A Fatal Journey

by Blythe Baker

  Relief flooded through me as soon as I was back in town and surrounded by people. It was almost possible to believe walking through the hut had been a dream, but the cold press of the knife against my skin reminded me it had been all too real.

  At lunch, Lieutenant Collins had mentioned he would be near the city hall for the rest of the afternoon, and I found myself walking there without realizing it. I wandered into the building, smiling and nodding as I passed men in suits who eyed me and my walking skirt and sweater with curiosity. I was underdressed.

  “Do you know where Lieutenant Graham Collins might be?” I asked a woman sitting behind a large wooden desk in the lobby.

  She furrowed her brow and looked down at the desk and then back at me. “Is he an employee? Do you know which department he might be in?”

  “I’m not sure—” I started, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice.

  “Rose?”

  I turned to see none other than Lieutenant Collins standing behind me. I waved to the secretary and walked towards him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. Then, he shook his head. “That makes it sound like I am not delighted to see you, which I absolutely am. What a surprise. Running into you twice in one day.”

  “Well, it’s hardly a surprise for me since I came here in search of you,” I said.

  The smile that spread across his face was enough to send a shot of guilt through me. His fondness for me would run out if I continued leading him to believe my feelings for him were as strong as his for me. I had to be careful moving forward to protect his heart and our budding friendship.

  “I have a question,” I added quickly, glancing around to be sure no one was eavesdropping.

  His eyes widened in curiosity, his smile restrained yet eager. “What is it in regard to?”

  “Something I found. I think you may have a better idea of its origins than I would, so I came to seek your opinion.”

  The smile faltered. “All right. Let’s sit, shall we?”

  “Somewhere private,” I said as he began moving towards a table in the lobby.

  Lieutenant Collins’ face pulled together in suspicion, and then he took a sharp left through the doors of the building and into the square. I followed him around the corner of the building and down a walkway bordered by thick trees on either side. At the end, it opened into a small landscaped garden with stone benches. He gestured for me to take a seat and then sat next to me, our legs close enough to touch.

  “I must admit, Miss Beckingham, you have piqued my curiosity.”

  “Then I won’t draw out the suspense another moment,” I said, reaching under the top layer of my dress and pulling out the weapon.

  Lieutenant Collins paled and looked away as I fumbled with my cardigan and the material of my skirt. His cheeks were bright red by the time I was finished. I feared I had scandalized him. But my potential indiscretion was forgotten the moment he laid eyes on the weapon in my hands.

  “Miss Beckingham,” he said, sliding away from me as though he was afraid I would use the knife on him. “What was that doing beneath your clothes?”

  “I found it.” I didn’t know how much to tell him about the hut in the woods. He was a sensible, kind man, and my propensity for finding danger would overwhelm him eventually. And it was my wish that his breaking point would be farther in the future. As it was, he had been a valuable resource I had no desire to lose.

  He raised an eyebrow and his blonde mustache twitched similar to the way Monsieur Prideaux’s used to when I was irritating him. “You found it?”

  I nodded. “In the woods. And I wondered if you could tell me more about it.”

  He looked like he would much rather walk back down the pathway and into the building, forgetting any of this had happened, but when I held the knife out to him, the Lieutenant reluctantly grabbed it and held it in his hands carefully.

  “It is called a kukri.”

  “You know it, then?” I asked excitedly, placing a hand on his arm.

  He softened under my touch. “I do. They are often carried by Gurkha soldiers, though anyone can acquire one should they wish to.”

  The disappointment must have been obvious on my face because Lieutenant Collins lowered the knife into his lap. “Does this have something to do with our trip to the prison? Do you believe this knife could somehow be connected to the bomber?”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it, unsure how to tell Lieutenant Collins that I believed the wrong man had been convicted for the crime, that I thought the real attacker may still be free and dangerous.

  Lieutenant Collins turned towards me and reached for my hand. “I think you have done enough searching for this man, Rose. I do not want to impose because this journey is yours alone, but I worry you may become consumed by this. I’m sorry you were not able to see the man in person, but you are chasing a ghost.”

  Not wanting to lie to him or admit the full breadth of my investigation, I smiled and refocused the conversation. “What about this engraving on the bottom of the knife? Have you ever seen anything like this? Could it point to who the owner of the knife was?”

  He sighed, aware that I did not intend to take his well-intentioned advice, and turned the knife point down to study the butt of the handle. “Oh, the intertwined C’s? No, that is just a marking to let the buyer know the knife was inspected in Calcutta. It is a beautiful, well cared for blade, but there is no way to say who it could have belonged to.”

  “Thank you anyway,” I said. “I’m sorry to interrupt your day with this.”

  “You did not interrupt anything, Miss Beckingham,” he said, returning the knife to me. “Though, I would occasionally like to meet with you under normal circumstances.”

  “Normal how?” I asked, giving him a small smile. “I’m only teasing. I apologize for dragging you into my personal journey for closure. I promise to do my best to find information on my own from now on.”

  “Or, perhaps,” he said, chewing on his lower lip. “You could give up this quest for information all together?”

  “I thought you weren’t going to impose,” I said, the words sharper than I intended.

  He shook his head. “You are right. I’m overstepping. It is just that I worry about you, Rose. About the kind of people you will encounter during your search for…whatever it is you are searching for. It isn’t safe.”

  “I am not putting myself in any serious danger, Lieutenant. Please do not worry about me.”

  “I do worry, though. I know it may seem harmless, but any kind of investigation into a crime of this magnitude can draw unwanted attention. What if the man who killed your family had accomplices? What if word spreads that you are looking into this and they come after you again?”

  Lieutenant Collins was flustered in a way I hadn’t seen before. I was flattered he was so nervous for my safety.

  “The bombing was a random attack,” I reminded him. I didn’t necessarily believe this story, but it was in the official report that the Lieutenant would trust. “No one will come after me.”

  “You cannot know that. Especially with the way you often wander by yourself. You could be attacked while out for a walk or targeted in your home. I just think you are taking this search too far,” he snapped.

  Tensions were rising between us, and I didn’t exactly understand why. “I’m attempting to make sense of a tragedy that killed my parents. I think something like that deserves my full attention.”

  I was lying, of course, but none of that should have mattered. Lieutenant Collins didn’t know I was being dishonest, which made his frankness all the more inappropriate. Though we had become friends, we had not known one another long, and it was rude for him to believe he had any kind of say in my doings.

  Lieutenant Collins clenched his jaw and smoothed his hands down the front of his uniform. He couldn’t look me in the eyes. “You are right. I will hold my tongue on this matter from here on out.”

  I tucked the kukri beneath my cardigan once
again and stood up. “Perhaps, that would be best.”

  12

  Miss Dayes had invited me to a small gathering of the daughters of other officials that night, but after searching the White Tiger Club, finding the hut, and getting into an argument with Lieutenant Collins all in the same day, I felt exhausted and longed for nothing more than an evening spent in the quiet of my room.

  Arthur Hutchins and his mother had been invited to a party in town, as well, but they had declined the invitation. I only knew because I overheard a heated discussion between Arthur and his secretary, Mr. Barlow, while I was sitting at my desk attempting to write a letter to my cousins. I’d been meaning to write to them and ask about their lives in New York and inform them about my adventures in Morocco and India (leaving out everything to do with my personal investigation), but time had gotten away from me. I was finally penning their names at the top of a page when I heard harsh voices in the hallway. Unable to resist, I moved to my door and pressed my ear against the crack.

  “You cannot continue to refuse invitations to these events,” Mr. Barlow said.

  Arthur huffed. “Thank you for your input, but I can do as I please.”

  “This is why you hired me, Mr. Hutchins. You said you needed someone to concern themselves with your social calendar to ensure you maintained the proper amount of involvement. Well, I am telling you now that you are slipping in your obligations.”

  “If you are so concerned, perhaps you should attend the event in our stead. You were gone all afternoon, so it seems you rather enjoy socializing,” Arthur snapped. He took a calming breath and continued. “My mother is unwell here in Simla, and I do not want to tax her by taking another car ride through the mountains.”

  Everyone knew Miss Hutchins was perfectly well. In fact, I’d seen her leave for a walk directly after dinner, looking rosy-cheeked and chipper. She still paused in the doorway to complain about the “dreadful heat” before leaving, but otherwise, her only problem was a propensity for negative thinking.

  “Your mother does not need to attend with you,” Mr. Barlow argued. “She is on a walk at the moment. She is feeling quite ready for an outing, I would say. And separately, I think you are doing yourself a disservice by staying out of the public eye for so long.”

  “Thank you for your opinion, Mr. Barlow, but I must insist you drop the matter. I will be staying in tonight. Feel free to concern yourself with your own social events for the remainder of the day.”

  I heard a door slam and then, after a long pause, footsteps moving down the hallway before becoming too faint to hear.

  The house remained quiet after that, allowing me to finish the letter to my cousins, where I begged them to forgive me for taking so long to write. Then I reflected on what I’d discovered during my investigations that day.

  Major McKinley had caught my attention early in the afternoon, especially after I discovered his cigar cutter in the library where General Hughes had died after he’d claimed to have never stepped foot in the room before the day the body was found. However, Rashi, the servant at the White Tiger Club, claimed to have seen a different man in the hallway just before the General’s body was discovered. Since she knew Major McKinley well from seeing him around the club, if he had been the man in the hallway that morning, she would have recognized him. And it was Jalini’s tale of a mysterious man living in the woods near the city that had taken me to the hut where I’d discovered the knife. Nothing much about the man’s identity was learned from my search of the hut, except that he utilized disguises and could be almost anyone.

  Most surprising of all, however, had been my conversation with Lieutenant Collins. I’d gone to see my friend because I believed he would be able to tell me about the knife I’d found in the hut—which he had. It was his unsolicited advice for me to cease all searching for the man who had thrown the bomb that killed the Beckinghams that was most noteworthy to me.

  The Lieutenant and I did not know one another well, so it seemed surprising to me that he would feel comfortable speaking so openly to me about my choices. Furthermore, my defiance seemed to actually anger him, which was an unusual emotion to see on the man I had come to view as mild-mannered. I couldn’t help but wonder whether the Lieutenant wasn’t worried about what I would discover.

  He had been more than willing to assist me at every stage of my investigation—asking his peers for information and arranging a visit to the prison. I’d quickly accepted him as an exceptionally generous man, but now I wondered whether there had not been ulterior motives. Had he stuck close to me so he would know if I discovered anything that could be dangerous to him? Or, even worse, had he been lying to me in order to discourage me?

  Lieutenant Collins had been the one to inform me that the suspected bomber had been captured and killed, and he had been the one to take me to the prison cell where the man was supposedly held. And the only witness I had confirming the presence of the suspected bomber was his cellmate who only spoke Hindi, which the Lieutenant had been kind enough to translate for me. And finally, he had told me the kukri was a common knife and the double-Cs marking the bottom were not distinguishable, but simply meant the weapon had been inspected in Calcutta. He had been the one to turn every one of my leads into a dead end, which left me no choice but to wonder whether I had been wrong to trust him all this time.

  I was reading in a chair near the window, trying to take my mind off the investigation, if only for a short while, when I heard a piercing scream.

  The book fell from my hands, tumbling to the floor, and I stood up and moved to the window. The path running in front of the house was clear, though I could not see it in its entirety as the sun was mostly set, only the barest hint of orange light peeking over the horizon. Squares of light coming from the windows of the bungalow dotted the yard, illuminating small patches of grass, but each patch was empty.

  I stood in the window, scanned the land in front of the house, and began to wonder whether stress hadn’t caused me to imagine the entire thing, when suddenly, a shape came stumbling into one of the squares of light. I jolted back in surprise and then drew closer to the window, leaning out of it.

  “Hello?” I called. “Are you all right?”

  “Help me!” The voice was frantic and high-pitched, and it took me only a second to place it as belonging to Mrs. Hutchins. “I’ve been attacked!”

  I ran from my room, down the stairs, and through the front door, shouting for anyone within hearing range to assist me. I had no idea how badly Mrs. Hutchins was injured or if she was injured at all. Perhaps, she had grown tired of complaining about the heat and had increased the stakes, now faking her own attack. However, as soon as I reached the lawn, I knew she was telling the truth.

  Small drips of blood dotted the grass leading to where she was lying on her side, a hand held to her throat.

  “Mrs. Hutchins, where are you injured?” I asked, kneeling down next to the woman. I had no medical training and no idea of how to help her, but no one else was appearing, so it seemed likely I would be called upon to take care of her.

  “A man came from behind me as I was nearing the house,” she choked out, squeezing her eyes shut, fat tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks. “He carried a knife. I didn’t have the opportunity to defend myself.”

  “He had a knife?” I asked, looking her over to find the source of her bleeding. “Where did he cut you?”

  Her hands clutched at her throat. “He went for my neck first, but I managed to stumble away from the blade before it sliced through the air. I do not know if he managed to cut me or not. I ran as fast as I could the moment my shock gave way to panic. I have never been so frightened in all my life.”

  She was hysterical, her voice coming out in hiccups and sobs. It was difficult to understand her. “Mrs. Hutchins, you need to calm down so I can help you.”

  “You are not a doctor,” she snapped. “I need a physician.”

  “You may be bleeding to death,” I shot back. “As we are still alon
e despite your screaming, I may be the only help coming. Please, tell me where you are hurt.”

  She clawed at her neck and her scalp in search of the wound before she sat up and I spotted it myself.

  “Your back.” I reached out and smoothed the material of her dress. A large red splotch covered most of her right shoulder, and it was growing bigger by the minute.

  Her eyes went wide. “Have I been stabbed? Am I mortally wounded? I knew I should have stayed inside. What was I thinking, being out alone after dark?”

  I probed the wound with my fingers and then pulled Mrs. Hutchins’ collar aside to examine it more closely. The blade that had sliced her had been sharp and, had the attacker been able to exert complete control over her, it could have been lethal. But because she had fought back and ran, she saved herself. I told her as much, though it did little to comfort her.

  “We need to get inside at once,” she said, hauling herself to her feet faster than I’d seen her move in any of the preceding days since we’d been in Simla. “The attacker could still be nearby. I need to find my son. Arthur!”

  The idea hadn’t even occurred to me. I’d been so concerned with Mrs. Hutchins’ safety that I had paid no thought for my own. I glanced around the property, focusing my eyes on the shadows between the trees, but no movement caught my attention.

  “Arthur!” she screamed even louder. I couldn’t imagine how her son had not heard her initial screams. Her voice was echoing off the trees. I felt certain it was echoing off the buildings in town.