Death in Kashmir (27 page)

‘But the money—those jewels … I don't understand why … Do you mean it could be needed for starting something against us—another mutiny?'

Charles laughed; and then sobered suddenly. ‘No. It's not that. As you've just told me yourself, there wouldn't be any point in starting one now that the British are quitting India.'

‘Then why should you worry about it? Surely it's no longer your affair when you're clearing out?'

‘Because the world has shrunk, Sarah. It's shrinking every day. It is no longer a matter of indifference to people in South America when a Balkan State blows up. Whatever is going on here is something that may affect us all, and we've got to find out what it is. We've
got
to!'

Sarah said: ‘Is that why Mrs Matthews came up here? Because of the money, and the jewels and all that?'

‘Yes. Because every single lead we followed seemed to end up in Kashmir. We thought at first it was merely theft on a big scale and nothing more; but it had to be stopped. We put a lot of people onto it, but they were mostly small fry. Pendrell was a fairly big fish, and he got onto it. And he died. So we sent along another of the same—equally good—Mrs Matthews; and they got her as well. Two people have sent us the Top Secret signal, the one we only use for something white hot. Something's brewing all right, Sarah. Something black and damnable. And we've got to get onto it and scotch it before we quit this country, because after that——'

‘The deluge,' finished Sarah.

‘Perhaps. In the meantime, as I've already said, your guess is as good as mine. How many more of these beastly books have we got left to go through?'

‘About forty,' said Sarah with a sigh. ‘I'll do them tomorrow.
Ouch!
'

‘What's the matter?'

‘Pins and needles again. I've rubbed them out of one foot, but I've been sitting on the other and now that's died on me too.'

Charles went down on his knees, and pulling off the small green slippers, rubbed the circulation back into Sarah's numbed feet.

‘Isn't it lucky that I have such nice ones?' mused Sarah complacently.

Charles looked up and laughed. ‘Frankly, no,' he said. ‘At the moment I should prefer it if they were the usual twentieth-century bunch of radishes that one sees so often on the bathing boats.'

‘Why?' inquired Sarah curiously.

‘Because they are distracting my attention. And also because I should feel distinctly better if I could find something about you that I didn't like.'

‘Oh,' said Sarah in a small voice. Charles replaced her slippers and stood up, brushing his knees.

‘Would it be any help,' suggested Sarah meekly, ‘if I told you that I snored?'

‘Do you?'

‘I don't know.'

‘I'll think about it,' said Charles gravely, ‘—and take the first opportunity of finding out. Thanks for the suggestion.'

‘Don't mention it,' said Sarah primly. ‘I am always happy to oblige any gentleman with whom I pass the night.'

‘Good Lord!' said Charles, ‘it's morning!'

‘I was wondering when you were going to notice it.'

Sarah went to the window and drew back the curtain. Outside, the lake and the mountains were no longer black but grey, and to the east the sky was faintly tinged with silver and saffron. Birds were beginning to cheep and rustle in the trees, and faint but clear, from the direction of Nasim, came the melodious cry of the muezzin of the mosque of Hazratbal, calling the Faithful to prayer …

‘Damn!' said Charles softly. ‘I shall have to move quickly! Good-night, Sarah—I mean, Good-morning. Go and get some sleep. You'll be all right now. I'll be seeing you——'

There was a soft whistle from the bank.

‘That's Habib,' said Charles; and was gone.

Sarah heard the muffled rasp of the pantry door being shut and then the boat trembled to swift footsteps upon the gangplank. There was a rustle among the willows and then silence.

Lager yawned and stretched and thumped his tail sleepily. ‘Well thank goodness
you're
all right!' said Sarah.

15

It was past ten o'clock when Sarah awoke to find Fudge Creed standing by her bedside, shaking her.

‘Wake up, you idle creature!' said Fudge. ‘Do you usually oversleep to this extent? Anyone would think you'd been on the tiles all night!'

‘You'd be surprised,' said Sarah yawning. She sat up, ruffling her hands through her red curls. ‘Morning Fudge. Is it a nice day?'

‘Heavenly!' pronounced Fudge pulling back the window curtains and letting in a ballet of sunblobs that danced across the ceiling. ‘Your
mānji
reports that your breakfast has been ready for the last hour and a half, so I imagine it's uneatable by now.'

‘Tell him I'll be ready for it in fifteen minutes,' said Sarah, sliding out of bed and stretching to get the sleepiness out of herself.

‘Will do. And when you've finished, you're coming out shopping with us. We want to get some papier-mâché bowls to send off as a wedding present; and as Hugo thinks you'd like to see the city and the river, we thought we'd go to the Fourth Bridge shops. They make lovely stuff there. What about it?'

‘It sounds just what the doctor ordered,' replied Sarah buoyantly, relieved at the prospect of getting away from the boat for an hour or two. Charles had said ‘Don't go anywhere alone,' but he had not told her to stay on the boat, and she felt she had had quite enough of the
Waterwitch
for the time being. Having dressed she asked the
mānji
to buy a dozen bolts complete with screws and sockets in the bazaar, before sitting down to a belated breakfast which, as Fudge had predicted, was considerably the worse for wear and bore signs of having been kept hot over a charcoal brazier.

Sarah presented the kidneys to a grateful Lager and distributed most of the scrambled egg to a pair of friendly little bulbuls who hopped and twittered and flirted their pert black crests on the duckboard outside the open dining-room window, and drinking the lukewarm coffee she wondered why, after the alarms of the past night and her recent order concerning bolts for repelling intruders, she should feel so exceptionally gay and lighthearted?

‘Oh what a beautiful morning!'
sang Sarah.
‘Oh, what a beautiful day!'

‘Hell and damnation!'
yelled a voice outside the window. There was a crash and a thump, and Hugo erupted through the window clutching a dripping paddle: ‘Why is it,' he demanded heatedly, ‘that although I was presented with a Rowing Blue by my misguided University, I remain incapable of paddling these flat-bottomed, over-canopied punts for five yards without turning at least three complete circles and soaking myself from the waist up? Morning, Sarah. You're looking almost as good as you sound. Do you feel as good as you look?'

‘I feel terrific!' said Sarah. ‘It must be the air or something. I feel like rushing out and doing pastoral dances in a cornfield.'

‘Well how about rushing out to the Fourth Bridge and holding my hand while Fudge reduces me to bankruptcy among the papier mâché merchants?'

‘Are you thinking of rowing us there?' inquired Sarah cautiously.

‘Have no fear! I am, alas, too corpulent for prolonged exercise and too incompetent a performer with one of these beastly fancy paddles to attempt it. I propose to drive. We might have lunch at Nedou's on the return journey: how does that strike you?'

‘Wizard!'
said Sarah. ‘Just wait while I get a hat.
“I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's going my way…”'
She vanished, singing, in the direction of her bedroom, while Hugo abstractedly finished off the toast and marmalade.

It was midday by the time they reached Ghulam Kadir's papier mâché shop at the Fourth Bridge, for Hugo had insisted on stopping at the Club for a beer
en route,
where they had found Reggie Craddock and Mir Khan, who had decided to accompany them.

Ghulam Kadir's showrooms overlooked the river and were stacked and piled with articles in papier mâché. Bowls and boxes in every conceivable size and shape, vases, candlesticks, dressing-table sets, lamps, platters, tables and dishes. On all of which birds and butterflies, leaves, flowers or intricate oriental designs had been painted in miniature and embellished with gold leaf.

Several brown-robed assistants wearing spotless white turbans of impressive size hurried forward to display the wares, uttering polite murmurs of greeting, and to the evident satisfaction of the aged proprietor—and the unconcealed amusement of Mir Khan—the pile of Sarah's purchases soon grew to alarming proportions.

Hugo, losing interest, eventually wandered off through a curtain-hung doorway, and they heard his voice raised in greeting in the next room.

‘
Blast!
It's that old Candera pest,' grumbled Reggie Craddock, who was holding an assortment of finger-bowls while Fudge debated the respective merits of chenar leaves, kingfishers, lotuses and paisley patterns. ‘Can't stand the woman. How Meril can stick it, beats me. Gossiping old bully!'

Lady Candera's astringent tones could be heard uplifted in comment and criticism from the next room: ‘Well Hugo? Wasting your time and money as usual I see? Where's your wife? Why people buy this rubbishy trash I cannot imagine. No taste. No discrimination. I've just been telling Ghulam Kadir he's lucky that there are still so many tasteless tourists left in Srinagar. What are you doing here?'

‘Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery,' said Hugo, ‘I am following your example and acquiring—reluctantly and by proxy, so to speak—a collection of this rubbishy trash.'

Lady Candera gave vent to a high, cackling laugh. ‘I like you, Hugo Creed. You are about the only person who has the gumption to stand up to me. But you malign me if you think I am buying this stuff. Heaven forbid! I am merely seeing that Meril's deplorable taste does not lose her her job. The Resident wants about two dozen pieces of papier mâché work and similar local rubbish to send to some charity bazaar, and he has asked Meril to get it. The man must be entering his second childhood to entrust the selection to Meril who, if left to herself, is certain to be grossly cheated over the price and return laden with all the unsaleable hideosities in Srinagar. Major McKay has very kindly come to support me.'

‘Oh, God!' muttered Reggie Craddock.

Meril Forbes' voice was heard to say in trembling protest: ‘But Aunt Ena, you know it was your…' ‘Hold your tongue, child!' snapped Lady Candera sharply. ‘I will not stand being argued with. Now run along and look out some nice powder-bowls. I don't like the last two that you have shown me. Major McKay can advise you.'

The dusty, heavily embroidered curtain swung back and Lady Candera entered, her lorgnette at the ready: ‘Ah Antonia,' she observed to Fudge, ‘increasing your husband's overdraft, I presume?' She turned the lorgnettes upon Reggie Craddock, inspected him silently and added: ‘I see you have brought your faithful cavalier. Ah me, what it is to be young——! Though to be sure, in my youth, we missed a great many opportunities by observing a stricter regard for the conventions. You are about to drop one of those bowls, Major Craddock.'

Reggie Craddock scowled, and in an effort to retrieve the sliding bowl, dropped three more.

‘Why don't you put them on the divan?' asked Lady Candera. ‘So much more sensible. There you see, you have cracked that one and will have to buy it. However, I have no doubt you can use it as an ashtray. You are looking a little flushed, Antonia—or else you should use less rouge. If you modern women must use make-up, I do wish you would learn to apply it with a more sparing hand.'

Fudge said placidly: ‘Dear Lady Candera, how you do love to torment us. But this morning I am determined to disappoint you. I refuse to rise.'

‘You and Meril are two of a kind,' observed Lady Candera, seating herself regally upon the divan: ‘No guts.'

Fudge smiled and said: ‘But we are all scared of Lady Candera. She knows everyone's secrets and nothing is hid from her. Isn't that so?'

‘I know yours, if that's what you mean,' snapped Lady Candera.

‘Aha!' said Hugo. ‘I see that you belong to the “All is discovered!” school.'

‘And what is that, pray?'

‘Kipling put it very neatly once: “Write to any man that all is betrayed, and even the Pope himself would sleep uneasily.” In other words, if you whisper
“All is discovered!”
in a chap's ear, nine citizens out of ten will immediately take the next boat for South America, on the off-chance of its being true.'

‘You mean, because there is no one who has nothing to hide?' asked Mir Khan.

‘That's about it,' agreed Hugo. ‘In fact if someone hissed
“All is discovered!”
in my ear, you would be unable to see me for dust.'

‘That I can
well
believe!' said Lady Candera tartly. She turned her back on Hugo, and raising her lorgnette surveyed Sarah at some length. ‘Ah, the rich Miss Parrish,' she observed.

‘I'm afraid not,' said Sarah.

‘What? Oh—But I thought all trippers who could afford to come out to India were rich.'

‘Not this one, I'm afraid,' confessed Sarah with a laugh.

‘Well, it's a good story, girl. Spread it,' advised Lady Candera. ‘To be thought rich is the next best thing to being it. You will find it a great aid to popularity. You too are buying this rubbishy trash, I see.'

‘Yes,' said Sarah, ‘I think it's charming.'

‘Before the war it had certain merits,' admitted Lady Candera. ‘But like everything else, its price has quadrupled and its quality deteriorated—thanks to our various allies, who paid fantastic prices without any discrimination whatsoever so that it soon ceased to be worthwhile to maintain a decent standard of workmanship. Any trash would sell.'