Mark of the Lion

by Suzanne Arruda

  —The Traveler

  THE COFFEE CHERRIES ON THE THOMPSONS’ remaining trees started their yearly transformation from camouflaged green to flamboyant red. Neville’s hands were literally full now, and two consequences clung to this bounty. First, Neville needed to stay behind from the upcoming safari to supervise the coffee bean pulping and fermenting. The second grew out of the first. Neville didn’t like the idea of his wife going on safari without him, especially as he considered Hascombe to be a bit of a rounder.

  “Neville, you’re being childish,” Madeline protested on Monday morning. “There is no reason for me to stay behind. You are so busy with the coffee, you won’t even know I’m gone.”

  Mr. Thompson’s eyes opened wide in shock. “Madeline!” he gasped. “How can you say such a thing. Of course, if you find running off with other men so much more attractive than being with me, well . . .” He hung his head and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets like a pitiful schoolboy. The effect was not wasted on his wife.

  “Oh, darling, you mustn’t think that. I’m not one of those flighty women who engage in wife-swapping games in Happy Valley.” She tugged playfully at his sleeve, pulled his hand out of his pocket, and held it.

  “Perhaps I should just wander off,” suggested Jade. “I do need to drive into town today.”

  “No,” they said in unison, and Madeline added, “This concerns you, too, Jade. Neville, you can hardly expect Jade to go alone on safari with Harry and Roger. How would that look?”

  “Lord Colridge will be there,” he protested. “He’ll look after her.”

  “Another man,” scoffed Madeline. “You didn’t approve of that for me.”

  “Please don’t argue on my account,” said Jade. “Madeline, you know I can hold my own against rowdy males. As for propriety, I don’t really care if the good folk of Nairobi look askance at me. I’m just passing through.” Seeing Madeline’s hurt look, Jade added, “I’d love to have you with me, but I’m not going to be held responsible for ruining your marriage. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have to drive into town to post some letters.” She didn’t add that she planned to call on Dr. Montgomery, whose name she had gotten from the Norfolk clerk.

  She hopped into the Model T with her rifle, camera, and a canvas bag with several packets. Besides her hyena hunt article for the magazine, she had an incomplete letter to Mr. Jacobs, which she planned to finish after interviewing the doctor, and two personal letters to send. One went to her parents and the other to Beverly, who, if plans had gone through, should be Lady Dunbury by now. Madeline gave her an envelope to mail as well, an order to a seed catalog.

  Jade had had another dream last night about glowing eyes stalking her in the tall grass, which left her feeling edgy, so she turned her mind from it and focused instead on the safari as she drove along the pitted dirt track to Nairobi. Harry had arranged for departure the middle of next week, but coffee harvesting would continue for weeks. Jade didn’t mind losing Neville from the party, but she found herself hoping Madeline would still come. In many ways she was like Beverly: frank, brave, and certainly not flighty. Jade missed Beverly, her former “comrade in axles,” as they’d termed themselves.

  Until recently, oxcarts had been the main vehicles that traveled the track to and from Nairobi. The heavy wagons had plowed deep ruts in the pasty mud during the rainy season, which later baked into treacherous pits. The car jolted over one. Jade bounced a few inches off the seat. The car slid left, and Jade gripped the wheel and steadied it. The jolt reminded her about other rutted roads, and she half expected to see a caisson along the track. Instead, she saw red murram soil, clumps of grass with long, thin leaves like wire, and warped thorn trees. An Erythrina tree practicing to be a contortionist held blazing red flowers at the end of its twisted branches. To her left, in the distance rose the rounded back of Kea-Njahe, the mountain near the Kikuyu village where she had killed the witch’s hyena and earned her new name. So far, no new reports of terror had come in from the village, so maybe that problem was solved after all. She slipped off her hat and sniffed the brim. Yep, she thought, memories may fade but that odor lingered. So had the tattoo on her wrist.

  The sun felt good on her head after the morning chill, so she tossed the hat atop the letter packets and enjoyed the warmth as it soaked into her black curls. On her right was a small shamba, where hardworking Kikuyu women decked out in shaven heads and copper bracelets hoed the rows with hand-fashioned bone and wood tools. Two younger women, each with a circle of hair on her head that marked her as unmarried, carried water in the ubiquitous four-gallon debes to some sorry-looking sweet potatoes. Jade wondered what everyone had used before empty fuel tins became available. Probably gourds.

  “Jambo,” she called out and waved. The women looked up, and one waved back.

  Jade looked back to Kea-Njahe and Harry’s farm. An intriguing man, she thought. Possibly too intriguing for her own good. “It’s plain he’s interested in you,” she said aloud. “Now how do you feel about him?” To her surprise, she returned his interest, at least physically. “What would Beverly say?” she muttered. More to the point, what would David think? Jade felt trapped in a warped paradox. Only David could comfort her after so close a loss, but then, he was the one who was gone. Maybe, considering the temptations Harry posed, she’d better insist that Madeline go with her on safari after all.

  Thinking about Harry and Kea-Njahe made her think about last night’s dream, in which she stood alone in tall golden grasses in absolute silence. The grasses moved without any breeze to ruffle them. Overall, Jade recalled a sense of menace and the disquieting conviction that the grasses themselves were stalking her. It was just a dream!

  She finally entered Nairobi, headed for the post office, and deposited her outgoing mail in the box reserved for such envelopes. Since the train wasn’t in yet, neither was the most recent mail. Jade left the car at the garage with her camera and her rifle tucked out of sight and headed for Dr. Montgomery’s office.

  Nairobi boasted several government doctors with a reputation of being unavailable to civilians, which left the commoner with a Dr. Burkitt. Jade wondered if she should have sent her letter of introduction from Lord Dunbury ahead to make an impression on Dr. Montgomery. After only a minute with him, she could tell it would not have made much difference.

  “Miss del Cameron, you’re not a member of the family, so I don’t feel it is proper to show you Mr. Worthy’s death certificate.”

  “I’m here on behalf of Mr. Worthy’s solicitor.” She handed him a letter of introduction from Mr. Jacobs, which explained her position on behalf of the late Gil Worthy and his son, David, and waited while he read it.

  Dr. Montgomery finished the letter with a tremendous sigh, folded it, and handed it back to her. “I suppose that I must comply then.” He walked over to a wooden cabinet and pulled out one of the drawers. “But I am really very busy.”

  “I understand, Doctor,” Jade said soothingly. “I’m grateful for your sparing me this time.”

  Her words and tone of voice mollified the man. Finally, after much rummaging, he found the file he wanted. “Here,” he said as he opened it. “Death certificate for Mr. Gil Worthy.”

  Jade read the document. In brief terms, it ascribed the death of Mr. Worthy on January 29, 1915, to trauma to the throat, possibly from a lion or hyena. She stared at the paper a few seconds more as if something else might magically appear there. Finally, she handed it back to the doctor. “I heard that no one ever found the animal. How did you know the bite came from either of those two animals?”

  “From the size of the bite marks, Miss del Cameron.” He set the folder on his desk and folded his arms. “Perhaps you should go to the commissioner’s office. He should know more of the matter. If,” he added, “there is anything more to be known.”

  “Unless Mr. Worthy packed a hyena in his luggage, there’s more. Thank you for your time.”

  Jade next made her way to the commissioner’s hea
dquarters and inquired of an African soldier if she might see the commissioner. He showed her to a chair and asked her to please wait. A few minutes later, a white man in khaki military clothes came in and bowed.

  “I understand you came to see me. How may I help you?”

  Jade rose and shook his hand. “Commissioner. Thank you for seeing me.” She handed him Mr. Jacobs’ letter. “I’m here to inquire into Mr. Worthy’s death. Dr. Montgomery could only tell me that he died of an animal attack in his hotel room, a fact I find most curious.”

  The commissioner pursed his lips and rocked up and down on the balls of his feet for a few moments. Then he slapped his right leg and exclaimed, “Quite right, quite right. Most odd, as I recall. Come into my office and sit down, please.” He escorted her inside and showed her a chair before taking a seat behind his desk.

  “So you agree that the death was odd. Can you tell me more?” she asked.

  “As I recall the facts, Mr. Worthy was last seen taking breakfast on the twenty-ninth. When he never appeared the following day, the clerk thought he’d skipped out without settling his bill and went up to his room. Found him dead on the floor, throat torn out. Didn’t find any identification—no wallet on him or in his room. It appeared he had been in the act of either making himself comfortable or getting dressed at the time.”

  Jade arched her brows in an unspoken question.

  “Cuffs open, collar undone, shoes off, that sort of thing,” elaborated the commissioner.

  “And no one reported seeing a wild animal enter or leave the hotel? Don’t you find that to be a bit beyond belief?” asked Jade.

  The commissioner shook his head. “I do admit it was odd. The clerk, of course, sent for a doctor and someone came to fetch one of the askaris, er, native constables,” he explained. “My men, of course, went straightaway up to the man’s room and searched. In fact they looked in every room on that floor. No one ever found the beast. One of the native boys probably stole the wallet.”

  Jade considered his words for a moment. “Could someone have brought an animal in, say, disguised as a dog, and then removed it before your men searched?”

  The commissioner snorted. “Highly unlikely. Do you realize that you are proposing this was not an accident, Miss del Cameron? You’re suggesting it was murder?” He shifted in his chair as though he were becoming impatient with her.

  Jade nodded and then explained Mr. Worthy’s reason for returning to Africa and how he had sent the very parcel he came with back when he feared his life was in danger. She next described what the Kikuyu lad had witnessed through the keyhole.

  The commissioner rose from his chair and leaned both hands on his desk. “I can’t help you at all about his illegitimate son, Miss del Cameron. I’ve only been in the colony six years. I’m afraid by now I can’t help you much more with Mr. Worthy’s death. The case is old, Miss del Cameron. Mr. Worthy died of an animal mauling. Tragic? Yes. Odd? Decidedly. But during the war things did get a bit hectic around here and the animals responded. As to the idea that this was a demon animal, why, that is preposterous. I’m frankly surprised that an educated young lady such as yourself would even entertain such a notion. Case is closed.”

  Jade rose, too, and faced the commissioner square in the eyes. “I have one more question, sir. Do you know a Mr. Kruger? Gil Worthy had his name written down.”

  The commissioner shook his head. “That’s a Boer name. The Boers come and go through here with their oxen. If, as you tell me, Mr. Worthy was about to go into Tsavo, then I expect that this Kruger was his man for buying an oxcart. Now, if you’ll excuse me, miss?”

  Jade thanked him again for his time and departed his office. Once outside, she made a few notes in her notebook and considered them. If someone brought in a hyena to kill Gil, they had to slip it in unseen. She wondered if a hyena could be disguised as a dog. Somehow she doubted it. This person would need great skill in handling dangerous animals, and the so-called laibon seemed to have similar control over his animal. But native Africans were not allowed as guests at the Norfolk. Maybe she’d find clues in Tsavo. She certainly wasn’t having much luck here. She finished her letter to Mr. Jacobs and decided to get her camera from the car and wait for the train.

  Many of the Europeans stared at her knee-length brown boots, trousers, and short-cropped hair as she walked back from the garage. Jade grew tired of their rudeness and countered by openly saying hello to them until they felt their own bad manners and looked away. Honestly, I polished the manure off my boots before I left.

  A turbaned Sikh offered beautiful fabrics and scarves for sale in an open-fronted shop. Jade was framing a photograph when she noticed a familiar-looking woman staring at her with openmouthed shock. Jade placed her as Cissy someone or other from the Muthaiga. The woman had been inebriated, so Lord Colridge had avoided introducing her. Now, with her elegant ankle-length suit of creamy white linen and matching broad-brimmed, red-lined hat trimmed in silk roses, she made an interesting contrast to the shopkeeper.

  Jade held up her camera. “Would you like to have your picture in a magazine?”

  “Oh? Well, perhaps, of course, but really,” blathered the woman. “Do you realize you have no hat on? The equatorial sun is very powerful. The actinic rays will destroy your brain and send you positively mad.”

  “Ah yes.” Jade comprehended all the previous stares. Her trousers might be bad enough in town, but being hatless seemed unforgivable. “I have a thick skull.” The woman looked more horrified than ever. “I left my hat in my motorcar at the garage,” added Jade.

  “Indeed,” replied the woman. “Well, you had better fetch it before you addle yourself further.” She blinked at Jade. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

  “Possibly you saw me at the Muthaiga Club on Saturday evening.”

  “Oh yes! Were you there?” Cissy blinked again. “I’m Cissy Estes, but of course you must know that already.” She came in closer to Jade as though to whisper a confidence. “Have you seen Godfrey Kenton? I cannot find him. I’m sure I saw him Saturday night, but . . .”

  “No, I haven’t. Sorry.” Jade started closing her camera’s viewing hood when the lady stopped her.

  “Of course, if you insist on taking my photograph, I understand,” the woman simpered. “I’m sure Godfrey will turn up, and I don’t suppose a few more moments without your hat will make that much difference. Er, what magazine did you say this is for?”

  “The Traveler, ma’am,” said Jade.

  The woman cooed her delight. “How is this?” She struck a dramatic pose in which she critically examined a fringed shawl.

  “Turn more towards me, if you would, please,” instructed Jade. “Your face is in the shadow. There, that’s better. Please hold that pose.” She took the picture. “Of course, I cannot promise the magazine will use it.”

  The lady reached into her handbag and pulled a small white rectangular slip of paper from under a small brown package. Bits of white powder, like flour, snuck out of a frayed edge. “Here is my card,” she said. “Please do send a print to me. Just address it care of the Nairobi post. Jeffrey will like to have it so much.”

  Jade glanced at the card and read “Mrs. Cissy Estes.” She wondered if Jeffrey was her husband or if she was divorced. Whoever he was, he had already supplanted her concern for Godfrey Kenton. Jade decided to make a print for the woman. The Thompsons had graciously given over one of the less leaky huts to her as a darkroom so she could develop her film sheets.

  “I’ll have a print for you in a few days if you like,” Jade said.

  “How delightful, miss . . . do I know you?” she asked again.

  “Jade del Cameron.”

  The woman’s eyes opened wider. “I know that name. You’re the American staying at the Norfolk, aren’t you?” She placed her pale hand on Jade’s arm. “I heard at a party all about how you disarmed Mr. Hascombe in the lobby and killed that dreadful hyena.” She blinked a few more times. “Were you at that party?”
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  “Yes, that was me, ma’am,” she said with a sigh. Apparently something more than solar rays had addled this woman. “But I’m staying with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson at their farm now.”

  “Oh, at Neville’s farm?” The lady ran the tip of her tongue along her upper teeth, and Jade doubted the extent of her attachment to Jeffrey. “Perhaps I should call on you out there?”

  Good heavens, thought Jade. Madeline would toss her out bodily if this predaceous hussy came out on a pretext of seeing her. “No! I won’t be there very long. Going on safari, you know. But it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Estes.”

  “Please, call me Cissy, and yes, it was fun. Now don’t forget to wear your hat, Miss del Cameron. It’s very dangerous not to, although with your rather, um, dark complexion you might be more immune. You know, like the natives.”

  Jade left before the woman could make any more insinuations about her hybrid pedigree. Long, droning whistle blasts announced the train’s arrival at the station. She bought an orange from one of the peddlers and sat in the shade of a young eucalyptus tree to eat it and wait. There she watched the general bustling activity of the rickshaw boys, sentries, and Europeans until the mail was delivered to the post office and duly sorted.

  To her delight, she received a letter from her mother and one from Beverly. She sat down at the post office to read them, her back against the cool stone wall. Her mother’s letter, dated just after Jade left London, announced the birth of a new foal and expressed how much they missed her. Jade felt a momentary pang of guilt that she hadn’t written home sooner. What would they think of her new African name or tattoo? She opened Bev’s letter.