Jade laughed. “Let me get my Winchester and canteen.” She stopped and turned to Avery. “I never thanked you and Bev for your letters of introduction and you for just bringing Bev out here. I missed her and,” she added quickly before she hurt his feelings, “you, too.”
Avery smiled and bowed in a courtly manner. “ ’Twas no trouble at all, fair damsel. Bev and I missed you, too. But I’m offended that you’re not taking your new Mannlicher.”
“I haven’t even practiced with it yet,” she replied. “You wouldn’t want me to miss an antelope because the sights were off, would you? I’ll target shoot later. Pili has charge of it now.”
Pili saw her emerge from her tent with her Winchester and insisted on accompanying her. He had exchanged his white robe for a shorter tunic that revealed khaki shorts, long green socks, and a pair of scuffed, clunky, thick-soled shoes. Jade wondered if the attire had been provided by Lord Colridge since neither Harry nor Roger had known he was coming. Besides, her safari outfitter, Newland, Tarlton, and Company, usually supplied their porters with long blue jerseys similar to those worn by police askaris, only sporting the letters N and T sewn in red.
That was when it hit her. None of the porters wore anything remotely resembling that uniform. She examined them more closely. They all dressed in a ragtag manner with assorted cast-off great coats, torn vests, frayed shorts, red blankets, holey cricket stockings, or no stockings. “Well, I’ll be horn-swoggled,” she muttered. “He not only took over heading the safari, he took over the entire job.”
“Beg pardon?” asked Avery.
“Harry took over the entire safari. Look.” She pointed to a cluster of Wakamba porters. “Newland, Tarlton, and Company make their people wear blue jerseys.”
They walked on towards the boma gate. “Is this a problem?” Avery asked.
Jade shook her head. “I hope not. I mean, Hascombe and Forster know what they’re doing. Maybe even more so than some people sitting in an office in Nairobi. But it is my safari, and I feel I should have been consulted first.” She expressed as much to Harry Hascombe at the boma gate, where he waited with Ruta.
“Harry, I’m sure you’re a first-rate rancher and hunter, but you’d make a lousy business partner. I’d appreciate it in future if you’d clear any new plans with me before taking over anything else. You fired my safari company and took over on your own.”
He stepped back and grimaced. “You prefer to see the men all dandied up like a field of blue flowers?”
“You can all go about in pink tutus if you like. What I prefer is to be consulted first. I have to explain all the expenses to my publisher, and if he expected to see pictures of neat, tidy porters, he’s going to wonder why he has pictures of refugees instead.” She stepped forward. “It will look as if I’m skimming money off the top. You could cost me any future work.”
Harry retreated back another step and coughed once. “I’m sorry, Jade. I’ll admit that possibility never occurred to me. Look, Roger needs money. The bugger is more desperate than he lets on, and I knew I could pay him more by handling the safari myself.” He started to approach her, thought better of it, and remained where he stood, next to the silent Ruta. “Forgive me, but those asses in Nairobi waste too much money on French wines and crystal goblets.” He looked her over and smiled. “You didn’t strike me as the frivolous type, Jade. I assumed you’d rather the money be spent on the best game hunter in the protectorate.”
“And that would be yourself, of course.”
He touched his hat brim and bowed slightly. “Always at your service, miss. In any way I can be of service.” At the sight of her continued scowl, he added, “I’ll chop my fee in half.”
“Keep your fee, Harry,” Jade said. “Just don’t try to pull anything else behind my back.”
Avery shifted his smaller-caliber Jeffery rifle in his hand. “If we are all through here,” he said, “might we go hunt? My wife fancies an antelope for supper.”
Jade laughed. “Beverly and I ate enough horse meat with the French army that we should probably pick out a nice, fat zebra instead. Sauté it in a little Bordeaux, and we’ll feel right at home after traveling all day in the flivver.”
“Your wife and Jade appear to be remarkable women,” Harry said.
Avery shook his head slowly and rolled his eyes. “You do not know the half of it.”
Jade glanced around for the tracker. “Where’s Memba Sasa?”
Now Harry rolled his eyes heavenward. “It seems he feels he is only here for the important hunts, whatever that means. Won’t do anything as mundane as look for food. But don’t fret your pretty head. Ruta and I can find game.”
The six of them set out on a southeasterly angle towards the river, Hascombe in the lead followed closely by his gun bearer, Ruta. Jade came next with Pili, and Avery brought up the rear with his bearer. They pushed on steadily in the open grass and avoided the stands of thorny shrubs. In the distance, a small herd of giraffes browsed on the taller acacia trees, and a few white egrets pecked around in the dust by their hooves. A large stork flew out of an acacia and turned towards the river, his long wings flapping languidly.
Ruta pointed into the grassland, and Harry nodded. Jade and Avery both knew enough about hunting to keep quiet and concentrated on detecting whatever the tall Maasai indicated. Jade spotted a small cluster of white birds that shimmered up out of late-afternoon shadows and resettled into the grass. Egrets. They followed herds and fed on the insects stirred up by the hooves. As yet, she didn’t see the herd, but Harry and Ruta turned to a more easterly direction towards the spot where the birds had landed. That was where the herd would be.
Jade followed silently and kept scanning the grass to their sides for the telltale, softly rounded triangular ears that signaled a lion. Almost in answer to her unspoken thoughts, Harry stopped and pointed left. At first, she didn’t see anything. Then the grass twitched. Jade froze.
A lioness raised her head about fifty yards away and yawned. The cat rose with a dancer’s grace, stretched, and trotted off into the distant scrub. Jade heard a faint pounding and realized it was her heartbeat. And that, she thought, was just over seeing a lone female. She grinned at Avery. He silently mouthed back, “Simba Jike,” and pointed at her. Impulsively, Jade touched her wrist tattoo.
The cooler air from Kilimanjaro sank beneath the hot air of the plains and put a slight breeze against their backs. Not good. More of a chance of alarming the herd. They advanced more cautiously and skirted to the south to avoid directly carrying their scent to the prey.
Before long, a small herd of two dozen or so Grant’s gazelles came into view. About the size of a white-tailed deer, the dun-colored antelope blended into the golden grasses. Only the occasional flash of their white rumps gave them away. She noticed their horns, which stretched over two feet with a graceful lyre shape on the males and only half as long on the females.
Ruta and Harry stopped about two hundred yards from the herd and crouched in the grass. Avery and Jade did the same. Ruta handed Harry his smaller-gauge rifle and pointed to a particularly large male at the far eastern edge of the herd. Harry shook his head, chose a smaller one, then pointed out two other males to Jade and Avery. Then he mouthed, “On three.”
He waited until each of them had settled into their kneeling stance, shouldered their rifles, and nodded their readiness before whispering his count. On three, each of the rifles boomed, and the herd scattered. All, that was, except for the three targets. They leaped into the air, only to collapse immediately onto the rusty earth.
“Good shooting,” said Harry as they rose. “There’s meat enough for the porters as well as ourselves for a couple of days.” He fired twice in the air, waited a count of three, and fired again. “I’ve signaled the camp. The Wakamba will come with poles to haul the game back. No need to stay unless you want to.”
“Shouldn’t one of us remain here?” suggested Avery. “Or there likely won’t be anything left to carry back.” He nodded i
n the direction of the lioness.
“Ruta will stay. He’s killed one lion with only his spear. I daresay he’d enjoy killing another even if it’s only with my other rifle.”
Ruta grinned.
Back at camp, Jade went into the center tent with one four-gallon debe of water and a bar of soap and washed. When she set the near-empty can on the oxcart, two porters laughed.
“You do not drink away all the water like msabu with yellow hair,” said one man. “She used three full debes.”
Uh-oh, thought Jade. Beverly was in danger of acquiring an unattractive Swahili name such as Big Bath or worse if she didn’t intervene. “Msabu Yellow Hair needs more water to clean her yellow hair than my darker hair,” she explained. The men nodded and laughed again. She decided to visit with these men. Maybe they knew something about laibons that could be useful when she returned to Nairobi.
They spoke willingly about the area wildlife, especially the predators, but when she asked them whether or not witches used these animals, they became mute. “One does not talk of witches, Msabu Simba Jike,” the spokesman declared with a nervous glance. She tried to coax more from them and asked if laibons ever attacked white men, but they remained silent. She thanked them for their information and left in search of her friends.
The other porters and Ruta returned with the gazelles. Soon a delicious aroma wafted over the camp as the cook prepared thick steaks and a fragrant-smelling rice dish for them and distributed cornmeal, called posho, and chunks of antelope to each of the men so they could cook their own meals. Beverly and Madeline sat in wooden camp chairs on the shady side of the Dunburys’ tent, and Jade joined them.
“There you are,” said Beverly. She sipped from a glass of lemonade. “We’d begun to think you’d run off.”
“It might interest you to know, Bev, that you are Msabu Yellow Hair,” said Jade as she settled into a third chair and examined her fingernails. She felt a mild sense of relief, knowing half of her quest was over, and she longed to relax with her friends for a while.
“Really?” Beverly patted her blond curls. “I should have guessed.”
Jade flicked a piece of red dirt from under one nail and watched it fly. “Don’t be too proud. I gave it to you. It was that or become known as Mrs. Hippo Wallowing in the Water.”
Madeline’s laugh escaped as a sort of yip. Beverly shot her a nasty look.
“First impressions, dearie,” finished Jade.
“Ooooooh!” muttered Beverly. “Well, I don’t apologize for my bath. I had enough of filth in the unit, carbolic acid flea belts and all.”
Jade nodded. “Didn’t we all. But remember, the men have to refill those water barrels from the river, and that’s dangerous work.”
Beverly looked down at her booted feet and pouted. “You’re right, of course. I won’t do it again. I can be just as frugal as you two. More so.”
“Well, I think I’m going to shock Neville and cut my hair,” said Madeline. “It takes too much time to put it up and detangle it. Besides,” she added with a giggle, “I want to be a bit of a trendsetter myself. Will you help me?”
Jade pulled her pocketknife from her trousers. She stood behind Madeline, removed the hairpins, and held a hefty strand of wavy brown hair in her hand. “Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with this?” she asked. “Neville won’t divorce you or anything?” On Madeline’s repeated assurance, and with Beverly’s advice as to styling, Jade sliced away the hair and tossed it into a heap at Maddy’s feet.
“I believe this calls for one of your famous piss-sonnets, Jade,” suggested Beverly.
Jade studied the situation for a moment. “All right. Try this. There once was a lady named Madeline, whose head with tangles was rattlin’. She said, ‘I don’t care,’ and sliced off her hair, but her husband still gave her a paddlin’.”
Madeline reached back to pinch Jade. “Whoa, partner,” Jade cautioned. “Never attack the woman with a knife in her hands.” Another block of hair fell away. “Done!”
Madeline shook her head. “I swear, my head feels pounds lighter. How do I look?” she demanded. Avery appeared at that point, puffing away on his pipe.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I seem to have intruded on a feminine sacrificial rite.” He stopped and stared. “But I demand to be introduced to this charming young girl with you.”
Madeline blushed and protested, but the brightness of her eyes spoke of how genuinely pleased she was with the compliment. Beverly beamed appreciation of her husband’s gallantry, and Avery informed them that dinner was being served alfresco, if they cared to join him.
Their cook had worked a miracle and produced a culinary feast out of his cooking debes guaranteed to please the palate of the most jaded city dweller. The meat was tender, flavorful, and cooked to a turn. Rice seasoned with cumin, cardamom, garlic, onions, and fresh ginger complemented the meat without overpowering it. A side dish of grated green mangos and cucumbers seasoned with salt, pepper, and lemon rounded out the meal. Only one other delight was needed to complete Jade’s gastronomic pleasure, and Harry supplied it with a large mug full of steaming black coffee.
A blanket of star-studded blackness soon covered the camp. Roger put more wood on the fire, and everyone adjourned “to the drawing room,” as Avery put it. Conversation around the fire turned to the hunt that had produced the night’s main course.
“Your bearer pointed out a magnificent buck, Hascombe,” said Avery. “But you chose another instead. May I inquire why?”
Harry drained his mug, refilled it, and passed the pot around the ring. “That older buck would have been a lot tougher and not big enough for a trophy, and he was too much in his prime to take him out of the herd.” He stretched his long legs in front of him. “If you want a good set of horns, I’m sure Memba Sasa will find one for you. He ought to consider that an important hunt.”
“Is he your usual tracker?” asked Jade.
“Not mine, Roger’s.”
Roger Forster bolted up in his chair. “Yes, right. He’s one of the few Maasai living on my ranch. Quite good. It’s as if he thinks like the animals. About the only native,” he added with a scowl, “that was ever worth knowing.”
No one said a word, and Jade remembered Roger’s rude comment on the day she’d arrived at the hotel. Whether he’d been hard put-upon or not, she found it difficult to be sympathetic to or even tolerate this man. The thought that he was David’s half brother disgusted her, but while she was sorry that David’s brother hadn’t turned out to be a man worthy of her deceased beau, she could no longer deny Roger’s legitimate—or illegitimate, as the case may have been—claim to Gil’s inheritance. The cuff links proved that. Well, she thought with a sigh, no time like the present.
“Mr. Forster, about that subject we discussed earlier.”
Roger’s eyes glowed in the firelight. “You mean my inheritance?” He glanced at the others and smiled. “It seems I’m Gil Worthy’s son.” Roger waited while the others gasped and expressed their delight. “Might as well have witnesses,” he added to Jade.
“As you wish.” Jade rose from her chair, and the gentlemen politely stood with her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to fetch something from my bag.”
Beverly started to follow, but Avery held her wrist gently and shook his head. When Jade returned, she carried the small box and the packet. As concisely as possible, she explained David’s last request, the ring, and her trip to the London solicitor. She omitted only her visit with David’s mother.
Roger sat silently, hands folded in front of him, and stared at the dirt so no one could see his face. “My father abandoned Mother and me,” he said finally.
“No! He was extremely ill with malaria when he went home. He returned near the start of the war to find you, but he died before he could.” Jade leaned forward and spoke in a big sister’s firm but gentle tone. “He never forgot you. He even left instructions for his son, his other son, to find you. David would have, too, but f
or the war. Finding you was his final request.”
“I’m a bastard after all,” Roger said as though the thought amused him.
“But a lucky bastard,” said Harry. “Most bastards never know their fathers or are better off not knowing them. Yours apparently was decent enough to leave you a legacy of some sort.” He shook the younger man by the shoulder. Harry’s beaming face showed his genuine happiness at his companion’s good fortune.
“Ah yes, my legacy,” said Roger, the gleam back in his eyes.
Jade passed the box to Roger and waited breathlessly while he opened it. For a moment, he simply sat and stared at the ring as though mesmerized by the fire’s reflection as it danced in and out of the stone. His eyes seemed to flicker themselves and harden. Then he pulled the ring from the box and slid it onto a slender finger of his right hand. It slipped, and he refit it to the slightly thicker middle finger. “A ring?” he exclaimed.
“It looks like the one you have, Jade,” said Harry. Roger looked sharply up at her.
“A matched set,” she replied and handed over the packet. She wondered if Harry would notice that Roger’s was missing that additional line, Bev’s tear, as she termed it.
Roger took the packet and tore it open along one end. He extracted two sheets of paper covered in a close, masculine hand, and read silently. Jade shifted in her chair with restless curiosity. She hoped her closeness with David and her job as bearer of the news would endow her with the privilege of hearing its secrets. Once Roger looked up and into the fire with something akin to hate and loathing on his face, but he never spoke. Finally, he folded the papers carefully, replaced them in the envelope, and silently set it beside him.
Harry possessed less tact than the others and finally inquired with a blunt, “Well, man? What the hell did it say?”
“What? Oh, it’s rather personal. My mother and all . . . You understand.” He slapped his palms on his legs and sat up straighter. “But he does speak of a box in London for me.”
“Yes, the solicitor has it,” said Jade. “You’ll have to go to London to claim it.”
Mark of the Lion Page 24
