Murder On A Summer's Day Part 37

'And when the British Raj sees fit to intervene against some transgressing prince, what then?'

There was the slightest physical response from Sir Richard, a flicker in the eyes, a hesitation with the soup spoon.

'Oh it does happen, occasionally, although by and large we have no great complaints.'

'But when you do?'

'There have been cases when some ruler is discovered to be quite insane, or bankrupt, or has turned to criminal activities such as kidnap or murder. At such times, we deal with the matter appropriately, by insisting upon abdication and banishment.'

Now was my moment. He looked steadily at me across the table, clever enough to guess my thoughts, waiting for me to voice them.

'The transgressor will never see India again because of banishment, or something else?'

'Banishment, Mrs Shackleton,' he said firmly. 'We do not engage in a.s.sa.s.sination. That would give the princes far too high a view of themselves.'

I wanted to believe him. 'You spoke of nationalism.'

'Did I?'

'Not directly, but it is there in everything I hear about India that during the war, England's need was India's opportunity.'

'Some princes did subscribe to that line of thought.'

'You tell me that under our treaties, we extend protection to the princely states. Could murder and attempted murder be a way for a dissident prince to announce that Great Britain cannot protect the princes, even on our own soil?'

The waiter took our soup plates and brought my plaice and Sir Richard's chop. 'Do continue, Mrs Shackleton.'

'All I meant was that the motive then would not be princely rivalry but nationalist ambition.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'You look at every wild possibility, Mrs Shackleton. I wish some of my colleagues had your imagination. If they had, we may have antic.i.p.ated that the Chamber of Princes would be less than a roaring success.'

'There is time yet. It is five years old. How old are our upper and lower chambers? I think at age five, it is too early to speak of disappointment.'

I was no nearer bottoming Sir Richard's thinking when we reached Doncaster. Lazonby brought a message into the restaurant car from the railway police. Sir Richard slid it across the table to me.

Prince Jaya showing small signs of recovery.

'Well that is good news.' I pushed the note back to him.

He lit a cigarette and put the match to the slip of paper, holding it over the ashtray with finger and thumb.

When we reached Leeds, there would be other people about and my opportunity to ask the hard questions would evaporate.

'Ijahar, the valet, he is now at Bolton Hall.'

'Yes, or in one of those marquees that have been erected in the grounds.'

'He appeared devoted to his master and distraught at his death. But if anyone wanted to do the maharajah harm, Ijahar would have been able to help them.'

'Now that really is wild. If you understood India, you would realise that is inconceivable. The depth of deference and respect of Indian servants for their masters is boundless. An inferior reveres his master to such a degree that if the prince threw a knife at him, he would stand and let it enter his heart rather than move. Put that out of your mind, Mrs Shackleton. Not the servant.'

One by one my possible list of suspects was being demolished by Sir Richard: not some kinsman with a grudge, not the British government, not a fellow prince, not a servant in league with a nationalist.

'A penny for them,' he said.

But I was not prepared to divulge the suspicion that remained. Perhaps he guessed. After all, I had been a.s.signed to this task partly because there was a woman in the picture Lydia Metcalfe. Now I was re-a.s.signed because of another woman Indira, the maharani, had asked for me. More than asked for me; she would see no one else. Did that indicate she thought herself under suspicion?

Avoiding this dangerous territory, we began to speak of other matters. Over the apple pie, Sir Richard reminisced about his youth. He recalled the year Aunt Berta was presented at court, and the b.a.l.l.s that followed. He remembered a turquoise gown. When he and she danced it was like floating on air. She always had a full dance card, and she always saved a dance for him.

We returned to our carriage and chatted with Lazonby. I was conscious that bringing up Indira's name would not go unnoticed by the wise Sir Richard and the clever Lazonby. There was something I needed to know, but what that something was remained a mystery to me.

We were drawing into Leeds station. Soon, the moment to ask would be gone. 'I liked the Maharani Indira. She struck me as so courageous at the inquest. What family is she from?'

Sir Richard was making those small movements that precede departing a train, straightening his shoulders, flexing his legs, moving his arms and hands ever so slightly. 'She is from a small state in the west, Gundel, an eleven-gun state, yet very emanc.i.p.ated.'

Lazonby rose to his feet and lifted down my bag. 'Isn't that a state that supports the education of women? Well, certain women I suppose?'

Sir Richard looked out of the window, as though needing to check the name of the station. 'Yes.'

It was such a small word, uttered without emphasis, yet markedly so, as if he wanted the word to drop into a pool of suspicion and send out the slightest ripple.

Just as casually, Lazonby said, 'There is a state that prefers a female ruler, Baroda. Perhaps Gundel will follow suit one day.'

I glanced at Sir Richard, but he made no response to Lazonby's remark.

I picked up my satchel. 'And if Baroda and Gundel, then perhaps Gattiawan might be next.'

Sir Richard gave the smallest of smiles in acknowledgement.

That was it then, I thought. I am here not because Indira asked for me, which I believe she did. I am here because Sir Richard suspects that Indira, that educated woman from an emanc.i.p.ated state, has taken matters into her own hands. Her husband betrayed her. She is not content to be under the thumb of her father and brother-in-law. Prince Narayan's death, Prince Jaya's poisoning, this represented Indira's grasp for power.

'Who will succeed as ruler when Maharajah Shivram dies?' I asked.

'Succession is in Shivram's gift. He could decide on Jaya, who is the son of his second wife, or he could appoint Jaya or Indira to act as regent for Narayan's son, Rajendra.'

'Rajendra may be of age by the time Shivram dies.'

'Unlikely. Shivram's father died at sixty. Shivram is fifty-nine.'

The train stopped. A railway policeman appeared at the carriage door. 'Sir.' He handed Sir Richard an envelope.

Sir Richard tore open the envelope, glanced at the note paper, and pa.s.sed it to me. It said The crisis has pa.s.sed.

Sir Richard's eyes told a different story.

Thirty-Eight.

It was 10 p.m. when the Bentley drew up outside Bolton Hall, and not quite dark. Lazonby, who had sat beside the driver, jumped smartly from the car and opened my door. The chauffeur opened Sir Richard's door.

'Come.' Sir Richard took my arm and we walked towards the entrance of Bolton Hall.

There were just a few seconds when he and I were close to each other, with no one nearby to overhear.

'You suspect Indira.' I put the merest pressure on his arm.

His lips pursed tightly. He did not meet my eye. But he nodded, so slightly that afterwards, if necessary, he would be able to say I had misinterpreted him.

I did not feel ready to face her, not until I had taken in this new and unwelcome idea. I paused at the door.

'Will you enquire whether she wishes to speak with me tonight, or tomorrow? If it is tonight, I should like a few moments alone before I see her.'

'Very well. Lazonby will be here with an answer, when you are ready.'

I walked across the grounds, to the abbey ruins, and to the graveyard. Where was the burial place that the white doe had haunted, I wondered. It was too dark to read inscriptions.

Who would take the blame for the attempted poisoning of Prince Jaya? Not Indira. That would be too much of a scandal. I could imagine it. Some Indian cook, new to the Yorkshire countryside, would be discovered to have made a foolish error in selecting a poisonous plant while picking herbs.

On the hill across the road, the Indian village of tents and marquees formed strange shapes against the background of Westy Bank Wood. Lanterns flickered as figures moved. It was a hypnotic sight. I left the graveyard and crossed, through the arch, onto the road.

As I drew closer, I picked out the figures of men, sitting cross-legged outside tents, and the red glow of cigarettes. I skirted the edge of the encampment. A faint and unpleasant smell permeated the air, a reminder of the sickness that had spread from the village. A pot steamed on a fire, giving off a spicy smell. An owl hooted. Nearby, some poor fellow retched.

I turned back, and began to retrace my steps. As I descended the incline, two figures emerged from a tent, one cuffing the other about the head, speaking rapidly in words I did not understand.

One of the men was Ijahar. He became suddenly obsequious, bowed to me and said, 'He does not finish polishing my master's shoes. I tell him to be sick is no excuse.'

They disappeared in the direction of Bolton Hall.

Lazonby waited for me at the entrance.

'The Maharani Indira will see you, Mrs Shackleton. I am to take you to her, if I can find my way through the maze.'

He led me once more to the room where I had previously met Indira.

As soon as he knocked, the door was opened by Mr Chana, who gave me the barest of acknowledgements as he left.

The gas lights in the room and the soft light from a lantern cast an eerie glow. My shadow loomed on the wall. I seemed to remember some superst.i.tion or prohibition about casting a shadow on an important person. Be careful where your shadow falls.

The astrologer's papers and parchments had been carelessly laid on a low table. Beyond the table, Indira sat on a cushion, her back to the wall.

It shocked me to see her. Black crescents under her eyes betrayed lack of sleep. Though such a short time had elapsed since I saw her last, I could swear her collarbones protruded more sharply. Her wrists looked thin enough to snap, yet she appeared composed, and had about her a steely determination.

'Sit down, Mrs Shackleton. Thank you for coming at such an hour. You will have heard of our new troubles.'

'Yes, but I am glad to hear of your brother-in-law Prince Jaya's recovery, your highness.'

I watched Indira's expression. She betrayed no emotion but the relief in her voice sounded genuine. 'It would have been a great blow to me if Jaya had not recovered. He is the one person on whom I can rely. We are both educated too well, both share the same outlook on the world.'

It was then that I noticed someone else in the corner. A young woman, her head covered, sat beside a small mound of scarlet cloth.

Indira followed my gaze. 'My son, Rajendra, and his ayah. I will not let him out of my sight.'

These were not the words of a poisoner, unless a very cunning poisoner. And if she were cunning, Jaya would be dead.

'What happened?'

'Sickness spread through our staff, shortly after we arrived. My father-in-law's doctor, Dr Habib, said that it may have been something to do with the change of water. The doctor became ill himself. Dr Simonson told us of sickness in the village, and that some children had been taken poorly. Though most of the village children have recovered, they came to stare at the strangers. My own little Rajendra is weakened from vomiting and diarrhoea. It lasted two days. Food did not remain with him for half an hour, even arrowroot and sago would not stay in his stomach. Our cook was badly affected and we had to draw on the services of another. So when Jaya became ill, water was boiled, arrowroot given. But this was something quite different, more severe. An emetic was administered, thanks to your Dr Simonson.'

I tried to bring to mind some details of poisons and treatments from the Materia Medica that I had at home but my brain felt sluggish. 'Does the doctor know what caused Prince Jaya's sickness?'

'Unfortunately, no. They are saying severe food poisoning, but I do not believe it.' She picked up one of the parchments from the low table. 'Our astrologer a.s.sured me that Jaya would survive, but I doubted. I feared the worst, even though it is foretold that Jaya is destined for great things.'

'What kind of great things?'

'He is very clever. Politics does not interest him. He has all sorts of ideas about agriculture. But I did not ask you here to talk about Jaya. He is recovered and I hope we will soon be rid of the enemies in our midst.'

From the corner came a gentle murmur as the little boy moved in his sleep. The ayah made a soothing sound.

'Then how can I help?'

'Mrs Shackleton, I fear for my son. I have become his own taster of food, me, a princess, unable to trust those around me.'

'Surely you can trust your servants.'

'We have treachery beyond belief in our own household, all around us. My son must leave this house tonight. I have had the astrologer make calculations. Tonight is propitious for you to take Rajendra into hiding.'

'Me?'

Indira sat suddenly more erect. She threw back her shoulders and jutted her chin. 'That is why I asked you here. I want you to find a place of safety for him.'

'Tonight?'

'Now. We will leave by the door at the side.'

Grief had sent her half mad. She was not thinking straight. She turned to the ayah and spoke in her language.

The ayah answered.

'She says the servants will have retired. We will use their door. You have your car?'

'No.'