The Cellar by Minette Walters

Master. You know now that you should carry it at all times. We’ll be safer when she learns to fear you.
    But Ebuka knew the only fear was in him. Yetunde’s assault had frightened him badly, and he recognised that Muna had a greater understanding of her rages than he had. She wouldn’t be preparing him to fight Yetunde otherwise.
    He kept his thoughts to himself. Muna was sadly misguided if she thought he’d developed enough fondness for her to put her welfare before his own. In the choice between placating his bully of a wife with sugared almonds and credit cards, or taking the side of a powerless slave, he would placate Yetunde.
    As he always had.
    The cold December rain hurt Muna’s cheeks and hands, and her feet slithered on the gravel as she tried to push the chair across it. It was hard work, even with Ebuka assisting her by turning the wheels, but she refused to listen to his pleas to sit in the summer house.
    Princess will see us from her window, Master. She’ll come after us and you’ll have to threaten her with the rod sooner than you’d like.
    Muna knew he would accept this argument for she had no illusions about him. He had been afraid of Yetunde’s temper when he’d had the use of his legs. Now, hunched in misery at what had happened, he had even less desire to confront her. He kept rubbing the bruises on his arms and Muna was certain he was telling himself he couldn’t go through such punishment again.
    He seemed to read her thoughts. I’m not afraid of her, he said.
    I think you are, Master, or you wouldn’t have worked so hard to pull yourself into this chair.
    At least I’ve proved I have the strength to do it.
    Yes, Master. Princess will be surprised to find us gone when she comes down the stairs. It will worry her, I think.
    Why?
    She will know you’re stronger and more courageous than she realised, Master. She said she didn’t want you to go out but you’ve disobeyed her.
    It was your idea, Muna.
    No, Master. It was yours. The outside frightens me. Princess wouldn’t have lost her temper if you hadn’t ordered me to come.
    What are you afraid of?
    Everything, Master. My skin has never felt the rain or the cold. I like it better inside.
    Have you never been out?
    Never, Master. Princess says I’ll die if I do. The whites have only hatred for piccaninnies. They’ll kill me if I leave the house and become lost.
    She’s lying.
    I don’t think so, Master. They look unfriendly when I see them passing in the road or on the television.
    She stopped his chair in front of the gate, took the rod and handsets from his lap and placed them in the lee of the wall. He asked her why she was doing it.
    People will wonder why you’re carrying them, Master. The rod is a fearsome weapon.
    At least let me keep the mobile.
    Muna crouched down to scoop leaf mould over the pile. Princess wouldn’t like that, Master. She keeps her secrets in it.
    All the more reason for me to look.
    It won’t make you happy, Master. It upset Princess to find pictures of white ladies in yours.
    Perhaps Ebuka would have said more if a woman’s shrill voice hadn’t spoken from the other side of the gate. The sound was so unexpected – and so unwanted – that Muna shrank against the wall to avoid being seen.
    ‘How nice to see you, Mr Songoli. Your wife led me to think you were too poorly to leave your bed but you look remarkably well. I must have misunderstood her.’
    ‘I make a little progress each day, Mrs Hughes. This is the first time I’ve left the house since I came home.’
    ‘Are you alone? Can I help you?’ Muna heard the latch lift. ‘At least let me ease you on to the pavement. My father always said gravel was the worst surface to cross.’
    Ebuka gestured towards Muna. ‘My daughter’s with me.’
    Muna peeped from beneath the anorak hood to see a witchy-looking white with long grey hair, broken veins in her cheeks and a hooked nose. Her fear intensified. The woman’s eyes were as knowing as