Murder On A Summer's Day Part 23

The doctor stood. For a moment he hesitated, his walking stick having fallen to the floor. I thought he was considering whether he should take the few short steps without it. He picked it up and tapped his way forward, notebook in hand. He confirmed his name, and said, 'I found a lacerated wound on the chest which extended upwards to the back. This proved to be the track of a bullet.'

'What would be the effect of that injury?' the coroner asked.

'It would cause instantaneous death.'

'Thank you, doctor. Is it possible to estimate the time of death?'

'It is not possible to be precise, but I would say death occurred something under twenty-four hours prior to the body being discovered.'

'You say the track of the bullet extended upwards.'

'Yes, sir.'

'If the horse, which we have heard described as a spirited creature, was startled and bolted or baulked, and the prince was holding his gun, with an eye for a shot, could that account for the positioning of the bullet?'

There was the slightest hesitation, as when someone is offered a single choice and would prefer another. 'Yes, sir, it would.'

Thanking and dismissing the doctor, the coroner shuffled out a page from his notes. 'I have here a report from Mr Daniel Robson, gunsmith of Skipton. Is that gentleman present?'

He was, having slipped in late and unnoticed. A long-faced man, shoes polished to high gleam, he gave a slight bow in the direction of the Duke of Devonshire and the maharajah as he stepped forward.

Like the other witnesses, the gunsmith took the bible in his hand.

'Mr Robson, will you tell this court what you have told me?'

The gunsmith explained how he had matched the bullet to the weapon carried by the maharajah.

When the man resumed his place, the coroner turned to the jury. 'Gentlemen of the jury, do you have any questions?'

Small huddles and whispers followed as the jurors talked amongst themselves.

The jury foreman, a clergyman, spoke as if from the pulpit. 'Is Joel Withers here, to give his account of finding the maharajah?'

'Sadly, no. His father, who had accompanied the maharajah on Friday, suffered a stroke. Joel Withers is by his father's side.'

In the lull that followed, I raised my hand, like some schoolgirl asking to leave the room. The coroner looked past me.

I sc.r.a.ped my chair as I stood.

'Mrs Shackleton.' The coroner spoke my name like a teacher taking the cla.s.s register, but at least he knew it.

'Yes.'

By way of explanation, he announced to the room, 'Mrs Shackleton, niece of Lady Rodpen, daughter of the Lady Virginia, is staying at the hotel.' He was delaying the moment when I would speak. 'You wish to say something?'

'When Joel Withers made his hue and cry in Westy Bank Wood, I was there, riding with Isaac Withers, Joel's father, around the paths taken by the maharajah the day before. I sent the Withers father and son to alert the constable.'

Why were these words coming from my mouth? I wanted to cry murder. I wanted to say that evidence had been ignored, destroyed, fabricated.

The coroner studied me over spectacles now perched just above his nostrils. 'Is there anything you would like to add?'

Because I was not speaking from the front of the room, the people on the row in front turned to look at me: the duke, the maharajah, his son, the widow, and James. Only Mr Chana did not turn his head.

I noticed that Indira had a permanent wave in her hair. I saw the sadness in her eyes, and I could not speak.

The coroner said, 'Mrs Shackleton.'

I heard myself say, 'He looked very peaceful.'

Then I sat down, despising myself.

At first, I could barely hear what the coroner said as he brought this part of the inquest to a close. A choice of verdicts... horse baulked... gun went off... accidental... or open verdict... if you harbour doubts.

Surely they must harbour doubts.

I could have made sure they did, but I had failed.

Twenty-Four.

Another moment and I would have hotfooted it back to the hotel and said goodbye to Bolton Abbey for good. Sometimes a person just has to acknowledge that she has been well and truly defeated.

I was halfway across the lawn when Mr Chana caught up with me.

'Mrs Shackleton.' He spoke in a deep, cultured voice. 'Her highness the Maharani Indira invites you to view her husband's body.'

I stared at him.

Anyone else might have spoken again, added a word of explanation. He did not.

My image of Prince Narayan was of him lying near a holly bush, covered in branches, dead crows nearby. Would I like to see him once more, to have a different picture? It would never blot out my first sight of him. But this was an invitation. To refuse would be churlish.

'I accept.'

He gave a small bow. 'Please come with me. I am Mohinder Singh Chana.'

The main hall had cleared of people. We walked beyond the chairs, to a ground floor corridor. I wondered whether the 6th Duke of Devonshire had ever regretted handing the task of extending this house to his head gardener. The corridors were a veritable rabbit warren, taking us around a corner, through a pa.s.sage, up a step, around another corner, and another onto a landing dark enough to grow mushrooms.

'May I ask you a question, Mrs Shackleton?'

'Yes.'

'You mentioned in your report a receipt for ten thousand pounds, signed by a certain gentleman.'

'I did.'

'Is that receipt secure?'

'Yes, but the gentleman in question does not know that. He may think it turned to ashes in the grate.'

'Thank you.'

I caught the sound of retreating footsteps and glimpsed a man in traditional Indian dress disappearing around a corner.

At a closed door a robed Indian stood sentry.

'The men have left the room free. Excuse me if you know this, but you must not touch the body.' He nodded to the sentry who opened the door.

We stepped inside.

The shutters were closed, the room dim. The air was filled with the scent of jasmine, carnations and roses. Oil burned in lamps around the huge fireplace. An oddly shaped alcove gave the room the appearance of too many walls. But what drew my eye was the figure of Narayan. He lay on the floor, richly embroidered purple and pomegranate silks spread under him. All but his face was completely covered in flowers, roses, marigolds, pinks and carnations. In the subdued room the blooms provided a splash of life and colour that belied the scene of death. His arms were by his sides, also covered in blossoms. The body was angled so that the head lay in the direction of the alcove.

There were many colourful cushions on the floor, studded with jewels and tiny mirrors. The widowed maharani sat on the floor, a small boy beside her.

Close up, Indira was more beautiful than I had thought when I first saw her. Her husband must have been mad to take up with Lydia.

Unsure of what to do, I gave something that approached a curtsey and expressed my condolences.

She waved at a cushion near to her.

I sat down.

'Women do not usually come to see the body. It is thought too emotional, you see. My mother-in-law keeps to her room.' She spoke to her son. 'See, Rajendra, how peaceful your father looks.'

Now that my eyes were accustomed to the gloom, I saw that Narayan lay on a stretcher, eyes closed, arms straight by his sides. Both man and stretcher were so covered with flowers that I had thought he had been laid on the floor.

She motioned to Mr Chana who stood in the doorway. He came across, took the child by the hand and left the room.

'At the inquest, you said my husband looked peaceful when you saw him in the wood.'

'Yes.'

'Yes you agree you said that, or yes, he did?'

'He did.' I searched for the word. 'He looked regal.'

'Not like someone who had been thrown from a horse.'

'I can't say.'

'No. I suppose not.'

'It is a lovely custom, to cover the body with flowers.'

'You will notice that his feet point to the south. This is the direction his soul will travel, the direction of the dead.'

'Yes I see.' Something I could not quite grasp niggled at me. Had this been part of a dream? I had a feeling I should know something, but what?

'Did she look on his body?'

I knew very well whom she meant but did not answer straight away. Did Indira know about Lydia? Of course she must. Narayan had built a palace for Lydia near his own. Lydia had claimed that Indira tried to have her poisoned.

'I'm sorry, I'm not sure what...'

'Not sure whether his wh.o.r.e saw him, or not sure you should tell me?'

'She did not see him.'

'Good.' We sat in silence for a moment. 'I am his only wife. We were betrothed when I was seven years old. I gave him a son and two daughters.'

Sometimes the choice is between saying nothing and saying something stupid and ba.n.a.l. 'It will be hard.'

Hard? Yes. Not as hard as for the poor young widow left carrying Osbert Hannon's baby. Or perhaps a different kind of hard.

She said it again. 'I am his only wife.'

Perhaps, although she looked so calm, grief had unbalanced her. I did not answer her.

'Tell me that statement is true.' The urgency in her voice made me turn and look at her directly. She saw my confusion. 'He was planning to marry her. He asked our astrologer to cast her horoscope and forecast a propitious day. Has he married her, his wh.o.r.e, disregarding the day, without telling me, in some private ceremony?'

'No.'

'I like to think he would not have done it, not married a prost.i.tute.'

We sat a while longer.

'Is there anything I can do, your highness?'

'Thank you, no. You may go.'

As I left the room, Prince Jaya, who had escorted Indira into the inquest was waiting outside. He gave a sad smile. 'Thank you for your words at the inquest. I am the man who has lost the best of brothers.'

He went into the room, and I felt glad for Indira that she had her family to lean on.

But what test had she put me through, I wondered, as Mr Chana escorted me back through winding corridors. And did I pa.s.s?

'Are you staying for the verdict?' It was Presthope, standing nonchalantly on the lawn in front of the house, smoking. 'Foregone conclusion, I'd say.'

I did not answer him but walked away, towards the Priory Church. I would sit there and have a few moments of peace and quiet.

He followed me. As he came closer, I realised he had been drinking. He thought it was all over.