by Charles Todd
We were handed from staff to staff—Richard had to relinquish his dress sword along the way—and finally found ourselves in the elegant room where the Prince received guests of our status. It was designed to impress, in royal blue and silver.
He kept us waiting for fifteen minutes, then came in with his staff around him. There was the Dewan, his equivalent of a prime minister, his Secretary, a formidable man with graying hair, and the British Secretary in charge of Rulumpur.
The Prince was not very tall, reminding me of Edward—he must be Prince of Wales now, I realized, as his father had become King George V. We’d seen the black bordered announcements of Edward VII’s death in all the Delhi newspapers. That, it had turned out, was true.
Slim and wearing glasses, the Prince looked more like a studious Oxford man than the head of a 19-gun salute Princely state, in spite of his satin coat and formal turban. The rope of large black pearls around his neck matched the black armband he wore in mourning for the King.
His manner toward us was cold, while Richard was as formal as the Governor-General himself could be on occasion. And that seemed to daunt the Prince.
“We’ve come to learn why one of my men, a respected member of the British Army, was tried and found guilty of charges that make no sense. I would be grateful if you would explain the circumstances to me.”
“My mother would be glad to entertain your lady wife in the zenana,” he replied.
And someone appeared as if by magic to conduct me there. I felt as if I’d abandoned Richard, in a way, but I knew he was right. I could do more good elsewhere.
We went through a dozen passages into a part of the Palace that belonged to the women of the family. The Prince hadn’t, to my knowledge, taken a second wife—that was going out of fashion—but the zenana was full of women.
I was introduced to the Rajmata, his widowed mother, then to her mother, and to several aunts who were visiting, and then to the Prince’s other mothers, the two women his father had married after his senior wife.
I was beginning to wish I’d brought Bess with me. She might have distracted some of them.
Smiling, the Rajmata ordered refreshments, and in one corner of the room, someone behind a screen began playing a musical instrument.
When the formalities had been dealt with and we were all seated comfortably on an array of silk cushions, the Prince’s mother asked what brought me to visit here.
“My husband, the Colonel of the Regiment, and I are very concerned about one of my husband’s men. He has been accused of serious crimes. We have reason to believe that he is not guilty—that a serious mistake has been made.”
I had carried a large handbag with me, and I reached inside it. Bringing out the roll of bloody silk handkerchief, with the little purse of rupees and the gold chain, I laid them out on the floor, adding the knife last.
There were gasps and little cries as the women leaned forward to stare at what I had spread out before them.
The Rajmata said, “Have these been shown to my son?”
“Not yet, Your Highness. I was present when these were discovered.” I explained how that had happened, and she listened closely.
An aunt said, “Who was this murdered man?”
“He was a driver of a bullock cart,” I said.
“Lower caste, then.” The grandmother.
“Yes, Your Highness. It was thought he interrupted his killer rifling one of the carts. But my husband’s soldiers don’t carry silk handkerchiefs, only cotton or linen ones. And this is not the sort of knife they carry.” I pointed to the handle. “It is like so many in the bazaar, and there is a carving of Ganesh in the handle. What’s more, my husband’s soldiers would never have insulted the Princess. The Maharani, her mother, has been a guest in our home any number of times, and we have been guests of hers.”
“Who has said she was insulted? The Princess?”
“I have been unable to speak to her about this. The accuser is her child’s ayah. Why she should wish to accuse one of my husband’s men is a mystery. I should like to know more about this woman.”
There was some discussion among the ladies. I could follow most of it, and the gist was, the child’s nursemaid had come to Rulumpur with the most junior wife of the late Rajah, then been put in charge of the nursery.
That most junior wife spoke up then. “My mother chose her to accompany me. She had saved my sister who had fallen ill of cholera, nursing her day and night, when the doctors had given up all hope. And she lived. It was hoped that this woman would save my children if one fell ill.”
I sipped the cool drink I’d been given—it tasted of apricots and honey—and then asked, “And she was also chosen to accompany the Princess?”
The grandmother spoke then. “It is not a good time of year to travel. Children can fall ill. The Princess’s little daughter is much loved here.”
I tried another tack. “Why did the Princess decide to travel this month?”
There was a long silence. And then the Rajmata said, “She and my son the Prince had a falling-out.”
Oh, dear.
One of the aunts added, “We should have left for the hill country three weeks ago. But the Prince does not wish to leave without his wife. And Parvati did not wish to go.”
“May I ask why they had a falling-out?”
Again there was some discussion, and finally I was told.
“They have one son. The Prince wishes to send him to England to study. As he did in his own youth. He believes that we must learn about England. Not just from the Resident, but from our own experience. The Princess felt the boy was still too young. And she did not care for the people who would have been given the charge of him while he was abroad. She wanted him to study in Mysore, where state administration is an art.”
I was doing some rapid arithmetic in my head.
The Prince and his wife were fighting over their children—she’d left for a visit to her mother, never mind the time of year, and most likely intended to stay for a while. And the ayah, the nursemaid, would surely have known this, if she lived here in the zenana. But why would she use this against Simon Brandon? To bring the Prince and Princess back together? Had she even been put up to this by one of these women? I wouldn’t put it past the Rajmata—she had very good reasons for keeping her son and his wife happy together, at least in public. The Maharani outranked her. It would be a reflection on her son that he couldn’t keep his wife at home. Still, the Prince could put Parvati away, if there was a very good reason, then marry again. And Simon might have unwittingly given the ayah an opportunity to present the Prince with that reason. But who then had killed the bullock cart driver?
Palace intrigue didn’t explain murder, did it? Two and two were not adding up to four.
Oh, dear.
I touched the items on the floor in front of me, spread out on the stained square of silk. “I have trusted Simon Brandon with my own daughter. To teach her to ride and shoot, to accompany her when she goes beyond the boundaries of the cantonment. I would have trusted him with the Maharani’s daughter. He and the other soldiers were chosen as her escort because they had impeccable records. I have not known him to be a violent man. The thing is, if he is executed for something he did not do, it will alienate the Army, it will alienate the Maharani, and it will alienate the Governor-General in Calcutta. I can understand that the Prince must feel his dignity has been attacked, and his wife insulted. He has a reputation for being a good and fair man. Perhaps we could find a face-saving solution that would satisfy all parties.”
One of the aunts opened her mouth to speak, and thought better of it. The Prince’s mother hadn’t answered me.
When she did, it was unexpected. “This man has been found guilty in a fair trial.”
“Was it fair? His commanding officer was not present. The officers who were here were not allowed to question him in order to prepare a defense. We do not know what the Princess heard. We only have the word of a nursemaid.”
&nb
sp; The Rajmata gestured to the things on the handkerchief. “Perhaps this was left for you to find, because he was taken into custody before he could retrieve it.”
I touched the little purse, and the gold chain. “If I were planning to take your daughter and harm her, I would need more than this to help me to escape afterward. That cart was filled with far more than this paltry sum.”
“He did not have time to find more. Because he was interrupted.”
I smiled. “It is my understanding that the man who owned the cart was found well over an hour later, when next the guard came by on his rounds. His killer could have taken what he pleased in that space of time. Perhaps it wasn’t the treasure he wanted, perhaps it was to appear to be a theft, so that there seemed to be a reason for the murder. Perhaps the ayah knows who planned this, and blamed my husband’s soldier to cover that death.”
The Rajmata stared at me. “You are accusing us in this matter.”
“No, Your Highness. I am seeking the truth. If my husband is convinced that his soldier didn’t commit any crime and did not insult the Princess he was there to protect, then what really happened at that guesthouse? Your son’s good name is just as much at risk as Sergeant Major Brandon’s. He would not wish it to be said that he put an innocent man to death.”
I’d pushed too far. In my need to do something, I’d gone about it the wrong way.
She rose, an imposing figure. “Take these things you have brought here and leave.”
I did just that, and as I rose to my feet, I said, “We are both mothers, Your Highness. We will do anything to protect our families. But Sergeant Major Brandon’s mother isn’t here to speak in his place. I have tried to speak for her.”
And with the proper salaams, I left the zenana, my heart in my shoes.
I sat in an antechamber for a quarter of an hour before Richard came out of the audience chamber, his expression grim.
Without a word, I joined him, and we left the Palace, where the motorcar waited to convey us to the guesthouse. But when the motorcar had left us at the door, Richard said, “Let’s walk.”
We found a small pavilion overlooking the lake where we could be private, and Richard said trenchantly, “I got nowhere.”
I waited as he collected himself. “The Dewan is a Brahmin, the Resident is a man with no backbone. And the Prince is convinced that his wife was in grave danger. I doubt he cares one whit about the dead man. Somehow he’s been led to believe that if Simon had managed to return that golden rattle to Parvati, he would have taken her away or killed her outright.”
I didn’t say anything. I was too numb. A little breeze rippled the surface of the water, and the image of the Palace shivered in the sunlight.
“The trial was held on a day that the Prince’s advisor told him was auspicious. And the sentence will be carried out on an auspicious day as well. Dear God!”
“Will they let you see him? Richard?”
“On the last morning.”
I closed my eyes.
“I told the Prince that the Governor-General would see him deposed if he refused the decency of comforting an innocent man.”
“You haven’t given up!”
“No. God, no. I’m sending a telegram to Minto in Calcutta asking for a pardon. And I’m meeting with the Resident, to force him to find some backbone. If it had only been the murder of a poor carter, who wasn’t one of the Prince’s subjects, if it had been theft of a few rupees and a gold chain, we might have won. But this threat to the Prince’s wife can’t be erased. What I can’t begin to understand is why the nursemaid reported such a thing. What could Simon have said to make anyone believe he could harm Parvati? Who put the ayah up to that? What does anyone have to gain by this madness?”
“In the zenana, they seemed to think the nursemaid was telling the truth. But I think—I believe—that the Prince’s man had something to do with convincing everyone of that. Why would a lowly nursemaid take it upon herself to lie? Someone is behind this, Richard. And is that person trying to bring the Prince and his wife back together? Or to give him an acceptable reason for him to put her aside? Why didn’t Parvati herself speak up? She knew Simon!”
I told him what had happened there in the zenana.
And afterward we walked to the railway station, down the hill, and through the crowded streets, rather than ask someone from the hotel to send the telegram for us.
The railways of India belong to the Government, the Princes have no authority over them.
We could be sure that any telegram sent from there would safely reach its destination. Richard had already decided what he would say, and he wrote out his lengthy message without hesitation. We stood there, watching, until it had actually been sent, then gave the stationmaster the name of our hotel, for any reply.
We took a rickshaw back up the hill, too distraught to enjoy the colorful crowds heading for the shops and the bazaars, and went directly to our rooms.
It wasn’t long before Lieutenant Hayes, Dr. Broughton, and the adjutant came to our door to ask for news.
Watching the hope fade from their faces as Richard told them what had transpired made events even more real for me. I sat there, my cup of tea untouched, as they made suggestion after suggestion, trying to find any solution to what was going to happen—in two days’ time.
If it had been my own child sitting in that cell, I couldn’t have felt more wretched. And I knew Richard felt the same. Finally, to give us a little peace, he sent the three men to find out what they could about the ayah and the Prince’s man who had been with the caravan. He was, I’d learned, a minor state minister, which is why he had the ear of the Prince and we did not. Lieutenant Hayes was of the opinion the man was ambitious, looking to climb the political ladder, so to speak, any way he could.
It gave them something to do, a sense of purpose, which they needed badly. And Richard sent a request to the Palace for a second audience.
That went about as well as the first.
The Prince put it best. “This man you claim is innocent has threatened my wife, and I have lost face with my mother-in-law because I failed to protect Parvati. She will not be safe until he is dead.”
The Dewan, regarding us with cold eyes, said, “You say you know this man. But he is of the ranks, and should have known better than to approach the Princess. Yet he did. What other purpose could it have been, than to threaten her?”
“My daughter,” I said, “often visited Parvati at her mother’s home. Simon was often Bess’s escort to and from the Palace. If he’d had designs on the Princess, he could have carried them out then and there. Here he was in the midst of a well-guarded caravan. Why not wait until the Princess was back at home with her mother?”
“He is young. He has not learned restraint in matters such as this. It does you honor to fight for one of your own, but here your case is without merit.”
Richard had no better luck seeing the Resident, a Mr. Aylesford, later in the evening.
This was, we discovered, his first posting with a Prince of a 19-gun salute. He’d spent much of his career with a Chief of a 5-gun salute, was promoted from there to a Prince with 10 guns. He wanted nothing to do with any problems that would see him removed from the Prince’s household and demoted.
“You’re the Government’s man on the ground, here. You have the authority to ask that his ruling be reexamined,” Richard pointed out.
“But this has to do with his wife, you see,” the Resident replied. “That’s a gray area, and we try not to involve ourselves in domestic matters. There is never a happy result.”
“Once a man’s life has been taken, there is no turning back. I have written to the Governor-General, Lord Minto, requesting his intercession. It will not look very good for your record if he finds that you’ve allowed the execution of an innocent man.”
That flustered him. But he regained a little of his poise as he said, “I have it on good authority that Lord Minto is not in Calcutta. He’s in Delhi, arranging a suitable
service to mark the King’s passing.”
We left soon after. And Richard went back to the telegraph office in the railway station to send another telegram, this time to Delhi.
Another restless, sleepless night passed. I could hardly swallow food, but made myself eat a little to keep from falling ill.
At ten o’clock in the morning, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “I’m going back to the zenana. I want to speak to the Rajmata.”
“I’ll escort you.”
And so we found ourselves back at the Palace once more. I asked to be taken to the zenana, and after a few minutes, an escort arrived to take me there.
But at the door, I was told that the ladies did not wish to receive me.
There was no appeal.
I had to follow my escort back to the antechamber where Richard waited.
We even went to the police station, where I told the man in charge that I was Sergeant Major Brandon’s mother and that I wished to see him.
We were turned away.
When we reached the hotel again, I asked Richard to pour me a small whiskey as well. I felt hollow inside.
In less than twenty-four hours, Simon would hang.
We went back to the pavilion in spite of the day’s heat, and sat there in wounded silence. We had found a message ordering us to present ourselves at the prison gates at 4:00 a.m. if we wished to speak to the prisoner. We had also gone back to the telegraph office to ask if any replies to our earlier telegrams had been received. They had not.
At one point, Richard said, “I won’t let him hang. I’ll kill him myself first.”
“They’ll search us for weapons—”
He pulled out a small revolver. “It isn’t very accurate at any distance, but at point-blank range, it will do. If you are on the verge of fainting, and I must support you, it’s possible that they’ll miss finding it.”
