Death in a Teacup Read online

  The dead man obliged, lengthening his pace. As we approached the forest, I eyed the branches which would surely knock me off if I didn’t display some dexterity and quick reflexes. Steeling myself, I grimaced as an image of Simon entered my mind. What would he say if he ever knew his pregnant wife was clutching onto the back of a dead elephant while chasing a zombie through the cemetery at night?

  “Yet another thing to add to the Never-Tell-Simon list,” I said as I crouched on the elephant’s thick neck and raised one arm. I mentally counted down before releasing my grip and raising the other arm just in time to grab hold of a branch.

  Splinters and rough bark jabbed and scraped against my palms. Gritting my teeth, I hung there as the elephant trampled through the underbrush, snorting and trumpeting. My shoulders ached as I swung my legs upward and wrapped them around the branch. To my dismay, my nightgown slipped down to my stomach. Sloth-like, I inched my way to the tree trunk, grateful no one was up and about to witness my undignified posture.

  After a bit of heaving, huffing and scrambling, I was seated in reasonable safety in the crook of several branches. Before descending, I listened. Silence. I sniffed the air, my overly sensitive olfactory nerves quivering at the scent of night flowers and decay. Narrowing my eyes, I scanned the forest around me for any energy fields. Nothing larger than a hedgehog sprung into view.

  Mr. Turner and the dead elephant were gone.

  Chapter Eight

  ONE MIGHT SUPPOSE that riding a dead elephant into a graveyard of twitching corpses at night would have occupied my full attention. And it did until the next morning when my cousin Lilly announced some startling news.

  “We’re invited for dinner at Mother’s,” she said, pushing past me into the kitchen with not so much as a good morning or anything resembling a civilized greeting. Her small mouth was pursed, and she wrinkled her button nose as she made her declaration.

  “Do come in,” I said and resumed my position by the stove, waiting for the kettle to boil.

  “Did you not hear me?” Lilly demanded as she sat at the kitchen table, settled her baby daughter on her lap and tossed her head back. Dark curls, perfectly coiffed, bounced around her petite face as her sky-blue eyes glittered. My niece, Grace, grinned at me, drool hanging off her toothless gums. “My mother, your aunt, expects us all to be present this evening. It’s a disaster. Grace, do stop gnawing on the salt shaker.”

  Grace continued to smack her gums against the small glass object, oblivious to her mother’s instructions and the salt pouring down her chin. The deplorable state of Nairobi’s few shops and the inconsistency of the supply train were such that I risked being drooled on in order to rescue my salt. There was no point in wasting precious resources for the sake of a teething baby. Grace responded by showing me her descending fangs.

  “And why is it such a disaster?” I asked, wondering if I should tell my cousin about the dead returning to some semblance of life.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Lilly asked, frowning at her negligence. “She came by yesterday and began to lecture me about Grace’s education. Education! The child’s only three months old, and already Mother is speaking to me about which boarding school would be best.”

  “Oh,” I said, wondering if I could bring myself to send my child away to school. “Aren’t there tutors here? Does she have to go?”

  “Yes, there are, and of course she doesn’t,” Lilly snapped as she handed Grace a small piece of wood on which to gnaw. “And that’s what I told Mother, but she insisted. So I returned Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management to her.”

  “You didn’t?” I gasped, all thoughts of reanimated dead people vanishing.

  “I did,” Lilly said, lifting her chin defiantly. “And I won’t accept it or her advice again.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  My aunt and Lilly’s mother, Mrs. Steward, ranked Mrs. Beeton in the same category as the saints. In her estimation, Mrs. Beeton’s book was second only to the Bible in importance—and even then it was a close call. She had presented the book to Lilly before her wedding with all the pomp and circumstance such an esteemed book deserved.

  “And she still invited us for dinner?” I asked, pouring hot water into my mother’s metal teapot. Tea leaves bobbed to the surface, their fragrance drifting up with the steam.

  “Well, not exactly,” Lilly said, glancing at the back of Grace’s head. “She invited you, Tiberius, Grace and Dr. Ribeiro. I’m only allowed to attend because of Grace. She’ll get over her ire soon enough.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, hoping I sounded confident on the matter.

  Fortunately, Lilly didn’t bother to enquire after my health. I had yet to reveal to anyone the existence of my unborn offspring. Nor, on further reflection, did I wish to disclose my visit to the cemetery. After a cup of tea and further reassurances that all would be well, Lilly departed. A few moments later, Death strolled into the kitchen.

  “When shall we visit Anansi?” he asked as he sat across from me.

  “Goodness, have proper manners abandoned the world?” I asked, setting my cup down with a sharp clink. “It’s bad enough we’ve witnessed the end of the circle of life and death. A good morning wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Staring blankly at me, he asked, “Is it a good morning?”

  “Well, that’s a point,” I muttered and resumed drinking my tea, without which the day would be even more intolerable than it already promised to be. “As for Anansi, I have no wish to visit that spider anytime soon. You’ll have to think of another means to reach the Sky.”

  Frowning, Death picked at a few grains of salt scattered across the table. “There is no other way.”

  “There’s always another way,” I said and stood. When he made no indication of removing himself from my cottage, I added, “Can you not occupy yourself in a productive fashion? Since you are officially my gardener, go ask Jonas if he needs help. And think of some other plan to get back your throne, one that doesn’t involve gigantic spiders and me.”

  The day passed relatively pleasantly after that; even the customers at the shop were better behaved, perhaps to compensate for the lack of manners of my guests. I thought no more about the morning’s conversations until that evening when I put Shelby into her pouch and strolled out into the garden to await Tiberius and Lilly.

  While the rainy season was coming to an end, there was still enough nighttime gales to ensure the grass remained green, the wildflowers continued to blossom and streams gushed with water. As the Hardinge Estate wasn't fenced, the herbivores considered the property theirs.

  A herd of small antelope grazed nearby, their large eyes watching me, the flicking of their ears and short tails the only indication they considered me a possible threat. A few zebra strolled farther afield, unconcerned by my presence. The elephants still had not returned, or perhaps they understood enough to stay far away from the human hunters’ domain.

  “What a pity,” I sighed, wondering how the dead matriarch was doing, and what had become of her baby.

  A wagon rolled toward me, the two large, wooden wheels rumbling over stones and grass. When I observed who was sitting beside Jonas on the driver’s bench, I demanded, “What is he doing here?”

  “You said I should be productive,” Death replied, shrugging.

  Jonas merely snorted, his face wrinkled up like an old apple. I couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or amused.

  “And where is our ox?” I asked, staring at the creature pulling the wagon. “What is that?”

  “It’s a baby rainbow serpent,” Death replied. “Its parents, Damballa and Aiya Weddo, are occupied with clearing the sky of rain, so I offered to look after it.”

  “You’re babysitting a snake,” I said, staring at the creature as I tugged my leather trench coat closed.

  “Serpent,” Death corrected me.

  The serpent flicked its forked tongue at me. Longer than an ox and almost as tall as one, the baby beast reminded me of an oriental dragon more than a s
nake. Its iridescent scales glowed with all the colors one might expect in a rainbow, and a few more besides.

  “We can’t go to my aunt’s house with this,” I spluttered, gesturing at the serpent. “Everyone will see it.”

  Just then, Tiberius and Lilly exited the Hardinge mansion and strolled toward us. “What a charming creature,” Lilly said, patting her curls in place as she eyed the serpent. It stuck out its tongue, unimpressed with the compliment which, for all we knew, might be considered a grave insult amongst rainbow serpents. When Grace stretched her pudgy arms out to pet it, it hissed at her and displayed two long fangs. Tiberius tightened his grip on his daughter.

  “Me, I don’t like it,” Jonas grumbled.

  “Neither do I,” I said.

  Lilly smiled. “It’s perfect.”

  “What if your mother sees it?” I asked.

  The smile widened. “Exactly,” Lilly said.

  “We’re being very unproductive,” Death warned and shook his head. The golden shells on his braids tinkled in agreement.

  Tiberius tilted his head toward the wagon. His dark brown eyes, fringed with thick lashes, focused on me. His teeth glowed in contrast to his light brown skin. Pushing a lock of dark brown hair off his forehead, he asked, “Beatrice, would you care to do the introductions?”

  “Not really,” I said, ignoring my brother’s attempt at upholding manners.

  “I am Le-Eyo,” Death announced, chin raised as he peered down at us.

  “Him, he’s God of Death,” Jonas added.

  “Charming,” Lilly said, her smile widening. “I do hope you and your baby rainbow creature have the opportunity to meet my mother.”

  Tiberius bestowed a warning glance at my cousin, one that passed unheeded. Death merely snorted and said, “Let’s go. The humans won’t notice the serpent. They never do.”

  With that, we climbed into the wagon. Tiberius opted to sit up front with Death, and the two began to converse. My thoughts turned, as they were wont to do, toward my child. This in turn inspired in me an urgent need to use an outhouse once again.

  “I don’t know how you managed, Lilly,” I spoke into the silence without thinking. “I am in constant need of the facilities, and to make matters worse, Jonas refuses to remove the chamber pots in the morning.”

  Glancing at me with upraised eyebrows, Lilly tossed her curls behind her shoulder and brushed invisible dust off her fashionable skirt. “What a strange subject about which to be conversing, Beatrice. Why ever would you mention it?”

  Grateful that the dim dusk light hid the blush in my cheeks, I hastened to provide an excuse. “Oh, it’s nothing. My thoughts are unhinged due to a lack of communication from Simon, that’s all.”

  It was a probable excuse for many women and caused Lilly to cluck in sympathy; my blush deepened.

  After a pause, Lilly must have reflected with whom she was speaking, for she continued her interrogation. “Beatrice, I’ve never heard you despondent with regard to Simon’s inconsistent communications. There must be something else. After all, Jonas has refused to assist with emptying chamber pots since the day we arrived, and it never disturbed you previously.”

  I could feel the heat on my face radiating outward; it was a wonder no one else noticed the warmth of my exposed skin. Before I could stumble through yet another excuse, Lilly gasped and pressed herself close to my side. With a leap of intuition that astounded me, she whispered, “Are you…?”

  My stunned silence encouraged her to grasp my hands where they rested over the source of my current issue. “You are, aren’t you? That would explain your bouts of nausea and—”

  “Hush,” I urged, although her voice had remained at a soft whisper. The men, sitting on the front bench, couldn’t have heard her over the rattle of the wheels and the creak of the wood. “Say nothing of this. Promise me.”

  “Of course,” she said and squealed. “How marvelous. We shall raise our children together and share all the secrets that mothers have.” She pulled back, her features more serious. “Now I understand why you were so unwell, and of course the inconvenience of the other matter. Are you better? Have you visited Dr. Ribeiro?”

  Squirming under her gaze, I admitted I had not. “I’d prefer not to draw attention to my circumstance until Simon returns, Besides, it’s still the early stages,” I explained but Lilly wasn’t at all impressed.

  “Nonsense,” she said and frowned at me, an obstinate set to her mouth. “We are going tomorrow, first thing. While Dr. Ribeiro’s specialty appears to be contagious diseases and cows, he is our only doctor and not a bad one. After all, he assisted in Grace’s delivery, and that was a success.”

  “If by success, you mean no one died, then yes, I suppose so,” I said, not convinced I was ready to submit myself to the prodding and poking of the one-man medical establishment, such as it was in Nairobi.

  “It’s settled then,” Lilly said as she reached under the bench, removed a blanket and settled it across our laps, taking particular care to cover me up to my waist.

  “Goodness, Lilly,” I said, huffing at her attention. “I’m a pregnant woman, not an invalid.”

  “And sometimes there’s not much difference between the two,” she said.

  Chapter Nine

  THE MOMENT I saw the book propped up beside the centerpiece on the coffee table, I knew we were in trouble. The presence of Death outside the house and a young monkey in my leather pouch were sufficient guarantee for a bit of chaos. On top of that, the positioning of Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management in such a prominent location indicated that dinner would be something to endure and hopefully survive, rather than enjoy.

  Ignoring her wayward daughter, Mrs. Steward greeted Tiberius and myself with particular attention and warmth. Dr. Ribeiro was already in the sitting area with Mr. Steward.

  “Oh, Miss Knight, it is being so good to see you,” Dr. Ribeiro said as he waggled his head from side to side as only Indians could.

  His presence provided me a welcome distraction from the tension between my aunt and my cousin. The Goan doctor was dressed in a three-piece suit and tie, as was his custom. His homburg hat made of light-brown felt and boasting a stiff, curled brim rested on the coffee table. His smile was visible through his dark goatee, and his brown eyes widened as he stood to greet me.

  “It’s always a delight,” I assured him.

  “And we will be paying a visit to you shortly,” Lilly added, ignoring my alarmed expression.

  “Why would you need to pay him a visit?” Mrs. Steward demanded, her curiosity overriding her determination not to engage with Lilly.

  “It’s a small ailment, nothing more,” I hastened to say before Lilly could reveal my condition.

  Frowning at me, Lilly opened her mouth but closed it when I shook my head once and narrowed my eyes.

  “Then it’s of no consequence,” my aunt said, her double chin jiggling as she flounced across the room and collapsed onto a plush chair, her lacy dress billowing about her. Tugging out her lavender-scented handkerchief, she patted her cheeks and brow. “My life is replete with ailments, Beatrice, and of such a magnitude as to baffle the mind. You don’t see me rushing off to the doctor for each of them. Why, I’d be at his office every day if I carried on so.”

  Lilly rolled her eyes as she took a seat beside me. Tiberius strolled outside to light a cigarette. Mr. Steward followed him on the pretense of accompanying his guest but I suspected my uncle was grateful for an excuse to secure a moment of peace.

  “Oh, Mrs. Steward,” Dr. Ribeiro said with another head waggle. “If you are experiencing illness, please do be coming to visit me.”

  “You are kind, Doctor,” she replied and sniffed into her handkerchief. “But alas, my afflictions cannot be eased with any medicine or treatment. I tried, truly I have tried to provide my family the full bounty of my knowledge and wisdom. And it is to no avail.”

  Sensing he was seated before a monumental disorder that surpassed his skill and expert
ise, Dr. Ribeiro turned to me and lifted his hands as he shrugged.

  “Mother, you do exaggerate,” Lilly huffed as she settled Grace on her lap. “All I said was I don’t believe mangoes are bad for you.”

  Flinging up her arms, Mrs. Steward wailed, “You see what torment I must endure, Doctor? It’s agonizing.”

  Dr. Ribeiro scratched at his beard. “Mangoes, madam?”

  A motion caught my attention. The door between the dining room and kitchen was ajar; Jonas and Death were chatting with Mrs. Steward’s cook.

  “Yes, Doctor,” Mrs. Steward said as she snatched up Mrs. Beeton’s book and flipped through the well-worn pages. “Here it is. Mangoes are liked only, and I quote, ‘by those who have not a prejudice against turpentine.’ Can it be any plainer?”

  “Well,” Dr. Ribeiro said. “I am being most amazed by this.”

  “Exactly,” Mrs. Steward said as she slapped the book onto her lap.

  Dr. Ribeiro leaned across his armrest toward me and asked, “What is being the connection between mangoes and turpentine?”

  Before I could reassure him there was none, Mrs. Steward continued her lecture. “My daughter claims an indifference to the sage advice of Mrs. Beeton. Yet this fine book teaches us how to fold napkins, terminate a servant’s employment, erase freckles, create a menu, apply leeches, make hot buttered toast, and restore to life someone struck by lightning.”

  “Truly outstanding, madam,” Dr. Ribeiro said, breathless with the breadth and depth of Mrs. Beeton’s extensive knowledge. He gripped his hands over one knee and gazed at the book with wide eyes.

  Mrs. Steward wasn’t finished on the subject. “And let’s not even mention the tomato.”

  “Tomato?” Dr. Ribeiro repeated, his brown skin paling slightly at the vehemence in her tone.

  “Yes, Doctor, the tomato! Again, to quote: ‘The whole plant has a disagreeable odor, and its juice, subjected to the action of the fire, emits a vapor so powerful as to cause vertigo and vomiting.’ Astonishing statements such as these should never be disregarded.”