Barbara Cleverly (23 page)

’ She hesitated for a moment then said suspiciously, ‘It is in the interests of detection, I hope? Purely a professional enquiry? Not been getting too close to Lois, have you? You begin to worry me, young man! Sniffing, all too literally, around your female suspects! Are you an expert in scents? A

what do the French call it

a nose?’

‘Just one of my surprising skills,’ said Joe, smiling. He sniffed the air, stagily. ‘And you, Lizzie? Now let me see

Mmm! Got it! Eau de formaldehyde! Very alluring!’

Too late he realized that his flippant remark had not amused Lizzie. She looked away and busied herself arranging the glasses on the tray but he caught a sudden expression of sadness and distance in the lively brown eyes. He decided to move to safer ground.

‘Tell me, Lizzie, what brought you to India?’

‘Elopement,’ she said at once, and sat back to enjoy his surprise.

‘Ah. Elopement. Now, are you going to enlarge on that or are you going to leave me squirming with embarrassment and framing my next question which will undoubtedly be about something of undeniable tediousness like the weather?’

‘I ran away from a rather dour Scottish home in the company of a young man who loved me. He was taking up a post in India and I came with him. We were intending to marry - I suppose that makes it an elopement.’

Joe nodded. ‘And what became of your young man, Lizzie?’ he asked quietly, unable to dodge the question, though fearful of the reply.

‘Henry had been offered a position of assistant surgeon in Bombay - a very lowly position, not at all what my father had in mind for me. When we landed there was an outbreak of the cholera and what would Henry do but roll up his sleeves and pitch in? And what would I do but help him? He died. I survived,’ she said bleakly. ‘I was actually then quite glad firstly of my father’s forgiveness and secondly for his influence in getting me a position here in the royal household. Though I was not unaware that by this gesture he effectively ensured that his disgraced daughter would stay on the other side of the world for some years, if not for ever. My stipend is generous and I’ve managed to save enough to ensure I have a comfortable return. I shall buy a little tile-hung lodge in the Home Counties, grow wisteria over the door and breed spaniels.’

‘Lizzie! I forbid you to do any of those things!’

‘Well, perhaps I may concede on the wisteria-hung, dog-infested cottage but the return home at least is not something I’m prepared to give way on. My job here, as you’ve noticed, is just about completed. I don’t want to be discovered in a few years’ time mopping and mowing in my dotage in some remote cubicle of the palace warren! And - tell me - what choices does a thirty-four-year-old spinster have in post-war Britain?’

Joe was prepared to give this question his best attention and they discussed for a while the depressingly narrow range of occupations open to a clever, unmarried woman. Under the warming influence of Lizzie’s large brown eyes and the no less large measures of her whisky, Joe was on the point of suggesting that she marry him and allow him to make her the happiest of women but on running the phrase through his mind again he thought he might not have got that quite right.

Before he could commit himself the door opened and Bahadur came back into the room ostentatiously consulting, Joe noticed, another impressive wristwatch. He was shadowed by Jaswant who was carrying a linen bag at his side. Half an hour had passed quickly in Lizzie’s company and, alarmingly, Joe calculated that, allowing for study or - heaven forbid! - capture, a family of dangerous snakes must be at large within a ten-minute walk of the Old Palace. He looked again at the bag Jaswant carried. He saw something stir in the depths.

Bahadur looked rather put out to find his nanny and his British bodyguard side by side on the sofa sharing a convivial whisky and said with some asperity that if Miss Macarthur could spare the Commander he was ready to take him to a further appointment. Another glance at the watch underlined his eagerness to be off.

‘I have a feeling,’ Joe muttered in Lizzie’s ear, ‘that someone’s playing Pass the Parcel with me!

‘Keeping you on the move, at any rate. Perhaps there is a thought that a rolling policeman gathers no information? Where are you taking him now, Bahadur?’

‘We are working in accordance with the Commander’s expressed wishes,’ said Bahadur loftily.

Joe wondered whether the ‘we’ was the royal we or referred to some company of which Bahadur now considered himself a part.

He took his leave of Lizzie and set off to follow a pace or two behind the heir to the throne, thinking that couldn’t be wrong. After a few yards Bahadur waited for him to draw level and continued at his side.

‘You will miss the heat and the beauty when you go away to school in England, I think,’ said Joe conversationally.

‘I shall not be going away to school,’ said Bahadur. ‘I have decided to stay here in Ranipur where I am needed. I can have tutors sent out to me to continue my education and I have no desire to learn to play cricket.’

Joe smiled to himself. This young Rajput promised to be a challenging ward for Claude.

‘I understand you would like to speak to my uncle, Zalim Singh?’

Joe agreed.

‘Well, he is anxious to see you and to conduct you to the zenana. An honour, sir. My uncle is the only person who has the authority to admit you and he only does this because an audience has been requested by First Her Highness. You will not forget what I told you about Their Highnesses?’

This last was not so much a question as a command. Again, Joe agreed.

‘Their grief and anger will have redoubled on hearing that I have been named Yuvaraj. I myself will not accompany you to the women’s quarters. It is full of their servants and who knows with what orders they may have been issued?’

They seemed to be working their way into the deep centre of the Old Palace and it was some minutes before they arrived in front of a pair of highly decorated doors flanked by two Royal Guards who promptly stepped forward and barred their way. Bahadur spoke up sharply and Joe caught his own name in the exchange. Moving with synchronized efficiency, the guards opened the doors and one of them stepped inside and announced him. Joe looked around for Bahadur but, disconcertingly, the boy had quietly slipped away.

‘Sandilands! Do come in!’ a welcoming voice boomed out and Joe stepped into the room that he guessed to be the command centre of the state of Ranipur. Indian rooms in Joe’s experience were sparsely furnished: often merely carpets and cushions were added, perhaps with the thought that nothing else was required to compete with the lavish decorations to walls and ceiling, perhaps in the knowledge that anything more substantial risked attack by armies of ants or some sort of tropical fruiting body. Joe had heard both explanations. This room was an exception. Although it had the customary hangings, a silk carpet held down at its four corners by carved lumps of precious stone and many breathtakingly lovely Rajput paintings, the largest part of the floor area was occupied by desks, tables, bookcases and racks of ledgers: all the accoutrements of an office in Whitehall were here. Clerks were busy. No fewer than three were tapping away at typewriters, the very latest American models. In pride of place was another up-to-the-minute piece of equipment - a Bell telephone, its black and gold splendour holding its own against the Eastern glamour of its surroundings. Electricity had been installed even in this far corner of the palace. The air was stirred gently above them by electric fans and the working areas were lit by pools of shaded light supplied by Liberty lamps.

Poised and welcoming and obviously at the helm stood Zalim Singh, radiating efficiency in the centre of the busy scene.

‘Come in and take a seat, Sandilands! You discover me in full flow. Even on this sad day - no, I would say particularly on this sad day - there is work to be done. The funeral itself has thrown up a good deal of organizational matters which demand our immediate attention. I expect it is much the same with state funerals in London?’

‘Exactly, sir. And, I hope, having interrupted you, I will not long divert your attention from more urgent matters,’ Joe replied.

‘Oh, what could be more urgent than a murder investigation?’ Zalim said, a smile just failing to sweeten his blunt remark. ‘For I gather that this is what you are conducting under our noses, as you might say. But let me be frank and to the point, Sandilands.’ He waved a hand at one of the clerks. ‘I am even now dictating a report on the death of Prithvi Singh for the British authorities in Simla. As a matter of courtesy, you understand, for we are dealing with a purely internal, domestic matter. I will tell you now, Sandilands, as a trusted envoy of Sir George… would that be a fair description of your role?

that there is no mystery here. My report will state that the first two sons of Udai Singh have both died as a result of misadventure. There is nothing one could consider as sinister or worthy of further investigation in either death.’

‘As you say, sir,’ said Joe. ‘And if, when you have completed your report, you would like me to carry it back to Sir George in Simla I can guarantee its safe arrival,’ he added blandly. ‘Along with that of Mr Vyvyan.’

Zalim inclined his head, acknowledging the thrust. ‘Thank you. I shall be pleased to do that. Now, may I offer you a cup of tea?’

The door had opened to admit a servant carrying a silver tea tray and Zalim indicated that they should sit on divans at a low table to continue the discussion. He dismissed the three clerks and Joe found himself seated, alone, face to face with the real power in Ranipur.

The two men regarded each other over the rims of their Meissen teacups for a moment then Zalim burst out laughing and put his cup unsteadily down. ‘Shall we stop circling round each other like a pair of over-cautious wrestlers?’ he suggested. ‘Look here - unofficially I’m prepared to admit there are inconsistencies in the details of the deaths of the first and second sons but I’m certain Sir George would encourage us all to focus on the point we have arrived at and not let our eyes linger on the water that has passed under the bridge. And we have reached a position which I think is acceptable, even welcome, to the British as well as to the state of Ranipur. Do you agree?’

‘I do,’ said Joe. ‘But tell me, sir, are you content with the arrangements for your own future? Would you not have preferred to operate as regent within the state?’

Zalim looked as though he had anticipated the question. ‘A regency lasts for a few years only and, knowing Bahadur as I do, I can tell you, Sandilands, that it will not be long before he has dispensed with the services of his regents. We are being open with each other now - I speak to you as I would speak to Sir George.’ He gave a slight bow as though conferring honorary governorship on Joe. ‘The appointments were, as you have guessed, of a cosmetic nature. Her Highness Shubhada is thereby guaranteed the consequence she desires and the British Government through its agent, Vyvyan, feels itself included in the future affairs of the state and remains our ally.’

‘But we know that the ship of state goes sailing on under the same steady hand?’ suggested Joe and Zalim’s broad smile encouraged him to add, ‘But, tell me, sir, was there ever a moment when you have thought that perhaps the helmsman deserved to be captain?’

Joe held his breath. He knew he had gone too far. Zalim affected to look puzzled for a moment then his expression cleared and he replied calmly, ‘We Rajputs have little occasion to use maritime metaphors, Sandilands. Perhaps I can answer your impertinent query with an ancient saying of ours? “The Rajput’s kingdom is the back of his steed.” My ambitions are - have always been - circumscribed. I seek no further than my own saddle. I am more

able

than my brother in some respects and these skills I gladly deploy for him and the state. Allegiance to the head of state is the first of all the Rajput’s virtues. My head and my sword are always at his command and now, of course, at the command of the Yuvaraj. Fidelity is the source of honour in this life and of happiness in the hereafter.’

He paused and for a moment appeared to be surprised by his own frankness. ‘I learned long ago that ambition is a corrosive thing and our religion teaches us that worldly wealth and consequence avail us nothing in the end. Udai approaches his end fast now and let me tell you what will happen when the moment of death arrives. He will be lifted, as he dies, from his bed and placed on a heap of straw on the floor. He will take his last breath as he took his first - in simplicity, taking nothing from the world as he brought nothing in.’

‘And the horoscopes - the prophecies - will have been fulfilled?’

‘Yes indeed. They are always cast at the birth of a child and never prove wrong. My brother was correctly identified as a future ruler although a most unlikely candidate for the gaddi and, as predicted, he will be succeeded by his third son. Events are not in our own hands, Sandilands, and we try to no avail to twist the arm of Fate. But there are some

’ he paused and sighed, ‘who find themselves unwilling to accept the unrolling of Fortune’s carpet and I fear that I must ask you to submit to an audience with the mother of Bishan, First Her Highness. She has asked to see you and she is not accustomed to being denied. I will take you to the zenana myself. You understand our custom of purdah? The women’s quarters are guarded and no man but the prince and I may be admitted.’

He rose and summoned the clerks with a clap of his hands, issued further orders and set off with Joe.

After five minutes of striding along a pace behind Zalim, Joe was fancying himself Theseus but without the life-saving thread. And what dark presence awaited him at his destination? The endless corridors, the rustling of unseen people concealing themselves behind doors and in alcoves as they progressed were disconcerting and disorienting. He reminded himself that he was heading for an encounter, not with a fearsome man-eating monster but with an elderly princess with little knowledge of the outside world, a mother whose only son had died less than two months before and who was clutching at straws in her unwillingness to accept the hand dealt her by Fate. He sighed. Perhaps the monster was to be preferred.