Free The Cellar by Minette Walters Page B

Master. I don’t know how.
    He gave a groan of despair. Then what are we to do? Her mood will not have improved when she comes down again. Who will help us then?
    What a weak and cowardly person he was, Muna thought. No one had helped her when Yetunde’s rages had been ungovernable. Muna had taken a thousand more kicks and never once complained or begged for help.
    I will bring the hoist to you, Master, and we will do what we practise each day. You must forget the pain Princess has caused you and find the strength to pull yourself into your chair. After that we will go outside as you planned. She will be calmer in an hour.
    Ebuka showed more resolve once Muna wheeled the hoist into the hall, lowered the bar and helped him roll on to his back. He even managed to push himself into a sitting position when she told him she could hear Yetunde stamping around the bedroom. Fear persuaded him Muna was telling the truth, and with a massive heave he lifted himself far enough from the ground for Muna to slide the chair under his bottom.
    He became helpless again when he was safely seated, like a little boy who’d done what was asked of him and refused to cooperate further. Muna dressed him in a waterproof jacket, brought a blanket for his legs and pushed him through the front door, tilting the chair backwards to ease it over the step on to the gravel drive. His weight was almost too much for her but necessity gave her strength. As each minute passed, she expected to hear Yetunde cry out.
    You must stay here while I put on Abiola’s boots and coat, Master. I will close this door so that Princess won’t see you if she comes downstairs.
    He looked alarmed. What if she attacks you?
    She’ll never catch me, Master. She’s too fat. I will run as fast as I can if I see her on the stairs.
    Muna listened outside the cellar door for several seconds before she pulled back the bolt and switched on the light. Princess lay on her back at the bottom of the steps, face bloodied and arms flung out. She was very dead. With a tiny sigh of relief, Muna plunged the cellar into darkness again and closed the door. Her sharp eyes picked out a tiny splatter of blood on the carpet at her feet, and she darted to the kitchen for a cloth. With great care she blotted the stain and searched for more. There were none. Yetunde had bled on the other side of the door but not on this.
    Before she returned the cloth to the sink, she wiped the hammer clean, took Yetunde’s Louis Vuitton handbag from the coffee table in the sitting room, checked it contained her wallet, make-up and mobile, then retrieved Yetunde’s favourite Givenchy mackintosh from the cloakroom. With no time to select a better hiding place, she lifted the half-filled rubbish liner from the bin in the kitchen and placed everything she’d taken in the bottom, rearranging the liner on top.
    Back in the hall, she pulled on Abiola’s anorak and boots, put the front-door keys in her pocket and took a moment to calm her excitement and think. What else must she take to convince the Master that Yetunde had left the house while they were out? It was necessary for him to believe that or he would look for Yetunde inside, and Muna didn’t want that. Her life had been better since Abiola disappeared. It would be better still if Yetunde did the same.
    Ebuka frowned when Muna came out again. Why have you taken so long? What have you been doing?
    Muna showed him Yetunde’s mobile which she’d recovered from the bin, also the receiver from the landline in the sitting room. Collecting these, Master. It wouldn’t be wise to let Princess call the police.
    Why would she when she’s at fault?
    To make trouble for you, Master. She will say you struck her first and the white will believe her. The police already know you have a bad temper.
    Ebuka gave a weary sigh, knowing Muna was right. What’s this for? he asked as she laid the rod on his lap beside the handsets.
    Protection against Princess for when we return,