Murder on a Summer's Day (18 page)

The coroner studied me over spectacles now perched just above his nostrils. ‘Is there anything you would like to add?’

Because I was not speaking from the front of the room, the people on the row in front turned to look at me: the duke, the maharajah, his son, the widow, and James. Only Mr Chana did not turn his head.

I noticed that Indira had a permanent wave in her hair. I saw the sadness in her eyes, and I could not speak.

The coroner said, ‘Mrs Shackleton.’

I heard myself say, ‘He looked very peaceful.’

Then I sat down, despising myself.

At first, I could barely hear what the coroner said as he brought this part of the inquest to a close. A choice of verdicts… horse baulked… gun went off… accidental… or open verdict… if you harbour doubts.

Surely they must harbour doubts.

I could have made sure they did, but I had failed.

Another moment and I would have hotfooted it back to the hotel and said goodbye to Bolton Abbey for good. Sometimes a person just has to acknowledge that she has been well and truly defeated.

I was halfway across the lawn when Mr Chana caught up with me.

‘Mrs Shackleton.’ He spoke in a deep, cultured voice. ‘Her highness the Maharani Indira invites you to view her husband’s body.’

I stared at him.

Anyone else might have spoken again, added a word of explanation. He did not.

My image of Prince Narayan was of him lying near a holly bush, covered in branches, dead crows nearby. Would I like to see him once more, to have a different picture? It would never blot out my first sight of him. But this was an invitation. To refuse would be churlish.

‘I accept.’

He gave a small bow. ‘Please come with me. I am Mohinder Singh Chana.’

The main hall had cleared of people. We walked beyond the chairs, to a ground floor corridor. I wondered whether the 6th Duke of Devonshire had ever regretted handing the task of extending this house to his head gardener. The corridors were a veritable rabbit warren, taking us around a corner, through a passage, up a step, around another corner, and another onto a landing dark enough to grow mushrooms.

‘May I ask you a question, Mrs Shackleton?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mentioned in your report a receipt for ten thousand pounds, signed by a certain gentleman.’

‘I did.’

‘Is that receipt secure?’

‘Yes, but the gentleman in question does not know that. He may think it turned to ashes in the grate.’

‘Thank you.’

I caught the sound of retreating footsteps and glimpsed a man in traditional Indian dress disappearing around a corner.

At a closed door a robed Indian stood sentry.

‘The men have left the room free. Excuse me if you know this, but you must not touch the body.’ He nodded to the sentry who opened the door.

We stepped inside.

The shutters were closed, the room dim. The air was filled with the scent of jasmine, carnations and roses. Oil burned in lamps around the huge fireplace. An oddly shaped alcove gave the room the appearance of too many walls. But what drew my eye was the figure of Narayan. He lay on the floor, richly embroidered purple and pomegranate silks spread under him. All but his face was completely covered in flowers, roses, marigolds, pinks and carnations. In the subdued room the blooms provided a splash of life and colour that belied the scene of death. His arms were by his sides, also covered in blossoms. The body was angled so that the head lay in the direction of the alcove.

There were many colourful cushions on the floor, studded with jewels and tiny mirrors. The widowed maharani sat on the floor, a small boy beside her.

Close up, Indira was more beautiful than I had thought when I first saw her. Her husband must have been mad to take up with Lydia.

Unsure of what to do, I gave something that approached a curtsey and expressed my condolences.

She waved at a cushion near to her.

I sat down.

‘Women do not usually come to see the body. It is thought too emotional, you see. My mother-in-law keeps to her room.’ She spoke to her son. ‘See, Rajendra, how peaceful your father looks.’

Now that my eyes were accustomed to the gloom, I saw that Narayan lay on a stretcher, eyes closed, arms straight by his sides. Both man and stretcher were so covered with flowers that I had thought he had been laid on the floor.

She motioned to Mr Chana who stood in the doorway. He came across, took the child by the hand and left the room.

‘At the inquest, you said my husband looked peaceful when you saw him in the wood.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes you agree you said that, or yes, he did?’

‘He did.’ I searched for the word. ‘He looked regal.’

‘Not like someone who had been thrown from a horse.’

‘I can’t say.’

‘No. I suppose not.’

‘It is a lovely custom, to cover the body with flowers.’

‘You will notice that his feet point to the south. This is the direction his soul will travel, the direction of the dead.’

‘Yes I see.’ Something I could not quite grasp niggled at me. Had this been part of a dream? I had a feeling I should know something, but what?

‘Did she look on his body?’

I knew very well whom she meant but did not answer straight away. Did Indira know about Lydia? Of course she must. Narayan had built a palace for Lydia near his own. Lydia had claimed that Indira tried to have her poisoned.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure what…’

‘Not sure whether his whore saw him, or not sure you should tell me?’

‘She did not see him.’

‘Good.’ We sat in silence for a moment. ‘I am his only wife. We were betrothed when I was seven years old. I gave him a son and two daughters.’

Sometimes the choice is between saying nothing and saying something stupid and banal. ‘It will be hard.’

Hard? Yes. Not as hard as for the poor young widow left carrying Osbert Hannon’s baby. Or perhaps a different kind of hard.

She said it again. ‘I am his only wife.’

Perhaps, although she looked so calm, grief had unbalanced her. I did not answer her.

‘Tell me that statement is true.’ The urgency in her voice made me turn and look at her directly. She saw my confusion. ‘He was planning to marry her. He asked our astrologer to cast her horoscope and forecast a propitious day. Has he married her, his whore, disregarding the day, without telling me, in some private ceremony?’

‘No.’

‘I like to think he would not have done it, not married a prostitute.’

We sat a while longer.

‘Is there anything I can do, your highness?’

‘Thank you, no. You may go.’

As I left the room, Prince Jaya, who had escorted Indira into the inquest was waiting outside. He gave a sad smile. ‘Thank you for your words at the inquest. I am the man who has lost the best of brothers.’

He went into the room, and I felt glad for Indira that she had her family to lean on.

But what test had she put me through, I wondered, as Mr Chana escorted me back through winding corridors. And did I pass?

‘Are you staying for the verdict?’ It was Presthope, standing nonchalantly on the lawn in front of the house, smoking. ‘Foregone conclusion, I’d say.’

I did not answer him but walked away, towards the Priory Church. I would sit there and have a few moments of peace and quiet.

He followed me. As he came closer, I realised he had been drinking. He thought it was all over.

‘Pretty little speech you gave there, Mrs Shackleton, even though you were not called. Perhaps the coroner did not realise your importance, the importance of a private detective.’ The idea amused him greatly.

‘Mr Presthope, you told me that you borrowed two hundred pounds from the maharajah.’

‘No, Mrs Shackleton. I told you that he gave me that amount as a gift.’

‘He entrusted you with a great deal more.’

I was giving him an opportunity to be truthful, to return the money. Even a disreputable rogue deserves a chance to be honest.

Presthope smiled with reptilian charm. ‘I noticed your dissatisfaction at the inquest, but please do not take out your failure on me. I can guess how you came up with your story, that I have somehow taken advantage of my friend. It must have come from the farmer’s daughter, our charming Miss Metcalfe. I thought better of you than that you would believe such lies.’

He lurched towards me, wagging his finger, and then drew back as he saw Mr Chana emerge from behind an enormous rhododendron bush and saunter by.

‘Lies? Well that is all right then. I thought perhaps you had murdered the prince for his money.’

His arms dropped by his side. ‘What? You think I killed Narayan?’

‘Did you?’

‘Why would I? He was my friend.’

‘But you were not his friend.’

‘Women don’t know the meaning of friendship. Friendship sometimes means holding back the truth. My alibi is watertight, which if you were anything of a detective you would have verified. You don’t know, do you? You haven’t heard what they’re saying in the village.’

‘I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.’

‘Since you suspect me, then yes, I will. The word is that halfwit son of Isaac’s killed him.’

‘Joel, but why would he?

‘Everyone knows he doted on the white doe. It was his pet. He’s fed and nursed the creature since it was a kid. Joel killed Narayan because he shot the damn doe. Why do you think Isaac had a stroke? Because he knew, he knew that his son is a murderer. It wouldn’t look good, would it? Not for his lordship, not for me, not for the village, not for any of us.’ His mouth tightened as he stood an inch away from me, intimidating, breathing fumes on my head as if he would like to set my hair alight. ‘It’s Joel Withers who will be strung up if you cry murder. How humiliating would that be? A royal prince murdered at the heart of Empire by a village fool. If you make accusations against me, I shall tell what everyone knows.’

I did not let him see the effect his words had on me. What he said made a terrible kind of sense. It explained Joel’s fear and dread, his nightmares. It explained his father’s distress. It explained why everyone insisted on the explanation ‘tragic accident’. No doubt poor Joel would be dealt with quietly. He would be locked away in some asylum and forgotten.

I took a step back, but only so that I could look Presthope in the eyes. He would not know how deeply shaken I felt. ‘Then do that, Mr Presthope. Accuse a poor young man whose father was so distressed by the death of a prince that he will never recover. Do that, Mr Presthope. Heap more coals on your own head.’

I continued to the church and went to sit inside, trying to regain some composure.

I do not know how long I sat there, but when the church bells rang I nearly jumped out of my skin. Then I realised that the chimes were to call us back to the inquest. A verdict had been reached.

We took our places in the hall.

The jury filed in.

This time, James sat beside me. Perhaps he feared I might once more intervene.

The widowed Maharani Indira was not in her seat. It was occupied by the Duchess of Devonshire. I could imagine the duchess saying kindly that Indira should be with her mother-in-law. Her ladyship would attend for her, and report the verdict to the women.

The coroner turned to the mild-mannered clergyman.

‘Gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?’

‘We have, sir,’ the clergyman replied softly.

‘What is your verdict?’

‘Accidental death.’

I glanced at Narayan’s father. Maharajah Shivram Halkwaer closed his eyes and lowered his head. Prince Jaya turned to his father as if to protest.

The maharajah paid him no heed.

The coroner asked the clergyman jury foreman, ‘Is your verdict unanimous?’

‘It is. We extend our deepest sympathies to the family.’

For the first time, the coroner fidgeted, twisting his pen. He thanked the jury for their verdict and spoke words of regret and condolence for a life cut short. He put down his pen. ‘I am issuing a special certificate to permit cremation of the body of Maharajah Narayan Halkwaer in accordance with Hindu funeral rites. Because the laws of this country do not allow for cremation out of doors, His Grace the Duke of Devonshire has given permission for a temporary structure to be erected at an appropriate location on the estate.’

We stood until the coroner had left, followed by the Duke and Duchess, the maharajah and Prince Jaya.

Presthope stood to leave. Mr Chana walked up to him, as did Constable Brocksup who touched his arm and put his lips close to Presthope’s ear. The three men climbed the stairs to the gallery. Presthope turned and gave me a look of poisonous hatred.

‘You tried to warn him,’ James said.

‘I thought he should have the opportunity to tell the truth.’

‘That was kind of you, but probably ill-advised.’

James and I watched as the three men went through a door on the right.

When the hall had emptied of all but me and James, we sat side by side and lit cigarettes.

‘It was a whitewash, James.’

‘I knew you would think that.’

‘The nicely constructed story about the horse that baulked, about the body being undiscovered, it’s tosh. Narayan did not die in that spot. He was taken there.’

‘So you keep saying. There is no evidence to point in that direction.’

‘Not if no one wants to find the evidence.’

‘It is better this way.’

‘Yes. I see that. Better for all concerned that there be no suspicion of foul play.’

‘Thinking like that will do no good. The family have accepted the verdict.’

‘No, the brother has not accepted it. Did you look at him when the verdict was announced? And Indira…’

He gave me a sharp look. ‘What about her?’

I decided against confiding in him. ‘Well, she wasn’t here, was she? Because any fool would know this verdict was decided in advance.’

‘The maharajah has accepted it. That is what matters. Prince Jaya will follow his father’s lead.’

‘And what happens now?’

He scratched at his neck under the stiff collar. ‘The maharajahs of Kapurthala, Rajpipla, Nawanger and Kalathal, and the family from Baroda, are all either in London or on their way to London and have expressed an intention to come and pay their respects.’

‘So they will be coming for the funeral?’

‘We are discouraging them, but cannot easily forbid it outright. On the other hand, not having them here may make it appear that we are arranging a hole-in-the-corner funeral, not showing due respect and regard for the late prince’s position. Given how long it takes for their entourages to move, having the cremation tomorrow may make it difficult for them.’

‘There is some other reason, something else you are not telling me.’

James went to fetch an ashtray from a side table. He set it on a chair between us.

‘What is it? Why are you being secretive?’

‘All right, but it’s unlikely to mean anything to you. Kalathal is in dispute with Gattiawan about mineral rights. It would be politically inexpedient to give various people an opportunity to congregate.’ He tapped ash from his cigarette. ‘But if they are to congregate, what better place than here, under the nose of his lordship, Colonial Secretary?’

Why did I keep coming back to that sighting of the Indian seen, or not seen, on Bark Lane by the coal merchant?

A sudden commotion by the door distracted us. The young footman was trying to stop a man from rushing into the hall.

I recognised the stationmaster. He ran up to James. ‘I have a message for his lordship. That dolt tried to keep me waiting.’

‘What is it?’

‘I tried to telephone, sir. No one answers.’

‘Spit it out, man.’

‘I have taken a call from Kings Cross. Five maharajahs have between them chartered three trains. They are on their way now, coming for the funeral.’

James is hardly ever perturbed. He blinked. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He blinked again.

‘Are you sure? This could be some foul practical joke.’

‘I am sure, sir. Telegrams are due any moment.’

James dismissed him with a gesture. ‘Then make ready.’ When the stationmaster had gone, James said, more to himself than to me. ‘Where on earth will we put five maharajahs and their entourages, and how will we keep them apart?’

‘If they have combined to charter trains, they are already acting as one.’

Some power struggle from the distant sub-continent was snaking its way towards the heart of Yorkshire.