by Rhys Bowen
We had reached the top of the grade. The train came into a small station to take on water and to give the engine a rest. We climbed out and stood in the shade of eucalyptus trees, enjoying the cool air. Then it was back on board and we were descending rapidly again.
“We’re going down to the floor of the Rift Valley,” Darcy said. “Although even the floor of the valley is pretty high. Maybe six thousand feet.”
“Gol— Gosh. How high shall we be staying then?”
“Higher than that. We’ll be at the foot of the Aberdare Mountains. Didn’t Mrs. Ragg say eight thousand feet?”
At the bottom of the grade we came to a halt in a small town on the shore of a lake. This actually looked like a proper town, although the streets were not paved and many of the buildings had the same corrugated iron roofs. But there were motorcars parked outside substantial-looking bungalows, complete with English-style gardens. A Union Jack fluttered from a flagpole outside a bigger building. Nakuru, the sign at the station said.
“We are in the White Highlands at last,” Darcy said.
Several people left the train and there was much shouting as porters were instructed to carry loads of luggage. Then on we went again. It was now late afternoon and the sun was dipping lower in the sky, shining directly through the carriage window and making it unbearably hot. The track went along the edge of the lake and again I cried out aloud. The lake was covered in what looked like pink blossoms. But at the sound of the train they rose into the air—thousands of flamingos, flying in a dense pink cloud. This was truly a land of wonders. I was now really glad we had come.
We passed another lake, then signs of cultivation. Then we were starting to climb again on the other side of the Rift Valley. The train slowed and we stopped at a tiny station called Gilgil.
“This is where we get out,” Darcy said. He helped me to climb down. Our traveling companions were also disembarking. The station was little more than a platform and a hut beside it but beyond was a large stone bungalow that proclaimed itself to be the Hotel Gilgil, as well as a school, a market and several substantial-looking white buildings. A sleek Hispano-Suiza whisked away Mrs. Simpson. An estate car was there to meet Pansy Ragg. Another took the Hartley twins.
“Why, there you are, you old devil,” said a voice and a young man in a khaki bush jacket came hurrying over to us. He had red hair and his face was so freckled he looked like a walking orange.
“Welcome, welcome.” He pumped Darcy’s hand. “Long time no see, old chap.”
“How are you, Freddie?” Darcy said. “You’re looking awfully fit.”
“Well, one has to be fit here. It’s one long round of safari, polo, racing, tennis. Oh, and a little work thrown in.” His gaze moved to me.
“This is my bride, Georgiana.” Darcy slipped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a sweet little smile that melted my heart.
“Lady Georgiana. How splendid to meet you,” Freddie Blanchford said, holding out his hand to me. “I do hope you’re going to have a good time here. Now, let’s chivvy up those dratted porters, shall we?” He shouted words in what I supposed was Kiswahili and several men picked up the bags we pointed to.
“I’ve got the old jalopy standing by,” he said as he led us to the road. “I wouldn’t make you suffer by staying in my bungalow here in town. Government issue, you know. It’s all right for a single chap like me, but certainly not what you’d describe as luxurious. So I’ve wangled an invitation for you with friends. And I’d invite you for a drink at the hotel before we set off, but I’d prefer not to drive once it gets dark. The road is a bit of a bugger.”
As we approached the car he said to Darcy, in a lower voice, “It was good of you to come. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here.”
Chapter 9
FRIDAY, AUGUST 9
KENYA AT LAST!
After a horribly bumpy flight we have arrived in Kenya. I’ve seen all sorts of wild animals already. But something in the way that Freddie Blanchford greeted Darcy has made me uneasy.
The motorcar really could be described as an old jalopy. It was open-topped and liberally flecked with dust and mud. Darcy insisted I take the front seat beside Freddie while he perched on the luggage in the rear. We set off, leaving the town behind. The condition of the road was awful—it was unpaved with great ruts in it and we bumped around so much that I thought it wiser not to open my mouth to talk. Freddie didn’t seem to notice it and chatted away happily.
“Had a good flight? Good show. You were obviously on time to meet the train, which was lucky as spending the night in Kisumu is not an experience I recommend. Three million mosquitoes waiting to suck your blood. It’s much better where we are, because of the altitude. Too cold for them at night.”
I nodded and smiled. He realized I wasn’t saying anything. “Sorry about the road. The long rains have been over for a couple of months but they were bad this year and the oxcarts really wreck the surface when it’s muddy. It will be better up above in the valley.”
“Isn’t that a contradiction of terms?” Darcy asked from the backseat. He seemed to have no problem speaking.
Freddie chuckled. “We’re still close to the floor of the Rift Valley here. The Wanjohi Valley, the one they have dubbed the Happy Valley, is at the top of the escarpment.” He glanced back at Darcy. “It’s all right. We’re all crazy in Kenya, you know.” He fell silent for a moment. “So who was on the flight with you?” he asked. “I saw Pansy Ragg, and Major Eggerton, and the Rutherfords, but I didn’t recognize the others.”
“Son and daughter of Lord Cheriton,” Darcy said.
“Interesting. I knew he had children with his first wife but we’ve never seen them out here. I didn’t even know he was in contact with them. I wonder what brings them out exactly now?”
“Their father wants to get to know his heir, so they say,” Darcy replied.
“Oh, of course. That makes sense. So who else?”
“An American lady called Simpson.”
“The Simpson?”
“That’s the one.”
“Gracious. Then the rumors one hears are true. The prince is currently with Delamere. That’s a long way to come for a short romantic tryst.”
“Love knows no obstacles, obviously,” Darcy said.
“You think it’s love and not infatuation?”
“I’ve no idea. But I do know he’s serious about her.”
“Then let’s hope he gets her out of his system before his father dies,” Freddie said.
He turned back to me. “Enjoying what you see so far?”
I nodded again. I remembered that we had also traveled with Jocelyn Prettibone, but I hadn’t seen him at the station. I supposed he was traveling on to Nairobi, where he’d have more chance of finding a job. Darcy hadn’t even bothered to mention him. We were now on a road winding up a hill. Sometimes the road hugged the side of a steep drop and we had a view across the whole expanse of the Rift Valley. The wide grasslands and lakes of the valley floor were now being replaced with a mixture of trees and green grass, a parkland that looked a lot more like England. And the sky—I had never seen such a vast sky before—an enormous arc of blue with a line of clouds building over the far side of the Rift Valley. The breeze that blew in our faces was fresher too, tinged with the smell of eucalyptus. The road led along the top of a ridge and the sight of a group of round mud huts with thatched roofs and some naked African babies playing outside reminded me that we were actually far from home.
“A Kikuyu village,” Freddie said. “Most of them have now moved to work on the settlers’ farms. Good employment, you know.”
Ahead of us was a line of soft blue mountains, looking hazy in the slanting light. “That’s the Aberdares,” Freddie said. “That’s where we are heading.”
Then the road dipped downhill again and crossed a rushing stream over a rickety bridge
made of logs. “You can see why I’m not too keen to drive this in the dark,” Freddie said. “There are several more bridges like this. And you never know what you’re going to meet on the road. You certainly know it if you hit a buffalo. Or an elephant for that matter.”
“I think you’d probably notice an elephant before you hit it,” Darcy said dryly.
“You’d be surprised how fast they move,” Freddie said. “And how silently. If one steps out of the bush in front of you, there’s not that much you can do.”
“Are there many elephants around here?” I asked, because the landscape looked so tame and civilized.
“Enough. They’ve mostly retreated to the Aberdares since the valley’s been cultivated. They’re a bloody nuisance, pardon my language. They come out of the forest and do damage to crops and gardens.”
We crossed several small ravines with streams flowing through them. Each bridge was more precarious than the last.
“How much longer?” Darcy asked. I suspected he was getting even more bounced around in the back.
“Half an hour or so, if we don’t meet anything on the road.” As he said this the sun was dipping behind the black line of western hills, bathing the world in pink light. I sat up, feeling tense now, and expecting an elephant to step up from behind every bush. We rattled and bumped across another rushing stream.
“You’ll be staying with Diddy Ruocco,” he said.
“Italian?”
“True-blue British, but her husband was an Italian count. Bit of a bounder. She’s much happier without him,” Freddie said, turning to address us and making me grip the armrest as we narrowly missed a giant pothole. “You’ll like her. She breeds horses . . . polo ponies and racehorses too. Been in the colony since the early days. She’s a good egg. One of the few who will actually speak to me. She’ll make sure you’re taken care of. And of course everyone will invite you to dine. We’re always curious about visitors here. It can be bloody boring talking to the same handful of people all the time.”
“Where does this Diddy live?” I asked as we were now approaching a tall conical mountain, almost like the kind of mountains that small children draw. “Is this the Aberdares?”
“This is Kipipiri, our lone mountain; the Aberdares are to our right. We’ve got a few miles to go yet. Diddy lives up at the north end of the valley. Next-door neighbor to Bwana Hartley, or Lord Cheriton I suppose one should say now. Which is convenient.”
I was about to ask why it was convenient when Darcy said, “Why won’t people speak to you? I’ve always thought you were an easygoing sort of chap, the kind people would want at their dinner parties. Tell a good story. Like a good laugh . . . Has Africa changed you?”
“Not at all,” Freddie replied. “But I’m the bloody government official. Settlers don’t like the government. Rules and regulations, you know. So I’m lucky if I ever get invited to dinner. Diddy likes me because I play polo. That’s the only reason I’m tolerated around here—my polo skills.” He laughed, a little bitterly, I thought.
We were now seeing more signs of cultivation: fields of crops, of what looked like maize, wheat, rows of small trees, and the occasional glimpse of a large house up a long driveway. The mountains to our right had now come closer to the road and were clothed in thick forest. The air felt decidedly chilly. I was tired, uncomfortable and hungry. We had been up since five. Stands of tall trees now grew beside the road, and from time to time we passed between great rocks. I remembered again what Freddie had said about elephants stepping out in front of the car. Then I saw a sign, Wanjohi Polo Club. A splendid field surrounded by a white picket fence and a pavilion such as would grace any cricket pitch in England. This definitely lifted my spirits.
“Almost there,” Freddie said.
“Where do they keep the horses?” I asked, not seeing any in the paddocks.
“Ponies,” Freddie corrected. “You play polo on ponies.” He smiled. “They keep them safely on their estates, and shut them up in their stables overnight. Big cats like the taste of horsemeat.”
“Golly,” I said. The very British polo club had made me forget that we were in the wilds of Africa. “There are lions here?”
“Mainly leopards. Not too many lions, actually, since they prefer to hunt in open savanna. But the occasional lion does learn that we keep cows and horses up here and they are much easier pickings than gazelles and zebras in the open. You’ll find the farms all have high hedges or walls to protect the livestock. But they don’t keep out the leopards, of course. Too wily. So just be a bit careful after dark, won’t you?”
He turned to grin at me, as if enjoying all of these dire warnings. Then he added, “All of the farms keep guards. You’re probably quite safe.” Then he added, “Ah, here we are.”
He swung the motor through a tall white wooden gate above which hung a sign with Hastings written on it.
“Hastings?” Darcy asked.
“Funny how so many of the settlers name their estates after their old haunts in Britain,” Freddie said. “Does this remind you of a sedate seaside town? In fact did you ever see anything less like Hastings in your life?”
Darcy chuckled. We drove between green pastures dotted with great eucalyptus trees, then came to another gate, this time in a tall hedge. A skinny African boy leaped out to open the gate in the hedge. “Welcome, bwanas,” he said, smiling shyly. “Welcome, memsabu.”
And to my surprise we were driving through what looked like a lovely English garden. Manicured lawns, a fountain in the middle, even rosebushes. On the far side of the lawn was a low stone bungalow with a steeply sloping shingle roof. At the sound of the motorcar several big dogs ran out, barking furiously.
“Quiet, you brutes, heel,” shouted a female voice as a slender woman, wearing riding breeches and an open-necked shirt, stepped out of the shadow of the veranda that ran around the whole front of the building. “They don’t listen to a word I say,” she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation as the dogs now surrounded the motorcar, tails wagging furiously. “Hello, Freddie. Had an easy drive, then? No mishaps?”
“Perfectly easy, thank you, Diddy, old bean.” He had jumped out and came around to open my door as Darcy attempted to climb over the mound of luggage. “Diddy Ruocco, may I present Mr. and Mrs. O’Mara.”
“How do you do?” We shook hands. “It’s very kind of you to have us to stay.”
“Well, I couldn’t have left you to the mercy of Freddie, could I?” she said. “My dears, you’d have been eaten by mosquitoes and poisoned by that rotten cook of his. Anyway, much more fun up here in the valley. Lots of parties, and safaris, and polo, of course. We’ve a match on Sunday. Do you both play? We have mixed teams up here, you know.”
“I play,” Darcy said.
“I’ve never tried,” I confessed.
“Well, you wouldn’t. Women don’t in England, do they?” Diddy said. “But I take it you hunt.”
“Oh rather.” I grinned. “I adore hunting.” I realized this sounded rather strange for someone who was reluctant to shoot things on safari. But one in my position is brought up to hunt and what I loved was the thrill of the chase, jumping over fences and ditches. And actually I was glad if the fox got away at the end of it!
“Then you’ll get the hang of it. I’ll give you a lesson tomorrow. But we shouldn’t keep you standing out here. Let me show you to your rooms, then you’ll have time to take a bath and change for drinks before dinner.” She clapped her hands and called out some words in a local language that was either Kikuyu or Kiswahili and several servants wearing red fez hats and immaculate white uniforms rushed out to retrieve our baggage.
“I should be getting back then,” Freddie said. “It’s almost dark.”
“Nonsense. Stay and have dinner and spend the night. You’re not wanted until morning, are you?”
“No, but I didn’t bring any things. . . .” Fredd
ie looked doubtful.
“Dear boy, we certainly have spare pajamas and a shaving kit,” she said. “Everyone does up here. You never know who will be spending the night, after all.” And she gave a hearty laugh. “You may stay as long as you’ve brought the requisite gift.”
“I have a case of claret in the boot, if that’s what you mean,” Freddie said.
“I hope it’s good claret.”
“Only the best for you, Diddy darling,” Freddie said.
“Splendid. You’re a good chap even if you are a bloody government official,” Diddy said. She clapped a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Then let me show you your room. The houseboys should have taken in the bags by now.”
She led us along the veranda while the dogs still swarmed around us and opened a door at the end onto a large and pleasant room. The electric lights had already been turned on and the bags were stacked beside the wardrobe. In the middle was a four-poster bed and a good-looking antique chest of drawers and dressing table. A fire was burning in the fireplace. It looked like any English bedroom.
“There’s plenty of hot water for a bath,” Diddy said. “It’s heated from a bonfire in the back. All mod cons here, you know!” And she laughed.
Now seen in the harsh electric light she was not as young as I had thought. Her hair, pulled back into a chignon, was streaked blond but her face was weathered from constant exposure to the sun. I put her at over forty. Her figure, however, was as slim as a girl’s.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said. “Come down for drinks when you are ready. Oh, and make sure you close the shutters at night. We should be quite safe here, inside the hedge, but one does get the occasional baboon, or even a leopard. One of the neighbors had her little dog taken from the foot of her bed during the night last week. Didn’t hear a thing. Only deduced what had happened by the trail of blood.” With those cheerful words she went off, leaving us alone.
“That’s nice to know, isn’t it?” Darcy said. “How do you feel about having your toes nibbled off by a leopard?”
