"Come on, Charlie. Mrs. Carr's right. You have to try," Seamie said.
"Charlie?" Maggie echoed, her eyes widening.
"It's his real name. The one our parents gave him," Seamie explained.
"Charlie." Maggie sat back in the chair. She was quiet for a few seconds, then she said, "I knew it. I bloody knew it. The first time I set eyes on her."
"Knew what?" Sid asked.
"When did you leave London?"
"Nineteen hundred. Why?"
"Timing's right. She's nearly six years old. She would've appeared a bit early, mind you, but many of them do. Women always put it down to a fright or a fall."
"Maggie, what are you on about?"
"I wanted to say something, Sid. I did. Back when Mrs. Lytton first came to see me. I wanted to, but I didn't think it was my place. And who could blame me? You're not the easiest man to talk to about things like this. Can't stand anyone's nose in your business. Even if it is for your own good."
"Maggie..."
"Couldn't you see it? It's all there. The shape of the face. The eyes. The smile. Did the possibility never even occur to you?"
"See what?"
Maggie leaned back in the chair. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Think about this, Sid. Think real hard. India Lytton named her daughter Charlotte. Charlotte."
"So?"
Maggie rolled her eyes. "She didn't name her Fredericka, did she?"
It took a few seconds for her meaning to sink in.
Sid stood. He walked the bars, wrapped his hands around them. "Maggie, you don't think..."
"Oh, but I do."
Seamie looked utterly confused. "Would someone like to tell me what's going on?" he said.
Sid looked at him, with light in his eyes. And pain. And wonder. And joy.
"I have a daughter, Seamie," he said. "Her name is Charlotte."
Chapter 115
Seamie returned to the Norfolk at noon in a state of profound exhaustion. He had soldiered on bravely for days--driving his weary body beyond the limits of its endurance in order to get Willa to safety. And now, instead of a well-earned rest, he was faced with an entirely new problem--the brother he never expected to see again, the brother he loved, was in jail awaiting trial for murder.
He went to his room and lay down on his bed, meaning only to close his eyes and rest for a half hour before getting up again to check on Willa. Instead he fell into a deep sleep and didn't wake up again until eight the following morning.
"Bloody hell," he groaned as he opened his eyes. He looked out of the window, at the bright sky and then at his watch. He stood up, washed, then raced downstairs. He was supposed to have met Maggie Carr for dinner. She was seated in the lobby when he got downstairs. She stood when she saw him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I slept like a dead man."
"I'm not surprised, lad. I knocked on your door last night, but got no answer," she said. "I decided I'd let you sleep. You're no good to anyone half dead. Are you better now? Feel up to some breakfast?"
Seamie explained that he had to get to the hospital. He was supposed to have checked on Willa last night and hadn't. He was worried about her. He was worried about his brother, too.
"Stop worrying," Maggie said. "We'll work something out. You got the girl off the mountain, didn't you? You can get Sid out of Nairobi jail. Go check on her. Meet me back here at noon. We'll talk then."
Seamie ran all the way. When he got to the surgery he was astonished to see Willa, pale and thin and drawn, hobbling between her bed and the window on a pair of crutches. He rushed to her side, terrifled she would fall.
"It's a bit soon for those, don't you think?" he said. "You've only just come through an operation. Whose idea was this? Is the doctor pushing you to do it?"
"It's all right, Seamie. No one's pushing me. I asked for them to be brought."
Dr. Ribeiro appeared at the foot of Willa's bed. "I think that's enough for now, Miss Alden. You mustn't overdo it," he said.
Willa nodded. She sat down on the bed and surrendered the crutches. The doctor gave her water to drink, then helped her lie down, propping pillows behind her back. Seamie noticed that she gritted her teeth when she moved her right leg. When the doctor left to attend to a new patient, he asked her again if she wasn't doing too much too soon.
"I only did it for a few minutes. Just to try it out," she said. "I have to. I have to get used to them, you know."
"How are you feeling?"
She mustered a smile. "Better. Though I tire easily."
She's calmer, he thought. Not despairing, like yesterday. Not hysterical, like the day before. That's good.
Calm was not a word Seamie would normally have used to describe Willa and if he hadn't been so tired himself and so worried about his brother, he might have looked a bit more closely into her eyes and seen the anger there simmering just below the surface. He might have listened a bit more closely to her voice and heard the frayed note in it. He might have realized that this sudden calmness was nothing but a front. But he did not.
Willa asked him how he was doing and if he'd gotten some rest. She asked about Nairobi and his hotel. And then something happened between them that had never happened before--their conversation ran dry.
After a moment of awkward silence, Willa said, "I apologize. I'm a terrible bore, aren't I? I'm tired again. Want to sleep all the time."
"No, I'm sorry," Seamie said. "I'm keeping you from resting. I'll go."
He poured her another glass of water, then said, "Willa, I may not be able to come to visit you tomorrow. Or the next day."
"Is something wrong? Are you all right?" she asked.
"I'm fine, but I've a friend who's in a bit of trouble."
"Here in Nairobi? I didn't know you had friends here. Who is it?"
"Um ...he's...no one you know. He's an old school chum. I may need to accompany him on a bit of a hasty trip. Up country. Just for a day or two. I'd be back by the end of the week. If I even go at all. Will you be all right if I do?"
She smiled. "I'll be fine," she said. "Do you have the rest of my things? My wallet and money and such? I'd like to have some cash at hand in case I need something while you're gone."
"That's a good idea. If I don't get back here tonight, I'll send someone from the hotel over."
"Seamie," she said, suddenly catching his hand in hers.
He turned around.
"Seamie ...I love you."
"I love you, too, Willa. So much." He took her in his arms and held her tightly. How he had longed to hear those words.
"And I'm sorry."
He released her. "For what?"
"For everything."
Her eyes were welling. He didn't want her to cry.
"Shh, Willa, it's all right."
"It's not."
"It will be. Rest now."
She nodded and lay down. He checked the cuts on her head and hands, to make sure they were healing properly. She told him to stop fussing, so he pulled the sheet up over her shoulders, kissed her forehead, and left.
He saw Dr. Ribeiro on his way out, and stopped him to ask him if he was certain it was good for Willa to be on crutches so soon.
"It's a good sign, Mr. Finnegan," the doctor said. "It means she's accepting what has happened to her. Most amputees won't even talk about crutches for weeks, never mind trying them out only days after they've lost a leg. Miss Alden seems determined to deal with her new circumstances. She's a strong woman. A brave woman. I would encourage her if I were you."
Seamie left feeling encouraged himself. They had survived a terrible ordeal, the two of them, and Willa was mending, body and soul. She loved him still. She'd told him so. Just knowing that made him feel strong and sure again.
He knew he would need that strength in the next few days. Willa was out of the woods, but his brother was in dire trouble. Sid needed him, needed his help. He believed what Sid said about Freddie Lytton--that he'd stop at nothing to hang him. And he knew that Sid had to esc
ape. Now. While he was still in Nairobi. He would have armed guards on the train ride to Mombasa and there would be no hope of escaping once he was on board the ship to London. Or from an English prison. They had to get him out, and they had to do it now, but how? Nairobi prison might not be Newgate, but it still had a warden, and a jailer, and armed askaris standing guard. Whatever they tried would be risky and dangerous.
He hurried out of the surgery, down its shaky wooden steps, and out into the dusty Nairobi streets, eager to meet Maggie and hear what she had to say. If the two of them didn't end up in jail themselves by the end of the week, it would be a miracle.
Seamie did not look back as he walked away from the hospital. He was too intent on what lay ahead of him. He did not see Willa standing in the window, propped up on her crutches again, her hand pressed to the glass, her face wet with tears.
Chapter 116
"This is preposterous! Outrageous!" Herbert Gladstone sputtered, throwing a document down on his desk.
"Betts swears it's true," Joe Bristow replied. He was seated across from the home secretary.
"Then why has he waited for six years to say anything?"
"He didn't think anyone would believe him."
"He's damned right nobody will believe him. Nobody. I'd advise you to drop this, Joe. Immediately. You'll only end up making a laughingstock of yourself, of me, and of my office."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I believe him. And I want you to officially reopen the Gemma Dean case."
"Think about what you're asking. You want to accuse a government minister, a man who's never been in any sort of trouble with the law, who, in fact, has a sterling record of service to king and country, of murder. Murder. On the word of a convicted criminal! It's absurd! It's utter madness!"
"It's also the bloody truth!" Joe said hotly. "I got you a sworn signed statement from Betts. And I want you to reopen that case. Sid Malone did not kill Gemma Dean, and I want to clear his name. I know how it looks, Herbert. But how it looks is not how it is."
Gladstone gave Joe a long look. "No, not at all," he said at length. "How it looks to me, at least, is like a political assassination. A radical Labour MP trying to do his Liberal rival in."
"Blimey, Herbert," Joe said, disgusted. "You know me better than that. If I wanted to go after Lytton politically, I'd do it in the Commons. As I've already done. Many times. I'm not after any kind of political victory. I'm after justice."
Gladstone continued to eye Joe, weighing his sincerity. Then he picked up the document he'd thrown on his desk minutes ago--Betts's sworn statement--and began to read it again.
Joe watched him, remembering how stunned he himself had felt when Frankie Betts told him it was Freddie Lytton who'd murdered the actress. And that he knew it was Lytton because he'd seen him do it.
"I was there," he'd told Joe, the last time Joe had gone to visit him in prison. "I went over to Gemma's place a few days after I shot you. I'd brought her a present. A white kitten with a pink collar. She was feeling low, you see, over Sid. She liked cats and I thought it would cheer her up. And butter her up. I was hoping to get information out of her. I thought she might've heard from Sid. Might know where he was hiding. Might even be hiding him herself. When I got there I heard voices coming from inside the flat. Angry voices. A man's and a woman's. At first I thought it was Sid and that he and Gem were having a row. But the voice was too plummy to be his."
"Where were you?" Joe asked.
"In the hallway."
"If you weren't in the flat, how did you see the killing?"
"Picked the lock. Walked in. Then walked down the hallway to have myself a gander. That was the hard part--getting down the hallway. It was long, and I had to keep that damned mog quiet. Stuffed it under my coat. Almost smothered it. I saw them both. Plain as day. Lytton walloped her, then he choked her. She kicked him in the balls and broke away. Then she tried to get to the hallway. And out the door, I imagine."
"Why didn't you stop him, Frankie? Why didn't you help her?" Joe had asked.
"I didn't know he was going to kill her. Didn't think for a second that he had it in him. If I had known, I would've stopped him. I thought he was only roughing her up a bit. They were talking about Sid, you see. He was trying to get an address out of her. The place where Sid went to meet the doctor. I knew about that place. Arden Street. He wasn't there. I'd looked for him. But I wanted to listen in case Gemma knew about another hiding place. I thought she might've been holding out on me. I thought Lytton might get it out of her."
"What happened next?"
"Gem never even made it to the hallway. Lytton grabbed her and dragged her back into the sitting room. He wanted to throw her on the settee, I think, but he missed and she hit a table instead. A marble table. She hit it hard. Broke her neck."
"What did Lytton do then?"
"He went quiet for a bit. Then he started destroying the place. Breaking things. Turning things over. Making a right bloody mess. He must've had it in his head by then that he was going to blame Gem's death on Sid. Make it look like a robbery and all. I saw him stuff her diary and wallet into his pocket. Then he went into her bedroom. Wrecked that, too. I was behind him, out in the hallway, watching. I saw him steal her jewelry. The earrings and necklace Sid gave her. Worth a fortune, those. Word got out. Everyone was waiting for them to reappear."
"Who's �everyone'?"
"Every wide boy in London. Every rozzer, too."
"I don't understand."
"Lytton put it about that Sid killed Gemma. That he'd seen him do it. The police investigating the murder found that Gem's diamonds were missing, and naturally reckoned that Sid had taken them because he was on the run and needed money. No respectable jeweler would touch them, of course. No tuppenny-ha'penny pawnbroker could afford to. They were worth thousands. Tens of thousands. So everyone knew he'd have to approach a fence if he wanted to move them. Joey Griz was the biggest and the best, and the rozzers were watching him night and day. They were watching a lot of lesser lights, too. But Sid never showed. Because he didn't have the goods. Freddie Lytton did."
Frankie went on to explain how Lytton had almost caught him. Frankie had stepped on a creaky floorboard. Freddie'd heard him and picked up a poker and Frankie had had to hightail it. There wasn't time to get back down the long hallway to the door, so he'd ducked into the kitchen instead. He hid in the broom cupboard, jostling a bucket as he did, making more noise. He thought he'd be found out for sure, and then he'd remembered the cat inside his coat. He tossed it out of the cupboard into the kitchen, half dead. He hadn't had time to close the cupboard door all the way and he saw what happened next. The cat just sat in the middle of the kitchen floor for a few seconds, looking dazed, before it came to its senses and ran off. Lytton, who saw the animal, must have assumed it had made the noise. Frankie watched from inside the broom cupboard as Freddie smashed a teapot into his face. Then he left the flat, with Frankie not far behind him, and raised the alarm, telling two men who came to his aid that Sid Malone had killed Gemma Dean.
Joe had been astonished by Frankie's story. He knew Lytton was an underhanded politician, but he'd never thought him capable of murder.
"Why didn't you come forward?" he'd asked Frankie. "You could have helped Sid."
"I didn't want to help him. Back then, it suited me just fine if he was wanted for Gemma's murder. It would bring him back to the Bark. Back to the life," he said. "And besides, who'd believe me? Who's going to believe me now, guv? Looking at you, I'm not even sure you do."
But Joe did believe him. Frankie had nothing to gain by telling his story. And much to lose. When Lytton heard his accusations, he'd undoubtedly pull some strings to have Frankie moved to a worse prison, if not put into solitary.
Frankie had told him all of this a week ago. Joe had been spending tense and hectic days ever since trying to arrange lawyers and police of?-cers, apprising the warden of what was going on, and scheduling one fin
al visit to Frankie. He'd worried the whole time that it would all be for nothing, that Frankie would change his mind at the last minute and refuse to give a statement.
But Frankie hadn't changed his mind. He had made a condition, though--he wouldn't speak to Alvin Donaldson. "You've got to get me another copper," he said. "If someone's getting a promotion out of this, it isn't going to be him."
Afterward, when the others had left, Joe had asked the warden for a few minutes alone with Frankie.
"Thank you," he said to him. "It's a good thing you've done."
"Will you get Lytton for this?"
The Winter Rose Page 87
