. “I killed Kit Parrymore.”

There was a moment of blessed, sacred silence before absolute pandemonium broke out.

Tusker started laughing, a deep belly laugh that was edged with hysteria. Dora collapsed straight into Halliwell’s arms, and Jude swung around to look at me, colliding with Ryder. He was staring at me, his eyes locked on mine, and he understood.

I turned back to the inspector whose mouth had gone slack again. I held out my hands.

“Did you bring handcuffs? Only mind you don’t put them on too tightly. I bruise easily.”

He shook his head. “Not so fast, Miss Drummond. I want a statement.”

“Fine. Here’s your statement—I went a little crazy and I shot Kit with his own revolver while he slept. I think I did. I mean, it’s all so fuzzy in my head. I can’t quite remember.”

The inspector’s eyes narrowed, and he gave me a smile as thin as paper. “I don’t believe you.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the blackness wash over me. I heard the howling of the rougarou, and I felt the warmth of Gideon’s hand in mind. I took one last deep breath and then I plunged.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I went crazy,” I said. I lifted my wrist and pulled off the black ribbon. “Do you see that scar? I did it with my husband’s razor the day they brought what was left of him home from France.”

There was a flash of hesitation in the inspector’s eyes. Uncertainty was taking its first tentative steps. All it needed was a push.

“I spent three months locked up in an asylum in England. If you don’t believe me, ask my cousin.”

He turned his head to Dora. I didn’t look at her. It would be fatal to Gideon if Gilchrist suspected collusion. She had to tell him the truth, and I hoped she hated me just enough to do it.

“It’s true,” she said, almost inaudibly. She turned and buried herself in Halliwell’s shoulder, weeping.

“I shall require a more extensive confession that that,” Gilchrist said.

“Well, you’re not getting one. Not until I’m in Nairobi with my lawyer present. Now take me in, gingernut.”

I was gambling a little with that last bit, but as I expected, the belittling tone was enough to rattle him. He coloured to the roots of his red hair, then blanched as his men snickered. He took me by the wrists and towed me to his car. He opened the door and stepped back sharply to let me precede him. I turned back with a smile.

“Aren’t you going to make certain I’m not armed?”

“I will take my chances,” he said through gritted teeth.

I did not dare look back. I ducked into the car and settled myself in for the drive to Nairobi. Behind us I could hear the rest of the policemen piling into their cars and bringing up the rear of our little caravan. We drove slowly out the gates of Fairlight, and as the drive doubled back on itself I saw them all standing just as I had left them, a tableau in the morning light. I hoped Gideon could see me through one of the chinks in the barn wall. I hoped he would get away and I hoped he would be safe. I hoped he would live a long and happy life. I hoped so many things during that long drive to Nairobi. I might have even prayed. Gideon needed a miracle to make it to safety and he would need a thousand more to keep him safe. But Gideon deserved a miracle. Even one I had to make with my own hands. It was a sloppy, untidy, makeshift little thing, my sad miracle, crooked and badly stitched, but it was all I had to offer him. I only hoped it would be enough.

* * *

I was taken directly to the police station for interrogation. We stopped once during the drive to Nairobi for the sharing out of a hamper of dry sandwiches and warm orange squash, but I refused. Anything I ate was likely to make an encore appearance, so I kept my mouth shut. We stopped twice more for punctures and mechanical trouble with the result that we arrived at the police station after dark, just as the first of the short rains was beginning to fall. I was hurried through a back entrance and put into a private holding cell. I glanced around, taking inventory. There was a narrow cot, one thin blanket, and unmentionable hygienic arrangements. I wrapped myself up and stretched out on the cot, closing my eyes. There were distant noises—voices, typewriters, the occasional ringing of the telephone, and once or twice the ominous clang as they locked another poor soul inside. I had seen Kilimani Prison on my first trip through Nairobi. It wasn’t exactly the Crillon, and I crossed my fingers and said the rosary twice, hoping they wouldn’t send me there. I was alone and separate from the holding cells of native Africans, something I pointed out to the inspector when he had me brought to an interrogation room some time later.

“I should have liked to have practiced my Swahili,” I said brightly.

Gilchrist cleared his throat and one of his minions entered bearing a tea tray. “How civilized. And how very English,” I murmured.

He gave me a thin smile and poured out a cup for me and laid a plate with sandwiches and cake. I lifted a brow and a slight flush touched his complexion.

“Eat it. It was sent over from the Norfolk Hotel.” His voice was kinder than I had expected, all things considered.

I shrugged and helped myself. I had missed two meals and teatime, and if I was supposed to sit through an interrogation, I ought to keep my strength up.

He watched me and after a moment took one of the sandwiches himself, wolfing it down in a single bite.

“You’ll give yourself indigestion.”

He grimaced. “I have that already, largely thanks to you.”

“You flatter me.”

He sighed. “Miss Drummond—”

“Delilah, please. I suspect we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together.”

“Delilah.” He dropped his voice to something altogether softer than I had heard from him before. “I need your help. I don’t believe you killed Kit Parrymore.”

“Odd, then, that you should take me in so quickly.”

He flushed again. “I let you goad me into that and I shouldn’t have. I ought to have known right off that you were bluffing.”

“Who says I was?”

He smiled, and to my surprise it was a genuine thing. “Where was he? In the kitchen? The storeroom?”

“The barn,” I admitted. “But it wouldn’t have done you any good to arrest an innocent man. I was doing you a favour.”

“By confessing to a crime you didn’t commit,” he finished.

“Who says I didn’t? I confessed. If you neglect that confession, I suspect the governor would be mightily put out. He’s going to be under quite a bit of pressure to make sure this is solved quickly and discreetly. And I imagine if the governor is under pressure, so are you. I hear the Duke of York is planning an official visit next year. Just think what the king would say if you get this wrong! Why, I imagine, he might refuse permission for the duke to come at all. Such a perfect opportunity to showcase to Whitehall how much Kenya deserves self-governance, wasted! Yes, you are under pressure indeed, Inspector.”

“You would not believe how much if I told you,” he admitted. “But this absurd confession of yours—”

“It’s not my fault if you don’t believe it.”

“Then help me to believe it. I must have facts, a motive.”

“Oh, surely you can draw the inferences yourself. You’re a clever man,” I said, putting out my hand for another sandwich.

His hand clamped about my wrist. “Do you think I got this job by playing the fool? I will admit I swallowed your little bait like a good little fish, but I’m done with that. I’ve snapped the line and I will go my own way now. You no longer whistle the tune, Miss Drummond.”

“You’ve rather mixed your metaphors there. And we agreed it was to be Delilah.”

I slipped my arm from his grasp. He sat back, rubbing a hand over his temple.

“Headache? I always take a spoonful of bitters and lie down in a cool room with a compress. You might try it.”

He gave a short laugh. “They warned me about you. They told me you would twist me forty different ways. I could not imagine how, and yet here you are.”

He forgot to be a policeman then. The cool efficiency dropped away and he sat, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, his expression resigned. He looked like a man who had just had his dearest illusions stripped away, and there was nothing left but need. It was a look I had seen before and not one I ever cared to be responsible for.

“Inspector,” I said gently. “You ought to be asking me questions.”

“I know. I just wish we could be honest with one another. The rest of it is exhausting. But if we could just have the truth...” He trailed off and leaned forward again, his eyes warm and coaxing.

I felt myself leaning nearer. “Inspector,” I began, my voice a little tremulous.

He moved closer still, his lips parting expectantly. “Yes?”

I heard the frisson of expectation and I knew my instincts were correct.

I moved closer again. “I feel as though I could tell you anything. Anything at all.”

“Go on,” he urged, his eyes never leaving mine.

Closer still. I put a hand out to steady myself and felt the curve of his knee under my palm. “I will give you whatever you want,” I said, tightening my grip. His leg flexed under my hand and his mouth curved slightly into a thin smile of triumph.

“Yes?”

“As soon as you get my lawyer. Until then, you can go hang yourself.”

I sat back and laughed as he went brick-red and sat back as quickly as if I’d slapped him again.

“This isn’t a game, Delilah.”

“Of course it is. And you lost. Take it like a man. You thought you’d wheedle something out of me because I’m just a woman. Poor Gilchrist! I learned to turn men like you inside out before I could even walk. Now send me back to my cell and get my lawyer here. Quentin Harkness, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London. I’ll wait.”

“If you think I’m going to wait a fortnight for some spit-polished solicitor from London to make his way here, you are entirely mistaken.”

“Language! And I think you will. Remember, Inspector, I’m not just a British citizen. I’m American. And I think my great-uncle, Senator L’Hommedieu, would be greatly interested if I were to be denied due process.”

He wrote down Quentin’s name and address, snapping off the pencil lead as he did so.

“What makes you so certain he’ll even come?”

“He’s my ex-husband.”

Gilchrist laughed then, an unpleasant sound in the small room. “I’m surprised one got away alive. I rather thought you just bit off their heads and left them to die.”

I had to give him credit. He had gone toe-to-toe with me and gotten the last word. It was more than most men did.