The Cellar by Minette Walters Page A

Inspector Jordan’s.
    Stop cowering away from her and stand up, Ebuka ordered sharply. You look ridiculous. She’ll wonder what’s wrong with you.
    Muna rose to her feet but kept her gaze on the ground.
    ‘How pretty she is. What’s her name?’
    ‘Muna.’
    The woman reached out a hand to grip the girl’s fingers in hers. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Muna.’
    She’s speaking to you, girl. Look at her.
    Muna raised her head and felt the woman’s eyes bore into her brain.
    ‘I’ve spotted you at the windows, my dear, but never outside. I thought you’d be tall like your brothers. How deceptive distance is.’
    Muna waited for Ebuka to say his daughter was brain-damaged and didn’t understand English, but he stayed silent. Perhaps he was testing Muna. Perhaps he didn’t believe her fear of strangers was genuine. What should she do? Speak? Or pull away and run back down the drive? She must speak, she thought. Ebuka could never be persuaded that Yetunde had left the house if they went back now.
    Nervously, she ran her tongue across her lips. ‘I watch you pass sometimes, lady,’ she said. ‘You live in the house next to this one, and you have three coats. A brown one, a blue one and a red one … but you like the red one the best.’
    Mrs Hughes arched her eyebrows in amusement. They were jet black and appeared to be drawn on her skin with a pen. Close to, she was old and ugly. ‘How observant you are.’
    Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Muna wondered. She wanted to remove her hand but the woman kept hold of it. There was warmth in the white fingers and their feel was unpleasant. The woman’s closeness was unpleasant.
    Mrs Hughes glanced at Ebuka. ‘She’s seems frightened of me. Is it my face? My grandchildren tell me I look like a witch.’
    Ebuka was taken aback, but whether by the talkative white or his slave’s ability to speak English, Muna didn’t know. ‘She has learning difficulties and it makes her timid,’ he answered carefully. ‘It’s why she rarely leaves the house.’
    ‘How old is she?’
    ‘Fourteen.’
    ‘She looks younger … and very different from her brothers. I wouldn’t have known she was their sister if you hadn’t told me.’ Mrs Hughes placed her other palm on Muna’s hand and rubbed it to give it some warmth. ‘Her skin’s icy-cold. Here’ – she fished in her pocket and brought out some woollen gloves – ‘have these. I’ve plenty more at home.’
    Muna turned to Ebuka. What should I do, Master? If I take these things, she will come to the house looking for them … and Princess will be angry.
    She’s giving them as a gift. Smile and say thank you.
    I’m frightened of her, Master. She sees all and knows all. She will ask more questions if we linger.
    Do as I say and we can go.
    Muna pushed up the corners of her mouth. ‘Thank you, lady. Your gloves are pleasing to me … and so are you.’
    Perhaps all whites could read other people’s minds for Muna felt sure Mrs Hughes knew she was lying. ‘I should have said sooner how sorry I am about your brother, my dear. It must have been a terrible shock for you.’
    ‘Yes, lady.’
    ‘But at least your father’s getting better. You’re obviously caring for him very well.’
    ‘I make him do his exercises each day, lady.’
    The woman pressed the gloves into Muna’s hands and then glanced again at Ebuka. ‘Will she manage the chair when you cross the roads? She’s such a tiny little thing.’
    ‘We’re not going far.’
    Mrs Hughes gave a troubled nod before saying her goodbyes and continued along the pavement.
    Ebuka pointed in the same direction, indicating that they should follow her.
    But Muna turned his chair the other way. No, Master, she said firmly. It’s better to avoid Mrs Hughes. She knows I’m too thin to be the sister of Olubayo and Abiola. Princess would have fed me sugared almonds if I was truly her daughter.

Eleven
    The world beyond the house was as threatening as Yetunde had