‘You’re leaving?’ I asked.
‘There’s no reason to stay here any longer,’ she replied. Then she shook her head. ‘That’s not true, but at any rate, I can’t.’
I directed her to a small sofa in the corner of the room beside French doors leading to the veranda. I took the chair beside her.
She sat down and composed herself. ‘So, Captain,’ she said, ‘what would you like to know?’
‘Maybe you could tell me how you first met the prince?’
She nodded. ‘I met Adi about three years ago.’
‘In Sambalpore?’
‘No, in London. It was at a function at the Oriental Club – a reception honouring the contribution of the princely states to the war effort. I accompanied my father who was there representing the Admiralty. Adi was there, along with the Maharaja. They were being feted for raising a regiment of Sambalpore volunteers, and for their financial contribution, of course.
‘I ended up seated across from him at dinner. We hardly said a word to each other, but I could tell he liked me. More than once I caught him staring. In fact, he was quite brazen about it. At the time I remember thinking how rude it was, that this Indian should presume to stare at me without being in the least embarrassed .
‘Two days later, a letter arrived, stating that the prince would like to meet me for tea at the Ritz that afternoon. Well, I was young and silly in those days and I couldn’t believe the man’s impertinence. At the same time, I was flattered. The thought of a liaison with a prince . . . well, it’s every girl’s dream, isn’t it? In the end, I decided to go along and meet him.
‘I turned up, half expecting him to be dressed like a character out of the Arabian Nights, but there he was, in a Turnbull and Asser shirt and a Savile Row suit; he might have been an English gentleman but for the colour of his skin—’
She broke off and looked out of the window, seeing, I guessed, not Sambalpore but maybe the Palm Court at the Ritz.
‘Miss Pemberley?’ I nudged.
She pulled a handkerchief from inside the cuff of her blouse and gently dabbed one cheek.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ I said, worrying that she was going to break down. In such a situation, there are only two reliable measures to ward off the water works. The first of course was tea, but there was no telephone to call down to reception and order a pot, so I was forced to try the second. I pulled out the packet of Capstans from my pocket and offered her one of the few cigarettes I had left.
She shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. I don’t smoke,’ she said apologetically.
I was out of ideas. It meant that if the tears started, I’d be forced to pat her on the shoulder, and that wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us. I’d misjudged her, however. She didn’t break down. Instead, she dabbed her eyes and refolded her handkerchief.
‘You went to meet Prince Adhir at the Ritz,’ I prompted.
‘Oh yes. There and then he asked me to marry him. Told me we’d run off to India and I’d become a princess. Promised me a life I could only dream of.’
‘And?’
‘Oh, it was tempting for about ten seconds. I’d read the stories about girls who had gone off and married Indian princes. It’s all wine and roses in London, but then they take you home to their little bit of India, which is generally some two-bullock town in the middle of nowhere, where time hasn’t moved on since the seventeen hundreds, and suddenly you’re stuck in the harem, just one of ten wives and God knows how many concubines, wondering what the hell happened.
‘That, Captain, was not the life for me. I told him I was flattered, but that no, I wouldn’t be running off to India with him.’
‘And yet here you are.’ The phrase was an echo of the words I’d spoken to Annie less than an hour before.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t think Adi was used to being rejected. It only made him try harder. He sent me flowers, then jewellery: small things – earrings, a necklace. I didn’t really think much about it until Mama took them to Hatton Garden and had them valued. Anyway, I agreed to meet him again. He told me then he’d extended his stay in London, just to be near me. Well, something stirred in me. I saw a different side to him – a vulnerability.
‘In the weeks that followed, he courted me most assiduously, and I began to appreciate him more. He wasn’t just some spoiled princeling; he really did want to better the lives of his people. In the end, I agreed to come out here, not as his wife, but as his friend, and only if I could do some good.’ She smiled to herself. ‘I remember how happy that made him – like a puppy with a new toy. He organised a position for me at the local school here and a month later, we flew out together. I started work at the school, teaching English, and Adi . . . Well, out here he was a different man. He showed me the kingdom, its people and its wildlife. He wasn’t much of a hunter, unlike his father and his brother.
‘It was an idyllic time. We’d go for picnics in the jungle, and fly to Bombay for the weekend. I was falling in love with him. And I felt I was making a real life for myself here, not just with the children, but with some of the mothers, too. India’s a conservative place, but in some ways the people can be surprisingly open minded . . . the women, at least.
‘Then, about six months ago, things began to change. Adi’s father took a turn for the worse. The onus fell on Adi to take up the reins. He became caught up in the affairs of state, but he still tried to make time to see me.’
‘What sort of things took up his time?’ I asked.
‘Sambalpore’s proposed accession to the Viceroy’s Chamber of Princes for a start,’ she replied. ‘Adi was dead set against it, despite the pressure from the India Office and from his own ministers. He doesn’t really like the British.’
‘Other than you, of course?’
She smiled. ‘Sometimes I think Adi’s courting of me might just have been another way for him to take a potshot at the British. Not that I could blame him. You know we were followed by Scotland Yard?’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes. We were passing through Paris on our way to St Moritz last year. Adi spoke perfect French. He’d arranged to meet some Indians from Berlin there. They wanted his support for their campaign for Indian independence. All the time we were there, Adi was sure we were being followed. He even pointed out one particular man who turned up in at least two restaurants we visited. Adi said it was the man’s suit that gave him away. He said no one but an English policeman would be seen dead wearing a suit from Moss Bros in the French Alps.’
Now that was interesting – not so much the suit, but Adhir’s suspicions. Of course, they weren’t proof that they’d actually been followed, and it wouldn’t have been Scotland Yard men but agents of the Secret Intelligence Service who’d have watched them, but it was definitely possible. Indian political agitators were a key target of the security services. If the intelligence services were tailing Adhir in Europe, it stood to reason they’d be liaising with Section H here in India, and it might go some way to explaining Major Dawson’s presence at Howrah station a few nights earlier.
‘Is there anything else he was involved in?’
‘There’s the business with the diamond mines, of course. The Anglo-Indian Diamond Corporation have been sniffing around. One of their directors has been virtually camped out in this hotel for most of the past six months. Adi said they would be making an offer soon.’
‘Do you know if he was minded to sell?’
‘Only if the price was right.’
‘Did His Highness have any involvement in religious matters?’ I asked.
‘Not that I’m aware of.’ She shrugged. ‘He wasn’t really one for religion. He was happy enough for the people to see him as divine, but he didn’t believe any of that stuff himself. It’s his stepmother, the First Maharani, who deals with the kingdom’s religious issues. She’s very pious. It’s hard to believe the Maharaja would have married someone like that.’
There was one question I’d been avoiding. It was a diff
icult thing to ask a grieving woman but I had no choice. I braced myself.
‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted the Yuvraj murdered?’
She fixed me with a stare. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Please humour me, Miss Pemberley.’
‘His brother Punit of course. With Adhir out of the way, that leaves just him and the infant Prince Alok as the Maharaja’s legitimate heirs. Punit’s next in line to the throne. And with the Maharaja so poorly, he will likely be ruler by Christmas.’
Punit was high on the list of suspects, especially since Colonel Arora had told me of his reluctance to cancel his hunting expedition after his brother’s murder. And, as Surrender-not had also suggested, he did have the greatest motive of all. Still, it was important not to jump to conclusions.
‘What about Adhir’s wife?’ I asked. ‘How did she react to him spending so much time with you?’
She raised one hand and tugged distractedly at her earlobe.
‘I really don’t know,’ she replied. ‘From what Adhir told me, she and Adi were married when they were little more than children. He said that she accepted the role of a princess of the royal house of Sambalpore and all that came with it — the purdah, the concubines, even the curse. I take it you’ve heard about the curse?’
I nodded. ‘So you don’t think she’d have reason to murder her husband?’
‘Maybe if she were English, Captain. But as far as I know, she was content with her situation.’
‘Do you know a woman called Shreya Bidika?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I worked with her at the school. And I can assure you, she is in no way connected to Adi’s death.’
‘You’re sure, Miss Pemberley?’ I asked. ‘By her own admission, Miss Bidika is not an admirer of the royal family. Indeed, she’d be happy to see the back of them.’
She considered this for a moment. When she replied, it was in slow and measured tones. ‘I’ve known Miss Bidika for over a year now. It’s true, we disagree on the royal family, but . . .’ She fell silent.
‘What exactly did you disagree about?’
‘The value of the Maharaja and his family to the people of Sambalpore. Shreya would point out their extravagance: the concubines; the jewels; the sheer waste; while their subjects, the farmers and the villagers subsisted on close to nothing, each day a balance between life and death.
‘But she failed to see the good that the family has done. The irrigation projects, the electricity, the schools . . . You seem surprised, Captain. I can tell you that the royal family has a complex and deep-rooted relationship with their subjects. They may be pampered, but they have obligations to their people too; obligations they take very seriously. As for Shreya, she may be many things, but she’s not a killer. Besides . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Besides what, Miss Pemberley?’ I asked.
She hesitated, taking the handkerchief from its resting place, but this time, holding it gently to her mouth. Something in her eyes changed. The look of pain was replaced by something else: a determination of sorts.
‘Shreya knew of my relationship with Adi.’
‘You’d discussed it with her?’
She nodded. ‘Sambalpore’s a small place. I needed someone to talk to and Shreya was a sympathetic ear. She advised me to follow my heart.
‘So you see, Captain. I can’t believe she has anything to do with Adi’s murder. Does that shock you? That I should confide in a native woman, especially when there are quite so many other Englishwomen at court?’
There wasn’t much that shocked me these days. She was testing me, trying to see what sort of an Englishman I was: the type who believed that consorting with the natives as equals in some way denigrated our whole race; or the other type. The type who realised that such attitudes were all sham and pretence and hypocrisy rooted in guilt. But I had no reason to let this woman know which of the two I was.
‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘that sometimes it’s easier to confide in a total stranger than among one’s own.’
She smiled weakly. ‘I can tell you, Captain, that Shreya was more of my own than those Englishwomen will ever be.’
TWENTY-FOUR
It was mid-afternoon by the time I returned to the office in the Rose Building. Surrender-not bolted upright as I walked in.
‘So Miss Grant decided to follow you here after all, sir?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ I replied, taking a seat at the other desk. ‘Any luck with the maids?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said gravely. ‘We’ve found the one who placed the notes in Adhir’s bed chamber. She’s in Colonel Arora’s office now.’
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘Did she write the notes?’
He shook his head. ‘No, sir. She’s illiterate.’
My spirits sank faster than a depth-charged U-boat.
‘So we’re back to square one.’
Surrender-not broke into a thin smile.
‘Not necessarily, sir,’ he replied. ‘You see, she was handed the notes by one of the women in the zenana. You were right, sir. The plan was hatched inside the palace.’
‘So who gave them to her? Adhir’s wife?’
‘No.’
‘Then who?’
‘That’s the problem, sir. It’s another woman of the harem, a concubine named Rupali. I asked Colonel Arora to set up an interview, but in light of the Maharaja’s rejection of our request to speak to the Princess Gitanjali, he refused point-blank.’
The frustration was etched on his face. My reaction was similar. There were now two women I needed to speak to, and the only hope I had was that Annie somehow convinced the Maharaja to let her interview them on our behalf. In the meantime, there was something else we urgently needed to do.
Golding’s office was on the same floor as Colonel Arora’s. It was small and stuffy and crammed with boxes of indexed files: almost every flat surface piled high with papers and folders, and all weighed down by paperweights, little glass worlds with pieces of coral or coins at their heart. The walls too were covered in paper, charts filled with numbers competing for acreage with maps of the kingdom of Sambalpore, each marked with a myriad symbols and crosses. The ceiling fan was switched off and hung impotently.
‘Judging by the state of his office,’ said Surrender-not, ‘are we sure the mess in his house was the result of a break-in?’
I ignored the remark. ‘Let’s just see if we can’t find the report he was working on for the Yuvraj,’ I said. ‘The one to do with the sale of the mines to Anglo-Indian Diamond.’
I instructed Surrender-not to go through the avalanche of papers. He had a head for these things which I lacked even at the best of times. In my present state, the whole room felt impenetrable, like being trapped inside a telephone directory. I turned to the charts on the walls. One in particular caught my attention. At the top, ‘MINES’ had been written in black ink and beneath was the outline of the kingdom of Sambalpore, a shape I was becoming familiar with: the Mahanadi River running north to south, with Sambalpore town on its right bank. Upriver from it, a dozen crosses had been marked in red. Then, to the south-west, one more solitary cross, this time marked in black.
‘What do you make of this?’ I asked.
Surrender-not turned away from his papers and walked over.
‘The location of diamond mines, I’d imagine, sir.’
‘What about this black cross down to the south-west?’
Surrender-not shrugged. ‘Maybe a disused one?’
There was a knock on the door and in walked Colonel Arora.
‘Making progress?’ he asked.
‘It’s hard to say.’
‘Well, maybe this will help,’ he said. ‘I’ve arranged rooms for you at the guest lodge in the palace grounds. Your belongings are being taken there as we speak.’
A cold shiver ran down my spine. After my failed attempt to smoke last night, I’d packed away the opium travelling kit in m
y suitcase, but in my hurry to make the meeting with Golding this morning, I couldn’t recall whether I’d locked the bag.
The colonel noticed my hesitation.
‘I trust that is in order, Captain?’
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
When he left, I tipped the contents of one of Golding’s desk drawers onto the floor. My mind continued to race, consumed with fear that the travelling case would be discovered. At that moment I could have stumbled upon Golding’s suicide note without noticing it; I may actually have been on holiday, for all the good I was doing. Luckily, Surrender-not was still on the clock.
‘You might want to have a look at this, sir,’ he said, from under a pile of documents.
‘What is it?’
‘It looks like Golding’s diary.’
He passed it to me and I flicked through the pages: business meetings, deadlines for submissions of documents, the usual schedule of a bureaucrat.
There was only one entry for today – a time and a place but no name – 6.30 PM New Temple.
TWENTY-FIVE
I checked my watch. It was just after six p.m.
Once more I flicked through the diary. Almost every other appointment had a name next to it. Just who was Golding supposed to meet with at half past six, and why at the temple?
‘Come on,’ I said, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair and making for the door.
We ran down the stairs, out into the courtyard and over to the garages at the rear of the building.
‘That one’ll do,’ I said, heading for the old Mercedes Simplex.
The car’s black bodywork glinted in the dull light.
‘Have you got the key?’ asked Surrender-not.
‘We don’t need one.’ I pointed to the slot under the car’s radiator grille. ‘You have to crank start it. Now get in,’ I said as I retrieved the crankshaft from its home. ‘The engine has a tendency to kick when it starts and I don’t want you getting injured.’
Sure enough, there was a clatter as I turned the crank, then the glorious noise of the engine exploding into life as the car jerked back like a wild horse.
A Necessary Evil Page 17
