Murder On A Summer's Day Part 25

I stopped myself from saying that I did not know.

'A tragic accident.'

'I am not sure I believe that. Do you?'

'I can think of no other explanation.'

'One wonders why a man who had successfully stalked a deer and had it carried off chose to ride on, still carrying his gun, as if about to shoot again, although any deer would have run a mile at the sound of hooves.'

Why had I not thought of that? Others must have. I said nothing.

'Is the coroner's verdict final?'

'The coroner is impartial. I have not heard of challenges.'

I felt uneasy, but how could I side with this total stranger who, for all I knew, was merely testing me?

He shrugged. 'My father accepts the verdict. He is more apt to believe that the British play by the rules of cricket. He is so full of grief that he has no energy to make a fuss, as he would put it.'

'Do you wish to make a fuss, sir?'

'That is not my place. But I want justice for my brother, if justice is called for.' He turned away and spoke again in his own gentle tongue.

The smallest barefoot servant stepped forward, carrying flowers. Jaya took the flowers from him and spread them on the ground.

The second servant stepped forward, bearing two dishes, which Jaya took from him and placed at the foot of a tree. Yet a third servant appeared and produced jugs.

Jaya poured, saying, 'Milk and water. So my brother's soul does not go hungry. The priest will do this tomorrow but perhaps Narayan's soul will be in a hurry. For justice, he must wait a little longer.'

He dismissed the servants with the slightest of gestures. 'Tell me what you know, Mrs Shackleton. It will go no further.'

I recognised that line. It is one I use myself. 'I know nothing, your highness.'

'It will be worth your while. Chana tells me you have saved my family from being fleeced by my step-brother's so-called friend.'

'I am glad to have been of help. And I am sorry for your loss. There is nothing more I can say.'

'You can't say, or you won't say?'

Here was a young man confident in his own authority, used to having answers on demand. It was not up to me to tell half tales to a stranger.

'Excuse my intrusion into the ceremony for your brother.'

He gave the slightest acknowledgement.

I turned and walked away.

So Jaya, too, suspected foul play. And the Halkwaers' fellow maharajahs were on their way; to pay last respects, or to seek political advantage, or both.

I changed my mind about leaving Bolton Abbey that very afternoon. This story was not yet over. I felt sick with myself for watching the inquest twisted to suit an anodyne verdict. But perhaps I had got the wrong end of the story. Maybe it was true, and I was mistaken. What if the body had lain undiscovered? It is ridiculous to expect everyone to search as meticulously as they ought, or to behave rationally in the face of death. Joel was not the kind of person to do something logical. If he had seen a body, and it frightened him, perhaps he had tried to cover it with branches. He might have feared the crows would pluck out the prince's eyes.

It was not rational that Joel should abandon his house and sleep in a barn near a dead doe, unless what Presthope said of him was true.

On leaving the wood, I walked along the track to Stanks's farm. I would take one more look at the barn, and at the doe. Perhaps Joel had gone back there.

When I saw that the doe was no longer hanging from the rafters, a mad picture came into my mind of Joel lowering the animal and taking it for burial in a special place. A more likely explanation was that it had been carried to Bolton Hall, to be served as venison pie.

In the dimly lit barn, I breathed in the scent of hay and damp. Walking towards where Joel had lain sleeping, I looked around. A hoe, a scythe and a bicycle wheel had been left by the wall. There was a battered milk churn and some old machinery.

Perhaps it was because the light was so dim but the smells struck me as more vivid than before. Sykes had been right. Where Joel had lain, on the straw, there was another scent unless my nose deceived me. It was faint, yet heady, like jasmine.

This was where Narayan was shot. He had come to look at the doe, and so had Joel. Joel had picked up the gun and shot the man who slaughtered his pet. He hid the body in the straw, where no one would think to look. They would be searching for a rider who had been thrown from his mount. When attention was diverted elsewhere, Joel carried Narayan's body the few short yards back to the wood, where he had been told to shoot crows. He covered it with branches, and then heard the horses as Isaac and I rode along the track. Small wonder he had been startled and cried out.

Isaac knew. He knew what his son had done, and it was too much for the old man to bear.

I removed my gloves, picked up some straw and sniffed. Now it smelled only of straw. In the gloom it would be easy to miss some sc.r.a.p of fabric, a dark hair. Would there be any point in trying to drag the constable here? Not unless I was prepared to accuse Joel. The sooner I found him myself, the better it would be. At least I might know what to do.

A footstep made me turn. I expected to be accused of trespa.s.s and quickly tried to think of some explanation for my being here.

He loomed large, dressed in black. For a brief moment I did not place him, but just knew that here was no farmhand. The voice, oily, insinuating, threatening, struck me like a blow. Thurston Presthope.

In the confined s.p.a.ce, he appeared huge as he bore down on me. 'I haven't thanked you. I haven't thanked you for ruining my life.' He drew closer, slowly, taking his time, blocking my way. 'What was it to you that I saw a way out of my money troubles? You went running to the aide-de-camp. Because he's good-looking? Now the Halkwaers intend to call in the debt. His lordship insists on it. I told them you would deny the story. And you will.'

'No. It's too late for that.'

'Mustn't let the side down. All to be done so nice and quietly, the shredding of my reputation.' He came closer. 'Tell them you are mistaken about that piece of paper. Give it to me.'

'Get out of here.'

'Leave the scene of the crime? Where our village fool revenged his white doe? I saw you on the hill, Mrs Busybody. There's a price for poking your nose into what doesn't concern you.'

'They'll come after you. I saw you being led upstairs.'

'They do not have that precious sc.r.a.p of paper.'

He grabbed the satchel from my shoulder, tipped its contents into the trough of hay. It was my moment to get out but I was not quick enough. He grabbed me by the arm, then the shoulder and flung me backwards. I struggled, trying to get up but he kicked me, then bent and picked up my brandy flask. 'Like a tipple, eh?'

He twisted my arm, forcing me to my knees as he rifled through the papers, flinging my hairbrush aside, a penknife, a flashlight. 'Proper little detective. Where is it?'

'They have it already.'

'Liar.' He had my wrists in one hand. With the other, he unscrewed the top of my brandy flask. 'It's your word against mine without that paper. I told them you made a play for me, that you're a tart, a woman scorned.'

My breath was coming so fast I thought I would choke. He forced the brandy flask into my mouth. Brandy trickled down my chin. Just for a second, I could not breathe at all and felt myself go limp. That was when he pushed me backwards and stuck his hand up my skirt. He had let go of my wrists. As he flung himself on me, I thrust two fingers into his eyes, and in the second when he shifted his weight, from somewhere came the strength to struggle free of him. I ran towards the door. He was after me in an instant. I picked up the scythe and brought it round the back of his knees in a sweeping movement. He fell, giving me time to pick up the milk churn and wallop him in the guts.

Then I ran.

Once out in the open I would be all right. Keep saying that. Keep running. There was no one to call, no one nearby to help me.

Halfway down the hill, I knew Presthope was catching up with me. I had to get to the road, and then where would I run? Too late I knew that I should have raced to Stanks's farmhouse for help.

Presthope was close behind. I turned and saw him bearing down on me. Then by some miracle, he tripped.

Later, I had no idea what made me jump into his car, or how I managed to start it.

Only when I screeched to a halt outside the hotel, did I slowly become aware that I could not stop shaking, and that I had lost a shoe.

Never have I been so glad to see Jim Sykes. He was sitting outside the hotel, nursing a pint.

'What on earth has happened?'

No words would come.

He opened the hotel door. 'Come on, come inside.'

'I don't want anyone to see me.'

'It's all right. I'll walk you in. There is no one about. You can do it.'

It took hot sweet tea, several hours, a bath and the ministrations of Rachel before I could trust myself to speak, before I could begin to think straight. No, not straight, just think.

Rachel agreed to believe that I had taken "a funny turn", but I think she knew something bad had happened and that I wasn't letting on.

I wanted to go home, crawl into my own bed, and never come out again. I wanted my mother. But if I gave in, then Presthope would have beaten me, and I would not let him do that.

When I forced myself to think, it was as if I had to split myself in two, with the stronger part of me telling the useless me what to do.

'Rachel, tell Mr Sergeant to open the safe for me, and ask Mr Sykes to meet me at the front entrance.'

She hesitated. 'Yes madam, if that's what you want.'

When she had gone, I thought I would give her five minutes. I looked not at my watch but at the clock because for some odd reason I did not want to see my own hand, or wrist. I felt such a coward, and so stupid.

After five minutes, I made myself leave the room. Mr Sergeant, of course, knew of my "funny turn".

'Are you feeling any better, Mrs Shackleton?'

'Yes, thank you. That envelope I gave you, Mr Sergeant, I'll take it now.'

He took the envelope from the safe.

At the door, I gave it to Sykes. 'This is a receipt for ten thousand pounds that the maharajah entrusted to Thurston Presthope. Hand it to Mr Chana, no one else.'

'Is that who did this to you? Presthope.'

'Yes.'

He clenched his fists. 'Anything else I can do?'

'My satchel is in Stanks's barn, and there's a shoe...'

He looked away. 'Did he...?'

'No.'

'I'll...'

'Don't. Just do as I ask. And I need you to find where Joel Withers is hiding.'

Twenty-Seven.

The knock on my room door startled me. I had been lying on the bed, staring at my eyelids.

'Who is it?'

'I say, Kate, are you all right?'

'Why shouldn't I be all right?' I opened the door.

James looked peeved. 'No need to snap my head off. You do look a bit peaky.'

'Have you come to see me off the premises?'

'Why on earth do you think I would want to do that? I've been looking for you. Well done on your masterly intervention. You added just the right touch to the inquest.'

I sat in the chair. 'Not the touch I wanted.'

He perched on the corner of my bed. 'We need your help.'

'To do what? Help whitewash another inquest? There will be one tomorrow, in Skipton, on poor Osbert Hannon.'

'I know this has been hard for you, and we greatly appreciate it, really. I want to show you something, in the prince's room.'

If I refused, it would be out of character. He would know something was wrong. 'All right.'

The trouble is, curiosity will be my downfall. I daresay if some evil-eyed monster promised me an interesting revelation in the corner of a dark alley, I would be fool enough to follow, even after my nightmare in the barn.

We walked up to the first floor.

The door to Narayan's room stood open. I heard voices in a foreign tongue, one threatening and angry, the other pleading and whining.