Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7)

by Steve Robinson

  ‘Then we’re for it,’ Faraday said, sinking lower in his seat.

  Looking around her again, Jane could see that the guards, with their Brown Bess muskets, had taken positions at the head of the convoy and were returning volley after volley of gunfire up into the hills, presumably as a show of force in the hope of warning off their attackers. From what she could see, it did them no good. She saw one of the riflemen fall, and then another. With no cover and no clear target to fire upon, their situation appeared hopeless. As she saw things, it wouldn’t be long before their number was significantly reduced. Then it would be all too easy for the dacoits to come down from the hills and make off with the ox-carts and the cargo they had clearly come for.

  A bullet splintered the carriage to Jane’s right, so close that it startled her, despite the thunder of the now-constant gunfire. She could see in Arabella’s eyes that she was afraid, and rightly so. She rose, only half-standing, and went to comfort her, knowing her mother could not currently be relied upon to do so. At that moment, their carriage driver, an elderly Rajput who had also been with the party since Kota and was earning his passage home, rose out of his seat with a shrill cry. He turned to face them and Jane witnessed the terror in his eyes as he clutched at his bloody throat and fell.

  ‘He’s been shot!’ Faraday exclaimed, still full of surprise that this attack was going on around them and that he was caught up in it.

  Jane didn’t hesitate for a second. She knew that to sit there and do nothing was to share the old Rajput’s fate, and she had no intention of adding her blood, or the blood of her companions, to the dust alongside him. She stepped up to the reins, and now with a clearer view of the proceedings, she saw that the dacoits were already coming down from the hills. There were so many of them. They would not be frightened off. Jane had only one thing in mind as she sat down again and flicked the reins hard against the horse’s flanks: she had to get everyone aboard that carriage to safety.

  ‘Yah!’ she called to the horse, flicking the reins harder.

  The horse whinnied and reared up again. Then it took off, breaking away from the formation. Jane pulled hard on the reins to regain control. She turned the horse to their left, steering them back along the line of ox-carts at speed. Dust churned and billowed in the carriage’s wake.

  ‘Look!’ Arabella called.

  Jane turned around to see that Arabella looked more afraid now than ever. She was pointing back towards the hills. The view was partly obscured by the cloud of dust the carriage had kicked up, but Jane soon saw what Arabella had seen. Dacoits on horseback, in their pale, billowing garments and pointed cloth hats, were now riding out from their cover, charging the remaining soldiers. More worrying for Jane and her companions was that a handful of dacoits had broken free from the main attack and were galloping directly towards them.

  She flicked the reins harder still, but she knew they would soon be outrun. One horse, pulling a carriage of four people and their possessions, was no match for a single determined rider, let alone a half-dozen or so of them. The dacoits had clearly seen the carriage break loose from the formation, and Jane realised too late that they no doubt thought she was making off with some of the cargo they had come for. She chanced another look back and saw no Company troopers coming to their aid. There were only the dacoits, and as she had supposed, they were gaining ground fast.

  ‘Yah!’ she cried again, spurring the horse on.

  They quickly passed the last of the ox-carts, heading back along the road towards Tonk, but she knew it was hopeless to expect they could make it. It was too far, and it was foolish to try. She pulled hard on the left rein, cutting away from the road, meaning to circle back around the line of carts and lead their pursuers towards the guard into a volley of gunfire. It was soon apparent, however, that there were too few soldiers left to be of any help, and those that hadn’t already fallen or fled were too busy trying to fend off the main attack to pay her any attention as she passed them.

  Jane made for the hills. What other choice was there but the open plain and certain death? She had to keep going. She thought the hills, if only she could reach them, might at least offer places to hide. The dacoits were surely only interested in the carriage. If they could disembark in time and flee into the hills on foot, she felt sure they would not follow.

  The dacoits, however, were closing in. They were so close now that through the cloud of dust behind the carriage Jane could make out the whites of their eyes. She also noticed that their number was fewer than it had been, and she supposed that some had rejoined the main attack on the guard. She counted three riders and wondered why they weren’t shooting at them. Whatever the reason, it was a blessing. It seemed to Jane that, having seen mostly women in the carriage, they were certain of their success in bringing it to a standstill without wasting a single round.

  As hopeless as their situation now seemed, Jane kept going. She drove her horse hard, back on to the road that led to Jaipur as the hills began to rise either side of them. Then the first dacoit rider appeared beside her, his dark eyes set on hers. At the same time she heard a scream behind her. It was Arabella. The other two riders were close to the carriage, grabbing at Arabella while her mother, sensible to the situation at last, tried to fend them off with her collapsed parasol. Now that they were on top of them, Faraday could do no more than cower in his seat, curled over his knees with his hands on his head. Even if the man had managed to win his way into Jane’s affections before now, he would have lost them again that instant.

  Jane felt a tug on her reins, and her attention was drawn back to the lead dacoit horseman, who had grabbed them and was pulling her horse into his, forcing it to slow down. She was powerless to stop him. In a matter of seconds, the carriage had been brought to a standstill.

  Chapter Five

  Present day

  Now on their second glass of whisky in the makeshift drawing room at Drumarthen House, Tayte’s reading was interrupted by Sinclair’s apparent impatience to talk to him about the gemstone. It forced Tayte to put Jane Hardwick’s letter down in his lap for the time being, though he was eager to get back to her account of the attack on their party on the Tonk road.

  ‘In Cornelius Dredger’s letter to my as-yet-unknown ancestor,’ Sinclair said, leaning closer to Tayte so that he had his full attention, ‘you’ll recall that Dredger was asking for money.’

  ‘To fund his expedition to India in search of the gemstone,’ Tayte said, recalling the letter very well.

  ‘Aye, well, it’s my strong belief that he accepted Dredger’s offer.’

  ‘It was quite a gamble.’

  ‘Was it now?’

  ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I believe Robert already knew of the gemstone in question, and that he believed the letters from Dredger’s great-aunt in India represented the best chance of finding it.’ Sinclair scoffed. ‘No ancestor of mine would have put up so much money if the odds of a good return were anything less than highly favourable.’

  Tayte couldn’t question Sinclair’s logic on that count. The more he thought about the gemstone, the closer he came to the conclusion that it could be key to the success of his assignment, whether he liked the idea of a treasure hunt or not. The person he needed to identify in Sinclair’s family history was clearly wrapped up in the gemstone’s story, and he was now beginning to feel the need to better understand that story.

  ‘What do you know about the gemstone?’ he asked. ‘Can you tell me about it?’

  Sinclair took a sip of his whisky. When he lowered his glass he was smiling. ‘I knew your curiosity would get the better of you soon enough,’ he said. He settled back in his chair again, and the glow of the fire danced across his face as he added, ‘I can tell you about it all right—to a point, that is. To properly do so, however, I must first take you back seven hundred years to the fourteenth century and the time of the great Turco-Mongol conqueror, Timur, or Tamerlane as he’s also known, although you can be sure
that the gemstone’s bloody history predates him by a good many more centuries. Timur was the first ruler of the Timurid dynasty in Persia, and the last great conqueror of the Eurasian Steppe. He was a man bent on restoring the Mongol Empire of Genghis Khan. It’s believed that the gemstone in question, a huge ruby reported to be the size of a man’s fist, came into his possession during his conquests in Egypt and Syria. In the years that followed, Timur became the most powerful ruler of the Muslim world, having amassed great wealth.’

  ‘And, I imagine, a great number of precious gemstones from his years of plunder.’

  ‘Aye, but few that compared to the ruby I speak of. So little is known about it that it’s taken me years of meticulous research to trace its course through history. I could find no further mention of it until the late sixteenth century, when it’s believed to have arrived in India by way of another conquest. This time the conqueror was Babur, a direct descendant of Timur, and the first of the Mughal emperors. In 1527 Babur defeated Rana Sanga of Mewar, a powerful leader of a Hindu Rajput confederacy in Rajputana, which largely encompasses Rajasthan as we know it today. In the years following Rana’s defeat, many of the Rajput leaders formed alliances with the Mughal emperors, and many gave their daughters to the emperors so that their marriages would strengthen bonds between them.’

  ‘You said the ruby came to India by way of another conquest,’ Tayte said, ‘yet the conqueror, Babur, already owned it.’

  ‘Indeed I did,’ Sinclair said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as he spoke. ‘You see, this time the ruby changed hands by way of a gift. Fast-forward a few more decades and we come to Akbar, the third and arguably the greatest of the Mughal emperors. He gave the ruby to one of his most trusted generals, Man Singh, for his loyalty. Singh was the Rajput Raja of Amber, or Amer as it’s also known. He was the princely ruler of the Indian state we now call Jaipur.’

  ‘Some of this is starting to sound a little familiar,’ Tayte said, his eyes narrowing on Sinclair. ‘Does this gemstone have a name?’

  ‘Aye, it does, but it wasn’t named by any of the Mughal emperors, or by Man Singh. You see, not all of the Rajput leaders accepted Mughal sovereignty. Chief among them was Maharana Pratap Singh, grandson of Rana Sanga, who, as I’ve said, was defeated in battle by Babur. It was he who first called the ruby the Blood of Rajputana, and rightly so as he saw it, because to him it represented the blood of the Rajputs who fought to defend their land against the Mughal invaders.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tayte said. ‘I knew the word “Rajputana” rang a bell. I came across it a few years back, while reading an article about the British Crown Jewels and the Koh-i-Noor diamond. This ruby you’re talking about is nothing more than a myth.’

  ‘Is it?’ Sinclair said, his eyes widening. ‘Perhaps if no one had seen nor heard tell of the Koh-i-Noor diamond in hundreds of years, then that, too, would be no more than a myth by now. But would that make it any less real?’

  Tayte thought back over the contents of Cornelius Dredger’s letter from 1869, certain that the name of the stone had not been mentioned. ‘Dredger doesn’t name the gemstone,’ he said. ‘Come to think of it, he doesn’t even say it’s a ruby. Assuming for now that the Blood of Rajputana is real, why do you believe it’s the same gemstone Dredger mentions in his letter? If it is, why doesn’t he refer to it as such?’

  ‘I don’t know why he doesn’t name the gemstone in his letter. Under the circumstances, perhaps he had good reason not to. I’m sure plenty of people have been interested in its whereabouts over the years, myth or no myth. As for why I believe Dredger is talking about the Blood of Rajputana, I have just one word for you—Jaipur. The ruby was given to Man Singh, remember, who—’

  ‘Or so you read,’ Tayte cut in. ‘Did what you read confirm that the gemstone given to Man Singh was the Blood of Rajputana?’

  ‘Not specifically, no, but then the name given to the stone hadn’t long been circulating at the time. All I know is what I choose to believe, given the facts as I see them—that Akbar gifted a large ruby to Man Singh of Jaipur.’

  ‘And that was the last anyone saw of it?’

  ‘Not quite. Singh was a known devotee of Shri Krishna. It’s believed that he set the stone into the forehead of a golden statue of Krishna and that it resided at his palace in Jaipur for many years as a symbol of peace, not war. Towards the end of Singh’s life, it’s said that he gave the statue to a prominent family in the neighbouring state of Kishangarh, on the occasion of the maharaja’s first daughter’s marriage to one of Man Singh’s favourite grandsons. The gift cemented relations between these neighbouring states, and at the same time kept the ruby in the family, so to speak.’

  Sinclair finished his drink and reached for the bottle again.

  ‘The connections are all there, Mr Tayte. You see, Angus Fraser, my three-times-great-grandfather, was born in Jaipur. His mother, Aileen, with whom I believe Robert had the affair I previously mentioned, was married to an officer of the East India Company. You’ll recall his name was Lachlan Fraser. From his military records we know he was stationed in Jaipur around the time the Blood of Rajputana was known to have been in the area. Now we have a letter about a priceless gemstone written, not to my step-four-times-great-grandfather, Lachlan—the man who brought Angus up as his own—but to the man I’m convinced is my biological four-times-great-grandfather, Robert. Between him and Cornelius Dredger lies the ruby’s ongoing story, which I firmly believe, if carefully unravelled by expert hands such as yours, will lead to its whereabouts.’

  Tayte drained the last of his whisky and stared at the flames in the fireplace, thinking that Sinclair had just admitted his real motive for hiring him. Sinclair wanted him to identify his unknown ancestor so he could go on to find the gemstone. It came as no surprise to Tayte—he’d suspected as much since their meeting in London. He said nothing about it. After all, he was hundreds of miles from home, having accepted the assignment, knowing full well what it was really all about.

  There was a lot of speculation and hearsay in what he’d just been told about the ruby. He dealt with facts in his line of work, and he liked to keep it that way. For now, though, he concluded that he had little choice but to take the existence of the Blood of Rajputana on faith, and go about finding those facts, the first of which was the letter sitting in his lap. Could Jane Hardwick’s letters home to her brother really help to identify not only Sinclair’s unknown ancestor, but the location of the Blood of Rajputana itself? Did one somehow lead to the other? Tayte had no idea at this point, but as the letter was currently all he had to go on, he picked it up again and continued reading.

  Chapter Six

  India, September 1822

  The carriage had been forced to a standstill, and it quickly became apparent to Jane that the dacoit horsemen who had pursued them were interested in far more than their possessions. As soon as the carriage stopped, Jane heard Arabella scream again. Ignoring the murderous glare from the dacoit ahead of her, she turned to see his two friends pull Arabella from the carriage, tearing her from her mother’s arms and throwing her over one of the rider’s saddles. Arabella continued to scream and kick until her bonnet flew off, loosening her red-brown hair, but it did her no good.

  ‘Give back my daughter!’ Elspeth cried. ‘Mr Faraday! Won’t you do something?’

  At last Faraday raised his head, but Jane knew he could not be counted on to act. She was proved right a moment later when Faraday raised his hands in surrender and sank lower, until he was sitting on the carriage floor. He looked close to tears. It occurred to Jane now that the dacoits knew who Arabella was. Was she a part of the cargo they had come for, expecting that her father would pay a great many rupees to have her back? She thought that had to be why their pursuers had not fired at them.

  Jane stood up. She had no idea what she was going to do next, but she had to do something to stop this if she could. No sooner was she on her feet than she saw the dacoit nearest her draw a pistol from the leather belt a
round his waist. He raised its long barrel towards her and Jane was all too aware that, while the dacoits would spare Arabella’s life for the ransom they deemed it to be worth, they cared nothing for hers.

  A shot was fired, but it was not Jane who fell.

  The sound caused her to close her eyes momentarily. When she opened them again, the dacoit’s pistol had dropped to his side. She saw a look of anguish in his eyes before he slowly began to slide off his horse. He hit the ground with a thud as another shot was fired, and Jane’s attention was drawn further along the road, not to the south, where the guard was still trying to fight off the main dacoit attack, but to the north, in the direction of Jaipur.

  ‘Troopers!’ Jane called for the benefit of those who could not yet see them.

  The remaining two dacoits each gave a cry. They kicked their heels hard into their horses’ flanks and made off towards the hills, taking Arabella with them. The troopers, Bengal Army Light Cavalry sowars of the Honourable East India Company, arrived in a thunderous roar of blue tunics and stamping hooves, their battle cries designed to instil fear into the hearts of any dacoit who dared to oppose them. They paid Jane and her companions little attention as they passed, and she feared for Arabella all the more, but the two dacoits who had made off with her had not done so unnoticed. Jane saw four riders peel off from the main charge, heading into the hills after them. At that moment she offered a prayer to God that they would bring Arabella back unharmed. She went to comfort the now tearful Elspeth as Faraday got to his feet at last and raised a cheer for their saviours. It was with baited breath that they awaited the outcome of the cavalrymen’s pursuit.

  Gunfire in the hills soon joined the cacophony of the battle. Jane could no longer see the two dacoit riders, or the sowars who had followed after them. To think that poor Arabella was caught in the midst of their fury sent a chill through her despite the hot sun. Several minutes passed. Then the hills fell silent. A moment later she saw four horses returning, but only three riders. One of the sowars must have fallen.