“Mamma, one of the widows is my client, so I’m maintaining confidentiality. But I will find a way for them all to have support.” She would back them unequivocally, just as her mother had supported her.
A glint came into Rustom’s eyes. “Now that the husband is gone, the wives are the ones who can decide about the bungalow. Ask the widows if they wish to profit in a booming market!”
“Are you saying this because you know of someone who’s looking for land in Malabar Hill?” Perveen challenged him.
“I could find an offer for them before close of business today. Whenever they’re ready,” he added with an air of generosity.
“Please don’t say anything to anyone about property coming available on Sea View Road,” Perveen said. “It’s putting the cart before the horse and would also place me in conflict of interest.”
“Agreed,” Camellia said smoothly. “Perveen, I wanted to mention that Pappa asked me to find out whether any new madrassas are being built in the city. Are you interested in the answer?”
“Naturally! What have you heard?”
“I spoke with two of the Muslim ladies in my Secondary Education Group. They said the only boys’ madrassa being started is a school operated by Dawoodi Bhora Muslims,” Camellia said.
“The Farids are Sunni Muslims. They probably wouldn’t be involved.” Perveen felt certain that Mr. Mukri’s madrassa had been a fiction, and he’d wanted the wakf money to do something else.
A familiar tooting sound meant that Arman was back from taking her father to the train. It was time to go.
Half an hour later, the Daimler stopped at the locked iron gate of the Farid bungalow. Arman opened the car door for Perveen, who stepped out and went to the gate, looking through it for someone to help her. Feeling the attention of two durwans at a bungalow across the way, she decided to find out if they knew anything.
“Good morning! Are the police staying inside the bungalow?”
“What police?” The taller of the two guards snorted at her question. “Nobody’s been there since the Sikh detective left yesterday. Little Zeid locked up the gate.”
So the widows hadn’t been secure. Immediately, she felt a surge of anxiety. “But I must see the begums.”
“If you call, maybe the boy will come to the gate. He was crying earlier,” the second guard said soberly.
“Mohsen is still away, then?” she asked.
“That liar?” the tall guard said with a grimace. “He told the police he was spending time with us on the street when he wasn’t. We saw him go down the hill and come back. Perhaps this lie is the reason they took him away.”
Sakina had sent Mohsen on an errand. Why hadn’t he just said that? Feeling somewhat confused, she decided to ask the men more about the durwan. “What is your opinion of Mohsen, as a guard and as a man?”
The tall guard with the surly attitude shrugged. “He does his job the same as anyone. But he is not the happy sort. Doesn’t talk much.”
“He has a right to misery,” the other guard opined. “To lose a wife and have to raise two children on so little money is hard.”
“Everyone is paid too little,” the taller guard said. There was an edge to his voice that was unnerving. What would the men say if they knew that she was a well-paid working woman?
Perveen thanked them and returned to the gate.
“Zeid, are you there?” After she’d called for a few minutes, the boy emerged down the driveway.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, softening her voice. “I’m so sorry about your father still being gone.”
“Why did they take him?” the boy whimpered.
“I told your sister that I’d try to find out. Will you please unbolt the gate?”
Zeid’s face screwed up with effort as his tiny hands pulled back the iron bolt. Perveen walked on ahead with Zeid, Arman following in the car. The chauffeur parked outside the main entrance while Zeid opened the zenana entrance for her.
“What happened with the police yesterday?” she asked Zeid. She couldn’t remember the details of her bad dream from the night before, but it had flickered back into her mind when she’d spoken with the two durwans.
“They stayed for a little bit. Some constables and the white officer took my father, and then the Sikh officer left.” He looked up at her with wide eyes. “I’m glad they didn’t take any more people. But why did they have to take Abba? He is the only one protecting the place.”
“I agree that everyone needs protection. Zeid, perhaps you should stay at the gate to help if anyone comes?” Leaning closer to him, she said, “Don’t let in newspapermen or curiosity seekers. Just the police, or people related to the begums, and others you know are trustworthy.”
Zeid straightened up in the classic durwan-at-attention position he must have learned from his father. “Yes, I will be careful. Abba may come back today, Insha’Allah!”
Perveen heard footsteps and looked to see an elderly lady in a white sari coming downstairs carrying a baby. The nursemaid must not have expected to see Perveen, because she clutched the baby tightly, and her eyes widened in alarm.
“Are you Taiba-ayah? I’m the family’s lawyer, Perveen Mistry.”
“Eh?” the woman said as if she couldn’t hear well.
When she’d reached the foot of the stairs, Perveen stepped forward and repeated the introduction and her question.
Taiba rolled her head sideways in agreement. “Yes, I care for the children. Are you the one who said I had to clean up the black dust and blood?”
Perveen wanted to say it hadn’t been her idea—but shoving the blame on her father would be unprofessional. “I’m sorry. We could not think of anyone else, and I know it must have been awful. Your proper job is taking care of the little one. May I see him?”
“Look quickly.” She adjusted the bundle so Perveen saw a fair-skinned baby wearing a crocheted cap and white muslin dress. His eyes were closed, but she could see that his nose and jaw had the same delicate lines as Sakina’s.
“So this is Jum-Jum.” Perveen studied the boy, who was gently snoring. She noticed that behind his ear, someone had marked a black dot of kohl. The protect-against-evil-eye mark was similar to the dots that Parsis drew on their children’s head and feet, and the thick kohl eyeliner that adorned young Hindu children. She thought of Zeid, the little boy who had a true black mark. Zeid was healthy, but he had suffered misfortune.
As the Farids’ only son, Jum-Jum was extremely precious. He would carry on the family name and would be the chief heir, inheriting 35 percent of everything. Each of the three daughters would get half his take—17.5 percent. Unfortunately, the wives would be granted far less. If Mr. Farid had had just one wife, she would have been allotted one-eighth; but because he’d had three, that share had to be divided, and each lady would receive just 4.17 percent. Knowing this was another reason she’d taken her time making sure the estate was in order. The widows should get every paisa due to them.
Taiba carried the child into the garden, where Nasreen and Shireen were playing a desultory game of ball rolling. Perveen realized to get anything more from the ayah, she’d have to follow. “How often are you outside of the zenana?” she asked.
“Now and again.” She looked cautiously at Perveen.
“When I was in the main house yesterday, I thought it seemed Mukri-sahib used the former master bedroom. Is that right?”
Taiba-ayah spat out of the side of her mouth. “Yes. He moved in like he was the new burra sahib.”
“Yesterday, I saw two glasses near the bed.” She paused. “Do you know if anyone else slept there?”
“Eh?” The woman’s face was a vision of confusion.
Slowly and clearly, she repeated, “I saw two drinking glasses in the bedchamber. Who stayed with him? Was it a lady from the outside or inside the house?”
Taiba-aya
h shook her white head vigorously. “Don’t ask me. I sleep with children.”
“You sleep in the nursery with Jum-Jum, Shireen, and Nasreen. Not the older girls, Amina and Fatima.” She paused, knowing her last question would be shocking. “Do you think he might have made them sleep with him?”
“Both are good girls! Who are you to say such things!” the ayah screeched and let loose some Marathi curses Perveen would not have expected her to know.
Perveen spoke hastily. “I was not blaming them—and I certainly hope for their own sake nothing happened. What about the widows?”
Taiba’s rheumy eyes narrowed. “You are asking me that question in the house where they live? They are respectable ladies. You are rude.”
Perveen raised her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. Can you at least tell me whether you heard any shouting or screaming yesterday afternoon?”
“Of course! Jum-Jum was crying all afternoon. Bad tooth. Not even our Amina could calm him!”
Perveen seized on the revelation. “Did Amina stay with you in the nursery most of the afternoon?”
“She sang to Jum-Jum for a while, but he was still cross, so I let her go.”
Perhaps this was when Amina had heard the cry. Watching Taiba-ayah squint into the distance, observing Nasreen and Shireen tussling over the ball, Perveen asked, “Do you believe the killer came from outside of the house?”
“From where else? It could not be Mohsen or our cook, Iqbal. Both were too afraid of Mukri to go near him.”
“Why were they afraid?”
“Did you know he stopped all servants’ payments, telling us that food and shelter was enough? We lost the six other staff we had when he did this. Only Iqbal and Mohsen and his children remained. I also stayed because it is a roof over my head, and I am too old to go anywhere.”
“Did you speak to the police about this?”
Taiba-ayah broke into a hacking cough. At the end of it, she said, “They never asked. They only wished to know if I helped someone to get inside. The Sikh detective thought I was lying about not hearing sounds—when that baby was crying to the heavens, giving everyone headache.”
And in the short conversation, Taiba-ayah had proven that she was hard of hearing. Perveen wanted to ask more, but Jum-Jum started bawling. A fly had landed on his face. Taiba-ayah swatted at it, making Jum-Jum cry more.
“It was very good of you to clean yesterday,” Perveen said, giving the elderly lady a rupee that was accepted with a wide smile.
“It is good that you’ve come. The begums could use help because of Amina.”
“Of course. There’s much to get in order—” Perveen interrupted herself, because Taiba’s sentence had ended strangely. “What about Amina?”
Shaking her head again, Taiba said, “She hid yesterday evening and hasn’t come out.”
“Are you sure she’s hiding?” Perveen had an odd feeling: a tightness in her chest that she recognized as fear.
“Who knows? She thinks she’s too old for me to supervise her. But then this happens—”
Perveen interrupted her. “Where are the begums right now?”
“Razia’s room.”
Perveen hurried upstairs, thinking that it was strange Taiba-ayah hadn’t told her about Amina’s disappearance immediately. Didn’t the ayah fear Amina’s disappearance following a violent crime might mean that whoever had killed Mukri had done away with the young girl? Or what if Amina had decided to leave the house and go to Perveen’s office for help? But surely Mustafa would have admitted her and telephoned to say what had happened.
Rounding the corner into the hall where Razia’s room lay, Perveen felt nothing but worry. Even if Amina turned out to be playing a hiding game, as the ayah thought, Perveen would be so relieved to see her that she wouldn’t scold. If the girl was hiding, there had to be a solid reason for it.
Razia’s door was open a crack, but Perveen knocked on it to alert the widows of her presence. Razia and Sakina, who’d been sitting silently at the partners’ desk, turned quickly.
“Adab. May I come in?” Perveen asked.
“Please,” Razia said, standing. She spoke shakily. “We’re trying to manage a new trouble. My daughter is gone.”
Coming forward to put a hand on Razia’s shoulder, Perveen said, “Taiba-ayah just told me. We will find her.”
“I telephoned last night at nine,” Sakina said. “To the number on the card. But nobody answered.”
Perveen felt sick. This was when she was at Alice’s, and her father was away from the office. If only Sakina had called the number to the house.
“At first, we weren’t very worried, because she has so many little hiding places where she reads and draws,” Sakina said. “But then she never came out, not even for dinner.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Perveen demanded.
“They went away earlier,” Razia said, her face a mask of misery. “We know they would not care. And then we found some objects were missing.”
Perveen couldn’t hide her apprehension. “How is this connected? The objects could have been stolen by whoever came for Mr. Mukri.”
“No,” Razia whispered. “Amina’s clothing, her sketchbook, and satchel were gone.”
“And tell her what you found later,” Sakina interjected.
Razia sank down into her chair. “Also missing are my address book, a city guidebook, and twenty rupees from this desk.”
Perveen’s mind leaped to the obvious. “Do you think she left Malabar Hill?”
“Maybe.” Razia sounded uncertain. “She is very fond of our relatives in Oudh. Two years ago, we went by train, and she took a great interest in the route. She might think she can make the journey herself.”
“It is hard to think she would leave us at a time like this, but girls are emotional,” Sakina said softly. “And the gate was unguarded. Perhaps she saw a chance.”
Perveen thought it unlikely that Amina had taken advantage of lapsed security to explore the world. The only reason she would have fled would be to save her own life or possibly tell someone outside of the house that they needed help. “I don’t understand why Amina wouldn’t have left a note explaining what she’d done. How can a girl with no experience in the city make her way down from Malabar Hill and out to Victoria Terminus? And then she’d have to buy a long-distance train ticket at the window. If she tried that, it would have been noticed. We can tell the police to put out a watch for her. They can send a message out to constables and to the railways.”
“No, no,” Razia said with a moan. “No policemen. Not after yesterday!”
“But when people are looking out for a missing child, it improves the chance of her being found.” Perveen had to struggle not to shake the woman, who knew so little about the world. “We can even offer a reward for her safe return.”
“No.” Razia shook her head decisively.
Perveen looked from her to Sakina.
“I think I can explain her feeling,” Sakina said, patting Razia’s hand. “If it’s publicly known that Amina has wandered the city, her reputation will be ruined. We will never find a groom for her.We are praying for Allah’s blessing on her travels to Oudh. After that, we would humbly request your assistance in returning her to Bombay.”
Perveen knew all about ruined reputations, but wouldn’t a mother wish to try everything to find a missing child? She looked imploringly to Razia to contradict Sakina, but the senior wife stayed silent.
And then Perveen recalled Razia’s secret fear that Amina had killed Mr. Mukri.
What if Razia had sent off her daughter to avoid prosecution, not necessarily alone, but guided by someone whom she trusted? If that were the case—and Perveen called the police herself—she would potentially violate her attorney-client relationship with Razia and put Amina in jeopardy.
She couldn’t do it. Sigh
ing, she said, “I’ve told you what I consider the wisest course of action. I don’t know what I can do to help you.”
“There is something.” Razia’s anguished eyes fixed on Perveen. “Conditions are more old-fashioned in Oudh; my family house has no telephone. I will write a telegram—perhaps you can send it? I’d like my family to have my younger brother—he is Amina’s favorite uncle—wait at the railway station.”
“I’ll do that.” Perveen shifted her gaze to Sakina. “Please. I need to know more about Mohsen, because the police are still holding him.”
“Why? I told you yesterday that I sent him to get me rose attar,” Sakina said. “Did you not tell the police?”
“I told the sub-inspector about the errand, but it didn’t make an impact. One of the problems was that Mohsen first gave the police a false story: that he was socializing with the neighboring durwans.”
“I don’t know why he’d say that,” Razia said with a sigh. “But then, we don’t know him at all.”
Perveen wasn’t sure that was true. “He runs errands often. How do you communicate with him when you’re in purdah?”
Sakina shrugged, and her black chiffon sari slipped at the shoulder. “We speak to Fatima, and she brings him any of our requests. This time, I asked him to fetch rose attar from Mr. Attarwala’s shop in Zaveri Bazaar. I did it right after Mukri-sahib threw you out.”
“Why would you send him on an errand when so much was going on in the household?”
“Smelling roses calms my nerves,” Sakina answered. “I have used it so much since our husband’s passing. I realized that my bottle was empty. ”
“The sub-inspector suggested that Mohsen could have been in the bungalow and killed Mukri-Sahib before he went off on your errand. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t know,” Razia said in a low voice. “I must not speak ill of someone who has only helped us in the past.”
The Widows of Malabar Hill Page 26
