by Vered Ehsani
“I believe he may actually be glad I’m alive,” I mused.
“Or just relieved you’re back to manage Mrs. Steward,” Mr. Timmons quipped.
I suspect both might have been in equal measure true.
Chapter 16
One might find this peculiar, but I was in a quandary over what to do about Mr. Elkhart. Most people in my predicament would, I suppose, go straight to the authorities and report the matter with the express purpose of ensuring the man’s immediate incarceration.
There were however a few considerations that restrained my hand. The first: who would believe a story that involved an elegant man of a distinguished family turning into a man-sized bat? I could conveniently neglect that shape-shifting detail and just report a kidnapping, but that wouldn’t resolve the second issue: what authority would be in any position to imprison a Popobawa?
Correctional facilities were basic at the camp, with nothing designed to hold a man longer than the time required to sober up after a bout of excessive drinking. I couldn’t imagine those flimsy rooms would do much to contain an angry and determined bat man.
But what finally made my decision was no more and no less than an incurable, insatiable curiosity, a morbid fascination with regards to whatever dark secrets Mr. Elkhart knew concerning my employer. I desired to learn more from him, if in fact he knew anything at all. I was certain I wouldn’t need to seek him out, for once the ship docked, he would come for me.
First though I had to contend with a far more pressing matter: Mrs. Steward.
“Bee-e-e-a-trice!”
Compared to Jonas’ subdued grin and welcoming puff of dust, Mrs. Steward’s shrieked greeting was a thunderstorm of emotion, a lavender-scented hug that shocked me more than comforted me.
“Oh my dear girl,” she sobbed into my ear before pulling back and placing her shaking, dough-colored hands on my shoulders. “Mr. Elkhart informed us that you left early from the party, so when we didn’t find you here yesterday evening, we of course were greatly concerned you’d been devoured by a lion. Mr. Timmons, who had escorted us home, immediately set out to look for you. As we speak, Mr. Steward is in the process of organizing a search party.” She paused to take a deep breath and peered closely at me. “You look starved, positively emaciated.”
Mr. Timmons, who was standing in the doorway with Jonas and witnessing the reunion, smirked. I blushed, for clearly he knew first hand that I wasn’t emaciated in the least. It would take more than one night in a cave to melt me away.
My protestations were to no avail, for Mrs. Steward, in an uncharacteristically maternal gesture, shoved me onto the sofa and near smothered me in a blanket.
“You must tell us all about your horrendous ordeal and how you managed to utterly destroy your dress, mustn’t she, Mr. Steward?” she demanded of her husband as he entered the room, another outdated newspaper in hand. Lilly glared over his shoulder, clearly put out by the excessive and unusual attention I was receiving, attention that was normally reserved for her.
Mr. Steward had an endearing peculiarity of a complete lack of curiosity in gossip and fashion. “Perhaps after she has recovered somewhat,” he suggested, “and not so immediately.”
“Well, of course not immediately,” his wife said, her eyes snapping as fiercely as her voice. “How utterly inconsiderate that would be. Although I would dearly like to know what happened to those shoes Lilly loaned her.”
Peering down at me, she added in hushed tones, “But not right away. You aren’t to say a word, not one word, Beatrice, nor to move until you are quite recovered.”
The first part of that command suited me well, but I was desperate to bathe and change, for I’d been in my party clothes for two nights and a day; the dress was stained, disheveled and less than perfumed. I didn’t dare inspect my feet.
“And while you rest,” Mrs. Steward continued, “Lilly can recount her own grand adventures. For she met two or three most delightful, fine young gentlemen, and one who has shown particular interest. There’s hope after all.”
She beamed a radiant smile at her daughter, as if the miraculous appearance of these fine gentlemen was all her doing.
“With your permission, I shall take my leave,” Mr. Timmons said with a bow, clearly not interested in Lilly’s fine suitors or the descriptions thereof.
“Oh, of course,” Mrs. Steward said, her enthusiasm noticeably diminished.
Despite Mr. Timmons being an eligible bachelor (at least in regard to being both wealthy and unmarried), she had little liking for him. On more than one occasion, she’d referred to him as ‘that rude, gruff and vulgar fellow’.
Circumstances however compelled her to be gracious to him, so she added, “You’ve saved this family from great inconvenience.”
Mr. Timmons’ untamed eyebrows rose and he caught my eye. With a sly smile, he said, “It was truly my pleasure to assist, I assure you, madam. And if ever an inconvenient circumstance descends upon this household in future, do not hesitate to call upon me.”
An uncomfortable heat flushed my face — infernal, heroic, incomprehensible man — and with his work done, he departed.
The remainder of the day passed pleasantly enough. I worried about what story I would tell, for I knew Mrs. Steward well enough. Once she deemed me recovered, she would demand to know every detail; with my story in hand, she would be well equipped to recount the drama at the next possible social occasion and thus attract a good crowd of gossip-minded folk.
I toyed with pinning the event on a drunken laborer whose face I naturally hadn’t seen, but worried this would lead to an inquisition of all the camp dwellers. So I reluctantly settled on blaming a lion, may all the lions and Kam’s shape-shifting nieces forgive me. Since the hunters in the area were already intent on decimating the lion population, I reasoned that one more excuse wouldn’t increase their hunting fervor much more.
Fortunately, circumstances overtook us all, and by midday, Mrs. Steward had cause to lose all interest in my sorry tale.
I had managed to extradite myself from the main living area and, fed and bathed, was happily changing into clean garments. I’d just decided to pay a visit to Nelly and check how her demonic possession was progressing when a furor from the main room distracted me.
“Oh, do-o-o-o come in,” Mrs. Steward crooned with exaggerated grandeur and great volume, such that I wondered if the object of her invite was missing both ears.
A low voice murmured a response. Someone giggled. It could only be Lilly.
“Mr. Steward, come at once,” Mrs. Steward shouted. “You are wanted in the main room most urgently.”
As if there could be any other room in which he was wanted. He marched past my door, muttering about a report he’d never complete at this rate of interruption, and how he’d have to go into town and work out of the horrible office he shared with a goat. At least, I think he said goat, although that doesn’t make much sense in hindsight.
The volume of the conversation lowered slightly and continued for several minutes with few words that I could discern. I hastened to complete my preparations, for my curiosity was piqued. I had just exited my room when:
“Oh, oh, oh! What delightful news, what happy times, what joy, what rapture, what a delight!” Mrs. Steward shrieked.
I could glimpse her as I stared down the short hallway; she was trembling, her hands flapping over her chest.
“Dear child,” she said, “come here so I may embrace you with my happiness and congratulate you, for I dare not walk. Nay, I dare not stand, for my nerves are all aquiver.” To prove the point, she collapsed onto a chair.
Lilly dashed into my view and settled beside her enraptured mother. Mr. Steward stood and, framed by the doorway ahead of me, he extended a hand to someone I couldn’t see. “Congratulations, my fine fellow,” he said. “You’ve brought us great joy and removed from my shoulders a tedious burden.”
“Mr. Steward,” Mrs. Steward snapped. Lilly giggled.
“Oh, I wasn
’t referring to our daughter being tedious or a burden,” Mr. Steward hastily amended. “Rather I was recalling our shared concern over the lack of suitable prospects for her. That’s all, my dear.”
Mrs. Steward huffed, her eyes narrowed, while Lilly laughed and the unseen visitor chuckled.
I hesitated to intrude on what was clearly a private affair. I was just turning to re-enter my room when Lilly spotted me.
“Dearest cousin, do come,” she called out. “We have the most marvelous news. And you too, Bobby.”
I peered behind me to find Bobby staring suspiciously at his sister. He pushed ahead of me and rushed to his mother’s side. I followed him down the hallway, eager to know more. I could well guess what the occasion was, but not the gentleman involved. I paused in the doorway.
“I’m pleased to inform you that I am now engaged and soon to be a married lady,” Lilly announced grandly as she rose out of her chair and gestured. “To this darling man.”
My head swiveled slowly in the direction she’d indicated, and my gaze alighted on no other than Mr. Tiberius Elkhart.
Chapter 17
When our eyes fixed on one another, both Mr. Elkhart and I paled. Given his naturally caramel-colored skin, the reaction was more notable on him than on me.
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me heartily?” Lilly demanded, not observing the subtle interaction between her fiancé and myself.
“Indeed,” I murmured. “Felicitations.” My arm of its own accord stretched toward the Popobawa to shake his hand.
He cleared his throat loudly and forced a smile (were his teeth a tad too long?). “Yes, your delightful cousin has consented to grant me this great happiness.”
“Delightful…? You mean Lilly?” My voice was so soft and strained that only a man with bat hearing could’ve heard. But of course, what other cousin did I have lounging about the place for him to propose to?
His smile widened and he turned to Lilly. “Yes. Lilly,” he said, now seemingly oblivious to both my discomfort and his own.
This was a blow of not insignificant proportions. To think oneself enamored by a handsome, exotic gentleman, only to be kidnapped by the same, and all traces of hope decimated by a proposal to one’s cousin — it really was too much to endure. Not to mention that the future in-law in question was in reality a creature of nightmarish qualities.
I sympathized with Mrs. Steward as I felt quite shaky myself, but I dared not move. I was fearful I might stumble along the way, knock the nearby water pitcher into my hand and accidentally smack Mr. Elkhart across the head with it.
After the hurrahs and initial ecstasy had settled to a mild simmer of jubilation (except in the case of Mrs. Steward who was beyond calming herself to anything less than volcanic), we sat ourselves around the coffee table.
Bobby, in an attempt at grownup conversation, commented, “Did you know a zebra danced on this table? You can see its hoof marks.”
The adults provided polite chuckles and Bobby, satisfied at his acceptance and at the prospect of seeing his sister removed from his house, snuck off to harass the livestock. I wished I could be so lucky but instead I was bound to sit in this room within an arm’s reach of a Popobawa.
Mrs. Steward trilled out, “Oh, I am so beside myself. Why, I could very well race to camp and back.” She then thought better of it and shouted for Jonas.
He arrived smartly and didn’t seem at all surprised at Mr. Elkhart’s presence. His speed and the lack of expression suggested he’d been lurking nearby, listening in.
“Go to the camp store,” Mrs. Steward ordered, “and see if they might have biscuits or something edible to go with tea.”
“Should I take a horse, mama?” he asked, making a show of humility that the Stewards took at face value, but I could see the glint in his eyes.
“Well, of course you should,” she said. “We want our tea promptly, now don’t we? Take Bee’s nag.”
“Is Nelly all right?” I asked, knowing why Jonas hesitated.
Jonas nodded. “Same as yesterday.”
“Is there a problem with…” Mr. Steward began to inquire after the health of the horse.
“Of course it’s all right,” Mrs. Steward said, interrupting her husband. “Off you go, Jonas, and be quick.”
Normally the thought of Nelly and quick being associated together would’ve brought a smile to my lips, but at that moment I was unable to bear sitting across from a man I knew to be a bat (not to mention a kidnapper). I hurried to the sideboard.
“Lemon water, anyone?” I asked, sounding out of breath as I reached for the large pitcher.
“Let me assist you,” Mr. Elkhart offered and was by my side far too fast for any normal man. No one else seemed to take note of that or my discomfort.
“What’s wrong with your horse?” he asked, all manners and charm as he pulled out glasses from the cabinet and placed them on a tray.
I waved the question away and whispered, “Demonic possession. What’s wrong with you?”
Puzzled, he stared at me. “What?”
I huffed. “What you should be asking is why I should allow your relationship with my cousin to continue, that’s what I mean.”
He nodded his head and frowned. Even that dark expression could not mar his looks. A curse on men like him.
“Yes, this does complicate the situation a tad,” he admitted.
I glanced back at the happy bride-to-be. She hadn’t as yet noticed our lengthy, whispered conversation. “Not to mention your plan to abduct me and toss me onto the next outbound ship.”
“At least I wasn’t planning on tossing you into the ocean,” he pointed out.
I was acutely aware of the family sitting several paces away, still caught up in the excitement of wedding planning. Or at least the women were. Mr. Steward was no doubt caught up in the calculations of wedding expenses. Still, they would all soon wonder why it should take so long to pour a few glasses of water.
“You need not worry about my plans now, fair cousin,” Mr. Elkhart said softly as he took the tray from me. “For how could I inflict such harm on the family that will soon be mine?”
“Hardly reassuring,” I muttered.
“Be reassured,” he said, “for there’s another reason I’m compelled to hold back my hand against you.”
“And what would that be?” I demanded while keeping my voice low and focusing on the water jug. Its weight was decidedly tempting.
He hesitated. “This isn’t the venue for that conversation.”
“It’s hardly the venue for any serious conversation at all,” I pointed out as Mrs. Steward and Lilly’s shrill laughter drowned out all other sound. “Not to mention I’m still coming to terms with all this.” I waved at him and toward Lilly.
“Ah yes,” he sighed. “She is a marvelous creature. I suppose she doesn’t know about our world?”
“No,” I hissed, “and I’m sure she’d be horrified, appalled and flabbergasted as well.”
But he just chuckled at that. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. She’s a most forgiving, openhearted, congenial soul.”
“Are we still discussing about my cousin?” I asked. My head spun and I stared at the pitcher in my hand. Just one hearty smack. That might clear him of this delusion.
He smiled his radiant smile and removed the tray to the table and his head away from the dangerous water jug. I’d lost my opportunity and I was left facing the horrible truth: we’d soon have a bat in the family.
Chapter 18
By the time Pricilla and Mr. Timmons arrived, I was quite put out, what with the whole whir and commotion caused by the great announcement. I lost track of the number of times Mrs. Steward pinched me and demanded, “Isn’t this marvelous, the most delightful bit of news we could ever hope for?”
Tempted as I was to say no, I restrained myself and merely ate another biscuit. I polished off more than half the box on my own.
And then there was Mr. Tiberius Elkhart, the Popobawa.
; Several times I caught him scrutinizing me, concern flickering across his graceful, caramel-colored features. If he feared I would reveal his secret, he needn’t have expended his energy on that.
What astounded me was how little concern there was on the part of the Stewards regarding his obvious (in my mind at least) connection to African ancestry. In England, this would’ve been a cause for great gossip and censure, although the Hardinge’s sponsored alibi of frequent beach vacations might have alleviated some suspicion.
But here, in the sparsely populated settlement of Nairobi, with its dearth of eligible bachelors, I suppose the Stewards were determined to believe his excuse and overlook the possible scandal for the sake of his connections and wealth.
And he was remarkably handsome.
Mrs. Steward had just launched into a soliloquy on the benefits of marriage. As I was contemplating how to extract myself from the recital of benefits I no longer enjoyed, nor apparently had any hope of doing so, Jonas appeared at the doorway leading from the kitchen. He nodded at me knowingly and rolled his eyes to the front door. I glanced out the window and saw two horses approaching.
“Oh my, all this excitement. I really must freshen up,” I gushed and darted out the door before anyone could wonder at my interruption.
Before Pricilla and Mr. Timmons could dismount, I grabbed the horses’ reins and led them around the side of the house, out of sight.
“Goodness, what a passion,” Cilla said, staring down at me in amazement.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I said, gesturing for them to sit on a roughly made, wood bench under the shade of a tree. I perched on a large root facing them.
I’d decided that they had to learn the truth about Mr. Elkhart, and so quickly caught them up on the news of the day, ending with, “What to do, Cilla? For now there shall be a paranormal in the family and I daren’t reveal the truth to the Stewards.”
Mr. Timmons scowled while Cilla pointed out (most unhelpfully), “But there already is one: you.”
