A Hanging at Dawn: A Bess Crawford Short Story

by Charles Todd

  That meant a telegram was being sent.

  An ominous sign . . .

  A few minutes later, one of the Privates came to ask me to meet the Colonel in his office, and I knew I’d been right. There was more trouble than I’d anticipated.

  I found my hat against the sun, and my parasol, and set out to accompany the young man.

  Richard was waiting for me.

  “It’s worse than we thought,” he said bluntly as he shut the door to his office and handed me to a chair.

  “Did you see the Maharani?” I asked, unable to wait another minute.

  “Yes. You’d have thought we had never spent five minutes in her company before. I was taken to a formal audience chamber, and she came in at her regal best. I asked after her daughter, and she was frosty. And so I played the same card, and told her that I was there on official business, asking politely but coldly for any information she or her daughter had regarding events at the guesthouse.”

  He paused, staring out the window at a swirl of dust racing across the parade grounds. “She told me that she was quite surprised when her daughter arrived with such a small escort and none of her baggage. But a letter handed to her from the Prince’s senior official reported that he had sent her posthaste to the safety of the Palace, because he feared for her life.”

  “What? Richard—Simon told Dr. Broughton something about that, but I took it to mean that the minister was exaggerating to save face. As far as I know—and Lieutenant Hayes knew—she wasn’t aware of that poor man’s death. I mean to say, while it marred her homecoming, a little, to arrive without her full escort, she herself was never in any danger.”

  “I accept that, and you accept it. But the Maharani showed me the letter. My written Hindi is rusty, but I could read it well enough to know she was telling the truth.”

  “But who would wish to kill Parvati? She’s the Prince’s wife, yes, but she has no—no political importance. She’s never been a threat to anyone.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think clearly. “He wrote that, Richard, to excuse the helter-skelter way she’d arrived at her mother’s home. That’s what this is about.”

  He was frowning. “I don’t think so. Well, perhaps partly, yes, I expect you’re right. But there’s more to it than covering his incompetence. Whatever is going on here, whatever really happened in that compound in the middle of the night, the man is worried. And Simon is going to be his scapegoat. But for what?”

  “Did you at least speak to Parvati?”

  “No. The Maharani told me she was fatigued from her travels. And that she was resting.”

  “You sent a telegram as soon as you got back from the Palace. Why?”

  He reached out and took my hand. “I told the Prince himself that I’d be arriving as soon as possible. And that I would hold him officially responsible for anything that happened to my Sergeant Major. And that a copy of that telegram was being sent to Calcutta.”

  “Will he listen?”

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll go directly to Calcutta.” But that was all the way across the continent of India. “Pack as lightly as you can. We leave at dawn tomorrow.” He glanced toward his desk. “I shouldn’t leave now, given the situation out there at the Pass. But that will have to wait. Dudley can hold the fort. And I’ll see that orders are left for any contingency.”

  “I’ll see to your valise as well,” I told him, rising. “But what shall I tell Bess? She’s nearly fourteen, Richard, and she’s already asking about Simon.”

  “God help me, I don’t know.”

  As I was packing, Bess came in.

  I took a deep breath and turned to her. “I must tell you something, Bess.” I sat down on the bed and drew her down to sit beside me. “Something happened as the Princess’s entourage spent the night at the guesthouse. You know the one—we’ve stopped there ourselves.”

  I told her how one of the bullock cart men had gone to see to his wagon, and apparently found someone breaking into it. “When the body was found, a casket lay beside him, upside down and empty. When they went looking for the killer, they discovered that Simon had one of the baby’s rattles in his saddlebags and what appeared to be some of the money from the broken box. He’s been taken back to the Prince’s Palace to explain what happened.” It was the best I could do.

  “If that were all,” she replied, “you and the Colonel Sahib wouldn’t be packing to go after him. Have they arrested him? But that’s ridiculous—Simon isn’t a thief.”

  Bess was levelheaded and intelligent. I couldn’t lie to her, even to protect her.

  Before I could answer her, she went on. “Is that why you went on your own to call on the Maharani? To speak to Parvati? What did she have to say? I thought she liked Simon?”

  “It’s a tangle, darling. Even I don’t know what’s happening. That’s why your father is going himself to try to sort it out.” Trying for a lighter note, I added, “You needn’t worry about Simon. It’s the Prince who will need your pity, once the Colonel Sahib has stormed his Palace.”

  I’d meant for her to smile, and she did, but turning quickly, she said, “I’ll pack my things—I’m going with you.”

  I scrambled for a way to keep her here. “No, wait—I haven’t been able to speak to the Maharani or Parvati. That’s your task, darling, to find a way to visit with Parvati. We need to know what she can tell us about this matter. Whatever you learn, you must send us a telegram. Major Dudley will see to it. Anything that will help. Can you do that?”

  Her face fell. “If you think that’s the best way to help Simon . . .”

  “They won’t let me through the door, Bess. But you could find Parvati in the gardens—somehow—and that would be the most tremendous help.”

  “I wish Cousin Melinda was here. She knows quite a few of the Princes, I think. She could bring pressure to bear on Parvati’s husband.”

  “We’ve been told the King has died. It hasn’t been verified, so it’s best not to spread rumors. If it’s true, Melinda will want to be in London. She knew him fairly well.” Not, I thought, in the way so many women did, but as a friend.

  “She’d be here for Simon, if she could.”

  “She doesn’t know him, Bess. I don’t think they’ve ever met.”

  “I’ve written to her about him. About how much I like him, and how close he is to you and the Colonel Sahib.”

  “Have you indeed?” I replied, fair flummoxed, as our cook at home would have put it. “And—um—what has she had to say about that?”

  “She wrote that friendships are to be valued. And she looks forward to meeting him one day.” She considered that, head to one side. “I’ve thought about that. I think they would be great friends.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because of what he’s done with his career. That’s why she’s so fond of my father. I think the Colonel Sahib reminds her of her late husband. She told me once he was a fine officer.”

  “Simon isn’t an officer.”

  “He could have been. I know my father asked him several times if he’d like to go back to England to Sandhurst.”

  I went back to my packing. “Yes, of course. Will you be all right on your own, here? And you’ll take an escort when you go to the Palace? Even though you must leave them well outside the gates?”

  “You know I will.”

  We talked about several household matters as I finished my packing and turned to Richard’s. I was worried about leaving her alone—even though there was a regiment at our doorstep.

  And then, at six o’clock in the morning, the horses were brought around, and we rode away, Bess standing by the compound gate waving to us. She had given me a letter to pass on to Simon.

  I wasn’t even certain we would be allowed to see him . . .

  Most of the wealthier Princes had private trains. Far more elegant and running on their schedule, not ours. We had to wait for the morning train to Lahore, and then transfer to another for Delhi, and then back again to Rulumpur on a spur
line, arriving in the evening of the third day. The Prince’s train would have gone directly.

  That meant the Prince’s man would have been days ahead of us. And who knew what mischief he’d done with such a head start.

  Richard was edgy, sometimes leaving our first-class compartment to walk the length of the train and back again. I pretended to be far calmer than I was. But by the time we pulled into the station below the Palace at Rulumpur, we were thoroughly sick of travel and worried beyond words.

  We were taken by sedan chair to the residence set aside for visiting potentates, viceregal guests, and other visitors who had no claim to stay in the Palace itself. It sat on the edge of a large lake, shimmering in the moonlight as we came past. I looked up at the enormous, rambling facade and wondered if somewhere behind all those elegant windows and arches and balconies Simon was being kept in some sort of Princely dungeon. Shaking myself, I smiled at the staff as we were greeted and shown to our quarters.

  When our luggage was delivered and we’d declined staff help in unpacking, I stood in the middle of the ornately decorated room and for the second time since all this had begun, I wanted to cry.

  Instead, I said to Richard, “Do you think you’ll be granted an audience?”

  “I expect the Prince will have to give me one. If only to keep me from reporting him to the Governor-General.”

  There was a knock at the door, and two men in livery brought in a table with fruit and sweetmeats and tea to welcome us. And there was as well an envelope, heavy stationery embossed with the Prince’s seal.

  We waited for the men to retire, and then Richard picked it up, used one of the table knives to slit it open, and drew out the single sheet.

  “Tomorrow morning at ten. I have an audience then.”

  “I want to be there.”

  “Darling, you can’t. This is addressed only to me.”

  “I’ll go even if I must wait in an antechamber—”

  There was another knock at the door, and when Lieutenant Hayes stepped into the room, I could see by the look on his face that the news was not good. Lines that I didn’t remember were there around his mouth, and under his eyes were dark circles from the strain he’d been under.

  Richard greeted him, asked him to sit, and then said, “What is the news?”

  “The trial was yesterday, ending this morning in sentencing.” He glanced at me, as if he wished himself anywhere but here.

  “What do you mean, the sentencing?” I asked, as Richard retorted, “There shouldn’t have been a trial before I got here.”

  “I did my best,” Lieutenant Hayes said grimly. “Believe me, I gave them to understand that there would be serious repercussions.”

  “The sentence?” I said again.

  Lieutenant Hayes looked down at his hands. “He’s sentenced to hang at dawn, in two days’ time.”

  I thought my heart would stop, and Richard’s face went white, then anger flooded it with color again. He was on his feet, heading for the door, when Lieutenant Hayes said, “Sir—no, you mustn’t—not tonight. Please?”

  Richard stopped. “No. Of course, you’re right. What the hell were the charges? And who were the witnesses? What sort of trial was it?” He came back and sat down, taking my hand in his. Mine was shaking, and the warmth of his seemed to start me breathing again.

  “All proper enough, I expect. But—there were—he had an affidavit. Well, a witnessed statement. It was from the ayah who was there in the carriage with the child. When Simon stopped by the carriage—you know about that rattle? Yes. When he stopped by the carriage, the ayah, the nursemaid, stated that he made unwelcomed advances toward the Princess. And when she sent him away, the ayah heard him mutter that he’d see her dead if he couldn’t have her.”

  “What?” I said, as Richard exclaimed, “That’s rot.”

  I added, “I’d no more believe that of Simon than I would of Richard, here.”

  “Nor I,” Hayes said wretchedly. “But why would she say these things? What purpose did she have for lying? I can’t fathom it. Nothing was said about this when we gathered in that room at the guesthouse. And he’d already sent the Princess on her way to her mother’s—we couldn’t have questioned her if we’d wanted to, without going after her.”

  I understood then, why I had not been welcomed at the Maharani’s Palace. She must have known that Simon had once thought he was in love with her daughter. I hadn’t told her, of course, but perhaps Parvati had had feelings that worried her mother. And so the ayah’s evidence might have been believed. But—what about the Princess herself? Why had she let such a lie stand? Why hadn’t she stopped this madness by telling her mother and her husband that the woman was lying?

  Then I remembered, the nursemaid was the Prince’s servant—she ran the royal nursery. And she would do as he asked—as his minister asked—including lying about what had been said between Simon and Parvati.

  But what had that minister to gain by accusing Simon of such crimes? Was he using a British soldier to further some scheme of his own? Some ambition for more authority at Court?

  Oh, God, I thought. If I’d known—I would have found a way into that Palace—I would have got the truth out of them, somehow.

  I’d heard stories about how the Princes would have a servant beaten in place of their sons, who couldn’t be touched in spite of their misbehavior. I felt like beating the ayah, for the truth. To make her tell me why she had thrown Simon to the wolves.

  Trying to calm down, I reminded myself that the woman might have been forced to write such a statement. If that were the case, the Maharani would surely have learned the truth by now? Or was she also unaware of what his minister was up to?

  Richard was demanding to know more about the trial, if an appeal was allowed, if the sentence could be changed for any reason.

  The Lieutenant was shaking his head. “There’s no appeal. None. I’ve pounded on doors, asking.”

  “Where is Simon?”

  He took a long breath. “We haven’t been able to see him. Not since he was led away. I’m told the Prince was furious—he’s a jealous man, apparently. Well, she’s quite pretty, of course, and from what I’ve gathered here and there, she’s given him no reason for doubting her. It’s odd, you know. He’s a Prince—he has everything a man could possibly want. A lovely wife, son, a daughter.” He gestured around him. “All this—power and money and position—yet he’s doubtful of himself. I don’t understand it.”

  Richard said, “Not too surprising. He’s been told all his life, from the moment he was born, that he was the center of the universe. Perhaps he’s learned the truth.”

  “Well, no. He was the second son, I’m told. His elder brother died of cholera when he was five or six.”

  “All the more reason to feel he wasn’t born to rule. Will they allow me to see Simon—speak to him in private?”

  Lieutenant Hayes sighed. “I don’t think so, sir. They have refused us. Even the doctor hasn’t been allowed to see the Sergeant Major. He was told that the Prince’s physician will deal with any health issues that might arise.”

  Richard was pacing the floor. Thinking hard. “Was it a public trial?”

  “No. Given the charges, I expect—but it was conducted just as it would have been in public. As far as I could tell. Simon was represented, but the man had very little to say. Simon was asked how he pleaded, and he told them ‘Not Guilty.’ When asked why he’d threatened the Princess, he answered that he’d done no such thing. He had spoken to her as a childhood friend, pleased to see her return to her mother’s with her own daughter, and glad to see her happy. He had searched for the rattle because the little girl was restless in the heat and with the motion of the carriage, and he had felt sorry for her.”

  “There was no deposition from the Princess?”

  “No. Unless she’d been a party to what was happening, she’d have been kept out of it.”

  “What about the murder and the theft of the items in the little casket? Wh
y, if Simon was interested in the Princess, had he committed those crimes?”

  “Apparently he was looking for money to bribe her servants and take her away.”

  Richard swore, and didn’t apologize. I felt like swearing as well.

  “The casket he’d broken into,” I said, “was hardly going to keep a Princess in the life she’d been accustomed to living.”

  “Apparently he’d been interrupted in his search,” the Lieutenant replied.

  “It’s all so—so neat and tidy,” I said. “Except that it isn’t the sort of thing Simon would do.”

  “Perhaps Simon was the only member of the Army, aside from the Lieutenant here, who had been seen speaking to the Princess,” Richard said. “And it would have been difficult to accuse Hayes instead, because it was his duty to see to her comfort and safety.”

  “Come to that,” the Lieutenant responded, “the Prince’s man saw to it that I greeted her on arrival, in the name of our Regiment, that I asked if the rooms in the guesthouse were to her liking, and that was all.”

  We talked for almost another hour. But we were no wiser then than when the Lieutenant had walked in our door. When he left, Richard went to the untouched table of food and poured himself a stiff whiskey.

  “What are we to do?” I asked quietly. “We can’t let him hang!”

  He came to sit down next to me, keeping his voice low. Who knew how many ears this guesthouse had? “You are going to the Palace after all. And while I am being received by the Prince, you will be escorted to the zenana. I will wager you will learn more there than I shall in the audience. Something’s wrong, Clarissa, and we are going to get to the bottom of it.”

  Shaken out of my shock, I smiled. “Of course. And I’ve brought just the dress to wear.”

  He laughed then. “I’m sure you did.” The laugh faded. “We must get some rest. Tomorrow will be a harrowing day. But Simon is coming back with us if I must break him out myself.”

  At the appointed hour we were driven up to the Palace in one of the Prince’s motorcars. Most of the Princes had gone mad for them. And this Rolls was in the royal blue of the Prince’s house, although there was no leather in the motorcar, the seats being covered in French petit point, while polished wood paneling replaced any other bits that would have been leather. Cows, of course, are sacred in India. The ceiling was covered in cream watered silk.