Murder On A Summer's Day Part 24

'Pretty little speech you gave there, Mrs Shackleton, even though you were not called. Perhaps the coroner did not realise your importance, the importance of a private detective.' The idea amused him greatly.

'Mr Presthope, you told me that you borrowed two hundred pounds from the maharajah.'

'No, Mrs Shackleton. I told you that he gave me that amount as a gift.'

'He entrusted you with a great deal more.'

I was giving him an opportunity to be truthful, to return the money. Even a disreputable rogue deserves a chance to be honest.

Presthope smiled with reptilian charm. 'I noticed your dissatisfaction at the inquest, but please do not take out your failure on me. I can guess how you came up with your story, that I have somehow taken advantage of my friend. It must have come from the farmer's daughter, our charming Miss Metcalfe. I thought better of you than that you would believe such lies.'

He lurched towards me, wagging his finger, and then drew back as he saw Mr Chana emerge from behind an enormous rhododendron bush and saunter by.

'Lies? Well that is all right then. I thought perhaps you had murdered the prince for his money.'

His arms dropped by his side. 'What? You think I killed Narayan?'

'Did you?'

'Why would I? He was my friend.'

'But you were not his friend.'

'Women don't know the meaning of friendship. Friendship sometimes means holding back the truth. My alibi is watertight, which if you were anything of a detective you would have verified. You don't know, do you? You haven't heard what they're saying in the village.'

'I have a feeling you're going to tell me.'

'Since you suspect me, then yes, I will. The word is that halfwit son of Isaac's killed him.'

'Joel, but why would he?

'Everyone knows he doted on the white doe. It was his pet. He's fed and nursed the creature since it was a kid. Joel killed Narayan because he shot the d.a.m.n doe. Why do you think Isaac had a stroke? Because he knew, he knew that his son is a murderer. It wouldn't look good, would it? Not for his lordship, not for me, not for the village, not for any of us.' His mouth tightened as he stood an inch away from me, intimidating, breathing fumes on my head as if he would like to set my hair alight. 'It's Joel Withers who will be strung up if you cry murder. How humiliating would that be? A royal prince murdered at the heart of Empire by a village fool. If you make accusations against me, I shall tell what everyone knows.'

I did not let him see the effect his words had on me. What he said made a terrible kind of sense. It explained Joel's fear and dread, his nightmares. It explained his father's distress. It explained why everyone insisted on the explanation 'tragic accident'. No doubt poor Joel would be dealt with quietly. He would be locked away in some asylum and forgotten.

I took a step back, but only so that I could look Presthope in the eyes. He would not know how deeply shaken I felt. 'Then do that, Mr Presthope. Accuse a poor young man whose father was so distressed by the death of a prince that he will never recover. Do that, Mr Presthope. Heap more coals on your own head.'

I continued to the church and went to sit inside, trying to regain some composure.

I do not know how long I sat there, but when the church bells rang I nearly jumped out of my skin. Then I realised that the chimes were to call us back to the inquest. A verdict had been reached.

Twenty-Five.

We took our places in the hall.

The jury filed in.

This time, James sat beside me. Perhaps he feared I might once more intervene.

The widowed Maharani Indira was not in her seat. It was occupied by the d.u.c.h.ess of Devonshire. I could imagine the d.u.c.h.ess saying kindly that Indira should be with her mother-in-law. Her ladyship would attend for her, and report the verdict to the women.

The coroner turned to the mild-mannered clergyman.

'Gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?'

'We have, sir,' the clergyman replied softly.

'What is your verdict?'

'Accidental death.'

I glanced at Narayan's father. Maharajah Shivram Halkwaer closed his eyes and lowered his head. Prince Jaya turned to his father as if to protest.

The maharajah paid him no heed.

The coroner asked the clergyman jury foreman, 'Is your verdict unanimous?'

'It is. We extend our deepest sympathies to the family.'

For the first time, the coroner fidgeted, twisting his pen. He thanked the jury for their verdict and spoke words of regret and condolence for a life cut short. He put down his pen. 'I am issuing a special certificate to permit cremation of the body of Maharajah Narayan Halkwaer in accordance with Hindu funeral rites. Because the laws of this country do not allow for cremation out of doors, His Grace the Duke of Devonshire has given permission for a temporary structure to be erected at an appropriate location on the estate.'

We stood until the coroner had left, followed by the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess, the maharajah and Prince Jaya.

Presthope stood to leave. Mr Chana walked up to him, as did Constable Brocksup who touched his arm and put his lips close to Presthope's ear. The three men climbed the stairs to the gallery. Presthope turned and gave me a look of poisonous hatred.

'You tried to warn him,' James said.

'I thought he should have the opportunity to tell the truth.'

'That was kind of you, but probably ill-advised.'

James and I watched as the three men went through a door on the right.

When the hall had emptied of all but me and James, we sat side by side and lit cigarettes.

'It was a whitewash, James.'

'I knew you would think that.'

'The nicely constructed story about the horse that baulked, about the body being undiscovered, it's tosh. Narayan did not die in that spot. He was taken there.'

'So you keep saying. There is no evidence to point in that direction.'

'Not if no one wants to find the evidence.'

'It is better this way.'

'Yes. I see that. Better for all concerned that there be no suspicion of foul play.'

'Thinking like that will do no good. The family have accepted the verdict.'

'No, the brother has not accepted it. Did you look at him when the verdict was announced? And Indira...'

He gave me a sharp look. 'What about her?'

I decided against confiding in him. 'Well, she wasn't here, was she? Because any fool would know this verdict was decided in advance.'

'The maharajah has accepted it. That is what matters. Prince Jaya will follow his father's lead.'

'And what happens now?'

He scratched at his neck under the stiff collar. 'The maharajahs of Kapurthala, Rajpipla, Naw.a.n.ger and Kalathal, and the family from Baroda, are all either in London or on their way to London and have expressed an intention to come and pay their respects.'

'So they will be coming for the funeral?'

'We are discouraging them, but cannot easily forbid it outright. On the other hand, not having them here may make it appear that we are arranging a hole-in-the-corner funeral, not showing due respect and regard for the late prince's position. Given how long it takes for their entourages to move, having the cremation tomorrow may make it difficult for them.'

'There is some other reason, something else you are not telling me.'

James went to fetch an ashtray from a side table. He set it on a chair between us.

'What is it? Why are you being secretive?'

'All right, but it's unlikely to mean anything to you. Kalathal is in dispute with Gattiawan about mineral rights. It would be politically inexpedient to give various people an opportunity to congregate.' He tapped ash from his cigarette. 'But if they are to congregate, what better place than here, under the nose of his lordship, Colonial Secretary?'

Why did I keep coming back to that sighting of the Indian seen, or not seen, on Bark Lane by the coal merchant?

A sudden commotion by the door distracted us. The young footman was trying to stop a man from rushing into the hall.

I recognised the stationmaster. He ran up to James. 'I have a message for his lordship. That dolt tried to keep me waiting.'

'What is it?'

'I tried to telephone, sir. No one answers.'

'Spit it out, man.'

'I have taken a call from Kings Cross. Five maharajahs have between them chartered three trains. They are on their way now, coming for the funeral.'

James is hardly ever perturbed. He blinked. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He blinked again.

'Are you sure? This could be some foul practical joke.'

'I am sure, sir. Telegrams are due any moment.'

James dismissed him with a gesture. 'Then make ready.' When the stationmaster had gone, James said, more to himself than to me. 'Where on earth will we put five maharajahs and their entourages, and how will we keep them apart?'

'If they have combined to charter trains, they are already acting as one.'

Some power struggle from the distant sub-continent was snaking its way towards the heart of Yorkshire.

Twenty-Six.

I walked up the hill towards Westy Bank Wood. The afternoon was still, with barely a breeze. Clouds, sometimes so busy racing across the sky, now looked as though they had been painted on a blue backdrop for a school play.

Smoke rose from the chimney at Stanks's farm, curling into the air.

I entered the wood and walked the path towards the spot where the bait crow had waited for death or release. Some of the trampled ferns had bounced back. Others lay broken and flat. The trees nearest to Prince Narayan's resting place were birch, oak and ash. I looked carefully at each tree. It was on the ash that I found the bullet hole. So that part of the inquest findings was true. A bullet, supposedly matching the one from the prince's gun, had been removed from where it ricocheted into the tree. Being no firearms expert, I had no way of knowing whether this bullet came from the prince's gun and, if so, whether it first entered his heart.

Through the trees, the sun shone fitfully, but well enough for me to use my watch as a rough compa.s.s. I removed my wrist watch, held it with 12 o'clock at the left and moved my arm so the hour hand it was 2 p.m. pointed at the sun. By my watch turned compa.s.s, I calculated how Narayan had lain. His head was north, his feet pointed south.

His eyes had been closed and his arms had lain by his side. For someone who took a tumble from a horse, he landed surprisingly neatly, and in accordance with tradition for the Hindu dead.

I re-fastened my watch.

'What are you thinking, Mrs Shackleton?'

The voice startled me. I turned to see the maharajah's younger brother, Jaya, followed by two young servants dressed in white. The prince had changed from his dark suit and now wore Indian dress, black trousers with a satin sheen, a rich dark plum jacket and a small hat. He was handsome, and knew it. I thought of Mrs Metcalfe's comments about the maharajah. Here was another man who would break hearts without trying.

'Good afternoon, your highness.'

'Good afternoon. This is where my brother was found, I believe.'

'Yes.'

'Where was he, exactly?'

I showed him.

He bowed his head and murmured a few phrases in a language soft and flowing.

'How did he really die?'