Mark of the Lion

by Suzanne Arruda

  No mention of Jeffrey this time or even the recently deceased Godfrey. Not with fresh prey in sight. “Mrs. Estes,” said Jade, “how nice to see you again. As you can see, I have my hat today.” She took it off and waved it in the woman’s general direction, hoping to keep her at bay. Mrs. Estes’ red-tinted lips puckered as though she had bit into a lemon. She stopped and swayed to some mental rhythm. “I’m very sorry, too, for the loss of your friend Mr. Kenton,” added Jade. “I know you were very worried about him.”

  Cissy swayed to and fro and blinked slowly. By the puzzled expression on her face, Jade assumed the woman was trying to remember who Mr. Kenton was. Suddenly she drew in her breath with dawning recollection. “Oh, poor Godfrey,” she said as she dabbed her dry eyes. “I miss him so. Such a terrible accident. The funeral is tomorrow, I believe.”

  “Yes,” murmured Jade, “the commissioner did rule it an accidental death by wild animal, didn’t he. I’m just curious as to what Mr. Kenton was doing on Lord Colridge’s land at the time.”

  Cissy ignored Jade’s statement and slid up the final step towards them. “And who are your friends? You must introduce me to this very handsome man.” The woman nearly salivated as she extended her gloved hand. “I’m Cissy Estes.”

  “I am Lady Dunbury,” said Beverly. “This is my husband.” She emphasized the word. Mrs. Estes didn’t seem to hear it. Beverly approached on the pretext of shaking the woman’s hand and accidentally stomped on her foot. The woman didn’t even wince.

  “Oh, Lord Dunbury,” she cooed and crept closer. “You must come to my flat and visit. I entertain many people there. We have the most divine parties. As I was saying, Roger—”

  “I’m sorry, but we won’t be joining you, Mrs. Estes,” Beverly said. “Perhaps we’ll meet again. I presume you walk the streets quite frequently?” Beverly said this with the sweetest of smiles, but the heavily made-up woman couldn’t help but catch her meaning.

  “I must be going,” Mrs. Estes said and threw one last predatory look at Avery before she turned and slithered back down the stairs.

  “My word, Beverly,” declared Avery. “You were an absolute tigress defending her own territory. I feel quite like a bit of prized meat.” He kissed his wife on the forehead.

  “I don’t think it would take a tigress to beat that one off, although I daresay she’s handy with her needle,” retorted Beverly. Jade raised one brow in question. “She’s a heroin addict, my dear,” said Beverly in answer. “You must have seen the signs: general slowness and euphoria, the fact that she didn’t feel my foot stomp. And her pupils were positively pinpoints.”

  “It is bright in the sun,” Jade countered, but in the back of her mind she recalled the powdery package in Cissy’s purse.

  “The sun isn’t bright under that huge hat of hers. No, she’s an addict. I’m sure her thighs are quite a mess from injections.”

  “Who is this Godfrey person she pretended to cry over?” Avery asked.

  “Godfrey Kenton. No one you would like, Avery. Rich, self-centered, cheated on his wife, and, if the general gossip I heard was true, he may have tried to cheat a couple of the colonists out of property or livestock.” Jade watched Cissy’s retreating back and tried to make her voice sound as casual as possible. “Anyway, he went missing late Saturday or early Sunday. I found his remains on Colridge’s property just the other day.”

  “What?” exclaimed both Dunburys simultaneously. “How horrid for you,” Beverly added. “Did you have to identify him?”

  “There wasn’t much to identify really. His boot . . . with a leg stump in it and his head.” Jade looked around. “Where is that lunch? I’m famished.”

  The lunch basket appeared shortly, and Jade drove them straight to the Ruiru flumes, where her adventure had first begun. They sat on some rocks and ate while Jade recounted her experiences, ending with the lion by the car and finding Kenton’s body. She even undid her cuff and showed them the small indigo-colored lion’s tooth on her wrist.

  “So you can see why I believe very strongly in this ointment. I’m not entirely sure what it does against witches, but it’s very efficacious against wild lions.”

  Neither Beverly nor her husband spoke. Beverly was too stunned, and Avery had a mouthful of chicken. He poured a glass of wine for his wife and held a second out to Jade. She declined it, taking water from a crockery jug instead. Avery drained his glass in two gulps.

  “Beverly, do you have the feeling that we don’t know our Jade as well as we thought?”

  Beverly recovered her presence of mind enough to close her mouth and accept the wineglass. She drained it. “You’re quite right, my love,” she said in a soft voice. Then she added in a livelier tone, “Only imagine that. Our own Jade is now a lioness. Simba Jike, indeed. I can only imagine what names we shall receive, Avery.” The newlyweds bantered several possibilities back and forth, ranging from the complimentary to the silly.

  “Golden goddess,” suggested Avery.

  “Oh no, Avery darling. That would never suit you,” Beverly replied with a laugh.

  Jade sat motionless on her rock, rifle at her feet, and let them have their fun. To her ear and with her intimacy born of friendship, she detected certain nervous qualities in Beverly’s voice. She concluded the two of them were larking to hide their worry for her. Beverly pulled The Colonist’s Swahili Language Lesson from Jade’s bag and looked up words.

  “Oh, Avery,” she called out, “you can be Bwana Mtemba for that pipe you insist on smoking. I’ll be Manjano Swala. That means yellow gazelle . . . I think.” She patted her hair.

  “Well, don’t look now, my gazelle,” said Avery, “but there is a lioness on that rock watching the both of us rather intently.” He took his pipe from his pocket and filled it.

  Beverly wheeled around, eyes wide with fear. Instead of the expected big cat, she saw her friend seated on the rock with her arms wrapped around her knees, eyeing her. “Jade, stop that. You gave me a fright. That habit of yours where you stare with those green eyes is positively unnerving and rude.”

  “Sorry,” Jade apologized. She didn’t move or look away. “My mother would agree with you. She says it shows bad breeding, but then, I am a mutt, aren’t I?”

  Beverly pouted. “Honestly, darling, you’ve always been brave and bold and perfectly oblivious to social conventions, but we are worried about you. I mean, well, you’ve smeared your clothes with who knows what unsanitary ointment, for heaven’s sake. This is far beyond simply melting your Bovril chocolate bars with coffee and making up those awful limericks. Er, what did you call them?”

  “Piss-sonnets,” answered Jade. “And the chocolate and coffee was your idea, remember?”

  “Exactly!” Beverly stabbed a finger into the air to emphasize her point before she lost it.

  “What my adorable little wife is trying to say, Jade,” chimed in Avery, “is that we fear you’ve taken this entire search to uncover what happened to David’s father and his missing brother way too far.” Jade stiffened, and he raised his right hand in a placating gesture. “David’s loss was a blow to all of us. He was my best friend. But you must move on.”

  “He made a request,” Jade said in a low, firm voice. Her green eyes locked onto Avery’s blue ones. “His final one. I understood that to be slightly sacred.”

  Avery looked down at his empty glass. Beverly verbally leaped into the breach.

  “What Avery means, Jade, is that you are too close to this. You must let us help you.”

  “Exactly,” stated Avery. “Thank you, darling, for posing it so neatly. Jade, after my discharge, Bev told me a bit about your trip to see David’s mother and their solicitor. I made some inquiries of my own, sent a few cables to some acquaintances in Mombasa actually, and saw to their replies when we docked.”

  “And?” Jade asked. She arched one brow but didn’t move otherwise.

  “There’s no birth or baptismal record for an Abel Worthy in Mombasa or Nairobi. For that matter, they cou
ldn’t find a birth certificate for an Abel anybody.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Jade, it’s a wild-goose chase. The two biggest cities, for want of a better term, don’t have any record of such a person. You indicated that Gil’s map said ‘Abel, my second son.’ ”

  “That’s right, Jade,” added Beverly. “In the Bible, Abel was Adam’s second son. Maybe he just wrote Abel as a metaphor, something to remind him that he had another child without knowing his real name.”

  “The protectorate is large,” continued Avery. “If there was such a child, and that’s a big if, finding him would be the proverbial search for a needle in the haystack, as you Americans say.” He looked at Beverly for support and added, “What you told us about Gil’s death certainly sounds unusual, but you said yourself that those hyenas have been bold since the war’s start. Maybe Gil’s death was just an accident. Maybe a hyena slipped in during the night.”

  Jade closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to steel herself against her inner turmoil. Her lips tensed and whitened for a moment before she reopened her eyes and clutched at the token inside her shirt. “The ring is the key. I . . . I promised David.” Her voice grew thick and husky.

  Beverly stood and scrambled up the rock to her friend’s side. She put her arm around Jade to console her, but Jade didn’t relax into the embrace.

  “I knew David wore that ring,” said Avery, “but to be honest, I never got a close look at it. May I?” He stood up and held out his hand.

  Jade hesitated a moment, then slipped the cord from around her neck and handed the ring to Avery. “He never explained it to you before? Never mentioned a brother or the circumstances around his father’s death?” Her tone was skeptical.

  “Oh, come now,” cooed Beverly. She hugged Jade. “Can you imagine two British males sitting around discussing how one’s father was a rounder? It’s simply not done.”

  “Remember, he never told you either, Jade,” said Avery. Jade winced at the gentle rejoinder. “He probably didn’t know himself until his father sent him that ring. I recall him receiving a letter and a box from his father one day, a few months before the old man died, in fact. David became rather reclusive after that. I asked him what it was about, but he said just some family matter. I don’t know when he began to question his father’s death.”

  “I never got to see his personal effects to look for a letter,” commented Jade.

  “No,” agreed Avery. “All of that was sent off to his mother. She probably destroyed it rather than admit her husband had a child with another woman.” He stared into the stone, the green of a wet, lush, tropical forest, the green of fresh moss in a mountain stream. “Is this an emerald?”

  “No,” replied Jade. “Even the best emeralds have little black specks, inclusions. And emeralds are sleepier. This one also plays with light as though it had its own internal fire.”

  “Like your eyes, Jade,” suggested Beverly with a smile.

  Avery studied the etchings in the side. “How very odd.”

  “Yes, aren’t they,” agreed Jade.

  Beverly scurried down the rock to her husband. “Let me see.” She peered over Avery’s shoulder. “It looks like a little ghost peeking over at another one,” said Beverly. “At least, you can see the back of the second one’s head and the little topknot. He has a tear running from one eye.” She took the ring and turned it over. “The other side looks like a snake with a tiny Orthodox-style cross on one side.” She handed the ring back to her husband.

  “I don’t understand it,” he said finally with a shake of his head. “Bev’s little pop-up ghost aside, it’s all chicken scratches to me.” He paused and played with his mustache in thought. “And you said there is another ring? Is it the same?” he asked.

  Jade nodded, then stopped. “Well, almost,” she said. “Beverly’s pop-up ghost is alone without, in keeping with her metaphor, the tear. And the snake is more of a broad, shallow U. The cross is longer, too.”

  “How interesting,” remarked Avery. “Perhaps you hold them to a mirror and get a word or something. I daresay the meaning was in a letter to David, but it’s lost now. What about in that packet?” he asked.

  “That’s sealed for the second son. Even the solicitor didn’t have the authority to open it. If I find reasonable proof of the son’s identity, I’m allowed to hand it over.”

  Avery gave the ring back to her, and she slipped the leather thong over her head. “Sorry, ol’ girl. What you have is a very special reminder of David.”

  Jade picked up her rifle and rose to her feet. A small bushbuck that had approached the flume to drink bolted out of the grass and raced away. “We should leave before something larger decides to drink here,” she suggested. “You’ll want to rest awhile after all your traveling. And the Thompsons are joining us for dinner. They’re wonderful people. Of course, Neville won’t be coming on safari with us, but you can meet him. You’ll like the Thompsons,” she added. “Madeline is a lot like you, Beverly.”

  “Stunningly beautiful, you mean?” suggested Avery. Beverly grinned but didn’t blush. She was not a blusher.

  “Well, I’m not tired and I don’t want to go back to the hotel to rest,” protested Beverly. “Let’s visit old Colridge, shall we? But before we go,” she added, making it clear that the decision was already made, “we must give Jade her gift. Did you bring it, love?”

  Avery assured her he had and strolled to the Ford to fetch it from the back. Jade’s jaw nearly dropped when he handed her a beautiful new Mannlicher bolt-action rifle. “About time you had a decent weapon. Not that your Winchester isn’t perfectly splendid for mountain cats and hyenas, but you can trust this to tackle a lion or rhino with a bit more efficiency. Perhaps,” he added with a smile, “it will help you to leave off with that dreadful concoction you’re wearing.”

  Jade cradled the rifle in her arms and expressed her feelings with a simple but sincere “Thank you.” However, she added inwardly, she had no intention of forgoing her protective ointment, not even for Beverly’s or Avery’s British sensibilities. She sighted down the barrel at another ravine and noticed a bright pinpoint of light wink back at her.

  “Do you see something?” asked Bev. “Perhaps a warthog attracted by your perfume?”

  “Probably nothing,” Jade answered, ignoring the barb. “There’s something shining in that ravine.” She slid off her boulder and headed for the spot.

  “Wait for us,” said Avery. He trotted up to her with his own rifle ready.

  Jade neared the location and cautiously moved around, wary of unseen predators. The light caught the object and reflected off the glass windshield of an automobile. She stopped.

  “What is it, Jade?” asked Beverly.

  “Evidence that Mr. Kenton wasn’t killed in Colridge’s orchard.”

  She must stay alive awhile longer. Against all his inner thirst for revenge and desire to dominate, the witch knew the American woman must be allowed to live. Only recently had he learned that she carried information that could lead to potential wealth, and wealth meant power. It would not be forever, he reminded himself. Then he could deal with her as she deserved. He would make her suffer mentally as well as physically. He knew the terror that washed over her when she heard the hyena’s laugh, a terror that would make him laugh long and hard. Then he would kill again.

  CHAPTER 17

  “A visitor in Nairobi is immediately touched by the close-knit society there. Such tight bonds are important in a colony, as everyone depends one way or another on everyone else.”

  —The Traveler

  THE DAY AFTER JADE FOUND GODFREY Kenton’s car, a handful of Nairobi residents gathered to bid farewell to his meager remains. Leticia Kenton looked small and insignificant in a black dress several sizes too large for her petite frame. Dr. Burkitt, who often led a local congregation in Sunday worship, conducted the service and read Psalm 23 while the young widow stood by. Her attention, however, was not on any “restful waters” that her husband migh
t be led to. Instead, Jade thought, she appeared to be looking for someone. Judging by the young woman’s disappointed frown, that someone wasn’t present. Perhaps she was looking for Roger.

  Jade glanced around at the cluster of people. The number of people not present was more noticeable than those attending. Besides herself and Madeline, she saw the commissioner, Mr. Donaldson, Mr. and Mrs. Woodard, and a reporter for a London paper. Mr. Donaldson appeared to enjoy himself immensely. Harry, she knew, was involved with safari details, and Colridge’s leg kept him away. Roger was already on his way to Tsavo with the body of equipment.

  Dr. Burkitt finished the psalm, and Leticia threw a handful of dirt onto the coffin. No sooner had the clump left her gloved hand than a car pulled up, and Cissy Estes staggered out, wailing and moaning. The Woodards hurriedly pulled her away before she tripped and fell into the open grave.

  “I say, good show all round.”

  Jade turned and spied Mr. Donaldson walking up to her. A wide grin stretched across his face. Jade arched one brow and waited for the explanation to his rude comment.

  “I suppose that was in poor taste,” he said without a shred of remorse. Then, after seeing Madeline’s chastising frown, he added, “I was referring to Mrs. Estes. One is never without entertainment when she’s around.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Mr. Donaldson,” Jade said. “I got the impression that you didn’t care for Mr. Kenton.”

  “I didn’t. He cheated me out of a broodmare last month.”

  “Was that Mr. Kenton’s regular business?” asked Jade. “Cheating people?”