The Wild Rose

by Jennifer Donnelly

  Willa shook her head. “Lawrence doesn’t care about Dara. He’s going to bypass it altogether.”

  Max looked skeptical. “I have difficulty believing that,” he said. “Dara’s a valuable town on the Hejaz line. The biggest town between Amman and Damascus. In fact, I very much doubt everything you’re telling me.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Willa said, “which is exactly why Lawrence is doing it. If you think about it, though, it makes perfect sense. Lawrence has to save his men for the attack on Damascus. He can’t afford to lose any fighting over Dara.”

  “What about Allenby?” Max asked.

  “General Allenby has all he can manage with Suez. His orders are to hold that at all costs. He has little faith in Lawrence’s ability to gather the troops he needs to take Damascus, and even less in Faisal’s.”

  Max narrowed his eyes. “How do you know Allenby’s plans if you’ve been in the desert with Lawrence?” he said.

  “Because I’ve been working with Lawrence, but for Allenby,” Willa replied. “I was at the Cairo office before I went into the desert—but you probably know that already. In fact, my presence in the desert was all Allenby’s idea. He wanted me to be his eyes and ears in Lawrence’s camp. I’ve been keeping him apprised of Lawrence’s every move.”

  “How? You’ve been in the desert. In the middle of nowhere.”

  Willa smiled. “The airplane. I did more than one recon mission, you know. I did many. And every time I went up, I passed letters to Allenby to the pilot. We used code of course, and I got many messages through to him.”

  Max nodded, and Willa saw that the suspicion that had been on his face was gone. “Thank you,” he said. “For all the information. For trusting me. And for making me believe in a future again. We will leave this place, Willa,” he said. “I promise you that. We’ll be together again.”

  He kissed her once more, pulling her close, taking her in his arms. As he did, Willa gasped. “My ribs,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I got carried away and forgot about your injuries. Forgive me. I want you so much, I didn’t think. I’ll call for the nurse now to give you your pill.”

  He gathered up the empty bottle and the glasses, kissed her goodbye, and disappeared down the hallway.

  Willa watched him go, touched her fingers to her lips, and smiled.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Sid pulled his collar up against the filthy weather, marveling at how the rain was always wetter and the sky grayer in East London. It was early September, and a Sunday. A few people, poorly dressed, heads down against the driving wind, hurried past him on the sidewalk.

  Sid knew where they were going—to pubs, where they could warm their insides with gin and their outsides by a fire. Or, if they had no money, back to their small, damp, dreary rooms. Where there was no heat, no heart, no hope. He remembered those rooms so well.

  Sid hurried himself, wanting to finish his business and leave this place as quickly as he could. He turned a corner, walked halfway down a narrow, winding street, and arrived at Teddy’s offices. He greatly hoped that Teddy had been able to dig up some information for him in the month since they’d last met. He didn’t relish the thought of making a third trip to Limehouse.

  Inside the foyer, he shook the rain off himself and gave Teddy’s girl his name.

  “Mr. Ko is expecting you,” she said, escorting him to Teddy’s office. “Would you like some tea, Mr. Malone?”

  “I would, darlin’, thank you,” Sid said.

  He greeted Teddy, who was seated at his desk yelling into a telephone in Chinese, and sat down across from him. Teddy yelled for a few more minutes, then slammed the phone down.

  “Sorry, Sid,” he said. “Business headaches. How are you?”

  “Fine, Teddy. Yourself?”

  “Fine. Fine. Just found out that one of my ships is late. No one’s heard from it, or seen it, and I’m thinking the fucking thing’s gone down with half a ton of my opium on board.”

  Sid gave what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. It was just like Teddy to be worried about his opium, not the ship or its sailors. Teddy kept nattering on, talking about business deals, and Sid had the strange feeling, yet again, that Teddy was stalling for time. Why? Had he not been able to dig up anything on Maud and the morphine?

  “Teddy,” Sid finally said, interrupting him. “How about our own little business deal? Were you able to find anything out?”

  Before Teddy could answer, the door to his office opened and closed. Sid turned around. He figured it was Teddy’s girl with the tea. He was glad of it. The rain had wet him through. He felt like he could drink an entire pot of strong, hot tea.

  But it wasn’t Teddy’s girl. It was a ghost from his past, come back to haunt him. Only the ghost was alive and well and flanked by two of the hardest-looking men Sid had ever seen.

  “Well, as I live and breathe. If it ain’t Sid Malone,” said Billy Madden. “What a surprise. I thought you was dead, Sid. I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d pay Teddy here a call—he’s always happy to see me, ain’t you, Ted?—and here you are.”

  But Billy didn’t seem surprised at all, and Sid doubted very much that his visit was a coincidence. Teddy had told Billy that Sid had been to see him, and Billy, for some reason, didn’t like it. Including Teddy, there were four of them, and one of him. Sid cursed himself. How could he have not seen this coming? He would have to tread very carefully.

  “Why’d you leave us so abruptly, Sid? Without even a going away party?” Billy asked, taking the chair next to him. His thugs remained by the door.

  “It was getting a bit hot for me here, Billy. Had to make a quick exit,” Sid said, keeping his voice even.

  “And so you did. But now you’re back.”

  “Indeed I am.”

  Billy nodded. He smiled. And then he sat forward and said, “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Some information from Teddy.”

  “Information, is it?” Billy spat. “I’ll give you some information, Sid: You made a big fucking mistake coming back here. Who are you working with? Fat Patsy Giovanna? The Kenney brothers? Who?”

  So that was it—Billy thought he wanted his manor back.

  Sid held up his hands. “Easy, Billy,” he said. “I’m not working with or for anyone. I’m just looking into a death, a suicide that happened a few years back. For a friend of mine. That’s all.”

  “You expect me to believe that shite? Would you have believed that, Sid? Would you?”

  Sid stole a quick glance at Teddy’s desk as Madden ranted, desperate to see if there was anything there he could use. A paperweight. A letter opener. Just in case. Billy Madden had always been a bit barmy, but he must’ve really gone off his nut in the last few years. His eyes were wild. He was nearly frothing as he spoke.

  “Billy, I swear to you, I’m not here after my old manor. You can have it. With my blessings,” he said.

  “Is that so? Then tell me what you’re really doing here. Why do you care about some old tart who offed herself years ago?”

  Sid could have told Billy the truth. The truth might have saved him. But he didn’t. There was no way in the world he was going to tell Billy Madden that he had a wife now, and that Maud was his wife’s sister, and that all he wanted to do was find out if she’d truly killed herself, so his wife could have some peace. No matter what happened to him, he was not going to tell Billy Madden a damn thing about India or their children.

  “That old tart mattered, Billy. To a friend of mine. That’s why I care.”

  Billy shook his head. “Do for him,” he said.

  Sid was expecting it. In a flash, he grabbed a stone lion from Teddy’s desk and threw it at Teddy. It hit the side of his head hard, taking him out of the fray. Sid turned, then, and faced Billy’s men. He wasn’t afraid of Billy; Billy was a coward, but Billy’s lads were a different matter. If he wanted to get out of here alive, he had to get through them first. Sid got a few good punches in. H
e split a lip and cracked a nose, but Billy’s lads were younger, stronger, and bigger. Their blows bloodied Sid and weakened him. And then a well-aimed punch to the back of his head dropped him.

  “Get him up and get him out of here,” Billy said, looking at Sid with contempt as he lay on the floor, barely conscious, groaning, his face covered in gore.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Teddy asked. He was holding a handkerchief to the gash in his left temple. The white cloth was rapidly turning crimson. The front of his suit was stained with blood.

  Billy was calmer now. His eyes were clear and focused; they’d lost their mad look. He took a cigar from the box on Teddy’s desk and lit it, tossing the match on the floor.

  “I’m taking him to the boatyard. I’ll lock him in the basement till John gets back. He’s off on his North Sea run, but he’ll be back in a few days. Soon as he is, I’ll have him take Malone out. Way out. Past Gravesend.”

  “Dead or alive?” Teddy asked.

  “Who cares?” Madden said. “John’ll weight him and dump him over the side, and if he’s not dead when he goes in the water, he soon will be.”

  “Good riddance,” Teddy said. “Bastard cracked my skull.”

  “Good riddance is right,” Billy growled. “He fooled everyone once, back in 1900, but he won’t do it again. It’s over for him. This time Sid Malone really is going to rot in the Thames.”

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  The racket outside Willa’s hospital window was earsplitting. Men were yelling. Camels—it seemed like there must be a thousand of them—were bawling. Noisy motorcycles were sputtering by. A woman was scolding someone at the top of her lungs. An automobile was honking its horn.

  “What on earth is going on?” Willa asked Sister Anna, who had just bustled into the room, an angry expression on her face.

  “The Sunday souk,” Sister Anna said, firmly closing Willa’s window. “It’s one of the days that animals are traded in the marketplace. The other day is Wednesday. Camels, horses, donkeys, goats … they all pass by the hospital on the way to market, and pass by again on their way out of the city with their new owners. The noise and dust and mess are unspeakable. It’s disturbing for our patients and a health hazard, too. What you’re hearing right now is because a camel broke loose and upended a vegetable cart. Two people were hurt. The hospital’s administrators have spoken to the city authorities numerous times, but nothing changes.”

  “Camels, you say? I should like to buy a camel and go riding. Right this very instant. It’s been so long since I was outside,” Willa said.

  “Camel riding? With broken ribs?” Sister Anna said, raising an eyebrow. “I should think it will be a little while yet before you’re ready for that.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Willa said. “I’ll stick to my mapmaking for now.”

  She had paper, pencils, and an eraser on a narrow rolling hospital table that allowed her to work in her bed, as her doctor would not allow her to work out of it. Max had asked her draw a map of the area south of Damascus, indicating what route Lawrence would take to attack the city.

  “Mr. von Brandt is very pleased with your work. I overheard him talking to Dr. Meyers, asking him when he might be able to take you out of the hospital for a small jaunt,” Sister Anna said. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  Willa smiled. “I’m pleased that he’s pleased,” she said. Then she clumsily dropped her pencil, tried to catch it before it fell on the floor, and winced with the effort.

  Sister Anna saw her. “Is the pain still bad?” she asked, frowning.

  Willa nodded.

  “I’m sorry to hear it. A woman with three broken ribs and typhus should not have been kept in a prison cell for even one day, never mind several weeks. The disease has obviously weakened you.” She reached into her skirt pocket and drew out a small glass bottle. “Here’s another pill,” she said. “It’s been slightly less time between dosages than I would like, but I do not like to see you in pain.”

  Willa took the pill. She raised her hand to her mouth and took a drink of water—spilling some because her hand was shaking. Then she sat back against her pillows, her hands folded in her lap.

  “Thank you,” she said, giving the nurse a weary smile of relief.

  “I think you should rest for a bit or you will overdo it,” Sister Anna said. “You need to build your strength, not tax your body further. You can continue your work later.”

  “But Mr. von Brandt’s maps …” Willa protested.

  “They can wait for a bit. And if Mr. von Brandt has any objections, he may speak about them with Dr. Meyers.” She wheeled the table away from Willa’s bed, then walked to the window and let the blind down. “Sleep now,” she said.

  Willa, eyes already closed, nodded gratefully. Sister Anna quietly left the darkened room, pulling the door closed after her, and locking it—as she always did.

  As soon as she heard the bolt turn, Willa opened her eyes and sat up in bed. Her movements were quicker and surer than any she’d made in front of Max or Sister Anna. She quietly got out of bed and flipped her mattress up. She took the pill Sister Anna had given her—it was still in her hand, she’d only pretended to swallow it—and pushed it into a small hole she’d made in the mattress’s welting. Then she felt along the welting to make sure the other pills she’d hidden were still there. They were. No one had discovered them—yet. She lowered the mattress, got back into bed, and smoothed her sheets and blankets, then she closed her eyes to sleep.

  Sister Anna was right. She needed to build her strength, for she would need it. Max had talked to Dr. Meyers about a jaunt. She doubted it would happen today, or tomorrow, but she was sure it would happen soon. Very soon. And when it did, she must be ready.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  “Is that you, love?” India called out. She was sitting in the kitchen of the Brambles and had just heard the mudroom door open. She’d been expecting Sid for the last two hours.

  “I’m afraid not. It’s just me, not my handsome brother,” Fiona called back.

  India laughed. “Fancy a banger?” she said.

  “I could murder a banger. A dozen bangers,” Fiona said, walking into the kitchen. “And mash and onion gravy. Have you got any?”

  “Enough to feed an army. Sit down and tuck in,” India said.

  She got up from the kitchen table, where she’d been reading at least twenty British newspapers—some that she’d sent for from as far afield as Glasgow and Leeds—and got a plate, cutlery, and a cup of tea for Fiona.

  “Sit, India,” Fiona said, rubbing her hands together. “I can see to myself.” She gave her sister-in-law a quick kiss on the cheek, took the cup of tea from her hands, and took a seat at the table.

  “How did Charlie do today?” India asked. “Any progress?”

  “None,” Fiona said, shoveling potatoes onto her plate. “We’ve nearly got through the entire rose garden now, but he’s still exactly the same. I’d hoped for something—some small but steady improvement—ever since I saw that spark in his eyes. But there’s no change. I’m starting to wonder if I only imagined his reaction to the roses.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. It takes time. He’ll get there,” India said. “With a mother like you and an uncle like Sid, he has no choice.”

  Fiona laughed, but India could see she was tired. She’d been working with Charlie all day long. Worried that Fiona would exhaust herself coming and going, she and Sid had asked her to stay with them at the Brambles—an offer she gladly accepted. Mr. Foster had gone back to London and Fiona had decided to return to London on the weekends, and come up again on Monday mornings. India was glad about the arrangement; she loved her sister-in-law’s company.

  “It’s so quiet in here. Are the children in bed?” Fiona asked now, dousing her sausages and mash with gravy.

  “They went up half an hour ago. They wanted to wait up for Sid—he promised them presents when he got back—but it was already eight-thirty and they could
barely hold their heads up. I told them he’d give them a kiss when he got in.

  “Where did he go?” Fiona asked.

  “London. He went yesterday evening and spent the night. He was due back around six-thirty. I don’t know what’s keeping him.”

  “London?” Fiona said, with a slight note of concern in her voice. “Why did he go there?”

  “You don’t like it either, do you?” India said worriedly. “I told him not to go. But he said he had business there.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “He said he wanted to talk to someone about medical supplies for the hospital. Drugs, specifically.”

  Fiona’s expression softened. “Oh, it’s just hospital business then, isn’t it? Forgive me, India. I was being silly. It’s just that given his past, I worry.”

  “I know,” India said, gathering her newspapers into a stack. “I do, too. I’m always afraid someone from his old life will spot him in the city and try to make trouble for him. It’s probably a daft notion, but I can’t help it.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be back any minute. I bet he missed his train, that’s all.” Fiona pointed at the newspapers in front of India. “What do you have there? A little light reading?” she asked.

  India suspected she was trying to change the subject. “Hardly,” she said. “I’m trying to follow any and all reported outbreaks of Spanish flu in Britain. It’s certainly getting a foothold here. The numbers of infected are increasing in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Newcastle, and York; holding steady in the Midlands and Wales; and starting to pick up in Weymouth, Brighton, and Dover. I’ve read that quite a few of the major cities are going to start spraying streets in hard-hit areas with disinfectant.”

  “Any sign of it in the lads here yet?” Fiona asked.

  “Not yet, no. Thank God. We have a quarantine ward set up though, just in case. Harriet wrote me to say that she’s seeing it starting in London. South of the river, mostly. I wish I could convince Jennie to leave the city and come here. And to bring James with her.”