The Girl from Cobb Street

by Merryn Allingham

  ‘That’s the problem.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He didn’t answer her directly, but said, ‘Perhaps it would be better simply to move the guns.’

  She was puzzled. ‘Move the guns? Why would we move the guns?’

  ‘It might save a reputation or two.’

  She was even more puzzled. Was he wanting to help the officers who’d been in charge of the armoury? ‘You think we should take the guns back to the regiment?’

  ‘Not exactly. We can’t restore them. If guns that have been lost were suddenly to reappear, questions would be asked. No, I was thinking of losing them completely as though they’d never been here.’

  ‘But then Rajiv would not be punished.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of Rajiv.’

  ‘And neither would the other man or any of their gang.’

  ‘Think, Daisy, who else could be implicated?’

  His face was kind and concerned, but she couldn’t see what he was driving at. ‘Where, for instance, was Gerald last night? You said he wasn’t here. Do you know where he was?’

  ‘Gerald?’ she faltered.

  Where had he been last night when she looked for him? And where on the other night she couldn’t find him? At the time she’d assumed he was visiting Jocelyn, but that had proved false. In any case, the girl had left weeks ago, so what about last night? The question had become all-important, yet she fought against the obvious answer.

  ‘You can’t think he’s involved,’ she protested, but her voice held the first glimmers of doubt.

  Even as she spoke, she was reminded of Gerald’s recent volatility. If he were involved in a criminal business, the stress he must feel would go a long way to explaining his rapid changes of mood over the past weeks.

  ‘I hope not. Sincerely, I hope not. But have you never wondered why he chooses to live in such an isolated place? Why he employs only one servant? It’s been a talking point in the regiment for some time, and I must admit I’ve always thought it odd.’

  ‘But he’s an honourable man. He would never do such a thing. It would mean jeopardising the career he loves. He’d be ruined if he were discovered. Why would he risk that?’

  Anish’s eyebrows rose slightly. He didn’t need to remind her. Gerald was in debt, badly in debt. Was this how he’d decided to solve his problem? He’d had merchants chasing him for the money he owed, and then suddenly they were no longer on his tail. She’d never asked him how he’d repaid those men, and he had never explained. Could it possibly have come from selling stolen guns?

  Her mind was finding it difficult to take in the enormity of what was happening. Beads of perspiration dotted her face and trickled down between her breasts. Gerald! It wasn’t possible. But it wasn’t impossible either. If you were thinking at all sensibly, was it likely that he would be ignorant of a cellar beneath the house he’d lived in for months, or ignorant of the activities of the one servant he employed? If Gerald were involved in the whole dreadful business, it would explain why he’d been so insistent that she went to Simla. He’d wanted her out of the house as much as Rajiv.

  He had wanted her out of the house … he was an accomplice too. He was behind the so-called accidents she’d suffered. She covered her eyes with her hands. She’d had few illusions left about her marriage but the very last of them had just crashed to the ground. Her husband had planned to harm her. It was as monstrous as that.

  She felt Anish looking at her, felt his eyes infused with sympathy. She had to say something. ‘If Gerald knows of the guns, he must have been responsible for the bad things that have happened to me,’ she stammered. ‘He’s been plotting against me.’

  ‘That’s quite a leap. I’m sure Gerald could never wish to harm you,’ Anish said softly. ‘And when you say bad things, what do you mean?’

  ‘A lot of so-called accidents which weren’t accidents at all. One night I was made a prisoner in my own room, then a dangerous snake was let loose in the bathroom and at the temple—the day I met you on the road—a slab of stone fell from the roof and narrowly missed me.’

  ‘I can see how you’ve been frightened, but every one of those could quite easily have been the accidents you supposed. And if they weren’t, if they were deliberate, then what’s to say that only Rajiv was behind them?’

  ‘He couldn’t have been responsible for the accident I had riding with you. That had to be someone with permission to be in the cantonment.’

  ‘I can set your mind at rest there. That really was an accident. The girths were badly worn and I was negligent in not noticing.’ He took her hand and pressed it tightly. ‘You’re very upset and leaping to conclusions. A moment ago you thought Gerald an honourable man, and you must believe that or you’d never have married him. So let’s think sensibly. It would seem Gerald has made a bad mistake but at heart he’s sound, and we can help him, you and I together. If we don’t, he’ll be court martialled and disgraced. And not just in a military court but in the world outside. He’ll be judged a criminal and go to prison. Neither of us would want that, would we?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she mumbled. ‘But to risk his whole career in this way …’

  He let go of her hand and walked a few paces into the garden, then turned back towards her. ‘Do you remember asking me how common debt was among young officers? Gerald has been extremely stupid and dug himself a deep pit. He may have been so desperate for money that he believed this was the only way out of the mess.’ Anish pulled down the corners of his mouth in a grimace. ‘I guess that’s what comes of being doted on. I believe he’s the only child of an elderly father.’

  She was astonished he knew so much about her husband. She’d imagined Gerald had stayed as silent to the world as he had to her and, though the situation they faced was critical, she wanted to hear more. ‘Has he talked to you about his father?’

  ‘Very little. All I know is that his family doesn’t fit the usual mould for an officer in the Indian Army.’

  No, she thought, the family didn’t fit at all. Not if she’d guessed right. It might be time to be honest. ‘I found a letter … I think it came from Gerald’s father.’ She wouldn’t mention that Gerald had told her his parents were both dead. She couldn’t bring herself to be that honest. ‘The letter was signed Joseph Minns. I believe Minns is Gerald’s real name, and Mr Minns senior was once a master tailor in the East End of London.’

  Anish let out a small whistle. ‘You have been busy!’ His shoulders hunched in thought. ‘If what you say is true, I’m not surprised he kept quiet about his family. It’s evident he’s been trying to be what he isn’t, and that’s led him into this foolishness.’

  She would have called it more than foolishness, but she knew Anish wanted to help his friend, and perhaps, too, he was trying to soften the blow for her.

  ‘If he’s in trouble, we must help him,’ he repeated. ‘And that means getting rid of the evidence.’

  ‘But how on earth are we to move those guns by ourselves. And where to?’

  ‘It won’t be easy, I admit, but in the next few days, I’ll come up with a plan, I promise. In the meantime, say nothing to anyone. And that includes Gerald. We can’t be completely sure after all that he is behind the thefts.’

  Daisy had begun to think the evidence too strong to doubt, but she willed herself to cling to this smallest of hopes. ‘How will you find out?’

  ‘I’ll ask him—as discreetly as I can. I’m his friend and I know he’ll tell me if he’s in trouble. Then together we can work out what to do. We’ll have to pay Rajiv to keep silent but that shouldn’t be a problem. Meanwhile, I’ll say nothing of your involvement.’

  ‘But if I hadn’t told you, why would you have become suspicious?’

  ‘Rajiv. I shall say that Rajiv let slip something he shouldn’t and I put two and two together. How does that sound?’ He smiled engagingly.

  ‘I think it might work. But what should I do?’

  ‘Nothing. At least nothing out of t
he ordinary. When I’ve spoken to Gerald, I’ll let you know as soon as we have a plan. It might take a few days but if you don’t hear for a while, stay calm and try not to worry. All will be well—trust me.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Over the next few days, she tried to follow his advice. But though she presented a calm face to the world, she felt sick with anxiety. Banished from the Infirmary, she had nothing to distract her from the endless, unanswered questions. What if Anish were wrong, she fretted, and Gerald had nothing to do with the crime? Anish’s suspicions would break apart the one true friendship her husband possessed. What if Gerald were as guilty as they believed, but Anish was unable to persuade him the game he’d been playing was over? Then they would be faced with a dreadful choice. And even if Anish had been successful—how could two men—four, if you counted Rajiv and his accomplice—cause crate after crate of guns to disappear without anyone noticing?

  Gerald appeared oblivious that she knew anything of the deadly cargo lying beneath their feet: Anish had kept his promise to say nothing of her involvement. Her husband was on edge, it was true, but his nervousness did not appear to include her. If anything he was more attentive, spending more time at home and showing her a degree of kindness that was unusual. The day after Anish’s visit, he’d returned with a large basket of fresh fruits, ones he knew to be her favourites, and tonight he’d ordered Rajiv to mark the Teej festival with a special dessert—the little baskets woven from transparent toffee and filled with cream and tinned peaches that she had so enjoyed at the Club dinner.

  She discerned Anish’s hand behind the subtle change in her husband. By now he must have confronted Gerald with what he’d done and, as well as planning a rescue, made him feel guilty for the distress he’d caused. That was only right; Gerald should feel guilty. It might have been Rajiv who’d plotted to harm her, but it was her husband who had turned a blind eye. And even if he’d known nothing of his servant’s activities, which she could hardly credit, he’d brought her to this house where he must have realised she would face danger. She tried not to dwell on what had happened, tried to be grateful for the small gestures of reconciliation, but her heart remained stubbornly cold.

  ‘I’ve organised transport,’ he said with a cheerfulness that didn’t quite ring true. They were finishing the last delicious toffee basket. ‘The car will be here in an hour, but once we get into the town, we’ll have to go on foot. Everyone follows the procession and walks to the river.’

  The thought of taking part in Teej, with her husband alongside, had delighted her when Gerald first mentioned it. But now attending a noisy, crowded festival was the last thing she wanted. Still, she was supposed to act as normally as possible, and refusing to go would prompt questions she couldn’t answer. If only she could hear from Anish. He’d told her to trust him and she did. If there was anyone who could sort out the trouble they were in, it was Anish. He’d warned her it would take time and she had tried to be patient, but three days on she was beginning to despair. It was just possible she would see him at the festival and under cover of the boisterous celebrations, might learn what progress he’d made. The hope kept up what little was left of her spirits.

  The weather that day had threatened more than ever, the blackest of clouds forming fortresses in the sky and the air clogged and unmoving. A sundress was all she needed on this hottest of nights, and it took only a few minutes to change into the lightest of the durzi’s creations. The car was already waiting when she walked down the veranda steps and she sensed Rajiv’s eyes following them into the vehicle and away from the house. Since the dreadful morning she’d made her discovery, she’d been more than ever alert to the servant’s demeanour but it never wavered and it was impossible to guess whether he knew he was suspected. He hadn’t fled the scene of his crimes, so it was reasonable to assume he wasn’t expecting punishment.

  The car drove them swiftly to the centre of the town, winding its way through narrow alleys that smelt of smoke and dust and frying gram and marigolds. The clouds had cleared temporarily and an enormous moon filled the sky. Fireflies fluttered in its light. They edged their way beside a trickle of people, smooth-skinned and graceful, with garlands of marigolds and sweet-smelling jasmine hanging from their necks. The trickle became a flood as more and more poured into the main square on their way to the river, their path lit by the moon and a sprinkling of fire torches.

  ‘It’s best we get down here.’ They had stopped in the centre of the square and Gerald was opening her door. ‘The procession will be close by, and we can follow it on its way down to the river.’

  He was right. They had gone only a few streets when the noise of beaten gongs, the sounds of people shouting and singing became so loud they could barely hear themselves speak. She held tightly to her husband’s arm, fearing to be swept away on the tide of people. It was a bittersweet moment. This was how she’d imagined their life, sharing a fascinating new world, sharing a happiness that would grow. If only, she thought. But it was no good thinking of what might have been. A very different future awaited them.

  Turning a corner, she got her first sight of the procession and it made her stare in wonder. Float after float, decorated with flowers and pictures and images of gods and goddesses, were making unsteady progress along a wide, beaten mud road. Several of the images stretched many feet high, swaying on the poles of devotees and bending down towards their followers with huge, staring eyes. Some of the goddesses were beautiful, but others terrible; all were made from wire and straw and clay, and elaborately modelled.

  She walked on beside Gerald, jostled on either side by the crowd, a huge, expectant throng intent on enjoyment. It was as though they were attending a carnival and not a solemn ceremony. Infectious gaiety and religious devotion should surely not mix but in some strange way, they did. How far this evening was, she thought, from those bleak, grey mornings in the orphanage chapel, when as a child she’d been forced to kneel for hours on cold and unforgiving stone, while a preacher lectured his small audience on their shortcomings. The children had heard little and understood less.

  The temple on her right could not have been more different. Lights were waving, music playing, gongs clanging, bells ringing, as the priest intoned his text. Each deity, she noticed, had his or her own niche in the temple forecourt and was surrounded by offerings of flowers. Followers were walking in circles, offering more flowers, more gifts, to their own particular god before they, too, joined in the river celebration.

  Caught up in the magnificence of the evening, Daisy almost forgot her troubles. She melted into the good-natured crowd, soaking up the colour, the noise, the smell, the sheer bravado of the moment. Women in saris of scarlet and gold silk, saris of silver threaded cloth and brilliant blue brocade, clustered all around her. Heavy gold chains hung from their necks, golden earrings dangled from their ears. They wore jewelled rings on their fingers and toes, and bangles on their wrists and ankles. Even above the din of the procession, she could hear the jingle of the women as they pressed close to her.

  She felt Gerald’s touch on her arm. She was in love with this dark, jewelled night and only slowly became aware of his presence. She saw that he was holding a small sheet of paper.

  ‘This message has just arrived.’ She’d seen no messenger, but then she’d been far away in a world of her own. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go. It seems I’m needed back at camp. Some paperwork has gone missing. It won’t be for long, I’m sure. Will you be all right on your own?’

  It seemed odd that Gerald would contemplate leaving her here alone; it must be something very urgent to call him away at a time like this. But of course, she would be all right. What harm could come to her among this warm, loving crowd?

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, feeling a little guilty that she would.

  ‘Good. I know you’ll enjoy the ceremony. If I don’t return before it’s over, walk back to the square. I’ll be there with the car waiting for you. Most of these people will be goi
ng in that direction so you won’t get lost.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Gerald. I’ll be there.’

  In barely a second he’d disappeared into the surging mass of people who had been walking behind them. Only after he’d left, did she wonder why he’d been called back to the cantonment for something so trivial as missing paperwork. It seemed unreasonable on a night like this, and for a moment a cold dread gripped her. Was it possible that he’d been found out before his mistakes could be made good? But absent papers were unlikely to lead to guns in the cellar, she reasoned. Was it rather that their problem, as she thought of it, was about to be solved? Tonight might be an ideal opportunity to move those guns. It was strange that she’d heard nothing from Anish but she supposed he might have been too busy making arrangements to call on her. She must put it out of her mind. Whatever Gerald’s reason for leaving the festival, she was happy to be alone, happy to immerse herself so completely in the magic of the night.

  When she finally reached the riverbank, the place was alive with people and with deities. The moon had once more disappeared behind lowering cloud but beneath a dark sky, punctured by the flame of torches, the scene unfolded itself in all its glittering splendour. She was enthralled. There were steps down to the river, and people had taken up every square inch of them. The crowd was so dense that many had toppled into the river itself, but Daisy managed to squeeze her way through and somehow room was made for her on the highest step. She had a grandstand view. One by one, the images were carried down to the waters and floated by young men swimming out into the river. Torchlight glinted across the crowns of each god and goddess, glanced off their headdresses, then found its way downwards to their ornamented belts and weapons. As every image floated out into the night, gongs sounded and worshippers rang little brass bells. It was a cacophony of sound and colour and sweet-smelling incense.

  She must have sat there for over an hour until her body was stiff from the cold stone. When the last goddess had been sent on her way, the crowds began to drift from the riverbank and walk back towards the town. Daisy started back too. Gerald had been gone for several hours and she wondered where he’d been. At the cantonment, as he’d said, or at the bungalow shifting weapons? She hoped it was the latter and that Anish’s plan would work. If it did and he managed to keep Gerald from disgrace, she supposed their marriage would go on as before. Except there wasn’t really a before. Ever since she’d arrived in India, she’d been falling out of love. It was hard to accept but it was the truth. She had been in love with an illusion that started to crumble from the moment Gerald left his bride to be met by a friend and instead drank himself insensible. All the weeks in between, weeks of trying to do the right thing, had been torture. And no doubt they’d been torture for him, too. But since her discovery of the stolen arms, whatever feelings she’d held on to, had gone. Now that she suspected her husband had known, even perhaps approved, the attempts to scare and to hurt her, she could not forget. She would forgive, she had to forgive, but she couldn’t forget, and it would always be there between them. Their future was as dark as this still, hot night.