The Towers Of Silence (The Raj quartet)

by Paul Scott

  ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘we all think it best if you stay the night with us. You can come straight away. If you don’t mind borrowing some things Clarissa can lend you what you need. Beames or Travers will look in later with something to help you sleep. I asked Beames myself, I thought it would be wise. You’ll need a good night’s rest.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, Arthur. But I must go home at once. If someone will fetch a tonga.’

  She watched Arthur Peplow get up. Some of the books and magazines which he had pushed aside to make room on the sofa for the two of them slid back into place. She observed the glance he exchanged with Mr Maybrick before parking the glass of sherry on top of the grand piano. Glad of the momentary relief such a prosaic detail provided in the mountingly oppressive nightmare, she recalled that the piano was badly out of tune because it had not been played since Clarice Maybrick’s fingers were last upon its yellowed, mottled, keys. Another thing she remembered Mr Maybrick telling her was how Clarice always took her rings off before playing and placed them on the ebony ledge at the bass end of the keyboard.

  Arthur Peplow went out into the hall. She heard the ping that accompanied the lifting of the receiver. You could not get a tonga by ringing the exchange. Suddenly the door between hall and living-room closed, which meant that Arthur didn’t want her to hear what he was saying or know to whom he was saying it. She stayed where she was, readopting an old habit of mind; that of believing in the good sense and good will of established authority; although the waves of rebellion had already risen and were – she guessed – only temporarily subdued. Mr Maybrick came to the sofa and sat beside her, pushing the books and magazines to give himself room. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in the space between and looked down at the worn bit of carpet.

  ‘When I left this afternoon,’ Barbie said, watching the door that led to the hall where Arthur’s voice had begun to drone, to vibrate, to punctuate longer periods of silence, ‘she watched me and waited for me to look round, and then lifted her hand to wave.’

  Mr Maybrick nodded but said nothing.

  ‘You do understand, Mr Maybrick, that I can’t possibly sleep at Arthur’s and Clarissa’s or anywhere but at the cottage. There will be no need for Captain Coley to be there. In fact I find the idea quite unacceptable. Aziz and I will manage everything. I quite see that Mildred can’t stay. She’ll have to take poor Susan home and look after her. But Captain Coley’s presence is not necessary. I am prepared to wait here for a bit but eventually, no – quite soon, I must go back.’

  ‘I’ll come with you if you like.’

  ‘Thank you. That would be kind. So long as it’s understood that I stay there.’

  She grew rigid with impatience. There was much to be done. And quickly. In India these things were always done quickly. They had to be. And the problems of making special arrangements were likely to be many. She herself must be prepared for the journey to Ranpur. Packing was something that would occupy her.

  ‘And I must pack,’ she said. ‘I must be ready to leave tomorrow. The man at St Luke’s in Ranpur used to be the Reverend Ian Wright and still may be. Arthur will know.’

  Again Mr Maybrick nodded. She did not know whether he was listening but his mute agreement was encouraging. The door opened and Arthur came back in smoothing his head with one hand. He asked Mr Maybrick whether Kaisa Ram could produce some tea or coffee. Mr Maybrick got up and went out saying he would see. Directly they were alone Arthur said, ‘That was Kevin Coley at the other end. I told him you want to go up to the cottage and he’s had a word with Mildred. She’s still there with Susan and I think she’d be grateful if you’d let her get Susan away first, because the girl’s in pretty much of a state. In fact she’s suffering badly from reaction. Colonel Beames left about an hour ago and Susan was fairly all right then but he said he’d have a word with Travers because it’s Travers who’s been attending to her during her pregnancy. Well, they’ve been waiting for Travers to turn up and Coley’s trying to get him on the phone now. Mrs Fosdick and Mrs Paynton are there helping Mildred cope. There’s nothing you can actually do, Barbie, and frankly I think the best thing is for you to wait here a while and then if you feel you must just go up and collect some things for the night. I’ll take you.’

  ‘Mr Maybrick has promised to do that.’

  ‘Well, that’s fine. Coley said he’d ring me as soon as Mildred’s got Susan away. Please don’t misunderstand. Mildred knows how upset you must be and that you can only be more upset the moment you set foot in Rose Cottage. Just now she has her work cut out keeping poor Susan on an even keel. The danger is premature labour brought on by shock. And you do appreciate how much of a shock it was, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Arthur.’

  ‘Coley says Aziz is still missing. It’s very odd. When I mentioned it before I don’t think you took it in. But he’s not been seen since he brought Susan out her tray of tea. She had a cup and then noticed it wasn’t yet four o’clock so she dozed off again and was only half awake when Mabel came and sat down and seemed to nod off.’

  ‘What time was that, Arthur?’

  ‘About five. Beames got there at five-thirty.’

  ‘More than two hours ago. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I wasn’t called at once.’

  ‘No one knew where you were.’

  ‘Aziz knew.’

  ‘But Barbie—’

  ‘I’m sorry. I keep forgetting. But Susan knew.’

  ‘She said she only knew she’d seen you making out cheques and imagined you’d gone down to the bazaar to pay them.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘Clarissa was out when Mildred rang and asked me to go up. Otherwise we might have traced you sooner. She rang me at the cottage when she got home at seven and found my message. She said she thought you might be here with Edgar. So I came straight away.’

  That was very kind of you, Barbie intended to say; but she could not because it was being borne in on her that Arthur Peplow was deeply implicated – even if he didn’t realize it – in a plot to keep her out of the way, to stop her from going to Rose Cottage. She could not judge whether punishment or kindness was intended. If punishment, then Mildred was probably at the bottom of it. If kindness, then Mabel’s death could not have been the quiet and peaceful passing Arthur had described.

  She saw her friend with blackened face, protuberant tongue, and limbs stiffened in the final gesture of total and absolute terror; and Susan backing away, clutching her swollen belly, shrieking for Aziz, getting no answer and then – with space achieved between her own body and the horror – scrabbling at the telephone and shouting incoherently for help, making for the door, running down the gravel drive to the rockery-bordered exit to Club road, clasping the pillar of the open gateway and screaming until the whole of Pankot echoed and trembled.

  But this was not the way it had been, nor the way it ever could have been. The convolutions of the petals of this rose are dissimilar to the convolutions of this, Mabel must have said; and, leaning towards it, to examine more closely the miracle of its individuality, become aware of a corresponding shadow leaning over her, so that she straightened carefully to absorb the shock and leave the rose to its freedom and perfection; and turned, holding the basket, walked cautiously towards the short flight of wooden steps to the verandah. Here there was a promise, briefly kept, of continuation. A figure sleeping. Within it another; patiently achieving its human shape. Briefly too, a green leaf, one of many sprouting from stems in pots on the balustrade, adumbrated the shape and texture of its successors to fingers still occupied by love and custom.

  But again the shadow leans and the hand that touches the leaves is arrested by another which is more grandly and fearfully informed. And a voice – the same that said: Does it matter? – says, That’s all, that’s all.

  She sits. The favour granted to someone like her. A rock. The seas pound. One wave scarcely distinguishable from any of the others puts out the fa
ltering spark. But in that place there is no visible difference between sleep and death. She had nodded off. And out. The dear indomitable body remains. Marking the place.

  I have a concern, Barbie thought, to see if the eyes are open. She felt that they should be but didn’t know why except that in Mabel’s case this would somehow be seemly.

  ‘Barbie,’ Arthur said, taking her hand to his cold but well-intentioned comfort. ‘Don’t try so hard not to cry. You loved her and cared for her. You did it well.’

  ‘But not today. She wanted me to be there. But of course she would never have dreamed of asking. If she could have made it back to her room she would have, for Susan’s sake.’

  ‘There, there. That’s better.’

  ‘Forgive me.’

  But before she could disgrace herself she became free of the encumbrance of Arthur Peplow’s sympathy. She got up, grabbed her handbag and went into Mr Maybrick’s bedroom and shut the door. The physical exertion closed the gate on useless grief. From what appeared to be a considerable distance away she saw Mabel waiting. She achieved levitation and floated without trouble through the apex of the regal canopy of the mosquito net and left the room filled with the dark bat-wing flapping of the ghosts of her sorrow. She longed now only to escape and destroy the distance between the terrible little bungalow and Rose Cottage.

  She switched on the light in the bathroom and closed the door, crossed, reached up and unbolted the side door. Warm night air stroked her cheeks. She stumbled, surprised by an unfamiliar dimension – a high step – and saved herself from falling. She pressed on through an opening in what appeared to be a trellis. There was a sickly odour of sweet jasmine in the night and charcoal fumes from the outhouse where Kaisa Ram was cooking mutton curry. At the front of the bungalow she moved cautiously but, gaining the road, planted her feet firmly.

  She hastened past the rectory bungalow, squat behind its partial screen of trees, showing but one lighted room, and walked down the hill, past St John’s. Where Church road joined Club road she would with luck find an empty tonga making its way back from club to bazaar, but reaching there she found the road deserted and, having no time to waste, set off on the uphill climb. Presently two tongas went past, both laden; and then she had to stand still and hide her eyes from twin glares that loomed and roared and went past leaving dust and petrol fumes and echoes of singing male voices. At the milestone she paused to rest. She heard the clock of St John’s strike eight in another world. She got up and plodded on.

  *

  Captain Coley was in the front porch, waiting, which meant that Arthur and Mr Maybrick had discovered her escape and telephoned a warning.

  ‘We’re waiting for Travers,’ he said. ‘It’s Susan. We think she’s started.’

  ‘Then she should be got to hospital.’ She glanced into the lighted hall. Already the place had the look of not belonging to anyone. ‘They should have taken her home long before this,’ she said. ‘Colonel Beames should have insisted. Where is she?’

  ‘With Mildred in the spare bedroom.’

  She went into the hall. Just then Susan cried out. At the same instant from some quality of sound and echo Barbie realized that the thing she had come to look at wasn’t in the house. She turned, intending to raise the question of where Mabel’s body had been taken but was forestalled by Mildred calling Captain Coley’s name and then appearing in the living-room doorway.

  Barbie noticed that Mildred’s hair was still immaculately set. She would have expected something of the last few hours to have left a mark of itself in the form of disarrangement however slight. She noticed the hair because its groomed perfection set the tone of Mildred’s whole appearance. She searched for signs of wildness in Mildred’s face and in doing so realized that for a perceptible count, even if only in fractions of seconds, she and Mildred were staring at each other like old enemies who knew that the truce by whose terms they had both faithfully abided was now officially over.

  ‘I’m sorry to have arrived before you’ve got Susan home,’ Barbie said. ‘But I won’t get in anyone’s way, unless of course there’s something I can do.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Mildred replied. ‘But I think we can cope. Providing Travers gets here pretty soon. What’s the form, Kevin?’

  ‘The form is he should be here any minute now. Probably with an ambulance.’

  Mildred nodded, made to go back in but paused. She looked at Barbie. She said, ‘Have you any idea where that bloody man can have got to?’

  ‘Which man, Mildred?’

  ‘Aziz,’ she said; and repeated it. This time the sibilants struck like snakes. ‘Aziz.’

  ‘I think, yes, I’m sure it was for today, he had permission to visit a relative in one of the villages.’ The cautious lie came pat. But Mildred wasn’t fooled.

  ‘A sick relative, I suppose. No. I don’t think so. The other servants know nothing about it. Well, if and when he ever shows his face again, Kevin here’s promised personally to boot him in the rear.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand, Mildred. I don’t think you understand at all. About Indians like Aziz.’

  ‘I understand only too well. My God, I understand! He knew what I presume none of us knew. That she was ill. And bloody well funked it. Let’s see how far he gets. I’ve asked Beames to have a word with the police.’

  ‘The police! Whatever are you saying?’

  ‘—not that there appears to be anything noticeably missing. But there hasn’t been time for a proper check.’

  Another cry from Susan cut her off. For an instant her eyes closed and one hand gripped the jamb of the doorway. A voice which Barbie recognized as Clara Fosdick’s called Mildred’s name. Mildred went back towards the little spare.

  Behind Barbie Coley said, ‘Terribly upset. Don’t take police business too seriously. No one really suspects the old chap of pinching anything but it’s a necessary precaution, at least until Beames is satisfied about the cause of death.’

  She faced round to Coley upon whose martyr’s face there already seemed to be the reflexion of flickering flames.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He looked pained by so direct a question.

  ‘Only a formality. Feels he should have a pathologist’s report to confirm his opinion that it was a stroke.’

  The sound of an engine revving, of a driver changing into a low gear to negotiate the entrance to the drive, rescued him from further explanation. He went quickly out to the porch. Barbie hesitated, then approached Mabel’s bedroom. She grasped the handle of the door and had confirmation that it was locked. In the dining-room she repeated the process. The door between Mabel’s bedroom and the dining-room was locked too.

  And there was something new and peculiar about the dining-room itself. It took Barbie a few moments to pin it down. The few pieces of silver normally kept on the sideboard were no longer there. Aziz, Aziz, she cried out silently; but almost immediately knew that Aziz had had nothing to do with it. She tried the cupboard doors in the sideboard. These were locked too. Doubtless the silver was inside.

  She heard Travers’ voice, and Coley’s, and stood erect and still while the voices moved from hall to living-room and to the spare bedroom. Then she opened the french window on to the verandah which was illuminated by the light cast from dining-room and living-room and little spare. Susan’s lounging chair was there, with its cushions. The book brought by Captain Beauvais lay unopened on the floor together with another book and a copy of the current issue of the Onlooker. A tray of tea on a low stool was on the other side of the place where Susan had lain dozing, and several paces beyond on the other side of the french window into the living-room, but near the balustrade, another chair: upright and empty, with the pannier-basket beside it.

  She moved closer to it and then stooped and picked up the basket. It contained secateurs, dead rose-heads, a hand fork to whose tines particles of earth clung. She touched all these things, assuring herself of their existence; consequently of her own.

&
nbsp; Then she saw lying on the floor where she supposed Beames had let it drop after removing it the old frayed-brim straw hat. She stooped and picked this up too.

  ‘But it can’t have!’ Susan cried out. Barbie heard her clearly. ‘It can’t have started. The baby isn’t finished yet.’

  Barbie moved into the shadow but saw through the uncurtained open window of the little spare. They had Susan on her feet. Travers held one arm and Mildred the other. Clara Fosdick had her own and Susan’s handbags. Nicky Paynton held open the door into the living-room. The girl seemed to be a dead weight. Travers said, ‘Come along, Su, you don’t need the stretcher. Just keep on your feet. We’ll have you right as rain, you’ll see.’

  Her resistance went. Meekly but cautiously as if every step she made was an opportunity for the baby to make a dangerous bid for its freedom she let Travers and her mother lead her out.

  When they had gone Barbie waited, giving them time to get out to the ambulance. Then she moved into the area of light and went back to Mabel’s chair, still holding the basket and the straw hat.

  She sat down.

  But there was no way in.

  Presently she was aware of a shadow fallen across her feet and she felt the little shock-waves of someone’s fear or agitation. She glanced up. It was Kevin Coley. He thought he had seen a ghost.

  He said, ‘Mr Maybrick’s here to take you down to the Peplows for the night.’

  ‘Very well, Captain Coley. Thank you. I’ll pack a few things.’

  In the living-room she realized what she carried that was not hers and what was missing that belonged to her. ‘I think I left my handbag on the sideboard in the dining-room. Would you look? There are some things in it which I ought to hand over.’