A Hanging at Dawn: A Bess Crawford Short Story

by Charles Todd

  As we reached the front steps of the guesthouse, the Major and I found a very angry and red-faced Lieutenant Hayes, a very grim Sergeant Major, and a very stern Indian official informing them that, as this was a matter concerning the Prince’s household, it was legally his right to take charge.

  It was true that some of the more prominent Indian Princes had kept the right to deal with issues involving their estates or their families if their holdings were of a certain size. And Parvati’s husband was most certainly one of them.

  As we were approaching, Lieutenant Hayes looked up, saw us, and came forward to meet us. I watched the relief in his eyes fade as he realized that Colonel Crawford was not with us.

  As we dismounted, he said in a low voice to the Major, “Thank God you’re here. That man is one of the senior officials in the Prince’s household, and he’s taking his prisoner back with him. And I’ve been trying to stall him for the past several hours. Come and talk some sense into him, sir!”

  We hurried back with him, but the Prince’s man and his escort were already turning to take his prisoner to horses stamping their feet in the shade of the only trees in the courtyard. Simon was still with them, and I saw him speaking to the Prince’s man.

  I thought he too was trying to reason with him, and then even as I watched, they met another of the Prince’s men, coming toward them with chains in his hands. He lifted them and began to put them on Simon’s wrists.

  I had to bite off my shocked exclamation. “Oh—”

  Major Dudley was already following them, and I made certain that I was behind the Major with the Lieutenant and the others as they caught up with the escort.

  “What is this?” the Major snapped. “I am the senior officer here. Explain to me what you are doing with this man?”

  The Prince’s man turned, his eyebrows raised. He was not as tall as the Major or Simon, but had an air about him that told me he wasn’t accustomed to being questioned. He said, “This man is guilty of the murder of one of the Prince’s servants and the theft of items belonging to the Prince. We are returning with him to the Prince’s court.”

  “I was told it was the owner of a bullock cart who was killed.”

  “Nevertheless. He was hired by the Household. And as such we are responsible for him, not the Army.”

  Simon had turned, his mouth in a tight line, his gaze finding and meeting mine. I tried to give him a reassuring smile.

  “This man?” the Major was saying. “He’s a soldier of the King of England. You’ll do nothing of the sort. If there has been a crime committed, his commanding officer will sort it out and bring the appropriate charges.”

  I saw the bruise on Simon’s cheekbone, then. He’d given someone an excuse to strike him.

  “There are no ‘appropriate charges.’ This is a matter of murder.” The Prince’s minister turned slightly to point. A wagon was standing just beyond the horses. “The dead man is being returned to his family for burial. The evidence is locked in a strongbox to be presented to the Prince.”

  “I have no objection to the dead man being returned to his family. But not until I have had an Army surgeon and witnesses view the body.”

  There was heated discussion about this.

  In the end, the Prince’s man—I still hadn’t caught his name—relented, and the entire party made their way past the horses and over to the wagon.

  There were flies everywhere. Brushing them aside, we reached the wagon, and Dr. Broughton stopped me from approaching. “This isn’t something you should have to view, Mrs. Crawford.”

  Reluctantly I stepped aside. But I knew Richard was going to want to know even the tiniest detail. And while I had my back to the wagon, I was still close enough to hear what was being said.

  It was enclosed, that wagon, but in the heat of India, bodies don’t fare very well, and I heard the discussion about how to unwrap the dead man so that he could be covered again as neatly as before.

  That went on for several minutes.

  Simon’s guards were watching events as well, and I moved slightly so that I was nearer him. Bess had told me once that he’d helped her with her French, and so I said, in my own schoolgirl French, “What’s happening?”

  “They refuse to listen.”

  “Is Parvati all right?”

  “I believe so.”

  The Prince’s man turned and said, “There will be no conversation with the prisoner, if you please.”

  The adjutant, Captain Ramsey, said, “On the contrary, I will hear his account of events before he goes anywhere.”

  There was more discussion, and the Prince’s man was growing quite angry by this time.

  Finally they agreed on unwrapping the body, and the process began.

  After several minutes, I heard the surgeon say, “There appear to be two wounds, very close together. Knife, like a bayonet thrust, up to the heart. He would have died instantly.”

  That was precisely how an Army surgeon would describe a wound, I thought, but why on earth had he used the term bayonet just now? When a trained soldier was accused of the crime?

  “Precisely,” the Prince’s man was saying, echoing my own thought, “A soldier’s thrust.”

  They argued over that for several minutes more. Simon, saying nothing, was standing there bareheaded in the heat, as stoic as I’d ever seen him.

  Finally, the Prince’s man ordered the victim to be covered again.

  Major Dudley said flatly, “We will adjourn to a room in the guesthouse. Lieutenant, what facilities do they have?”

  “There’s a large room on the first floor where meals are served.” He turned to one of his men and ordered him to go and commandeer the room.

  “We are leaving,” the Prince’s man said adamantly.

  “Not until we’ve learned what the evidence is here. You would not allow one of your own men to be taken away until you had been told why. With that in mind, we will go inside where there is a certain amount of privacy to be had.”

  The Prince’s man was not having it.

  Major Dudley said shortly, “You are not on your master’s estate at this moment, sir, and you would do well to remember that.”

  In the end, he capitulated, and the entire party moved back across the courtyard to the guesthouse doors.

  I was surprised to find that the Major was right. We’d collected quite a crowd of onlookers, and I made a point to scan the faces nearest us, then those farther back. But there was only simple curiosity here. No one appeared to look guilty or anxious.

  Of course, it couldn’t have ended that simply, the murderer betraying himself just when we needed it. With a sigh, I made a point to follow the others.

  The Prince’s man said, “The lady need not accompany us.”

  To my surprise, it was Major Dudley who said, “She is present as a friend of the Maharani’s. She will hear what we hear.”

  The Prince’s man looked me over, then nodded. But he wasn’t pleased about this either. Had he already sent messages to the Maharani? Surely Parvati could have spoken up for Simon! But then she hadn’t seen him since she was sixteen . . .

  We went inside the guesthouse, climbed a dark staircase, and found the room that Lieutenant Hayes had spoken of.

  It was darkly paneled too, reminding me of the room at the Four Doves in our village in Somerset, sometimes used for inquests. Only there wasn’t a coroner, a police officer to give testimony, or any of the other usual parties one expected to see here in this dark little chamber. The overhead lamps, more Indian than English, cast shadows on our faces as someone moved to turn them up.

  There was uncertainty about where everyone was to sit. As the men worked that out, I stayed near the door. Simon waited quietly, his back against the wall nearest the door. The chains on his wrists look heavy, but he didn’t pay any attention to them.

  I thought, This must be the face that Richard saw on raids. Quiet, competent, ready to follow orders.

  But he must have been aware of the danger in whi
ch he stood. What was he thinking? I wished I knew.

  The Major and the Prince’s man finally sat down at opposite ends of the long table at one end of the room, and after some uncertainty the others who had come with us chose chairs that roughly aligned them on the two sides. I noticed that Corporal Stevens, one of the men who had come with the original party under Lieutenant Hayes, stayed close by Simon, as if ready to cover his escape. He was standing there by the wall, one of the Prince’s men on either side of him. He was taller than either of them.

  Just then one of the entourage came hurrying in, bowed to the Prince’s man, then whispered in his ear. He listened, shook his head, and waved the man away.

  The Major cleared his throat, then turned to Lieutenant Hayes. “Very well, Lieutenant, take us through your activities from the time the royal train arrived at the station.”

  Lieutenant Hayes, after a hasty glance in Simon’s direction, began his report, indicating how he’d set his men to guard the arrivals, and how the bullock carts had been ordered in the long line that made up the caravan. He carried on through the brief stop along the way, to rest the animals, and then the arrival here.

  It was a straightforward account. I’d heard men coming into the house late in the evening, for various reasons unable to leave their reports until morning. I knew that Lieutenant Hayes was being as accurate as he could be, neither leaving out anything nor putting anything in for Simon’s sake.

  But he was one man. He couldn’t be everywhere, and there were gaps in his testimony because of that.

  The Major asked, “The man who was killed. Did you see him during the morning? Or on the road here?”

  “No, sir. I mean to say, I was aware of the men and women in the Princess’s entourage, and I was aware of the men who dealt with the carts. I couldn’t tell you which of the carts that man drove. Given the size of the party, I was working with numbers rather than faces.”

  “Did you know he belonged to the caravan, when his body was found?”

  “Yes, sir. He wasn’t wearing the Prince’s livery. That meant he had been hired to meet the party at the railway station. One of the other bullock cart owners told us who he was and why he was here. I accepted that as sufficient identification. And the guesthouse gates had been locked at sunset—no one could come in or go out without an alarm being raised.”

  “Who found the body?”

  “Private Henley, sir. He was walking down the line of carts, having taken over from Private Johnston. The night had been quiet—he hadn’t expected trouble. Then he saw a man’s bare heel sticking out from under the side of the cart, and went over to investigate. The man didn’t respond when Private Henley touched his foot, and he reached down to pull the man out into the open. He lit a match, realized the man had been stabbed, and saw too that someone had cut the corner ropes holding down the canvas covering, apparently intending to steal something from the cart. As Private Henley cast about, he noticed a small casket lying just behind the wheel, upside down and empty. No weapon was visible, although Private Henley had the presence of mind to look under that wagon and those on either side, after he’d shouted the alarm. Later, when one of the entourage was brought over to tell us what was missing, he informed us that the casket had contained rupees. Silver, Edward VII on the face. And a gold chain, heavy, about thirty inches long.”

  “Carry on.”

  For the first time Lieutenant Hayes took a deep breath, as if bracing himself.

  “First I ran a head count, to see if anyone had gone missing. But everyone was present and accounted for, except the cart owner, of course. And everyone except the men on guard claimed to have been asleep. Still, I made an effort to ascertain the whereabouts of everyone in the party. I asked Sergeant Major Brandon to assist because of the number of people involved. As the officer in charge I took it upon myself to deal with the people closest to the Princess, while Sergeant Major Brandon dealt with the carters. Next I ordered everyone searched, except the Princess and her women. I paired one of my men with one of the Prince’s staff, and they went through everything, including the carriages and the carts, even the harnesses for the oxen and their bags of feed.”

  “And then?” the Major prompted, when the Lieutenant hesitated a second time.

  The Lieutenant looked across the room toward where Simon was standing, then his gaze moved on to me before he answered the question.

  “When the search was finished, I myself searched the belongings of the two men who carried out the main search.”

  There was a long pause. Then Lieutenant Hayes added, “The Prince’s man was clean. In Sergeant Major Brandon’s saddlebags I found a gold rattle that I was told belonged to the little girl. And a handful of silver rupees identical to those I was told were in the casket. I didn’t find the gold chain.”

  It was all I could do not to gasp.

  Major Dudley made an effort not to look in Simon’s direction. After a moment he said, “And the murder weapon? The knife?”

  “We haven’t found it. Nor the rest of the rupees nor the gold chain.”

  “What did Brandon have to say for himself?”

  “The rupees are his, nothing to do with those that were stolen. The rattle was lost by the little girl earlier in the day. He found it and hadn’t reached the guesthouse until the ladies had already gone to their quarters. None of her women were about, and he put the rattle in his saddlebags until he could return it.”

  “Does Sergeant Major Brandon have any knives in his possession?”

  “Yes, sir. One.”

  “Could it have made the wounds in the dead man’s body?”

  “It’s possible, sir. I can’t say for certain. We examined his knife very carefully. If it was used, he’d cleaned it well afterward.”

  I had been watching Simon’s face. It was impassive. But the Prince’s man was triumphant. He could already feel himself vindicated in taking Simon back to be tried.

  None of this fit the young man I knew, who came and went in our house, whom we trusted with our daughter. The rattle aside, I couldn't picture him robbing a cart, much less stabbing the owner.

  And all my instincts urged me to do something. Before it was too late.

  Major Dudley finally turned to Simon.

  “Have you anything to say on your own behalf, Sergeant Major?”

  “Only that I’ve told you the truth.”

  “It will show good faith, if you tell us where the other items have been hidden.”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know, sir.”

  I was wishing with all my heart that Richard was here. To speak up, to do something. I was wishing that the door to this stuffy little room would suddenly be flung open and that he’d march in and demand to be heard.

  He hadn’t been here when the crime had been done. For that matter, neither had I. But Richard would fight for Simon, and in his place, I must do the same.

  It was up to me. The only woman in a room full of angry men.

  I stepped forward. “May I ask a question, Major Dudley? On behalf of the Maharani.” I’d been around the Army for years. Rank didn’t put me off.

  “Please do, Mrs. Crawford.” He seemed to be grateful for the interruption.

  “Sergeant Major Brandon has told you how he came by the rattle. Have you asked the Princess whether his account is true or not? If the rattle belongs to the child, she may know if it was lost or misplaced. Or stolen.”

  The Prince’s man interrupted. “She will not be disturbed by this matter.”

  “The rattle is hers, sir,” I countered. “She must be asked what she believes became of it. If she agrees that the Sergeant Major’s account is true, then he cannot be charged with having that in his possession.”

  “This is a child’s toy, Mrs. Crawford. It is not likely to be in the possession of a British soldier. If the prisoner had found it, as he claimed, he would have given it to someone on the staff to take to the child. He saw the rattle, and it tempted him to search for more. Who better
to know which cart contained the Princess’s jewels? He had been responsible for their protection.”

  A thought occurred to me. Simon had once thought that he was in love with Parvati. Had he held on to the rattle as an excuse to speak to her again in the morning—this morning—before they set out?

  But I couldn’t put that question to him. It would seal his fate in the eyes of the Prince’s man.

  Instead, I asked, “I should like to know why the Sergeant Major—who has known the Princess’s family for a number of years—would wish to rob her.” I turned to Simon. “Do you owe anyone money? Do you have gambling debts?”

  “No, ma’am. Nor do I gamble, more than an occasional barracks game for small sums.”

  “Was there a reason other than personal gain why you should have taken anything from the Prince’s family? Any enmity toward them?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t believe I have ever met the Prince.”

  “You have met the Maharani. You have seen her children come and go in the Palace. They play with my daughter. Is there any reason for you to harm her family?”

  “No, ma’am.” His voice was calm, steady. He had learned that supporting Richard when there was trouble along the Pass. It occurred to me that he expected to be treated fairly here in this room. And because of that, he had no reason to be afraid.

  “How many times have you spoken to the Princess during this journey?”

  “Twice. At the station and later when the baby was irritable from the heat and the dust. I rode up beside the landau, hoping to distract her. That was when the Princess couldn’t find the rattle and was afraid it had been lost.”

  “Why did you think you might distract the little girl?”

  There was the trace of a smile. “Experience with your daughter at the age of five, ma’am.”

  “And you saw this as an opportunity to ride back along the road in the hope of finding it, because it was valuable and you wanted to keep it?”