Today's Embrace (24 page)

She studied the thorns again. Derwent had said a crown of thorns was mockingly placed on Jesus's brow. He called Him the Savior of mankind. Just what had Jesus come to save mankind from? Derwent had said sin.
Well, there is plenty of that to go around
, Darinda thought wearily.

The sun was now behind the Matopos, and the reddish horizon shone behind a handful of rose pink clouds. A lone planet that was as yet no more than a polished silver gleam caught her eye.

It was a pleasant evening, breezy and yet quite still of sounds. She glanced down, seeing something odd from the corner of her eye. What was
that
lying there all sprawled out—

She gasped. Just off the beaten pathway was what looked very much like a body lying in the tall, swaying grasses. Were her eyes deceiving her? It could be a dead or wounded animal from the creek below.

Yes, that's what it must be. An animal.

She moved forward cautiously, aware that it could still be alive and dangerous in an injured state. She might need to put it out of its misery. She couldn't stand to see helpless animals suffer.

She drew her pistol. Her heart was beating heavily. It was unnerving to discover she'd been standing so near something sprawled in the grass. It was like discovering someone watching you when you'd thought you were alone.

Darinda approached with her pistol drawn. She could see better now. Her mouth went dry. It was a human body, a man, and he wasn't moving.

She approached, still wary, lest it be some sort of deception.

She studied the body from a safe distance and sensed the man was dead—it was Anthony Brewster.

She rushed to where he lay, hoping against reason that he could still be alive, that she could do something, when footsteps on the path caught her attention.

She turned to see Captain Ryan Retford in uniform. He was walking toward her and must have caught sight of the body near her feet. He came swiftly. He saw the pistol in her hand, looked at her, then down at Anthony Brewster.

“Don't touch anything, Miss Bley. And don't step in or disturb any scuff marks in the dust.”

He stooped beside the body, appearing to take in the scene.

“Did you hear or see anyone as you approached?”

“No.” Her voice sounded ragged. A touch of shock was gripping her.

A few moments later he stood again and faced her grimly. Captain Retford was quite handsome and very precise. He hadn't discovered that it was she who had recommended him, first as Peter's assistant in military affairs, then more recently as assistant to her grandfather. She had first noticed Ryan on a trip to Capetown to see Arcilla, and had later used her position with her grandfather to gain access to his records.

His reputation as a soldier was impeccable; his schooling was traditional at the Honorable East India Company's Military College in
Addiscombe. He had served with honor and received a brevet for courage in the fighting in the Sudan. If he had come from a family of distinction, or had wealth, she could easily interest herself in him. As it was, he was merely a career military attaché from a poor family. His father had been killed in the Sudan, and he had a mother and sister in London who were making ends meet, partly on his wages. His generosity for them showed admirable responsibility, nothing more.

She had also learned within the last month that there was a girl he was writing to, and who in turn wrote him, a girl by the name of Ann Parker.

He looked at the pistol in her hand. His eyes, she knew, were a flinty blue, his hair a sandy color. He was muscular and browned.

“It—the gun is mine. I wasn't sure it was safe to approach him.” She looked to the ground, where the hand was thrust forward. A wave of remorse for the harsh words she'd spoken earlier to Anthony washed over her.

“He was
alive
just a very short while ago, and now
suddenly
he's dead.”

The reality of the brevity of life was glaring, painfully so.

Captain Retford gave a nod. “You can put that gun away now, Miss Bley,” came his quiet voice.

She tightened her lips. Her gaze sprang to his, searching. “You don't think that I—” Under his level gaze she bit her lip and dropped her eyes first to Anthony, then to the gun in her hand.

“He didn't die from a bullet wound. And see those marks in the dirt? Looks to me like he was dragged here after he died.”

She glanced about in the last vestige of twilight. “Can you tell how he was killed?”

“Concussion, at the back of his skull.”

She didn't move. She tried to steady her breathing from coming in gasps. She envisioned someone creeping up from behind with a heavy club.

“Then … he was taken by surprise.”

“Where were you coming from just now?”

Darinda realized how suspicious it would sound—“From his bungalow.” She turned and looked back toward the circle of bungalows, pointing, though in the settling shadows they could just make out the outline of the huts.

“I have witnesses. I was with Arcilla—Mrs. Peter Bartley. Parnell Chantry was there too. I just left them about ten minutes ago.”

“They must still be there. A lamp's just been lit.”

Darinda saw the yellow light flickering wholesomely in the front windows.

“Did you hear anything as you came along the path, Miss Bley?”

“Just the sounds of evening coming on, and the wind.”

He nodded thoughtfully, glancing about. “I didn't think you would hear anything. Whoever did this has probably been gone for a while. Lord Brewster's been dead a good hour.”

“How would you know that?” Her voice was strained. She kept thinking of when she'd met Anthony—and where they had argued.

He glanced at her thoughtfully. She had the notion he was weighing her emotional stability.

“Ants,” he stated simply.

He need not have said any more. She gritted her teeth to keep from giving away her shock. Why it seemed important to her that Captain Ryan Retford thought her strong, unlike Arcilla, she couldn't say. Perhaps she dare not think why it mattered.

“Let's step away from here,” he said, and she passed before him onto the dusty path. She walked a few feet and stopped, looking off toward the bungalows. Captain Retford came up behind her.

She placed her palm against her forehead and shook her head again.

“It's so awful, isn't it, Captain? Two deaths in a week. Do you think they could be related?”

He appeared to regard her calmly. “What makes you ask that, Miss Bley?”

She shook her head, looking about for answers in the breezy darkness. “Doesn't it seem obvious?”

“Perhaps it is. Major Tom Willet, you're talking about?”

“Yes. A nice man. A gentle man. He had a family.”

“Yes. My sister is a friend of his wife.”

He seemed curious as he looked at her. Did he wonder how she knew about Major Tom Willet?

He was looking at her with the same military grimness she so often noticed on his face, a mental attitude of calm discipline that she found somehow comforting, so different from Parnell's emotional upsets. The captain seemed to be a man who could handle crises with cool resolve. In that, he reminded her of Rogan. She had liked that about Rogan. Rogan didn't need a drink for his courage. She had never seen Captain Retford with liquor, either. Even on his time off from duty he seemed to stay alert. Was it true what Arcilla said? That on his time off he'd gone to Dr. Jakob's mission?

“Who could have wanted to kill Anthony?” she wondered aloud.

“The authorities will sort through the facts on that, Miss Bley. But there were no trumpets blown at Government House in celebration of Lord Brewster's unexpected arrival.”

She turned her head sharply, but it was getting too dark to see his expression. Was he including her grandfather among those disturbed by Anthony's arrival?

“Why? Because of the talk of an expedition into the Matopos?”

“I'm inclined to think it had to do with Lobengula and the Kimberly Black Diamond.”

“Because Anthony brought a letter from Capetown to my grandfather?”

He remained dutifully silent.

“Was it a cease and desist order?” she persisted.

“I left the room before Sir Julien read the Capetown letter, and before he and Lord Brewster entered into discussion.”

Discussion. A diplomat's language. Had they argued heatedly?

“You're not suggesting that my grandfather had anything whatsoever to do with Anthony Brewster's death?” she asked tersely.

“I'd be a fool to suggest that, Miss Bley. But I do know your grandfather is determined to search for Lobengula's burial cave to find that diamond, regardless of what Capetown or London may say.”

“How would you know my grandfather's plans?” she challenged.

“He's already suggested that I lead his expedition.”

She looked at him quickly, surprised, though she could see why her grandfather would want to choose Captain Retford for the task.

“Are you going to do it?”

“I am opposed to any such effort. I believe it's unwise at this time. There's nothing I can say to Sir Julien to change his mind, but perhaps he will listen to you.”

So Captain Retford agreed with Parnell. The expedition, if her grandfather went through with it, would be dangerous. The silence between them lengthened.

“You say Parnell and Mrs. Bartley are at the bungalow?” he said in a professional tone.

“Yes,” she stated tersely. “That is, they were there when I left a short time ago.”

“Then you'd better wait there, Miss Bley. I'll need to go to Government House for help.”

She permitted him to walk her back to the lighted bungalow. He was silent and looking thoughtful.

Was there anything to what Captain Retford had said about the poor reception at Government House? She tried to think, but her mind was fuzzy.

“And you didn't see anyone in the area? Coming or going?” he asked again quietly.

She gave him a cool glance, noting how well his uniform fit, and how straight his shoulders.

“No one until
you
appeared, Captain.” If he wanted to cast doubt upon her grandfather, Captain Retford wasn't above suspicion, either! “One could ask, Captain, why you unexpectedly appeared from the shadows. Might it not be said you could have been there all along?
Having brought the body there? You could have watched me a moment from the trees, decided it was better for you to come out in the open and cast doubt upon others.”

Naturally, Darinda wasn't inclined to think Captain Ryan Retford had bashed poor Anthony, but—

“I see,” came his casual response. “Looks as if I'd better do some explaining,” he said. “I would hate to think you believe me a possible murderer.”

There followed an obvious lapse, in which she could have hastened to deny thinking so dreadful a thing about him, but she deliberately kept silent.

“So if you will, permit me to explain what I was doing here,” he said. “Sir Julien sent me to escort you back to Government House. It was getting dark, and he didn't want you out alone after Major Willet's death. I don't think he or Peter realized Mrs. Bartley was here as well.”

Her curiosity was baited. “How did Grandfather know I was here?”

“Did you tell him before you left?”

“No.”

“Then he must have seen you leave the house, or perhaps someone told him where you were headed.”

She hadn't told anyone at the house where she was going. Her grandfather would have been upset if he'd known she was coming to talk to Anthony about the diamond business. She wondered how he would take Anthony's death.

“I walked over earlier this afternoon,” he said. “I didn't see you until I rounded the corner of the trail. When I caught sight of you, I wondered why you were just standing beneath the tree. It didn't seem a conducive spot to meditate. At first I thought you might have turned your ankle, and that I would be coming to your rescue.”

She glanced at him, having noted the smile in his voice. “I've never sprained an ankle just walking trails, Captain,” she said dryly.

“Most fortunate, Miss Bley.” He smiled. “But a man can hope.”

She felt absurdly pleased and quickly put a damper on her emotions.

“The wait-a-bit tree,” she said thoughtfully. “Interesting that Anthony's body was placed there.”

Captain Retford looked quizzical. “What did you say?”

“The tree, Captain. It's called a wait-a-bit.”

He nodded politely and continued to look puzzled, as though he wondered what she was suggesting.

“Do you suppose that's why Anthony—Lord Brewster's body—was placed there? The murderer was telling us something?”

They walked on toward the bungalow. “What might that be, Miss Bley?”

“You did say the body was dragged there.”

“It appeared so. We'll set up a search unit to follow the marks in the dust. It could lead us to where the murder took place.”

“Why was the body brought here?” she asked. “To the wait-a-bit tree? Is there a message to us in the choice of the tree?”

She feared he might be amused with her imagination, but either he was too polite to show his feelings, or he thought her question worth considering. He was grave as he regarded her, then looked back into the shadows they had come from. Darinda followed his glance. The odd-looking tree stood darkly etched and sinister against the backdrop of the Matopos, still faintly silhouetted by glowing crimson in the last light.

“Meaning, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully, “that there will be more deaths to come if we just wait?”

“Precisely. I know it sounds silly, but—”

“Not silly, actually. The answer to your question depends on who killed Lord Brewster.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, Miss Bley, that we both know the African tribes set a great store by symbols.”