Keeping Bad Company

by Caro Peacock

  His irritation sounded genuine.

  ‘It starts with three young men sailing to India’, I said. ‘He calls himself The Griff and the other two The Merchant and The Soldier. It’s pretty clear that you’re The Merchant.’

  A shrug, as if he didn’t care one way or another.

  ‘Much later, the three meet again by chance in a small state in the Maratha that the Company’s pretty well taken over. At least, it was chance as far as he was concerned. He hints that The Merchant may have been there by arrangement with The Soldier. The prince has a beautiful and ambitious sister. There’s a small war, then an unsuccessful uprising against the prince. Does that sound familiar?’

  He was still managing to look bored.

  ‘I’ve spent most of my life in the East and travelled all of India from Ceylon to the Punjab. The circumstances you describe are things I’ve witnessed a dozen times or more.’

  ‘The prince had an amazing collection of jewels,’ I said. ‘They vanished. It’s no surprise to you that Griffiths thought you were in possession of them. He came very close to accusing you in public.’

  ‘The man was practically insane on the subject. Some people told me I should have sued him for slander, but it was of no account to me.’

  ‘Except that you deliberately provoked him by wearing that diamond hawk in public. Just as you did in Bombay, by trying to make it look as if he’d stolen it and even killed your assistant for the jewels. Very clumsy, that was – and I don’t think you’re a clumsy man.’

  That surprised him. He recovered almost at once, but not before I’d caught that reassessing glance at me.

  ‘So let’s move on to the night before Mr Griffiths died,’ I said. ‘You visited him.’

  ‘If you’re going to accuse me of murdering the man, please come to the point so that I can rejoin my friends.’

  ‘A few days ago, I might have done exactly that. But I didn’t know then what Mr Griffiths told you. More to the point, I didn’t know what you said to him.’

  His eyebrows joined in a black bar over angry eyes.

  ‘It was a conversation between the two of us. Nobody knows what we talked about.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  And no, he wasn’t sure. I could sense his mind moving fast, wondering if they could have been overheard. By the boy Anil, perhaps. I pressed on while he was still wondering.

  ‘Mr Griffiths had asked you to meet him so that he could apologize. He’d learned from a source he trusted that you did not have the prince’s jewels and never had them. He was an honourable man . . .’

  ‘Honourable!’

  ‘In that respect at least. He offered to make public amends in any way you wanted. At the very least, he was determined to tell all your friends and business acquaintances that you were innocent and write to the newspapers.’

  A snort from McPherson, but no other attempt to interrupt.

  ‘A very formal letter it would have been, I suppose,’ I said. ‘“Mr Griffiths would like it to be known that he entirely withdraws any imputation he has made, directly or indirectly, against the honour and integrity of Mr Alexander McPherson.” Still, more than enough to do the damage.’

  ‘Damage? Miss Lane, do you realize what nonsense you’re talking? Even if I accept your account of what Griffiths said to me – and I don’t – how could a public acknowledgement that I’m not a thief possibly do me damage?’

  ‘Because it was a choice of being thought either a thief or a bankrupt,’ I said.

  His fists were clenching and unclenching on his knees. Big fighter’s fists. If he could have solved his problems by punching the life out of me, I don’t think he’d have hesitated. But a man doesn’t make fortunes without being able to think several moves ahead. He’d assume I’d have told somebody all this before confronting him. I only wished I’d thought of it. Faintly, the music of another march drifted into the library. Supper was over.

  ‘You needed that opium compensation money urgently,’ I said. ‘You can’t pay your debts. If you have to wait a year or more for it, you can only survive if people think you still have assets – like a fortune in jewels. If the world believes that, you may just be able to hold out. You’ve been keeping up appearances very well – donations to orphans and so forth. The last thing you wanted was Griffiths declaring to the world that you didn’t have the jewels.’

  ‘So I killed him to stop him, did I?’

  ‘No. I should have thought that once, but I know you left him alive and spent the next night at Richmond with the Rani.’

  ‘She’s not a rani.’

  ‘Princess, then. Your old friend, the princess.’ He didn’t deny that at least. More than friend, I suspected. ‘Mr Patwardhan took you to her. He’s the witness that you couldn’t have killed Mr Griffiths. But somebody killed him. That’s my only interest. If you help me by telling what you know, then I’ll give you the promise you wanted from him. I won’t tell the world that you’re poor and honest.’

  I could do that. In their different ways, both Tom Huckerby and Mr Disraeli would love the story. McPherson must have guessed that I wasn’t bluffing. Fists unclenched, hands flat on his thighs, he started talking. Once he’d decided, he told his story unemotionally, as if reporting to shareholders.

  ‘I’ll start from when my assistant Burton was killed. Griffiths wasn’t responsible. In case you’re wondering, I wasn’t either. It was just what it seemed to be, an attack by robbers. I’d ridden out alone to meet him and talk to him before he arrived in Bombay. I knew we had to talk up my assets – such as they were – and the old story about the missing jewels had come into my mind. I was sorry Burton was dead, but as I was riding back it came to me how I might use it. I put my hawk on Griffiths’s desk, assuming that he’d find it and immediately make a song and dance by accusing me of trying to blame him for Burton’s murder. It worked better than I’d expected because your brother found it first, Griffiths went straight off to the governor and the whole of Bombay was talking about the jewels, just as I’d hoped. By the time we all arrived in London, the idea that Burton had been attacked because of the jewels and that most of them were in my possession was as firmly fixed as I could have wanted. Griffiths couldn’t have managed the thing better if I’d been paying him for it.’

  ‘Then the princess arrived in London,’ I said.

  ‘Then the princess arrived in London. I don’t know why, but one thing I do know is that woman has been scheming about one thing or another ever since she opened her eyes in the cradle. She’s as devious and ruthless as Cleopatra and Lady MacBeth combined and she ate men as casually as sugar almonds. Griffiths was besotted with her.’

  And not only Griffiths, I thought. Talking about her, McPherson had lost the reporting to shareholders tone. It took him a few deep breaths to get it back again before he went on.

  ‘She was the one who told Griffiths I didn’t have the jewels. Pure mischief-making, I suppose. That would be like her. So that’s the story. You wanted it. Whether it helps you to find out who killed Griffiths or not, I don’t care. But I’ve kept my side of the agreement and I expect you to keep yours.’

  His hard dark eyes looked into mine.

  ‘Not completely,’ I said.

  ‘Not keeping your agreement completely?’

  The fists had clenched again.

  ‘I meant you haven’t kept yours. In two respects. One is that you haven’t told me why you went out to Richmond that night to see the princess.’

  ‘Her man, Patwardhan, suggested it. She wanted to apologize to me for any part she had in the misunderstanding.’

  ‘And you cared enough to see her late at night? Wouldn’t it have waited till morning?’

  ‘I don’t care for waiting. Your second objection?’

  ‘You haven’t told me about The Soldier.’

  The fists unclenched, but it was an effort.

  ‘What am I supposed to tell you? I don’t even know who he was.’

  ‘According to Griffiths,
you were all there together. The princess was using all three of you, or trying to, in the plot against her brother.’

  ‘Did Griffiths write that?’

  ‘Not in so many words, but it’s obvious. According to Griffiths, you’d sailed out to India together.’

  ‘You’ll excuse me if I don’t put as much trust in what Griffiths wrote as you appear to do.’

  ‘The Soldier was a captain. There were only four of them with the company. You must have known him.’

  ‘Yes, and hundreds of other captains at dozens of different places. How am I supposed to know which one would figure as a hero in Griffiths’s romancings?’

  ‘Not a hero exactly. I think he’s here, in London. If you didn’t set Eckington-Smith to steal his pamphlets . . .’

  ‘So that was the Eckington-Smith business. No, I didn’t set him or anybody else to steal them. Why should I? If you think about it, you’ll see that it was in my interest to let that jewel story circulate as much as possible. I’d have paid him to publish the damned things.’

  That sounded convincing.

  ‘Then, as far as I can see, the only person with an interest in suppressing them is the man he called The Soldier.’

  ‘Possibly. But since I can’t help you in that respect, I can only wish you good hunting.’ He spoke with sarcastic courtesy. He’d sensed that we’d come near the end of things I knew for certain, which meant I was running out of trading currency. ‘So if you’ll kindly permit me to leave you, Miss Lane . . .’

  He paused at the door.

  ‘We have an agreement?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I didn’t add that the agreement was conditional still, because I was certain he hadn’t told me all he knew.

  I lingered in the library for a while, not wanting to face the raised eyebrows of McPherson’s hangers-on, who’d probably put the worst interpretation on our seclusion together. A pile of East India Company annual reports stood on one of the tables, for anybody who wanted to take one. I opened a copy and turned to the list of stockholders. The list was starred with asterisks according to the amount of stock each person held. McPherson was at a comparatively modest two stars, which meant over three thousand pounds but less than six thousand. I turned to Eckington-Smith, not expecting anything, and was amazed to find four stars against his name, the maximum possible, denoting an investment of over ten thousand. Four stars carried voting rights that would make Eckington-Smith a considerable power in the Company. It did not go at all with a down-at-heel man who received brothel takings at his back door and scurried to Birmingham and back looking for loans. Something was seriously wrong. I puzzled over it in the cab on the way home, found no answers and decided to talk it over with Tom on Sunday, but he didn’t come. On Monday morning, I woke up with an idea in my head. I rushed downstairs to meet Amos, determined on an early morning errand to the other side of the park. And fell over a brick.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Not a serious fall, though I caught my toe in the hem of my riding skirt. I put my hands out to protect myself so my gloves took most of the damage from the cobbles. As usually happens when you trip, shock transferred itself to anger against the thing that had caused it. An ordinary household brick, raw and new, left carelessly just where I could be guaranteed to fall over it at the bottom of my staircase. Only it wasn’t an ordinary brick because something white was wrapped round it, and it hadn’t been left carelessly because the white thing was a small package for me. It was simply addressed Miss Lane and tied with a piece of coarse string. Amos had come running in case I needed picking up, reins of both horses in hand. He watched as I untied the package and read the note inside, and he must have moved to catch me when I looked like falling again because I found myself leaning against his shoulder, struggling to speak.

  ‘Tom. Oh Amos. Tom.’

  I gave the note to him and watched his face change as he read.

  ‘Oh the buggers . . . I’m sorry . . . oh the . . .’ Then, recovering a little, ‘What’s that came with it?’

  I opened my hand to show him the thing that had been in the package: a gentleman’s silver watch, small and plain. Even before I opened the cover I knew the inscription inside: To my son Thomas Fraternity, at the start of his journey. J. Lane. The watch my father had given him before he sailed away to India. Tom would never have parted with it willingly.

  I took the note back from Amos and read it again:

  We have your brother. He will be exchanged for ascertainable information about the location of the jewels. A message may be left at Robinson’s print shop. If you do not wish harm to come to him, the message must be received by midday tomorrow.

  The writing was clerk’s copperplate – a thousand ledgers all over the city could show similar samples – the paper plain white.

  ‘Robinson’s,’ I said. ‘Somebody knows I know the place. That takes us back to Eckington-Smith and The Soldier.’

  My mind was starting to move again, but slowly.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ Amos said.

  My first reaction was to go with him to Eckington-Smith’s house in the City and tear it apart, but they’d expect that so wouldn’t be holding him there. If they were holding him anywhere.

  ‘They may be lying,’ I said. ‘The first thing to do is to see he isn’t at work or at Mr Tillington’s house.’

  I didn’t believe it, because of the watch, but it might just have been stolen from him. We agreed that Amos should take the horses back to the stables while I took a cab to Holborn, then meet me in two hours at Abel Yard. Before I left, I went to the cabin and roused Tabby.

  ‘Get dressed and come with me. Don’t bring the knife.’

  She knew from my voice it was serious and didn’t ask questions. In ten minutes we were in a cab together, making for Fleet Street.

  ‘I’m going to drop you at Tom Huckerby’s,’ I told her. ‘He’ll show you a printer’s shop near Ludgate Hill called Robinson’s. I want you to watch and remember everybody coming in and out of that shop until I tell you otherwise.’

  I took the cab to Mr Tillington’s house. I had to wait a long time on the doorstep before he came downstairs and answered the door himself, in his dressing gown and leaning on a stick, an invalid smell of camphorated oil hanging around him.

  ‘No, my dear. Your brother’s not here. I assumed he was staying with you.’

  ‘How long has he been away?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him since he left for the office on Friday morning. I was becoming worried. It’s unlike him not to send a message. Is something wrong? Won’t you come in?’

  ‘No.’ I gave him one of my cards. ‘If he comes back, or if you hear anything at all about him, please get word to me here as soon as you can.’

  I left him standing at the open door, looking mazed, and took the cab on to East India House. I told the desk clerk in the entrance hall that I needed to speak urgently to my brother. They kept me waiting for a long time before a man who looked like the head clerk came down and told me, with annoyance, that Mr Lane had failed to arrive at work that morning or Saturday morning.

  ‘Was he here on Friday?’

  A frown, as if that were confidential information, then a reluctant nod.

  ‘Did he stay all day and leave as usual?’

  ‘To the best of my knowledge, yes.’

  ‘Would anybody else know more?’

  ‘If there had been any irregularity in Mr Lane’s attendance on Friday, I’m sure it would have been brought to my attention. If you see your brother, I’d be grateful if you’d remind him that absence from duty is entirely unacceptable unless caused by illness or close family bereavement.’

  He marched back upstairs, as if every minute away from his ledgers had to be marked down as time wasted.

  Amos didn’t have to ask if I’d had any success.

  ‘So where now?’

  ‘Richmond.’

  ‘Ascertainable information about the location of the jewels’ was what the note
demanded. At least not the jewels themselves. But I didn’t care about them. I’d give elephant loads of anybody’s jewels to have Tom back and glaring at me. The person who must know something about the jewels was the princess. If she was so sure that McPherson had not stolen them, that should mean she knew who had. Surely she could tell me enough to buy Tom’s release. I rode pillion behind Amos on his cob, to get to the stables and collect Rancie. We got some odd looks as we went across the park, but I was beyond caring about that. I carried Tom’s watch in the pocket of my riding skirt, a reminder of how the hours were draining away. It was ten past twelve when we came to the livery stables, half past by the time we were riding away on Rancie and a fresh cob for Amos. At the pace we rode, even Rancie was tiring when we got to Richmond Green. Amos stayed within calling distance of the cottage, holding the horses, while I went up the path and knocked on the front door. Anil opened it so promptly that somebody must have been watching from inside. The scene in the main room was much as it had been in the tent in the park, except that the Rani was sitting upright in an armchair instead of on piles of cushions. Mr Patwardhan was standing beside her, her daughter Chandrika on a stool in the corner. Chandrika raised her head when I came in, looked over my shoulder and lowered it again when she saw I’d come alone.

  The Rani invited me to sit, offered tea.

  ‘No time for that,’ I said. ‘My brother’s been kidnapped. Whoever’s holding him wants to know where your jewels are.’

  A gasp from Chandrika. She was staring at me, wide-eyed. Then she caught a glance from her mother and looked down. Her hands were twisted together so tightly it must have hurt.

  ‘My jewels were taken a long time ago.’ The Rani’s voice was calm as her eyes looked unblinkingly at me.

  ‘But you know who took them. You must do. You told Mr Griffiths it wasn’t McPherson.’

  ‘That does not imply that I know who did.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I think you do know. Who is The Soldier?’

  ‘Soldier. What soldier?’ She looked at Mr Patwardhan, as if I were speaking riddles and he might interpret.

  ‘When you were plotting against your brother,’ I said. ‘You were using three of them, Mr Griffiths, McPherson and a captain in the army.’