Mark of the Lion

by Suzanne Arruda

  Madeline again played hostess the next day and took Jade to see some of the local sights, including a small concrete reservoir that Neville had constructed and their citrus groves. Finally, as it drew on to midafternoon, Madeline decided it was time to prepare for Lord Colridge’s evening dinner party. Baths were ordered and taken in turn using a tin tub in a small bathing room, and the three of them worked to make themselves look smart. Jade worked with less: less vanity, less at stake, and fewer resources at her disposal. She combed out her short, naturally wavy black hair and slipped on her dress, stockings, and shoes.

  Her one new dress was a birthday gift from Beverly. The gown of apricot-colored silk crepe had a short-sleeved bolero jacket trimmed in green satin ribbon over a straight shift that hung to her lower calves. Jade had refused to buy matching dress shoes and settled for wearing her slightly outdated black leather slip-ons. Jade wasn’t against looking her best. She just wanted to be comfortable while doing it.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at her wrist. Despite all the scrubbing, the sorcerer’s mark remained. What will Nairobi society make of it? She decided if she kept her left hand to her side or in her lap, no one would notice it.

  Madeline came out in her made-over, royal blue satin dress with a high waist, and sighed. “It isn’t fair. You could be covered in soot and still look ravishing with that hair and complexion of yours. I need a bit of powder to hide the wrinkles, and it takes so long to sweep up my hair.” She patted her coiffure. “I do hope short hair becomes the fashion. It would be so much simpler.”

  “Why wait for Paris to decide? Set the trend yourself.”

  “But what would people like Lord Colridge say if I cut my hair?” worried Madeline. “They might think I was improper rather than just trying to be practical.”

  Neville caught the end of the conversation and tugged at his dinner tie and tight collar.

  “Men’s fashions could stand a bit of rational change as well,” he said. “You may cut your hair as you please, Maddy, if I may chuck this blasted noose around my neck.”

  “Perhaps we may do both after we have secured the steam engine from His Lordship,” suggested his wife.

  Conversation lagged during the drive so that all eyes could concentrate on spotting potential road hazards in the dark. Finally the Muthaiga’s pink exterior appeared from beyond its extensive grounds and beckoned them to escape from the cares and trials of colonial life. The Muthaiga greeted each of its guests with Na Kupa Hati M’zuri carved into the great fireplace’s stones. “I Bring You Good Fortune” might be an idle promise, but Jade hoped not. She needed some good luck to find David’s half brother, if he still existed, and Gil Worthy’s murderer.

  Lord Colridge greeted them at the entrance to the lounge with less promise of prosperity than the fireplace but much more personally. “Miss del Cameron, delighted to see you again. You look stunning. Hardly recognize you. Mrs. Thompson, beautiful as always. Thompson, good of you to come. Think I have a line on that engine for you. Should do just the thing.” He shook their hands, the ladies’ gently, Neville’s with great strength. “Come on, come on,” he said with a trace of impatience. “Can’t dawdle over pleasantries; there are people I wish you to meet. Been telling them about you and that hyena.”

  He ushered them farther into the spacious lounge towards a short, burly blond man; a tall, effeminate-looking man with long black hair to his collar; and a buxom, heavily made-up middle-aged woman decked out in diamonds. A pretty redhaired lady stood meekly nearby.

  The buxom woman’s brunette hair was swept back in an elaborate roll held in place with a comb sporting two ostrich feathers. They reminded Jade of the papyrus heads by the Athi River. The redhead’s hair was also rolled back but more simply, with only a tortoiseshell comb holding it in place. Both of their dresses were cut in the latest mode with formfitting, sleeveless bodices. The older woman’s gown sported a blueand-silver brocade overskirt over a darker blue taffeta. Blue and silver tassels hung down the front of the skirt and sashayed saucily when she moved, which she did frequently just to set them in motion. The younger lady’s pink taffeta dress looked equally expensive but more tasteful. Its embellishments were restricted to a wide, high-waisted satin ribbon tied and draped down the back.

  Jade whispered to Madeline, “I see a preening peacock, a fat pigeon, a turkey, and a mouse. And me without my rifle.”

  Madeline whispered back, “Now we’ll see how brave you really are, Simba Jike. Some of these women will try to eat you alive.”

  Jade’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “But I’m prickly and hard to swallow.”

  Lord Colridge did the honors. “Mr. Stanley Woodard and his lovely wife, Isadore. May I present Miss del Cameron,” he said as he introduced the short blond man and the buxom brunette. A series of “how do you do’s” and “charmeds” went the rounds, followed by the second introduction. “And this,” he said, indicating the tall, thin, pasty-looking man and the young redhead, “is Godfrey Kenton, the second son of the Earl of Kenton, and his new bride, Leticia.”

  Mrs. Kenton stood passively beside her husband and only glanced up from the floor long enough to murmur a weak, “Pleased to meet you.” Her wan spouse simply flopped a gloved hand in the air from an equally limp arm. The man dressed like the proverbial fop with an ascot around his neck held by a diamond stickpin.

  Jade found herself repulsed by him. His lady certainly looked cowed, but he appeared to be too much of a milksop to be a physical wife beater. Jade concluded that he mentally abused her. He looked underdone in a way, like a newly molted crayfish, all pale and naked without its protective exoskeleton.

  “Madeline, how good to see you again,” said Isadore Woodard. “And how sweet your old dress looks all made over. Almost stylish. I do wish I had your touch for economy. It really is tedious to have to order new gowns from Paris every time the fashion changes.”

  “How very true, Dorrie,” replied Madeline. “And you have the added burden of knowing that you aren’t supporting England or her colonies, which must be frightful. You have my complete sympathies.”

  Jade maintained her diplomatic poker face with difficulty. This was a new side to Madeline. “Lord Colridge must have told you that I’m a writer doing a feature on the colony,” she interposed before the claws came completely out. “May I ask how long you have lived here?”

  “Isadore and I have been here ten years,” said Mr. Woodard. “Sisal farm, you know. But my wife prefers to live in town, so I built a house close by the club for her.”

  “And you, Mrs. Kenton?” Jade asked the pretty redhead.

  “Ahem,” replied her husband in a nasally drawl. “My wife has lived in the colony longer than I have, though she’s been away. We are both newly arrived here immediately since the war.”

  Once again Jade tried to get the timid wife to speak for herself. “So you lived here before the war, Mrs. Kenton?”

  The young woman looked up at her husband and, on receiving a nod of permission, answered, “Yes, Miss del Cameron. My parents came to the colonies when I was a little girl of eight and began a farm. Father sent Mother and me back when the war began. Father was wounded during the war . . . unable to keep up with the more strenuous labor. My . . . husband was good enough to pay off his overdraft and enable him to return to England.”

  And you, thought Jade, came as part of the transaction. She wondered what had happened to the farm as she could hardly imagine this soft-bodied grub doing any manual work. A little salt on him and he’d positively shrivel up like any other slug. In any event, none of them could have known Gil Worthy. She lost what little interest she had in them.

  “I have a few other people for you to meet, Miss del Cameron,” said Lord Colridge. He took her arm and led her away. The Thompsons followed, glad to escape further conversation with either of the couples. “Some important people could not be here, I’m afraid. Short notice, you know. I should have liked to introduce you to Baron Bror Blixen and his wife, Ka
ren. The baron is probably off hunting, and the baroness runs their coffee farm at Ngong.”

  “No doubt Blix is hunting a pretty face,” said a deep voice. Everyone turned to see Harry Hascombe approaching from a back room. Roger Forster walked beside him, his face sullen.

  “Hascombe,” said Colridge. “I wondered where you’d run off to.”

  “In the bar,” said Harry, “hashing out safari plans with Roger.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Hascombe, Mr. Forster,” said Jade. “Good to see you again.” Roger made a slight bow but didn’t speak. His hangdog face looked longer than before.

  “Call me Harry, please.”

  “Very well,” snorted Colridge. “Miss del Cameron already knows you two. I have other people for her to meet. Now where the devil did Donaldson go?” He peered around the room in vain. “Oh, blast,” he exclaimed and fluttered his mustache. “Thompson, look after Miss del Cameron for me while I find that idiot Donaldson.”

  “If he’s an idiot, why do we need to find him?” Jade asked after he left.

  Harry laughed. “Because he’s a rich idiot, and His Lordship puts a lot of stock in that.”

  “And why not?” blurted Roger. “Money means land and power out here.”

  Harry scowled at his younger companion. “Go back to the bar and have another drink, Rog, if you’re going to be so confounded moody.” Roger took his advice and left the room.

  Harry ran his dark eyes over Jade and flashed his teeth. “My, you are beautiful.” He bowed. “I meant that in a gentlemanly fashion, of course.”

  Jade acknowledged the compliment and returned it. “You clean up rather well yourself, Harry.” In his black dinner jacket, boiled shirt, starched collar, and white tie he did make a striking appearance. He had shaved again, too. Jade decided that the gray temple hairs looked distinguished on him.

  Colridge returned with several richly dressed people in tow and introduced them to Jade, explaining their importance in the British protectorate. Donaldson, it seemed, raised very fine racehorses. The other man, a Mr. Seton, and his slightly tipsy wife had something to do with the government, and Jade frankly didn’t listen to what the others did. They were too pretentious and silly acting to be of interest, and too young to be of use in her search. Of more interest was the hateful stare that Donaldson directed at Godfrey Kenton.

  The tipsy wife spied Mr. Woodard and trotted across the room to grab hold of his arm. Mrs. Woodard, in the meantime, had sidled up to some other gentleman, a commissioner, if Jade heard Madeline correctly. No wonder she wanted a house in town, thought Jade. And no wonder Mr. Woodard was so agreeable. Harry had stepped back to the bar for a moment.

  “Mr. Seton,” Jade said, “I’m trying to look up some news of an old friend of the family, a Mr. Gil Worthy. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

  Mr. Seton clasped his hands behind his back and rocked to and fro on the balls of his feet. “Worthy, ah yes, I believe he died a few years ago. Mauling or something of that nature.”

  Jade nodded. “Yes. That much I’ve heard, but have you any idea what he was doing in Nairobi before his death?”

  Seton shook his head. “Sorry, Miss del Cameron. I was not privy to his business. Never knew the man.”

  “Perhaps you could help me find someone else. I’m going on safari soon and I heard good things about a Mr. Kruger. Do you know him?”

  “Sorry, but the Boers keep to themselves, you know. Most just come and go. Good luck finding any particular one, especially one with a common name such as Kruger.”

  Harry, who had returned with a fresh drink in hand, overheard the last part of the conversation. “What are you up to now?”

  Without revealing Gil’s map, Jade explained that Gil had the name Kruger written on a slip of paper. She thought locating him could be helpful.

  “He could be someone Gil met in Tsavo after I left,” said Harry. “Seton’s right, though. It’s a common name.”

  Just then Jade spied another woman stumble over to Roger. Jade watched her gesticulate first impatiently and then imploringly, but Roger waved her off. He seemed preoccupied and disinclined to indulge the woman in whatever she wanted. Madeline came up beside Jade and said something about Cissy being drunk again, but Jade was now busy watching Roger’s moon-eyed look towards the lovely Mrs. Kenton. At that point, the young lady glanced up, and her eyes opened wide in surprise.

  “Roger?” Leticia said in a tone of disbelief.

  “Leticia,” he answered with tenderness.

  The almost-an-earl looked around sharply at his wife’s call, scowled at Roger, and hauled his bride away.

  Madeline caught Jade’s stare and whispered, “Later,” before she said more audibly, “Jade, would you care for champagne?”

  “What? Oh, no, thank you,” she answered.

  “I heard you had a dreadfully exciting encounter with a hyena,” said Mr. Donaldson. “Bravo shooting the beast. Important in their own way, I suppose, but a disgusting nuisance. They’ve been harassing my dogs. Have you anything like them in America?”

  “Coyotes.” The man shook his head, signaling that he didn’t understand. Jade explained, “They resemble a small wolf. Sheep ranchers hate them. It’s rather curious, actually,” she remarked. “Now that I think on it, the coyote is the familiar of Indian skin walkers. That’s remarkably like the African laibon using the hyena.”

  “How interesting,” said Neville. “Don’t you agree, Harry?”

  “What it suggests is that witches everywhere recognize potential power in animals that others slight as cowardly pests,” said Harry. “At least they exploit the fear of it, in any event.”

  “Pish tosh,” exclaimed Lord Colridge. “They are calling us to dinner. Come along. No more nonsensical drivel. I’m hungry. Someone fetch Forster from the bar,” His Lordship commanded, and everyone obeyed.

  Wedgwood china worked in a rose pattern, delicate crystal goblets, and fresh red roses graced the linen-clad dining table. Jade found herself wedged between Donaldson on her right and the insipid Godfrey Kenton on her left. Harry managed to position himself opposite her. Roger sat like a faithful hound at his side and gazed longingly at Leticia Kenton through the entire soup course and then as often as he dared after. Jade reasoned that Roger had lost her to a more powerful—that is, richer—rival and would have sympathized if the young man showed a little more spine himself. She once caught both Roger and Harry glaring at Kenton with undisguised loathing.

  Madeline had managed to get Neville between herself and Isadore Woodard. Poor Neville didn’t appear comfortable being assigned the part of a protective chair by his wife to keep the catty woman on the other side at bay. Soup was followed by a fruit salad, then squab in a light cream sauce and asparagus tips. Wine flowed freely around the table, though Jade never allowed the level to drop in her own glass. Somehow, letting her guard down here seemed hazardous. Instead, she sipped water, made brief remarks when necessary, and listened.

  “So the bullet went into the beast’s spine, but you know the buffalo can’t stop himself even to die. Worse than a rhino. Naturally, there was nothing left for me to do but . . .”

  “Honestly, I caught him stealing from the storeroom, but how can you trust . . .”

  “Your Lordship, how is your new Willys-Knight Overlander? Do you think . . .”

  “You must go to Cissy’s next party.” The voice dropped to a hushed tone. “Of course, I don’t know who her supplier is, but I hear the quality is top-notch . . .”

  “I have it on good authority that he won’t divorce her because she has all . . .”

  Eventually, by the time custard was served, Jade knew one thing for certain—very few people spoke to Godfrey Kenton, and both Harry and Roger hated him. Since none of this helped her learn anything about David’s father or brother, she thought about talking Madeline and Neville into leaving for the farm with her. That was when Isadore suggested everyone adjourn to the lobby, wind up the gramophone, and dance.

  Jade
rose with the others, not as quickly as Harry, but certainly faster than the tediously dull slug, Kenton, next to her. At first she assumed that Harry had hurried around the table to escort her into the lobby, but instead he stepped up to Kenton, grabbed him by his lapels, and hoisted him out of his chair.

  “I just heard from Seton that someone is claiming my cattle have anthrax. Now, just who do you suppose started that lie?” his voice growled low and menacingly.

  Kenton whimpered something unintelligible, and Jade put a restraining hand on Harry’s right arm.

  “Harry,” she said firmly, “please leave off pummeling Mr. Kenton and escort me to the dance floor.”

  Hascombe flung Kenton away from him like he would a bit of offal and gave Jade his arm. “My apologies, Miss del Cameron. I should have waited till later to thrash him as he deserves.”

  “No doubt, but I think he got your point. And,” she added, “if I’m supposed to call you Harry, then you had better call me Jade.”

  Hascombe grinned. “Jade it is, then.” He escorted her into the spacious lobby.

  The chairs and end tables had already been dragged to the sides to make room for dancing, and one young man wound up the gramophone while his partner flipped through several records, looking for something suitable. A fast foxtrot played, and Harry guided Jade through the rapid footwork.

  Harry’s physical strength blended with an easy grace, resulting in an excellent dancing form. He led with a masterful assurance without overpowering his partner. Jade found herself enjoying it very much. The foxtrot ended and a tango followed. Harry muttered something about not knowing how, and before Jade could respond, Mr. Holly, one of the silly set, grabbed Jade’s arm and pushed it straight out to the side while he pressed her tightly against his body.