Murder on a Summer's Day (9 page)

Although it is only a short distance from the hotel to Bolton Hall, I decided to drive. Ijahar had been back and forth between Hall and hotel, silent as a ghost, carrying cloths and incense.

I had barely driven a few yards when Isaac emerged from the stable. He stepped in front of the motor as though desirous of dying under the wheels.

I braked.

He spoke rapidly, a little out of breath. ‘I mun know. Does blame attach to me, or my lad, or to Osbert?’

‘No. I’m sure not. Why should it?’

‘Then let me come with you, tell the constable about the horse.’

He was not making sense, but I could hardly leave him in the middle of the road, and his son was nowhere to be seen.

I stepped out of the car to help him in. He moved slowly and clumsily. As I was about to set off, Mr Sergeant appeared from the direction of the Hall.

‘I’m asked by the duke’s housekeeper to spare her some of my staff. She has every room in the place to be ready by tomorrow for the Indian party.’

I was not sure what to say to that. If he expected me to don a pinafore, he could think again. ‘I don’t suppose they’ll set off at the crack of dawn. And perhaps they will travel with just a small entourage.’

He shook his head. ‘You don’t know Indian royals, Mrs Shackleton.’

Sergeant hurried on his way.

When I reached the Hall, there was just one motor parked at a careless angle – the Bugatti belonging to Dr Simonson.

Isaac made no move to leave the car.

‘Do you want to stay here, or will you come inside?’

‘Yes, I will stay here.’ But he immediately climbed from the car. We walked to the entrance, then came to a halt.

‘Sit on that bench, eh?’

He refused but then sat down, clutching his arms around himself as if to keep warm.

Perhaps he and Joel would be sent for to help at the Hall, and that would give him something else to think about.

‘Did you hurt your arm?’

‘No. It hurt me.’

‘Just rest awhile.’

I entered the Hall without knocking as the door was slightly ajar. Dr Simonson was seated just where I expected – at the side of the great hearth, smoking a cigar.

On the balcony that surrounded this room, a maid hurried along, clutching a polishing mop.

Simonson stood as I approached and waited until I sat down beside him.

‘Is the police inspector here, Dr Simonson?’

‘He has left to consult with the chief constable. I said I would wait until the ambulance comes to take the prince’s body to Skipton for a post mortem. It is to be done quickly, out of regard for the family.’

‘Did you examine the body?’

‘Yes. It is a long while since I examined two bodies in one day.’

‘May I ask what was your conclusion?’

‘It is too early for conclusions.’

‘Were you able to establish the cause of death?’

‘You have probably already done that for yourself, Mrs Shackleton.’

I had not put the question well. I wanted an interpretation, not facts. ‘From what I saw when I looked at his body, he appeared to have been shot at close range. The entry wound was small.’

‘Yes, a small round puncture hole, and the exit wound a slit.’

Before I had time to voice my suspicions that Narayan did not die where he was found, Dr Simonson said, ‘Death would have been instantaneous. That may be a comfort to his relatives.’

‘Could it have been an accident?’

He looked at me quizzically. ‘That will be up to the coroner to decide.’

‘How long has Prince Narayan been dead?’

‘Difficult to say with certainty, rigor mortis has set in.’

‘I don’t believe he died in the spot where he was found. I think someone took his body there.’

The doctor threw the stub of his cigar into the empty grate. ‘You would have to voice that suspicion to the coroner, or his officer, Mr Brocksup.’

‘Where is the prince?’

‘He is in a room at the rear of the building.’ Simonson snapped his fingers. ‘How could I forget? That is the message I have for you. The valet asked to see you.’

‘Really? Where is he?’

Simonson reached for his walking stick and stood up. ‘He has been to the hotel and come back twice, bringing incense and I don’t know what else. I told him that he must not touch the body. He simply wanted to sit, to keep watch. The housekeeper chose a room that is cold the whole year round.’

‘Not difficult in a place this size.’ I felt a chill as we walked through the hall. ‘Is Osbert Hannon laid out here also?’

‘No. His body has already been taken to the hospital.’

We entered a corridor, climbed a couple of steps, turned left, hit a blank wall, turned right, entered another corridor and walked into a room so dim that I just missed bumping into furniture that was covered with white sheets.

I sniffed the air. The scent of jasmine and roses mingled with mildew.

‘We’re coming closer,’ Simonson said.

The door was open a fraction.

‘Ijahar, you asked for Mrs Shackleton.’ The doctor strode into the room. ‘She is here.’

But I was looking beyond Ijahar to the face at the window. Isaac was outside, peering in. An oil lamp burned under the window. In its glow, Isaac’s lumpy face turned into that of a devil. Isaac saw me. He moved away.

Ijahar hurried towards me, as if I were his long-lost friend. On the floor behind him lay Prince Narayan, his body covered in a cloth of gold. A table should have been brought in.

The doctor read my thoughts. ‘The valet insisted the stretcher be laid on the floor, their custom apparently.’

Ijahar bowed. ‘I must have flowers for his body. They do not listen. I must have them now.’

‘I see. Ijahar, what happened to your eye?’ One eye was half-closed, and bruised.

He ignored my question. ‘I cannot leave my master.’

‘Look here, Ijahar.’ Dr Simonson did not hide his irritation. ‘If I’d known what you wanted I would have told you. It’s not Mrs Shackleton’s place to gather flowers. And you know that your master will be taken away shortly.’

‘It’s all right. I’ll do it. What kind of flowers, Ijahar?’

‘All flowers, roses, jasmine, the gold flowers, and the other, the one called… not a flower…’

‘A herb?’

Under other circumstances, a walk in this garden on a sunny afternoon would have been sheer bliss. But here we were. The scent of wallflowers took me back to walks in the park. I picked some, along with marigolds. They grew in such profusion that they would not be missed. We had decided to keep to certain colours, so as not to make too gaudy a display. I concentrated on gold and yellows. Dr Simonson took out his penknife and cut white and yellow roses. He dropped them into the trug, sucking at his finger.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Just a thorn. I’ve got it now.’

‘He wanted herbs, too. Better look in the kitchen garden and hope the cook doesn’t wallop us.’

We walked round to the back of the house.

Simonson stopped by a pot of basil. ‘What kind of herb do you think he wants?’

‘I don’t know. Mint? Lavender?’

I spotted the lavender. ‘Let me have your penknife will you? The stalks on this lavender look quite tough.’

‘I’ll do it. Though given his royal blood, I should think laurel will be needed.’

When I heard the sound, I thought for a second that Dr Simonson had pricked his finger again, or his gammy leg had given way. But the groan, like that of a hurt animal, did not come from him. We both heard it at once and looked at each other.

‘Over there!’ Dr Simonson pointed to clumps of overgrown herbs close to the wall.

We hurried towards the sound.

I was closer, and saw him first. There, below a window, lay Isaac, half-hidden in the greenery, helpless, groaning, a vague expression on his face, his mouth drawn to one side, his lower lip on that side hanging down and dribbling spittle. The smell of mint grew stronger as I knelt beside him. Without looking through the window, I realised this was where Isaac had peered through at the prince’s body. How long he had lain here, I did not know. ‘It’s all right, Isaac. The doctor is here.’ I loosened the top buttons of his shirt.

Simonson had set down his walking stick. He limped towards me at a brisk pace. He crouched down beside Isaac. ‘Now old chap, don’t worry. We have you.’ He rolled Isaac onto his side, at the same calling to me. ‘My bag in the motor. Iodide potash.’

As I hurried away, he was saying, ‘Can you speak to me? Tell me your name.’

I ran to the car and picked up the doctor’s bag. Iodide potash. He would need to take it in water, or milk. One of the maids was spreading a wall hanging over a bush. I called to her to bring a glass of water to the kitchen garden, double quick, and to have someone bring a blanket.

By the time I got back, the maid was hurrying towards us, spilling water from the glass as she ran.

I took the container from the doctor’s bag. ‘How many grains?’

‘A dozen.’

I dropped the grains into the water.

‘Now hold steady.’ He held Isaac by the shoulders. ‘Try and sip what Mrs Shackleton is going to give you.’

I put the glass to Isaac’s lips and tilted it. More went down the poor man’s chin and jacket than into his mouth. His eyes stared into mine, as if his glance could tell me what his tongue could not.

‘Isaac, don’t try to speak. I’ll tell Joel you are in good hands.’

But he did try to speak. It came out as gibberish.

‘Stay with him, Mrs Shackleton. He knows who you are.’

Someone brought a blanket. I tucked it around Isaac as best I could, then sat beside him, keeping him steady, holding his hand as the two of us crushed mint.

After what seemed an age, Dr Simonson returned with two orderlies in navy blue ambulance uniforms. Slowly and carefully, they manoeuvred Isaac onto a stretcher.

‘Where are you taking him?’

‘These men came to take the prince to Skipton Hospital. But they can come back for him. I’m sending the old chap to Beamsley Hospital, and hoping they’ll take him in. They only have nine beds.’

We followed the men through the garden.

‘What is the matter with Isaac?’ I knew but wanted to hear him give me the proper words.

‘He’s had a stroke. That weakness you see is hemiplegia.’

‘Paralysis of one side of the body.’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you be able to do anything for him?’ I had seen the effect of trauma on the brain during my war service, and knew how difficult it could be to treat.

‘It is possible there could be some improvement, over weeks and months. It depends on the amount of iodine that can be absorbed by the system.’ He picked up the abandoned trug of flowers and handed it to me with a small smile. ‘Look, I’m going to follow along behind and see him safely in.’

At the ambulance I tried to reassure Isaac. ‘I’ll tell Joel where you are. Try not to worry.’

I watched the ambulance set off. For a few yards, the doctor drove behind the slow-moving vehicle. I guessed that he would grow impatient, and overtake.

Ijahar, no doubt having grown tired of waiting for a floral delivery, was suddenly at my side, head bowed, thanking me, taking the basket of flowers from my hand, hurrying away. By the time I turned to look at him, he was disappearing back into the Hall. The poor fellow did not want me to take too good a look at his swollen eye. I might play the nurse and keep him from his master.

I found Joel swilling the stable yard, sweeping the wet cobbles with a stiff brush.

‘Are you on your own, Joel?’

He leaned on the brush. ‘Aye. Dad’s at the Hall.’

‘It’s about your dad I’ve come. I’m sorry to say he was taken poorly in the grounds of the Hall.’

The blood drained from Joel’s face.

‘Dr Simonson is taking care of him.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He is on his way to Beamsley Hospital…’

Joel let go of the brush which fell to the ground. ‘Hospital?’

‘… to be kept an eye on for a day or two.’

‘I mun go to him.’

‘Not today. Let him settle. Perhaps tomorrow…’

In his haste to be off, he tripped over the brush as he ran, falling flat on the cobbles.’

‘Joel, wait!’

He picked himself up and began to run, out of the yard, past the car, along the road.

Perhaps I should have run after him, called to him, or offered to take him to the hospital. But I could hear James’s voice telling me to make sure Lydia Metcalfe was out of the way. Had she yet heard that her lover was dead?

Mr Sergeant quick-marched across the hotel lobby.

‘Seeing you enter those doors is like watching the cavalry ride over the hill. Come this way, Mrs Shackleton. I must speak with you privately.’

He drew me into a small office beyond the reception area and closed the door.

‘Have you seen his highness’s valet?’

‘Yes. He is standing guard over the prince’s body. He had me and the doctor picking flowers.’

‘Yes, yes, he would. He will want to cover the body with blooms. The man is determined to do everything properly for his master. He has been back and forth running at the double.’

Sergeant showed every sign of continuing without taking a breath, so I squeezed in my words quickly. ‘It is a good thing Dr Simonson and I were in the garden. We found Isaac there. He has suffered a stroke.’

‘The poor man!’

‘When I told Joel that his father has been taken to Beamsley Hospital, he just hared off. I hope he will be all right.’

‘Oh he will. Joel will find his way to Beamsley. Poor Isaac. I am not surprised he has been taken ill, after everything that has happened.’ Sergeant let out a sighing breath. ‘I thought being a hotel manager would be a relief after all the battles and strife. I feel as if I’m back on the front line.’

‘Has something else happened?’

‘Did you notice Ijahar has a black eye?’

‘Now that you mention it, I did notice his eye was bloodshot and half closed.’

‘She smacked him in the eye.’

‘Who?’

‘Lydia Metcalfe.’

‘So she has heard about Narayan’s death? I told him to be quiet about it.’

‘He came back from the Hall, looking for what he wanted in their trunks and in the prince’s room. Miss Metcalfe heard the door banging. She came out just in time to hear Ijahar asking me if there were cedar trees on the estate for the cremation.’

‘How awful. Is that how she found out?’

‘Yes. She just slugged him.’

‘But what a thing for him to ask. I can hardly believe he is talking about cremation. Does the man think he can light a fire and burn a body?’

‘He wasn’t thinking clearly. Next thing, Lydia Metcalfe is all over the hotel, telling anyone who will listen that the duke himself had her man done away with so that he could grab the Gattiawan treasure.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘In her room. She has quieted down but I can’t have her staying here.’

‘It is all right. I have already been asked to persuade her to go to her people.’

‘Thank heaven for that.’

‘I’m told they farm nearby.’

‘Yes, near Halton East.’

‘Then I’ll see what I can do.’

‘She was asking for you. And the Indian family will be distraught enough without having Lydia Metcalfe in the vicinity.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘The prince was such a vital and valiant man, Mrs Shackleton. Not many men who are ladies’ men are also men’s men, but he was.’

‘Mr Sergeant, would you please have the Rolls brought to the front of the hotel?’ A brilliant thought struck me. If Lydia could be driven to her relations in style, she may agree to go willingly.

‘I will.’ He grimaced. ‘She is not an easy person to deal with. Do you want me to come up with you?’

‘No. It will be better if I speak to her alone. Have a pot of tea and toasted teacakes sent up.’

I would like something, even if she did not.

‘Huh! It will take more than currant teacakes to bring her to some semblance of civility.’

Lydia Metcalfe lay on the bed. One leg anchored her to the floor. I wondered whether the room might be spinning round her. The empty gin bottle lay on the bedside cabinet.

‘Miss Metcalfe, are you awake?’

A groan.

‘Lydia, it’s Kate Shackleton. We spoke earlier.’

‘Haven’t lost my marbles since this morning. I know who you are.’

‘And I know that you have heard the news about Narayan. I am so sorry that you heard in such an unfortunate way.’

She began to cry. ‘That creeping miserable toad wants to burn him. He’s already burned his clothes.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I saw him through the landing window. He lit a fire and burned Narayan’s clothes and his boots. Unclean, you see. Everything to do with a body is unclean in their eyes. I despise the toad, and I despise every pathetic person in this damned hotel.’

I hoped that she was wrong about the prince’s clothes having been burned. But I had a horrible feeling she knew what she was talking about.

‘How did he die? They didn’t tell me how he died.’ She sat up, swaying a little. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me either? Don’t you know?’

‘There has to be a post mortem, but I spoke to the doctor.’

‘And?’

‘The doctor says he would not have suffered.’

‘How did he die?’

‘From a single gunshot wound to his chest.’

‘Who killed him?’

If she had not, earlier, been drunkenly announcing that her maharajah had been murdered, I would not have said what I did. ‘It was an accident.’

She clenched her fists. ‘What kind of accident?’

Sharing suspicions with a woman who had drunk far too much and already turned violent twice today – once throwing the ashtray at the chambermaid and the second time bashing the valet – it seemed a good idea to try and wind her down a little.

‘A tragic accident. He was riding, holding his gun. That Arab had a bit of a reputation, but Narayan had wanted it, had chosen it specially.’

‘He would.’ Her voice was barely audible.

I was winning. ‘Possibly the horse baulked, and the gun went off.’

‘Oh my God, poor love.’

I hoped she would not ask me questions, such as where he was found, and why it had taken so long.

‘Do you want to see him?’

If she did, I would try and have the valet whisked out of the way on some pretext. Because once the family arrived, her opportunity to say goodbye would be gone.

‘No. I don’t want to see him lying dead.’

She rubbed her hands over her face that was streaked with tears. Annoyingly, she still looked beautiful. She always would.

I went to the wash basin, wet a face cloth and handed it to her.

She took it. ‘Do I look a sight?’

‘You could look worse.’

‘He chose me. Indira was foisted on him when he didn’t know any better.’

She had told me that already.

‘He must have thought a great deal of you.’

‘He built me a palace. He filled it with the finest of everything. You should see my palace in Gattiawan. He would have married me. They can, you know. They can marry four times, but I would have been the last and the only one. And he would have married me soon. Someone has stopped him.’

I filled a glass with water and handed it to her.

She sniffed. ‘It’s water.’

‘Tea is on its way.’

‘Why have you come?’

This was a bit rich, given that Sergeant said she had been asking for me. ‘I wanted to tell you myself, about the maharajah. I’m sorry I was too late.’

The arrival of tea saved my having to tell her I had come to escort her off the premises.

Rachel called out but would not step into the room.

I took the tray from her and carried it to the dressing table. Pushing aside a pile of jewellery, I set the tray down.

‘Have something to steady you. This is best, believe me. I’ve lost someone, and I know. Don’t let people you despise see you like this.’

Given that Lydia seemed to despise most people, and for the present had excluded me from the list, my words did the trick.

It surprises me that after a death, items so taken for granted, such as a fluted white china teapot and cups edged with gilt, turn into objects of delicate beauty, as if seen for the first time.

‘There’s another reason why I’m here.’ I poured two cups of tea. ‘Lydia, don’t jump down my throat.’

‘What reason?’

‘Narayan’s family are on their way from London. Once they arrive, they will sweep in and be the only ones who matter.’ The jewellery caught my eye. ‘Don’t be here. Take what is yours in case there is any dispute. Go to your people. It’s not so far is it?’

‘So that’s why you’re here.’ Her hand shook as she took the cup from me. ‘That bloody wife of his, Indira, when I was in my palace, she sent servants to poison me. Is she coming?’

‘Yes.’ I assumed she would be, though I did not know. ‘I have asked for the Rolls-Royce to be brought to the front of the hotel, in the hope that you’ll agree to stay at your family’s farm for now.’

She perked up at the mention of the Rolls. ‘They’re giving me my car back?’

‘Yes.’ We were not returning the car to her, but now was no time for details. ‘I’ll ride with you.’

‘Why?’

Think quickly, Kate. ‘Because I want to interview Thurston Presthope. He lives at Halton East, I believe. You can point me in the right direction.’

‘That rat. I saw through him. Out for what he could get. He borrowed money from Narayan, didn’t he?’

‘Something like that. I want to make sure what has happened does not release him from his debt.’

‘He should pay me. Narayan would want that.’

‘I don’t want to hurry you, Lydia, but it might be a good idea to pack your jewellery.’

‘I will.’ She came to life, revived by tea, or thoughts of saving her booty from the Halkwaer family. ‘What about my clothes, my furs?’

‘I will have them packed and sent on.’ I took out my notebook. ‘I’ll list what you’re taking, and what’s to follow.’

The sooner she was gone, the better.

And now that I had decided to interview Thurston Presthope, I wanted to lose no more time.