by Rhys Bowen
“So, a carefully planned murder,” Rowena said. “Not just an argument that got out of hand.”
“It seems that way,” Darcy said.
“How horrid. Someone must have really hated him.”
“Or wanted to stop him from doing something,” Rupert added. Then a strange look came over his face. “Blimey, you know what this means, don’t you? I’m Lord Cheriton.” He burst out laughing. “What a ridiculous thing to happen. I inherit the title and all that goes with it. All this is mine. I come out a pauper and go back a rich man.”
“I wouldn’t expound that theory too loudly,” Darcy said. “It does make you into a prime suspect with the best motive for killing him.”
Rupert put a hand to his mouth and gave a nervous little giggle. “Oh God. I see what you mean. Except that I have a deep man’s voice and could hardly imitate Angel on the phone. Also that my father had driven off in the one motorcar so we were pretty much all stuck here. What time was he killed?”
“He left the party just after midnight so we’d have to surmise it was a little after that. About halfway between here and Lady Idina’s house. Between midnight and one, then.”
“Then we were all safely tucked up in our beds,” Rupert said. “And our father’s servant boy had locked the front door and the gate for the night.”
“I saw you in your pajamas about eleven thirty,” Rowena said. “We passed on our way to and from the bathroom.”
“There you are then. Alibi confirmed,” Rupert said. “I presume Dad had a solicitor out here. I’ll need to talk to him about the ramifications. Presumably I can sell his holdings in Africa. He wanted me to stay on out here and run this place.” He gave another brittle laugh. “Can you imagine me, herding cows?”
“You might have inherited his title,” Angel said, “but this place has nothing to do with the Cheriton inheritance. It was my money that built up this estate. If it’s sold the proceeds come to me.”
“Not if I’m the heir, surely,” Rupert said.
“Did he leave a will?” Rowena asked. “That would be rather important, wouldn’t it?”
“I tried to get him to write one, when he inherited the title. He didn’t like to think about his own mortality—‘Plenty of time for that sort of thing.’ I badgered him and in the end he said he’d jot something down. I don’t know if he actually got around to it,” Angel said. “In any case I’ll fight you in court to get back what I invested in this place, and I can afford to retain much better lawyers than you, I assure you.”
“Angel. Children.” Diddy stepped between them. “Bwana has been killed. This is not the time or the place to fight over what he is leaving. You should be mourning him.”
“That’s rather hard,” Rowena said. “Since we really didn’t know him. He walked out of our lives when we were tiny. He sent us occasional presents but we probably only saw him three or four times in our lives. We were absolutely amazed when he came to see us in London and wanted us to come out here. We wouldn’t have come except we didn’t really have anything better to do so Rupert said, why not?”
“We should be going,” Darcy said. “I was going to say I was sorry for your loss, but in the circumstances . . .”
“It hasn’t quite sunk in yet,” Angel said. “I shall miss him, of course. But I don’t think I’ll mourn him.”
Chapter 29
AUGUST 12
AT DIDDY’S ESTATE
I hardly know what to think about all this. My head is swimming with people and motives. I should do as Darcy suggests and leave it all to the police. It’s nothing to do with us. So I’m jolly well going to enjoy our honeymoon from now on.
When we returned to Diddy’s estate we found Cyril and Mr. Van Horn about to set off into the forest. Cyril waved when they saw us. “We’re off to see the big bad beasties,” he called. “Why don’t you come and join us?”
Darcy turned to me. “Do you want to join them?”
“Yes, please,” I said. “I’ve been dying to see animals.”
“Are you wearing stout shoes and thick trousers?” Cyril asked. “There are snakes, you know. And ants.”
“If you can wait a minute we’ll change,” Darcy said, looking down at the summery shoes I was wearing. Mr. Van Horn looked annoyed at having to wait. We hurried to change into our stoutest shoes and then off we went.
The path ran beside the little stream, which danced over boulders just like a stream in Scotland. The air was fresh and quite cool, again reminding me of my native land. But the creepers hanging from the tall trees, the bright fluttering butterflies and the strange echoing birdcalls reminded me we were far from home. Mr. Van Horn was clearly nervous. “What was that?” he kept asking every time there was a noise near us.
“You really don’t have to worry,” Cyril said. “Any animal will hear us coming long before we see them and quietly melt away into the foliage.”
“Then why are we up here, if you say we shall see nothing?” Van Horn snapped.
“Because one never knows what will turn up.” Cyril smiled. He went a few paces then put his finger to his lips. We froze. Then he tiptoed forward and pointed. At first I could see nothing but trees and dappled shade. Then there was the crack of a breaking branch and I saw that an elephant was standing in the shade, not too far from us, blending perfectly into the light and shadow of the forest. It went on browsing from the surrounding bushes, as if completely unaware of our presence.
“I think we’ve pushed our luck long enough,” Mr. Van Horn said and started to walk away.
“Shh!” Cyril put his finger to his lips again.
The elephant looked up, suddenly wary, flapped its ears and started toward us.
“Don’t move,” Cyril said.
“Don’t move? The bloody thing is coming this way,” Van Horn said, with panic in his voice.
“He is probably only bluffing,” Cyril said in a low murmur. “If you stand perfectly still you’ll be all right. If you run he’ll definitely come after you and trample you.”
The elephant had its trunk raised, its ears extended. We could feel the ground shaking as it charged. There were trees to hide behind, I told myself, and yet I was a good girl and stood still because Cyril had told me to. I sensed Mr. Van Horn backing behind Darcy and me. My heart was racing and the desire to run was overwhelming. But a few feet away the elephant stopped, raised its trunk and gave a loud bellow. The sound was earsplitting. Having done that it retreated again, blending into the forest. Mr. Van Horn took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “I thought I was finished,” he said. “You call yourself a safari guide? Ten minutes into our walk and you lead us into danger.”
“On the contrary,” Cyril replied. He almost looked as if he was enjoying himself. “That was a young bull. I was pretty sure that any charge would be bluff, and it was.”
“And if it wasn’t?” Van Horn demanded.
“Then one of us would be dead by now,” Cyril replied evenly. “Do you wish to continue our little walk? There is a spectacular waterfall on Bwana’s property.”
“I have had quite enough excitement for one day,” Van Horn said. “A murder and now a charging elephant. I can’t wait to get back to South Africa and civilization.”
We had no choice but to return to the house.
“Sorry it wasn’t much of a walk,” Cyril complained as Mr. Van Horn went off to his room. “But a little added excitement, wouldn’t you say? I think Van Horn must have peed in his pants.” He gave a naughty chuckle.
“I wonder why he was keen to go on safari,” I said. “He couldn’t wait to go back after one animal encounter.”
“I doubt he’s ever been on one before,” Darcy said. “Did you see his shoes? Highly polished. Perhaps he liked the idea of a safari, but not the reality of close encounters with animals.”
“I have to admit that encounter with the ele
phant was a little frightening,” I confessed.
Cyril took my arm and drew me near to him. “My dear, a little secret. I know that bull. I’ve known him since he was a baby. He always behaves like that. It’s a matter of pride for him. When he becomes an adult male, then things might be different, of course. But at this moment he’s just a teenager, showing off. And safari guests are not satisfied unless they have one moment of danger.” He grinned. Then he added, “I’ll be happy to take you for a proper safari, if you like.”
“We would really appreciate that,” Darcy said. “I think we’d both love to be able to experience the real Kenya before we go home.”
“Do you want to come with us tomorrow then?” Cyril asked. “I’ve already arranged things with Mr. Van Horn, if he still wants to come after the elephant episode. And maybe camp one night?”
“Do you think that will be all right?” I asked.
“Why not?” Cyril was still smiling. “I promise you I will keep you safe.”
“No, it’s not that at all. I was thinking there has been a murder. The police may want everyone to stay put and to question them again.”
“I don’t see why they’d want to question any of us,” Cyril said. He took out a cigarette packet from his top pocket, offered us one and then lit his own, taking a deep and satisfying draw on it. “We were miles away and in bed at the time. And you didn’t even know the man. I say we go, unless instructed otherwise.”
We walked on a little across the lawn.
“You don’t seem too curious about who might have killed him,” I commented.
He shot me a look. “You must know I couldn’t stand the man,” he said. “I’m actually delighted someone bumped him off.”
“Really?” Darcy looked at him with interest. “Why the animosity?”
“My dear boy, haven’t you heard? He ruined me. I wrote an article on him for my newspaper column. He called it libel. Took me to court and of course he won. It cost me money I didn’t have. And my reputation too.” He broke off suddenly. “Oh my God. That does give me a motive, doesn’t it? I hope the police don’t look into Bwana’s background history too closely.”
“So who do you think might have killed him?” I asked.
“When I heard the news I assumed it was a cuckolded husband. He has always been very free with other chaps’ wives. But since they were all at Idina’s, blissfully sleeping . . . with each other . . . one has to assume that it was an outsider. With any luck it will turn out to be a rogue Kikuyu and we can all breathe a sigh of relief.”
* * *
“DO YOU THINK it will turn out to be a native who killed him?” I asked Darcy when we were back in our room, changing out of those stout shoes.
“I think that’s highly unlikely,” Darcy replied. “It has to be someone who knew Bwana’s behavior intimately. Someone knew Angel wasn’t feeling well. Someone telephoned him and lured him home and was waiting to ambush him at the right place and the right time. That all points to his intimate circle, doesn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it does. I’d say his son has the best motive. He was described by Angel as a loafer and suddenly he inherits a title and a fortune.”
“I agree. But again the problem of how he managed to get all that way without a motorcar, and also, why bother to do it so far away? He could have done what Cyril has just done today. Asked his father to take him into the forest and killed him at a convenient moment. Then he’d leave the body to be eaten by hyenas or even by soldier ants and return home as if nothing had happened.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “You are right. But somehow I can’t see Rupert wielding a large knife and plunging it into his father, can you? Bwana is so strong. He’d overpower Rupert.”
Darcy nodded. “And the same goes for Cyril. If he was still seething with thoughts of vengeance there would be plenty of opportunities to kill Bwana on his own estate.”
I nodded in agreement.
“I hope that inspector has a good brain,” Darcy said. “Because he has a pretty puzzle ahead of him.”
Just as we were about to leave the room an idea struck me. “You know someone we have completely left out? Jocelyn. Isn’t it too coincidental that he arrives on the plane with us—on the same plane as Lord Cheriton’s children—purports to be going to Nairobi but then gets himself adopted by Idina so that he is in the right place for the party? He’d have the opportunity to telephone Bwana, and he does have quite a high-pitched voice, then follow him in one of the motorcars and kill him.”
Darcy looked amused by this. “Can you see Jocelyn as an undercover agent of some sort? The poor chap would trip over his own shoelaces on his first assignment.”
“Unless it’s all a clever act,” I said. “How many times have we simply forgotten he was there? He’s the sort of chap one does overlook.”
Darcy nodded, thoughtfully. “I suppose it is worth mentioning to Freddie. He is in cable contact with London. We can ask them to look into Jocelyn’s background. And also see if he has any updates on who might have been part of Bwana’s Fascist cell operating here.”
I sank down onto the bed. “This is all so horrid and complicated, isn’t it? We come on a blissful honeymoon and now suddenly we are mixed up in a jewel theft and a murder and a German plot to take over the colony. Why doesn’t life ever go smoothly for us?”
“It will, my love, I promise.” Darcy came to sit beside me, taking my hand. “I’ve told you, I’m going to accept that desk job. Respectable, steady work. No more dashing off to strange places at a moment’s notice. I can be home to help change the nappies.”
I looked up at him and laughed. “I can just picture you changing nappies. And I jolly well hope we can afford some kind of nursemaid.” Then I became serious again. “Darcy, I want you to do what makes you happy. I think you’d be miserable stuck behind a desk, being a cog in the wheel of bureaucracy.”
“It could be quite interesting. I’d be involved in foreign policy.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t be able to make your own decisions, would you? You’d pass your thoughts to the under-undersecretary who would then pass them to the undersecretary and so on.”
“Do you really mean that?” Darcy asked. “That you wouldn’t rather see me come home on the 5:45 from Waterloo every evening?”
“I don’t want you to regret that you married me.”
He put his arm around my shoulder. “You are very sweet,” he said. “And I won’t ever regret that I married you, I promise.”
Chapter 30
EVENING, AUGUST 12
AT DIDDY’S HOUSE
We’re going on safari tomorrow. I’m excited about that . . . well, scared and excited at the same time. I find it hard to believe that Cyril really is a great white hunter who can protect us from wild beasts, but I gather we are taking native porters and guards and things so we should be safe enough. I will certainly be glad to get away from this horrid murder.
Darcy and I had an afternoon siesta, much needed after what we had been through. We were sitting on the lawn with our hostess and the other guests, having afternoon tea in a ridiculously civilized British manner, when we heard a vehicle approaching. It was Freddie’s old boneshaker. He parked it in the shade of a big magnolia tree and two men got out. As they came into the afternoon sunlight I saw that the man with Freddie was none other than Jocelyn. What’s more, he was carrying a small suitcase.
“What-ho!” he called, waving as he spotted us.
Freddie gave an embarrassed grin. “Sorry to disturb, Diddy, my darling,” he said. “I’m not sure whether you met Jocelyn yesterday at the polo match.”
“Only briefly,” Diddy said. “How do you do? I’m Diddy Ruocco. And you’re Idina’s new chauffeur?”
“Not any longer, I fear,” Jocelyn said. “I had to make my escape while the going was good.”
“Meaning what?”
&nbs
p; “My dreaded father.” Jocelyn rolled his eyes. “The murder of Lord Cheriton is bound to make the British newspapers. If he finds out I was actually staying at the house that was involved in this murder, he’ll be furious. Livid. Apoplectic. He’ll probably send me instantly to the jungles of the Congo or to Antarctica. He has this overexaggerated sense of family pride and duty and frankly I am an absolute disappointment to him. So I try not to do anything more to drive him off the deep end.” He chewed on his bottom lip like a schoolboy trying to explain to the headmaster.
“So where will you go now?” Diddy asked.
“We were hoping he could stay with you for the next few days,” Freddie said, still looking horribly embarrassed. “At least until this awful business has blown over. If he tries to go back to Nairobi and get a job now nobody will want him.”
“And I simply can’t go home and face the pater,” Jocelyn said. “He’d probably tear me limb from limb even though it’s certainly not my fault that some old chap gets himself killed.”
“Well, you’re certainly welcome to stay,” Diddy said. “I rather gather that I’m being deserted tomorrow anyway. Cyril is leading the rest of my guests on a safari.”
Jocelyn’s eyes lit up. “A safari? How spiffing. Any chance I could tag along? That was one thing I’d set my heart on doing while I was here—going to shoot a few animals. Bag a gorilla or two, you know.”
“I regret to inform you there are no gorillas in Kenya,” Cyril said dryly, “and I discourage my guests from shooting anything. More likely to get one of the party than an animal. But you can come if you promise to behave yourself.”
“Jolly good.” Jocelyn beamed. “Frightfully decent of you, old bean.”
He reminded me a little of my brother, Binky, and not just in his use of language. Overly eager to please. But at the same time strange thoughts were buzzing around in my head. Was he really the innocent oaf he claimed to be? Was it possible that he had been sent over to assassinate Lord Cheriton, or, conversely, to be part of the Fascist cell that was going to whip up native insurrection?
