Murder on a Summer's Day (20 page)

James no doubt congratulated himself that he had so easily persuaded me to tackle Lydia about the diamond. He was not to know that I had a reason of my own. Somewhere at the back of my mind was the thought that if I found the diamond, I would find the murderer. One success may lead to another. Joel Withers could, conceivably, be the killer. If not, such a priceless jewel would provide a motive for murder.

I slowed the motor and came to a halt as a herd of sheep slowly crossed the lane encouraged by a border collie. A shepherd urged them on, raising his cap to me as the last animal entered a gate on the opposite side.

A little way on, I turned the motor onto the track that led to the farm. The wheels squelched through mud. Once more I climbed from the car, opened the gate, drove through, and closed it. I could see the British aristocrats’ and Indian royals’ attraction to being surrounded by servants willing to leap about and do the dirty work.

Lydia must have heard the car. She opened the farmhouse door.

‘I heard the church bells. What is the verdict?’

We went into the kitchen. I looked about, but there was no one else there.

‘I know you got friendly with my mother. She is always friendly to outsiders, constantly imagining that any female she comes across would be a better daughter than I.’

We sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Where is she?’

‘In the dairy.’ She took out her cigarette case. ‘Well, what was the verdict?’

‘Accidental death.’

She snorted. ‘They killed him.’

‘Who?’

‘If I knew I would tell you. Perhaps his lady wife, the poet, sent someone to take a pot shot. I suppose her spies would have told her he intended to marry me. What did they say at the inquest?’

‘The horse baulked. The gun went off.’

She lit her cigarette. ‘Huh! Exactly what you told me. You should be pleased then. I thought about it afterwards, and I knew it was nonsense. Narayan has been shooting tigers since he was ten. He is the world’s top polo player which means he rides a horse better than anyone in the universe.’

‘I came to tell you the verdict, Lydia, but also to ask whether you know where the Gattiawan diamond might be found. According to tradition, Narayan’s body should be decked with jewels when it is carried for cremation.’

She balanced the cigarette on one of those tin ashtrays made by boys in a school metalwork class. ‘Are they taking him back to India?’

‘No. That would not be practical, not in August.’

‘What then?’

‘The duke has given permission for cremation in the Valley of Desolation. It will be tomorrow.’

She blew her nose. ‘I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’ll never see him again. He was the most glorious man I ever knew. Of course I treated him badly… how else could I have kept him for so long?’

‘Lydia, do you know where the Gattiawan diamond is?’

‘How should I know? I suppose that miserable Ijahar says I have it. If he does, he’s a liar.’

‘When did you last see it?’

She thought for a moment. ‘He wore it to dinner with the Duke of Devonshire at Chatsworth last Saturday night. He put on his ceremonial garb.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘I mocked him, of course.’

‘And that was the last time you saw it?’

‘Yes. Because I wasn’t invited to Chatsworth, and I was asleep when he came back.’ She jutted her chin. ‘So ask the Duke of Devonshire. For all I know, he got his honoured guest drunk and took it. Isn’t that how their sort always gather loot? Grab, grab, grab. King George has the Koh-i-noor diamond. Why shouldn’t one of his dukes snatch the dubte suraj ki chamak? I know our top dogs want it for England. Narayan let that much slip. There’s some shenanigans going on about it in high places. I’m not supposed to know that. Don’t tell them I know.’

‘What kind of shenanigans?’

‘Some tit for tat. But I don’t know. And they mustn’t think I do.’ She looked suddenly afraid. ‘They all hate me.’

I stood to go.

She walked with me to the door. ‘Can I have my Rolls-Royce back now?’

‘I don’t think so. Not until they find the diamond.’

She snapped her fingers. ‘Got it! Thurston Presthope. I wouldn’t put it past him to have taken the diamond. He borrowed money from Narayan. Tell that to the powers that be.’

The powers that be. That is exactly what they were. Not for the first time, I wondered why I had been chosen for this task. Perhaps it was because if someone had to fail, it had better be me, and not a charmed member of the inner circle, or the forces of law and order.

‘Tell me now, Lydia, if you know where the diamond is. Your father’s lease on this farm is due to expire. They will hold that over him. They will turn the place upside down.’

‘Then damn their eyes. And damn them for locking up my Rolls-Royce.’

A persistent tapping on the casement woke me from a dreaming sleep. I had closed the curtains tightly against last night’s moonlight and now could not see whether it was day or night. Someone hissed at me through the slightly open window.

I went to see who it could be. The figure stepped back. He was dressed in white and gave a small bow.

I opened the window wider. ‘Ijahar, what are you doing here?’

‘Memsahib, the maharani will see you.’

‘Now?’

He nodded.

Never let it be said that I declined a royal summons. ‘Give me a few moments. Wait by my motor.’

‘Your motor?’

‘It’s blue.’

I dressed quickly and left the room.

Unfortunately, not another soul stirred, and the outer doors were still locked.

I went back to my room, and climbed out of the window, feeling like a character in a girls’ adventure story.

Ijahar stood by the car. When I asked him to get in, he shook his head and took two steps back indicating that he would ride on the step. Fearful of his falling off and my having to explain one more body, we compromised. He took his place in the dickey seat.

We entered Bolton Hall by a side door, a servants’ entrance. A scullery maid turned away as we approached, averting her eyes as we passed, though I knew she had made sure of a good sly glance.

‘This way, memsahib.’

I followed Ijahar up a steep, dingy staircase, a servants’ staircase that led to an uncarpeted landing. A discreet door allowed servants to enter and leave their betters’ rooms with a minimum of disturbance. The communicating door led to a carpeted landing. I followed Ijahar. He tapped on a door. No one answered. He opened it, and waved me inside.

The shutters of the room were half open, allowing a pale yellow light to illuminate the opulent woven rug on which silk, brocade and velvet cushions were placed. The rich colours of the rug and of the patterned cushions, mulberry, scarlet, wine and royal blue transformed the room into something out of the Arabian Nights.

Sitting on the floor is not something I do a lot. I gathered my skirt and chose a plum-coloured velvet cushion with moons and stars embroidered in gold thread.

On the rug were unrolled parchments and ruled foolscap of the kind on which musicians write their pieces. The parchments were held down at the corners by ornate gold paperweights. There were pens and different coloured inks. The papers were dotted with symbols and inscriptions. Further off, to the side of the rug, were rolled parchments, tied with silk ribbons. Someone had been busy.

One of the parchments was decorated with signs of the zodiac. With a shiver, I wondered whether Prince Narayan’s death had been foretold.

Gliding like a ghost, Indira stepped into the dimly lit room. Her slippers were woven of gold thread.

I stood to greet her.

She apologised for summoning me so early, and then sat down on a red-gold cushion embroidered with a pattern of pomegranates, motioning me to sit.

I waited for her to speak first.

‘Thank you for coming, Mrs Shackleton. I could not sleep, you see.’ For someone who had not slept, she looked perfect, with barely a shadow under her eyes. ‘You are a widow?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought so. We Hindus are taught from an early age to accept our lot on earth without complaint. Some are born into suffering and sorrow because in a previous life they were not pure in heart, and so did not find the way to God. But it is hard when you are not born into suffering and sorrow and it finds you regardless.’ She glanced at one of the scrolls. ‘You have noticed the charts.’

‘Yes.’

‘The astrologer must find an auspicious day for us to make our journey home with my husband’s ashes.’

‘And has he found such a day?’

‘Not yet. You see, a day that suited my father-in-law was wrong for my son and his grandmother. A day that is right for them and me may prove unsuitable for Prince Jaya. But I expect you dismiss astrology.’

‘I don’t know enough about it to be dismissive.’

‘Many Europeans regard it as mumbo jumbo but I have found that it accords with what will come to pass. My husband and I were married on a propitious day, and each day I gave birth was marked in my horoscope as propitious.’

If that was her belief, she must regret not having every day of Narayan’s life cast. On Friday, he should have taken greater care.

‘You have other children, your highness?’

‘Yes, two daughters. They are in Simla with their ayahs – their nursemaids. My father-in-law thinks the journey by ship is too much for them. The youngest is only seven years old, the age I was when the Tika Raja and I were betrothed.’

‘You were very young.’

‘We married when I was sixteen and he was eighteen. If you had seen the two of us together on our wedding day, you would have thought we were a prince and princess from the Arabian Nights.’

I smiled. ‘I can imagine, just by looking at what you have here, and how you dress.’

‘He was educated in England. I was educated in Switzerland. At our wedding celebration, we realised we had both forgotten how to eat with our fingers. Later, we laughed about it.’

‘What a happy memory.’

‘I told you about our education so that you may understand. I feel not fully Indian, and not European either. I should not be here speaking to you, but holding a long silence, day upon day of silence. And I should ensure that my husband is treated in death as in life, with the respect and ceremony due to him. I wish you could retrieve the Gattiawan diamond in time for his funeral today.’

‘So do I wish that, but it seems most unlikely.’

She sighed. ‘Perhaps, perhaps not. You have something I recognise, persistence, a way of looking at the world with clear eyes. We have in common that we are widows, and we have something else in common.’

‘Oh?’

‘There are some matters that cannot be spoken aloud.’ She fidgeted with the hem of her sari. ‘These are the matters we most wish to know.’

‘If we cannot speak of something, then how can it be brought into the open?’

‘It is important to know. Because… Tell me your opinion of the inquest verdict. What did you think?’

‘It is a plausible verdict.’

‘It might be plausible, except that my husband was an exceptional horseman and an experienced huntsman.’ She was echoing what Lydia Metcalfe had said. I made no answer. ‘Servants talk, Mrs Shackleton, and some of that talk finds its way to me. There is a fine minaret by a lake, near Lahore. It was built by Emperor Jahangir as a monument to Mansraj, one of his pet deer.’

‘Oh?’

She looked at me closely. She could not have said more plainly that she had heard about Joel Withers, the pet doe Narayan had shot, and the talk of Joel as having taken revenge.

‘I hadn’t heard that story, your highness. It must be unique, a monument to a deer.’

There was a tap on the door. She tensed.

The door opened. Ijahar bowed, ‘Highness, the maharani is from her bed.’

She dismissed him with a nod. ‘I must go. You will think about what I have said?’

She stood, and so did I. ‘With respect, your highness, you have said nothing. I cannot read your mind.’

And I should have added that I could do nothing. If my suspicions were correct and Joel had shot the crown prince of Gattiawan because he killed a pet doe, then that information would be far worse to live with than a verdict of accidental death.

She hesitated. ‘You are right. I heard that you are a private investigator. We understood each other at the inquest. I wrongly expected you to read my thoughts.’

‘What are your thoughts?’

‘I want to know who killed my husband. Your government will find out. They will need to know for their own information, but they will not tell me, or the Maharajah Shivram. Will you tell me, if you learn the truth?’

I hesitated.

She waited only for a few seconds for a reply I did not give. ‘Perhaps you will, or perhaps not. After this visit, I will never set foot in this country again.’

‘I am sorry that this place will have such bad memories for you.’

She waved her hand, dismissing my words. ‘There is something else. I want to take the Gattiawan diamond home with me. It belongs to us. Its history links it to the Rajputs. My husband and father-in-law would have traded it for favours, but not now. It must be returned, so that it will adorn my son, Rajendra, when he becomes Maharajah of Gattiawan. Today my husband will go to the funeral pyre. It will be the first time in seven generations that a Gattiawan maharajah will be carried to the cremation grounds unadorned by the diamond. I believe that woman has it, that she grasped her moment to take it when Narayan did not return from his ride.’

Ijahar made a slight movement. A floorboard creaked under his foot.

‘You will help me? You will try to recover the diamond?’

I hesitated, but found it impossible to refuse. ‘I will try. Usually I look for missing persons. They can be difficult enough to find, but a precious gem…’ I almost added that it could be cut and sold, but that seemed too cruel.

‘Thank you. The diamond must be returned. You will be well rewarded, Mrs Shackleton.’ At the door she turned, ‘Can you find your way out?’

‘Yes.’

She was gone. Ijahar followed her, closing the door gently behind him.

After a moment or so, I left the room. Ijahar had led me through a concealed door, a servants’ door. I found a staircase, but not the right one. This was wider. Either the original architect, or the gardener who made the additions, had a sense of humour. I found myself on a landing with no way down. Once more, a servant pretended not to see me. I retraced my steps and followed the direction Indira had taken. This brought me to the minstrels’ gallery.

Hearing a familiar voice through an open door, I glanced in.

James was speaking reassuringly to Prince Jaya, Narayan’s younger brother.

Jaya waited until James had finished.

‘Where is your British justice? I hear of it, but I don’t see it. The man Osbert should not have been allowed to drown himself. He should have hanged for murdering my brother. And where is the Gattiawan diamond?’

They both saw me.

Conversation stopped.

‘Excuse me. James, I was looking for you, but it can wait.’

Jaya gave a polite acknowledgement and took a small step back.

‘What is it, Kate?’

‘I’m going to Skipton, to the inquest. Just thought I’d mention it.’

‘What inquest?’ Jaya said sharply.

As if he had not traduced Osbert Hannon, I said, ‘The inquest into the death of a young man, Osbert Hannon. He accompanied Maharajah Narayan on his ride. The next morning, when he was on his way to search for him, he drowned.’

Jaya’s nose twitched with distaste. ‘A royal prince deserved a better escort.’

I did not wait to hear more, but as I left them I caught James’s placatory words. ‘I realise that for your highness it is very hard to accept that your brother’s death…’

Fill in the blanks, Kate. A tragic accident. The words were beginning to deserve capital letters.