Murder on a Summer's Day (27 page)

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 emancipated.’

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 emancipated 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 passed it to me. It said
The crisis has passed.

Sir Richard’s eyes told a different story.

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 superstition 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 assured 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.’

I tried to reason with her, and persuade her that some trusted person would watch over the boy. When this did not satisfy her, I suggested a room at the hotel.

She dismissed this suggestion with a wave of her hand. ‘No! Too obvious. You must take us somewhere no one will think to look, and you must stay with him until I know what to do.’

‘But Sir Richard Hartington is here, from the India Office, and you have the protection of the duke and duchess.’

‘So did Jaya have all these protections. If it were not for Dr Simonson, he would be dead.’

‘As long as you keep your son by you, he will surely be safe here.’

‘It is time to take matters into my own hands. Do you have children?’

‘No.’

‘But you will understand. In all of nature, a mother will fight for her offspring.’

Having watched my cat’s litter of kittens diminish from six to five overnight, I doubted that, but not Indira’s determination.

‘You have your trusted aides-de-camp. Won’t they ensure the child’s safety?’

‘Jaya has his aides-de-camp, and the maharajah’s doctor, and valet and servants and secretaries; much good they did him. Half of them sick, the other half useless. I want Rajendra out of this house. I want him somewhere where he will not be found, placed with a person who will guard him with his life.’

His life? Yet she was asking me.

‘What about Mr Chana?’

‘How can I know for certain? I believe he colluded in giving my husband a propitious day for a so-called marriage to the whore.’

‘What will the maharajah and maharani say if I disappear with their grandson?’

‘They are too distraught to think about this. Maharajah Shivram is with Jaya now, persuading him to take some tea and rice. They need not know. I will tell them tomorrow.’

‘But I thought…’

‘That I am a good Indian widow, who defers to everyone and has no mind of her own?’

‘No.’

‘My boy is now crown prince. I want him out of this house, away from this place of sickness.’

‘I don’t know this area. There is no one I can trust except…’

‘Except whom?’

Reluctantly, I told her what no one else knew – that my former policeman assistant was lodged at the hotel. By now, I hoped that my housekeeper would also be there.

‘Your highness, there is only one place I can think of at this time of night that will be vacant and you would not want your child to go there.’

‘What is this place?’

‘It is the cottage, rented by the man who accompanied your husband on his ride, Isaac Withers. He is in the hospital now and his son has moved there to be close to him so the cottage stands empty.’

‘Then that will do.’

‘It is a hovel.’

‘As long as it is a safe hovel, I do not care.’

‘It is about two miles away,’ I said.

‘Then let us go.’ Indira stood, and spoke to the ayah.

Moments later, we left the house quietly by the servants’ entrance, carrying an unlit lantern. I led the way. Indira followed. Behind her came the ayah carrying the child. Wishing to avoid the road where we would be seen from the servants’ tents on the other side, I followed the path across the fields, towards the woods near the river.

Only when we entered the woods did I light the lantern.

I glanced at the ayah. She was too slight to carry such a big boy, but he seemed exhausted. Perhaps taking him to a remote spot was not a good idea, but it was too late now.

I turned and looked back, having a feeling of being followed, but could see no one.

Once in the woods, there was little chance of our being observed, except by owls and foxes. Only when Indira gave a small cry did I remember the dainty sandals she wore, and realised that even through my stockings the nettles stung. The ayah did not let out a sound.

‘Here.’ I handed her the lantern. ‘Take this. Let me carry the child now.’

She hesitated, but then, on a nod from the maharani, handed over her charge. The sleeping boy was a dead weight. I had seen a fireman carry a survivor from a burning house.

‘Help me balance him over my shoulder.’

Indira took the lantern, and translated.

Gently, the ayah helped me transfer the child to my shoulder. Too late I realised that the fireman in question had much broader shoulders than I. Hoping desperately not to drop the crown prince on his crown and thereby deliver another blow to the dynasty, I struggled on.

A low roar from our right indicated how near we were to the Strid. Little moonlight filtered through the trees and we now relied on the light that the ayah carried. She had been reluctant to take the lead, to walk ahead of her mistress, but now she did, swinging the lantern a little. This had a dizzying effect and once more I turned to glance back, but could see no movement, and heard nothing but the hoot of an owl.

Everything looked different in the darkness. I feared I would miss the cottage. If so, we would walk into the morning at this rate.

It was the ayah, her eyes glued to the ground, who saw that the footpath veered to the left. From the outside, the stone dwelling with its thatched roof looked inviting.

The door was unlocked. I turned the knob. The door creaked open onto a single small room, the stone floor covered in dirty straw. As the ayah walked about with the lantern, light fell on a broken-back chair and a buffet by the empty fire grate. A few boards had been tacked together to make a table. On this sat a saucepan, thick with grease. The bed, once I realised that was its purpose, held only a striped mattress, with flocks peeping out of holes. There was no blanket.

‘I’m so sorry. You can’t stay here.’

‘Tonight they will stay here,’ Indira said firmly. ‘You will stay with them. Tomorrow you will make a different arrangement.’

‘Very well, if you insist. For tonight it will have to do. But I must go to the hotel, fetch some blankets and food and bring my assistant here to act as bodyguard.’ She was about to interrupt, but I did not let her. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be seen. I will be back as quickly as I can, with Mr Sykes. He is utterly reliable.’

She protested. ‘I cannot leave my son with only his ayah.’