Dark Clouds Over Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 2)

by Harriet Steel

  ‘Quite.’

  Clutterbuck sighed. ‘Well, I think that about wraps everything up. I’ll tell a couple of the shikaris to guide you back.’

  He frowned. ‘One thing did strike me as a bit odd. One of them has gone missing. Disappeared in the night it seems, and none of the others admit to knowing anything about him. Perhaps there was some kind of argument, but I didn’t hear anything and their camp isn’t all that far away from our tents. It’s most unusual for a shikari not to stay around to get paid.’

  Chapter 6

  Now that de Silva knew the worst to expect, the journey down the mountainside seemed easy. The shikaris left him where he had parked the Morris and he drove back to Nuala. It was late afternoon by the time he arrived. In the bazaar, the few traders who had not already packed away their stalls drowsed in the shade or smoked the clay pipes filled with dark, pungent tobacco that many of the men favoured. Half-naked children darted between the traffic of bullock carts, handcarts, and rickshaws. On a patch of dusty ground, a dozen or so boys were playing a noisy game of cricket. De Silva wondered if that was how Sergeant Prasanna had learnt to love the game as a boy.

  At the station, there was no sign of him. Constable Nadar was once again slumped over his desk asleep. De Silva sighed. He didn’t know how long babies went on teething for but he hoped Nadar’s son wouldn’t take too much longer. In his office, the same pile of post that he had been perusing that morning lay on his desk. He glanced through the letters he hadn’t had time to read but there was nothing that couldn’t wait.

  The window must have been closed all day and the temperature in the room was hot enough to cook eggs. He went to the switch and turned on the ceiling fan but it made very little difference and the monotonous swish of its blades made him feel sleepy too. There was no point sending anyone out to look for Mrs Wynne-Talbot’s body until tomorrow anyway. He may as well let Nadar go off duty and then lock up. Returning to the front office, he shook the constable awake and, after a brief admonishment, sent him home.

  **

  ‘What a dreadful thing to happen,’ said Jane sadly as they sat on the verandah that evening and watched the sun go down. ‘It’s tragic when anyone dies prematurely, but poor Helen Wynne-Talbot was so young. How is her husband taking it?’

  ‘Very shocked as you would expect. It appears he knew she was suffering from depression, but not that there was a real risk she would take her own life.’

  ‘Has her body been found?’

  ‘Not yet. Clutterbuck’s put me in charge of organising the search for it. It won’t be easy but there are a few roads and small settlements down in the valley below World’s End. We’ll have to enlist the help of the villagers.’

  ‘Will you go yourself?’

  He shook his head. ‘It will be good experience for Prasanna and Nadar. Do them no harm to face the grimmer side of policing.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Anyway, Nadar should benefit from getting out of the office and taking some exercise. Every time I turn my back on him, he falls asleep.’

  ‘You make him sound like the dormouse.’

  ‘The dormouse?’

  ‘You know, in Alice in Wonderland.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ He remembered it was one of the books Jane had brought with her, a treasured volume from her childhood.

  ‘But without the teapot, of course.’

  De Silva chuckled as he pictured Nadar’s plump personage wedged in a teapot.

  ‘Why’s he so tired? I hope you don’t make him work too hard.’

  ‘I think that would be impossible. No, it’s his baby son. He’s teething and Nadar says he and his wife get no sleep.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  Jane sighed. ‘I hope there won’t be a lot of gossip about Helen Wynne-Talbot, not just for her husband’s sake but Lady Caroline must be very distressed too. I expect she’d rather as few people as possible know what’s happened.’

  ‘Let’s hope she gets her wish but I’m afraid she may not. The Wynne-Talbots have made quite a splash in Nuala and people will wonder where she is.’

  She nodded. ‘Unfortunately you’re probably right and, if past history is anything to go by, one won’t need to look far for the chief source of gossip.’

  ‘Florence Clutterbuck?’

  ‘Yes. But perhaps Archie will manage to keep her quiet.’

  De Silva grinned ‘I doubt it. It’s always the wife who wears the shorts in the household.’

  Jane pulled a cushion out from under her arm and threw it at him. ‘What nonsense, and it’s trousers not shorts.’

  De Silva placed the cushion on the floor. ‘Ah well, let’s talk of something more cheerful.’

  ‘Agreed.’ She thought for a moment. ‘There’s an American film coming to the Casino that I’d like to see.’

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘Footlight Parade. The choreographer is Busby Berkeley so there’ll be lots of wonderful dancing and it stars James Cagney and Joan Blondell.’

  ‘I thought he played gangsters.’

  Usually he does but this time he’s a theatre impresario. He started out in vaudeville, so he should be able to dance.’

  ‘That’s fine. I enjoyed 42nd Street so let’s try it.’

  His foot started to tap and he hummed the big number from the film – rather tunelessly if the truth was told.

  Jane winced. She loved music and was glad he liked it too but he was a better audience than performer. Charitably, she had decided that the difference between East and West was probably to blame for his perilous hold on the melodies of most of the western songs he sang.

  Dusk turned swiftly to darkness and, little by little, the stars came out, studding the velvet-black sky like diamonds. Jane and de Silva slipped into a companionable silence. This was one of his favourite times of day, even more precious than usual after such a melancholy one. The smell of spices wafted from the direction of the kitchen, reminding him he had eaten nothing since that camp meal of eggs and horrible coffee.

  Jane picked up the week’s copy of the Nuala News and folded it over. ‘We’ve half an hour before dinner. Do help me finish this crossword. I’ve been stuck on fourteen down all afternoon.’

  Chapter 7

  Early the following week, de Silva drove to the Residence to make his report to Archie Clutterbuck. Waiting in the cool of the spacious hall, he enjoyed the scent of the vase of roses someone had put on the central table. No doubt it was one of the servants. Unlike Jane, Florence didn’t believe in doing anything in the house herself, even such a pleasant job as arranging flowers.

  The servant who had gone to announce him returned to show him through to the study. As soon as he had opened the door, the man departed hastily and de Silva soon saw why. What appeared to be a small black and white household mop darted at him making a noise like a troop of langur monkeys in a bad temper.

  ‘Angel! Stop that at once, you little…’

  The mop cocked its head to one side and emitted a low growl. Behind it, de Silva saw the assistant government agent. His expression was thunderous and, by his side, his elderly Labrador, Darcy, wagged his tail with an air of weary resignation.

  ‘I didn’t know you had purchased a new dog, sir.’

  ‘I haven’t. The little blighter belongs to Mrs Clutterbuck. She calls it Angel although Beelzebub would be a better appellation. Poor old Darcy’s nose is completely out of joint. He’s used to peace and quiet. My wife insisted we have the wretch today while she’s out doing good works.’ He fondled Darcy’s ears and the old dog leant against his thigh with a grunt. ‘Not much longer eh, old chap? She’ll be home soon.’

  He straightened up. ‘Now, what have you got to tell me, Inspector? Any sign of Mrs W-T’s body?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. My men have spent many hours searching and drafted in villagers to help, but there’s no trace of her.’

  Clutterbuck sucked air through his teeth. ‘William Petrie has had to go back to Kandy but I doubt Lady Caroline or Wynne-Talbot will l
eave until the lady’s found, so pull out the stops, won’t you?’ He frowned. ‘I hope you told your chaps to keep this under their hats?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Unfortunately, someone didn’t. I’ve already had to take the editor of the Nuala News to task. Luckily I spotted the article and had time to keep it away from Lady Caroline and Wynne-Talbot but heaven knows how many other people saw it. All most regrettable. No one likes to see their family mishaps splashed over the front page. If Lady Caroline and Wynne-Talbot do hear of it, William Petrie will have something to say about the lapse and no mistake.’

  How the British liked their understatement, de Silva thought wryly. Helen Wynne-Talbot’s death was more than a mishap. He wondered if it was unfair to suspect that Florence Clutterbuck was the cause of her husband’s discomfiture.

  ‘Are you convinced it was suicide, sir?’

  Clutterbuck looked bemused. ‘Are you suggesting it might be something else?’

  ‘Probably not, but I would be more satisfied if someone other than Major Aubrey had seen the lady jump.’

  ‘I suppose we don’t really know much about him,’ Clutterbuck conceded, stroking his chin. ‘Is there anything that makes you doubtful apart from that?’

  ‘Mrs Wynne-Talbot seemed a quiet lady, but it’s a long way from that to being suicidal. We haven’t had the opportunity of checking whether her husband’s account of her depression is true.’ He didn’t mention what Hebden had told him about Ralph Wynne-Talbot’s visit. It would be up to the doctor to agree to reveal that he had breached his duty of confidence. ‘I’d just like to be convinced that Major Aubrey is a reliable witness. I’m also somewhat troubled by what you told me about one of the shikaris.’

  A frown creased Clutterbuck’s brow. ‘What was that?’

  ‘You said one of them had disappeared in the night and that it was unusual.’

  ‘Ah yes. You think he might have seen something Aubrey didn’t want us to know? Goodness, de Silva, this is all a bit too cloak and dagger, don’t you think?’

  ‘All the same, I’d like to know more about Major Aubrey.’

  He saw Clutterbuck stiffen but he didn’t intend to back down. Being an Englishman and an officer wasn’t necessarily a guarantee of probity.

  Clutterbuck relaxed. ‘The belt and braces approach, eh? Well, I suppose you proved its worth in that Renshaw business last year. The fellows in Colombo may be able to telegraph the army office in Calcutta.’ He gave de Silva a steely look. ‘But I’ve little doubt they’ll confirm his bona fides and that will be the end of the matter.’

  ‘Would Colombo be able to tell us anything about the count and his wife?’ de Silva asked as an afterthought.

  Clutterbuck’s face reddened. ‘Dammit, de Silva, you’re going too far. The expedition’s already been a disaster from that point of view and if it gets back to Ranescu that we’ve been asking questions about him, relations will sour even more. Petrie and the governor would have my hide.’

  Excited by Clutterbuck’s raised voice, the household mop jumped up and capered about, yapping furiously.

  ‘Silence! Dratted creature.’

  The mop retreated to its basket in a corner of the room and started to pant, showing a sliver of pink tongue. It had a little slit of a mouth and pair of black button eyes, half-concealed by overhanging hair that gave it an air of permanent disapproval. Jane had often told him about the British theory that people grew to look like their dogs. Angel’s appearance was thought-provoking.

  ‘My apologies for raising it, sir.’

  Clutterbuck sighed. ‘I ought to apologise too, de Silva. That little brute’s been getting on my nerves all morning. Look, I really can’t countenance making inquiries about Count Ranescu and his wife in any official capacity, but I suppose we could go to the library here. I believe there are some volumes of the Almanach de Gotha somewhere on the shelves – the Almanach de Gagas as my father used to call it.’

  Clutterbuck chortled and de Silva made a mental note to ask Jane why the remark would be amusing. ‘My predecessor was very keen on researching that kind of thing and boning up on the lineage of aristocratic families – we haven’t cancelled the subscription as it can be useful if a bigwig visits – but it’s not my bag. Give me a fishing rod or a gun any day. A chap needs to get out in the fresh air and take a bit of exercise after a day stewing over a hot desk. Mens sana in corpore sano I always say.’

  Another question for Jane.

  ‘As for you, you can stay in here.’ Clutterbuck shook a finger at the mop. ‘Come along, Darcy. We’ll take you with us.’

  Clearly relieved to be free of his canine companion, Darcy led the way down a long corridor lined with faded watercolours of misty lakes and mountains.

  The library was far from being as grand as the one at the Crown Hotel that de Silva had once entered. Clutterbuck went to the window and pushed the heavy damask drapes aside, letting sunshine flood into the room. The bright light showed up the dust hanging in the air and lying on surfaces. De Silva noticed that most of the spines of the leather-bound books that lined the shelves had lost their glossy patina and their gold tooling was dulled by age.

  ‘A pity it doesn’t get more use,’ remarked Clutterbuck, surveying the room. ‘My wife’s a keen reader but she’s more for Agatha Christie than the classics. D’you read much, de Silva?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I find it helps my understanding of English.’

  ‘Quite so.’ He went to a shelf. ‘Now, this is the most recent one, so it may help us.’

  He hauled out a heavy tome, took it to the desk and began to leaf through the crackling pages.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Count Victor Zoltan Ranescu, born 1872 Bucharest.’ His finger moved down the page. ‘Married 1897, Princess Maria Cristina von Donmar – born 1875, Spezia.’

  ‘So that means that Countess Ranescu must be sixty years old,’ said de Silva, frowning.

  Clutterbuck chuckled. ‘The old dog! If the lady I’ve spent the last few days with is sixty, I’m a monkey’s uncle. I wonder where Ranescu found her. Unless he’s newly widowed or divorced, one presumes that the real countess is at home looking after the family estates, blissfully ignorant, one hopes, of her husband’s antics.’

  He closed the book and put it back in its place on the shelves. ‘Well, it’s none of our business and we certainly don’t want to stir up a hornets’ nest by asking questions now.’ Absentmindedly, he brushed some dust from his sleeve. ‘Let’s go back to my study. A whisky before you go?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. That would be most welcome.’

  They walked back to the study where a scene of destruction met their eyes. Two of the cushions from the conker-brown leather sofa lay on the floor, feathers spilling from their torn covers. The mop glared balefully at them over the edge of a third one that was gripped between its teeth.

  ‘Dammit! I should have known better than to leave the little blighter unsupervised.’ He wrestled the cushion from Angel who trotted off to his basket with an insouciant air. ‘I’d give him to the servants to look after when Mrs Clutterbuck’s out but he knows how to get on chairs and steal food. He got into the boot room the other day too. One of the servants had left my best brogues out for polishing. He swears he left the door shut but now my brogues have teeth marks and one of the tongues is chewed to pieces.’

  Scooping up stray feathers, he stuffed them back into the mangled cushions and put them on the sofa. ‘No good complaining.’

  He sneezed noisily. ‘My wife won’t hear a word against him. Now, how about that whisky?’

  As de Silva drove away from the Residence half an hour later, he felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t mentioned Kuveni, the girl Prasanna was concerned about. But with the Wynne-Talbot business unresolved, it probably wouldn’t have been a good time.

  He sighed. Always the British and their concerns came first. He hoped Prasanna wouldn’t feel too let down.

  Chapter 8

 
‘Have you had a good day, dear?’ Jane smiled at him from her rattan chair on the verandah. She picked up the small brass hand bell on the side table and rang it. ‘I expect you’d like tea.’

  ‘An excellent idea.’

  ‘Did you have time for lunch?’

  ‘Only a snack. I spent most of the morning with Archie Clutterbuck and when I got back to the station there was plenty to do.’

  ‘Are Prasanna and Nadar still searching for the body?’

  ‘I fear so. Clutterbuck wasn’t very happy to hear it. He doesn’t think Lady Caroline or Ralph Wynne-Talbot will leave Nuala until she’s found. I get the feeling he’s worried about the impression William Petrie will have of his abilities.’

  A servant hovered into sight and Jane ordered tea with sandwiches and cakes.

  ‘Perhaps he doesn’t understand how difficult something like this is,’ she continued when the man had gone. She shuddered. ‘If the body has disappeared, there could be all sorts of reasons why. Still, it’s understandable not wanting to leave, especially where the lady’s husband is concerned. Grieving is a long process and while there’s this uncertainty, it will be hard even to begin to mourn for her.’

  Tea arrived and Jane poured them both a cup. De Silva lifted his and savoured the delicate aromas of honey and pine rising from the coppery liquid. ‘Mm, white tea. This is a treat.’

  ‘A present from Florence Clutterbuck.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, not just to me. She brought gifts for everyone in the sewing circle. She wanted to thank us for all our hard work on the church kneelers. We also have some very nice soaps from Floris of London.’

  ‘That was good of her.’

  ‘In fact, she seems to be in a benevolent mood all round at the moment. She was full of stories about her new little dog earlier too.’

  ‘Ah, Angel.’

  ‘How do you know its name?’

  ‘I met him this morning. Archie Clutterbuck was in charge of him. Which reminds me, he came out with a phrase I didn’t know – mens sana in corpore sano.’