CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She was not going to find out in the middle of the night. She could do nothing except wait for morning and hope Gerald would be back to solve the puzzle. But when she rose the next day, hot and unrefreshed, it was to find he was still absent. She went out onto the veranda and scanned the empty garden.
Rajiv appeared noiselessly at her side. ‘Sahib Gerald at camp,’ he said indifferently.
‘When did the sahib leave?’
Rajiv shrugged his shoulders. Either he didn’t know, or wasn’t interested enough to tell her. The image of the unknown Indian came unbidden into her mind, and she was tempted to ask him about his friend and at least clear a little of last night’s mystery. But she knew she would get nothing from him. Instead she reeled off a list of items that were needed from the market. That would keep him busy and out of the house for an hour at least. A plan had begun to form. She would go to his quarters—never mind what Gerald said—go there and try to discover just what was going on. Whatever it was, it was suspicious, and Rajiv was involved. She would get the proof against him that she’d once wanted. And when Gerald eventually returned, she would be able to surprise him with her resourcefulness. She looked forward to that.
She saw Rajiv trundle his old bike along the path and out of the garden, a large basket tied to the handlebars, but she made herself wait. It was a long ten minutes. When she was sure he wouldn’t return to the house on whatever pretext, she left the veranda and took up a position just outside her bedroom. Before she trespassed in Rajiv’s accommodation, she wanted to be sure she’d got things right. She stood in the exact spot the man had stood, a few inches from her bedroom door and facing away towards the side entrance. There was nowhere else he could have gone except through that door, but how had it locked itself after he’d passed? It was preposterous, yet somehow it had happened. She started towards the door leading to Rajiv’s quarters but almost tripped on a piece of rush matting that had rucked slightly. Another accident waiting to happen, she thought, and bent down to prod the matting into place. It remained annoyingly bunched, and she knelt to push it back more forcefully. She saw that the matting had been cut into a square, hardly perceptible in the overall spread, but at close quarters its outline was clear. Perhaps there had been a misjudgement when the rush matting had first been laid and this was an infill putting right the mistake. Something about it, though, was too neat, too symmetrical. She stopped pushing, and instead flicked at the recalcitrant piece of flooring. It came up easily and when she flicked some more, the rest of the square peeled back and revealed an exactly matching wooden square with an iron ring sitting in its centre. She was stunned. Was there a cellar she’d been unaware of? Was this where the man had disappeared?
Her heart was beating rapidly and she was sweating profusely, as much from excitement as from the airless room. She wiped her hands dry on her dress, thankful that this morning she’d chosen to wear an old cotton brought from England, since it looked likely to get a great deal more dirty. She tugged at the ring and the square of wood came up easily. The trapdoor, for that was what it was, was evidently in regular use. The Indian had been here before. The talk about ghosts when she’d first seen him in the garden had been to confuse her, to discourage her from asking more questions. And it had been Rajiv who’d been behind it.
A narrow ladder stretched down into darkness. She would need a light if she were to venture into that black void. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried back into her bedroom. The kerosene lamp would have to do. It gave only a half-hearted glow but it was sufficient for her to find her way down the ladder, step by step, to the solid floor beneath. She held the lamp as high as she could, swinging the light in an arc. Even by its muted glimmer, she could see that she was in an enormous space, equivalent she thought, to the entire floor area of the bungalow. She must be below ground level for the air was remarkably cool. But why had the Indian been here? As far as she could see, there was no reason. It was an empty space, leading nowhere. She realised guiltily that she’d been half-hoping for a tunnel, and scolded herself for her childishness.
Edging forward, she held the lamp high and to the front of her. Its swinging beam flashed from wall to wall. They had been fashioned from mud and straw, she saw, and left roughly finished, unlike the whitewash of the rest of the house. Halfway along one side, a dark shape loomed into sight. It appeared to be growing out of the floor of beaten earth. She went slowly towards it and once it was fully within the lamp’s beam, saw with relief that it was nothing more than a stack of boxes: large, rough-looking crates, coffin shaped, and piled one on top of each other. Behind the first stack was another, and behind that, another still. The boxes were made from coarse plywood and she could see marks stencilled on their sides, though there was nothing she could make sense of. She tried to lift the cover of the box nearest her but it was nailed fast. The top box of the second stack was similarly hammered down, but passing on to the third, she managed to dislodge one of the wooden covers. Very carefully, she settled the lamp on the uneven floor—it would be disastrous if she lost the light—and manoeuvred the lid to one side. Her hand trailed inside the box, and discovered it was filled with straw. It looked to be a disappointing end to her adventure. Standing on tiptoe she plunged her hand further into the box, and this time her fingers touched metal. Cold, heavy, sharp-edged. Using both hands, she pulled the object out and laid it on the floor. The lamp was retrieved from its resting place and she held the wavering light over her discovery. She could not prevent a gasp from escaping, for there was no doubt. She had found a rifle.
Frantically, she delved into the case again and brought out another gun, and then another. The crate was filled with firearms and the remaining crates, identical in size and lettering, must contain the same. Suddenly the adventure died. Suddenly it all made sense, horrible, gut-wrenching sense. These were the missing arms, the guns from the regiment. It had to be them, and they were here in this house. They must have been stolen and hidden by Rajiv and his accomplice. She’d been right about the servant all along. It was clear he intended to make money by selling arms, almost certainly to the protesters she had seen. This was what Grayson feared.
She felt herself paralysed by the dreadful knowledge, and had to pinch herself hard. The first thing to do was to get out of this cellar. Rajiv would be back very soon and he mustn’t discover her here. He mustn’t know that he’d been found out. She would get word to Gerald who would know how to handle things. She moved with a new decisiveness, packing the guns back into the straw, trying to push them as far down as she could, and then replacing the crate’s covering in the same position she’d found it. She must not leave a trace of herself, not a sign that she’d been there. She scurried up the ladder as swiftly as she could, but only just in time. As she lowered the trapdoor and replaced the matting, she heard the creak of Rajiv’s bicycle being wheeled to the kitchen. Had she thought of everything? The lamp—the lamp must be returned. She emerged from her bedroom just as he was gliding towards her from the side entrance.
‘How was the market. Did you get everything?’ She tried to speak as evenly as she could though her breathlessness made it difficult. Was it her imagination or was he looking at her oddly?
‘No fresh dates. Water melons coming later.’ His tone was brusque, uncongenial as always. He couldn’t suspect anything but her heart was still beating far too fast and she was sweating profusely. No wonder he looked at her askance. The sooner Gerald got back, the better.
When Rajiv had disappeared into the kitchen, she sat down and tried to think. Weeks ago she’d dismissed the notion that the servant was behind the dangerous incidents she’d faced. But the more she considered the matter, the more she wondered if she’d been doubly mistaken. That he was indeed her tormentor. He had been disagreeable from the first. He’d not wanted her here, not because of his intense loyalty to Gerald as she’d thought, but because her presence in the bungalow tore his plans to shreds. It must have come as a severe blow to
him when Gerald announced that a memsahib was coming from England and would be around the house day and night. Perhaps he’d been planning to move the stolen guns when Gerald was at work, maybe even sell them from the bungalow. The house was isolated enough. But her arrival on the scene had put paid to that idea, and he’d been forced into working by night. They were the sounds she’d heard: weapons being shifted in and out of the cellar. Thinking back, she could see there had been a regular pattern to the noises. Twice a week, guns had arrived and guns had been despatched. It must have been very heavy work, and that might be why there were so many crates still stacked below.
She had been a problem for Rajiv from the start, she could see, a nuisance that had to be got rid of. And he’d done his best. He’d tried to scare her, hoping perhaps that if he made her fearful enough, she would go to Simla with the other women. He’d been the one to pretend a ghost, the one to lock her door, the one who’d encouraged the snake into the bathroom and then deliberately ignored her calls for help. But his ploy hadn’t worked. She hadn’t packed her case as she should have done and the attacks had escalated. His final attempt had been to tamper with her juice, no doubt mixing oleander seeds with the goji berries. Who, after all, could have a better opportunity? How easy it must have been. Oleanders grew everywhere in the garden and she’d discovered from Dr Lane’s medical dictionaries that just a few could cause headache and nausea and even induce a coma.
Rajiv was thoroughly wicked. She wondered how Gerald would take the news that his loyal servant had plotted against his wife, even tried to kill her since she’d come close to tragedy several times. He wasn’t just wicked though. He was clever as well, to have pursued such a successful vendetta. Her thoughts slammed to an abrupt halt. Could he be that clever? She’d suffered ‘accidents’ while she was not at home. It seemed unlikely that Rajiv could be everywhere, and could he really have planned things so meticulously? She’d rejected the idea he had an accomplice, someone working with him to frighten her away, but now she had a face to conjure with—the Indian she’d seen last night. He could easily have followed her to the temple. He could have found his way to the top of that crumbling edifice and levered a stone into free fall. But could he have tampered with the saddle in the regimental stables? He would have found it next to impossible to gain entry to the cantonment. Every gate to the camp was guarded and unless he had a valid reason for being there, he’d be turned away. Was there someone else then, beyond Rajiv and his friend, someone she didn’t know of? A man who could move easily around the locality, whose time was his own, and whose presence would not be questioned.
She knew no one. Or did she? Grayson’s was the name that came to mind. He fitted her description perfectly. But it couldn’t be him. He was committed, wasn’t he, to stopping the protesters, not aiding them? In the aftermath of the riot, she’d seen him striding through the crowd to apprehend them. Or had it been to protect, to hurry them away out of reach of the police? There was no way of knowing. And nothing to say why he’d been at the maiden. The police and the army were there to restore order, so why would Grayson be needed? He’d never explained his presence that day, never told her in fact what he was doing in Jasirapur. Had he become a rogue officer, she wondered, and somehow got himself involved with criminal elements? He’d come to India to work in the Civil Service, a respected member of ‘The Incorruptibles’ as she’d heard them called. But what if the work had badly disappointed? In the past he’d turned down the opportunity to join the army, and he hadn’t settled to the sugar business either, so might he have quickly grown discontented with the ICS? He’d always struck her as a man looking for adventure, and the mundane duties of a District Officer did not fit the image she had of him.
Her mind hazed. She liked Grayson, she liked him a lot, but he had never completely gained her trust. That didn’t mean, of course, that he was guilty of this most shocking crime. She hated to think ill of him, but she couldn’t stop suspecting. She must stop though, she told herself. It was foolish to allow her mind to be caught in an endless circle of speculation. Pointless, too. She would wait for Gerald to come home and do what was right. In the meantime she would think no more.
She jumped at the voice, so startled by the sudden noise that she almost bounced to her feet.
‘Hallo there!’
Despite her best efforts, her mind had been elsewhere, lost in its own labyrinth. Anish had ridden up to the house, mounted the veranda steps and walked halfway across the sitting room before she heard a sound.
She stood facing him, her hand clutching at her chair. The sight of his familiar face blew her vow of calmness to the winds. ‘Thank goodness, Anish, thank goodness you’re here!’
He blinked, taken aback it seemed by her intensity, but said in his usual smooth fashion, ‘I came in the hope of persuading you back onto a horse—tomorrow, perhaps? It’s been a while since we rode and you’re at risk of growing rusty.’
When she didn’t reply, he walked further into the room, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘My poor girl, you look quite ill.’
She ignored this and tugged urgently at his sleeve. ‘You must help me.’
‘I’m at your service, Daisy,’ he said gallantly, and gently released her fingers, ‘but what has made you so upset?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not making much sense, I know. This morning has been … I can’t believe …’ She broke off and held up her hand in a cautioning gesture. ‘We should walk in the garden.’
‘This is all very cloak and dagger,’ he joked, but he followed her obediently down the steps and into the wilderness.
They strode a short way along the path before he put out a hand to stop her. ‘If you don’t mind, we’ll stay here. I’ve no wish to meet an irritated snake.’
‘I’m sorry to drag you from the house, but we mustn’t be overheard.’ The seriousness of her tone made him look at her in surprise.
‘So what has happened this morning to put you on edge? Unless you tell me what’s going on, I can’t offer much assistance.’
She hardly knew where to begin. ‘I saw someone last night. It was the Indian I’d seen before in the garden, but last night he was outside my bedroom door.’
‘Good gracious. What was the man doing there? Did Gerald see him?’
‘Gerald wasn’t here. I don’t know—didn’t know,’ she corrected herself, ‘why the man was in the house. And he seemed to disappear into thin air before I could think. I didn’t know what to do. It was the middle of the night and I was alone, so I went back to bed.’
‘Very sensible. Then you woke up this morning and found that it was all an unpleasant dream?’
‘It wasn’t a dream.’
‘But surely it must have been,’ he coaxed. ‘I have to tell you, Daisy, that even in India a stray man roaming through one’s house at night is unusual. And don’t forget, you were the only person to see this chap. I imagine you’re sleeping badly. We all are. It’s likely that in your sleep you saw yourself getting out of bed, opening the door, and finding the man outside. But really he was just part of your dream.’
‘He was real,’ she said flatly, ‘and I have proof.’
For the first time, Anish looked interested. ‘Proof that an unknown Indian was wandering your home in the middle of the night?’
‘Proof of where he went. He didn’t leave the house, at least not while I was watching. I couldn’t work it out at the time, but now I know. He disappeared down into the cellar. Did you know there was a cellar to the bungalow?’
He shook his head, mystified.
‘Well, there is. And in that cellar there are guns, Anish. Hundreds of them. And I think they’ve come from the regiment’s armoury.’
He said nothing, and she wondered if he’d heard her. ‘There have been weapons stolen, haven’t there?’ she prompted.
‘Yes, but—’
‘They’re here, beneath our feet. Or at least they would be if we were standing in the house.’
‘But how, why? It makes
no sense.’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to work out. I’m almost sure that Rajiv is responsible and the Indian I saw is his accomplice. I think they’ve stolen the guns—though I don’t know how—but they mean to make money by selling them, that’s clear. I imagine there are plenty of agitators who will pay well.’
‘Do you mind if I say that the whole thing sounds crazy?’
‘I know it does, but I’m telling the truth. Really, I am. And the regiment needs to know of it immediately. I was waiting for Gerald, but he still isn’t back. That’s why I’m so glad to see you. It’s vital the authorities know before Rajiv guesses his crime has been discovered. Would you ride to the camp straightaway and tell them to come quickly?’
‘And what if I bring a senior officer back with me and there are no guns in the cellar?’
‘There will be,’ she said grimly, ‘I’m not moving from here until the Colonel comes to see for himself.’
Anish did not appear to share her urgency, and she was forced to prompt him again, ‘Will you go now?’
‘Of course I will, but—’ He broke off, seeming to be deep in thought.
‘But?’
‘What if it’s not just Rajiv and his friend involved? It must take more than two to move such huge loads in and out of the cellar, even supposing they were able to transport them here in the first place.’
He didn’t believe her, she thought hopelessly. He wasn’t going to do anything. She would have to take him to the cellar to see for himself. But then Rajiv would know he’d been discovered and make his escape.
‘There could be a gang, I grant you, though I’ve only ever seen the one man. But however many there are, it’s surely better to arrest the two we know before they can leave. Then if there are more—’
The Girl from Cobb Street Page 22
