The Satapur Moonstone

by Sujata Massey

  Baburam’s expression became wary. “I should not.”

  That reaction made her all the more certain she needed to see it. She took a deep breath, and felt the kusti tight around her waist, reminding her of her duties. “Please. I need to know more about the prince’s death. It’s all for the sake of the family line.”

  “The maharaja was laid down in the old nursery room,” Baburam muttered. “I do not wish anyone to see it, because it is not clean.”

  In her opinion, the whole lodge was not very clean. But he probably meant something different. “Are you telling me the room has been left in the same condition as at the time of his death?”

  He gave a small nod. “I have not gone in there. But nobody would touch his things. Bad luck.”

  An untouched room could tell her many things. “You do not have to go inside with me. I will take the risk upon myself.”

  Baburam closed his eyes, as if in prayer. When he opened them, his voice was barely a whisper. “May your god protect you.”

  The hunting lodge’s upper floor was dominated by a long, wide corridor. Its wall was hung with animal skins and heads that made her turn away. So much for Aranyani’s protective powers. Perveen asked Baburam if there was a zenana wing, and he shook his head.

  “Not many women have come here,” he said. “The choti-rani was the only one.”

  As she continued exploring the lodge, she decided the structure reminded her of a lodge she’d once visited during a house party with Alice in Cotswolds and she guessed that Maharaja Mohan Rao had been inspired to create a setting that would impress British visitors. Many of the doors were half open and revealed furniture draped in dusty, mildewed coverings. There was evidence of animal nests here and there and also of human habitation—not on the beds, but on mats on the floor. This was a sign the servants who’d stayed were observing propriety.

  At the end of the hall was a door that was shorter than the others.

  “The nursery you wished to see,” Baburam said in a low voice.

  Inside, there were two canopied beds and a cradle. Only one bed had linens; on it was a small pile of decaying textiles.

  Perveen moved slowly toward the bed. “All these things are still here? Why?”

  The bearer said, “The old clothes were defiled and would bring bad luck. There was no reason to take them. His body was taken to the palace for the rajmata to bathe.”

  “Not his mother, though,” Perveen said, remembering Mirabai’s sorrow.

  “No. Prince Swaroop said she was too upset after the death of her honorable late husband the maharaja. She could not see the body.” Baburam looked past her, his face very grave, as if he was remembering the hard day. “After his body was cleaned and dressed in new clothing, the rites were performed on the lake, and he went to his next life.”

  Perveen put out a hand to lift up one of the pieces of cloth, hoping this would not violate any rules. It was a pillowcase that still had a black hair clinging to its underside. The prince’s hair. Feeling the eyes of the men on her, she folded the cloth and put it aside.

  Next she lifted up a small pair of cotton drawers, mostly decayed, as well as a cotton vest. Cotton jodhpurs torn into long strips covered in a mix of dirt and smudges of blood. The sight of the browned bloodstains made her heart beat faster. A small green velvet pagri decorated with sapphires was intact—as if it had fallen from his head.

  Perveen was impressed that as poor as the men staying in the lodge seemed to be, they had not sold the pagri. Her next thought was about what wasn’t there.

  “Where is the jacket or shirt the prince was wearing?”

  He shook his head. “There was no jacket.”

  Another thought came to her. If a leopard had eaten the prince, wouldn’t all the clothes in front of her be heavily stained in blood? She saw a few rusty smudges, but the chief damage to the jodhpurs, aside from the large tears, was small, sharp, incisive marks—almost as if a stiletto blade had sliced into the cloth.

  Maybe the marks did not have a human origin. She recalled Mirabai’s comment about seeing vultures in the sky the day before the prince’s body was discovered. Were these punctures vulture pecks? If so, it meant that the prince was probably dead but not mauled when the birds came to him. He could not have been killed by a leopard, as Dr. Andrews had posited.

  And why was the jacket gone?

  Perhaps because an unmarked jacket would have given away the truth that there had not been a leopard or tiger attack.

  “Please,” she said, knowing she was likely going to be refused, “I need to take these clothes with me.”

  “But they are not yours,” Baburam said. “And it is bad luck.”

  “The government must see them,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she said, “You have a picture downstairs of a very powerful Englishman.”

  He looked at her warily but did not answer.

  “I don’t wish the new viceroy, Lord Reading, to ever come here,” she said emphatically. “I hope that my bringing these clothes out to his officers will keep them from coming here to look for them. I hope that it will keep all of you safe.”

  Baburam’s look of resistance faded. He did not protest as she took off her fine shawl to carefully wrap around the garments.

  By the time they set off again, the sun had dropped to less than half the height it had been. Lakshman was visibly annoyed by her detour upstairs with Baburam. It had taken about twenty minutes. They had at least an hour and a half’s journey left and perhaps an hour of light.

  “Do your best,” Perveen said. She knew there were lamps on the front of the palanquin that could be lit. She hoped they would be enough to safely illuminate the path and drive off animals of prey. She kept the palanquin curtains open to be of assistance in looking for animal movements in the distance. But as she looked for glowing eyes in the darkness, she thought about the danger of people. Vandana and Yazad, who felt they were rich and entitled enough to act outside of societal boundaries. Roderick Ames, who seethed at being shut out of both Indian and British society. Prince Swaroop, who could not rule Satapur because of being born second. Even Aditya, who had produced a knife in a sudden moment of rage, seemed capable of being a danger.

  The memory of the defaced portrait of the old viceroy also hung in her consciousness, just as it had hung on the wall inside the lodge. She wished she’d asked Baburam if he knew who’d marked it so boldly. She could only guess it had been a nobleman, because who else would take such liberties?

  Darkness had begun to fall by the time they’d reached the village where Lakshman had brought her a couple days earlier. Small cooking fires outside the huts glowed like beacons, showing the way. As they proceeded from the hamlet into the forest, the light disappeared. She saw the outline of the wooden sign that she knew marked the proper path toward the circuit house. That landmark should have reassured her that the journey would come to a safe close, but it also reminded her of the awkwardness ahead. She had pledged to Colin that she wouldn’t overnight at the circuit house. Now she understood that her fierce reaction was because she’d been afraid of herself. She’d longed for something both emotional and physical, as real as the curve of his strong back when he’d exercised, as real as the sweat shining on the skin of the men who carried her. She knew if she kept on seeing him, she would continue feeling like that—and it wasn’t right.

  She poked her head out of the palanquin and called to Lakshman, “Please stop when you get to the Mehtas’ bungalow.”

  He turned to look at her without slowing his rapid pace. “You told me to take you back to the circuit house.”

  This was true. “After you’ve dropped me at the Mehtas’, you can go to Mr. Sandringham and say I’ll come tomorrow.”

  He didn’t answer, and she wondered what would happen. The palanquin bearers had kept moving steadily throughout the exchange. But when they’d drawn alon
gside the gate of the Mehta bungalow, Lakshman called out for the palanquin to be lowered.

  Glad that he’d accommodated her request, Perveen climbed out. A series of aches from two days of riding in a palanquin and a postal cart before that had settled into her back, hips, and neck, making her feel very old. Gingerly, she approached the Mehtas’ guards. Trying to sound pleasant, she said, “I was here just two days ago, and I’ve come to call on the burra memsahib.”

  “Name?” The older guard, a tall fellow with a bristling mustache, spoke crisply.

  “Perveen Mistry, Esquire.”

  “They cannot see you,” he answered firmly, and the second guard nodded in agreement.

  “Why?” she challenged.

  “The burra sahib has been gone for business since yesterday. And the burra memsahib is not feeling well.”

  Perveen could not tell from the guard’s tight expression whether he was merely putting her off. “That is worrying. When did she fall ill?”

  “For some time.”

  A day earlier, Vandana had been the picture of health. Skeptically, Perveen asked, “May I see her to ask if she’d like the doctor to be called?”

  “She wishes no visitors.”

  Was the senior guard telling the truth about this? Very likely he was saying whatever Vandana had told him to say, and Perveen couldn’t force her way in. Looking intently into both of the guards’ faces, she said, “You must call Dr. Andrews. Please let memsahib know that I am worried about her. I’ll be at the circuit house and will return if someone sends word that she’d like my company or to see the doctor.”

  As the palanquin continued on toward the circuit house, the sky turned from dark blue to a deep purple and finally to black. She raised her voice so Lakshman could hear her. “Why not light the lamps?”

  Lakshman jogged back to answer her. “Too much oil for too short a distance.” Then he gave a sharp cry. “Aiyo! Stop!”

  The palanquin jerked to a halt, and from the tongue-lashing he gave the carriers, Perveen realized they had come very close to the edge of a bluff. Yet he wouldn’t put on the lamps! All she could do was pray as the palanquin moved on more slowly. All around, the sounds of animals and insects had grown to an orchestra. She thought this was too close to civilization for leopards and tigers, but there were plenty of unseen snakes.

  Fifteen minutes more of slow, tense travel elapsed before the palanquin arrived on the outskirts of the circuit house grounds. No more unseen cliffs to worry about—just a steep upward climb. She had done this before, and she knew there would be lit lamps marking the gate.

  “Set it down. I’ll do the rest on foot.” Perveen disembarked and walked, easily at first and then with more difficulty. Her heart was thumping from the exertion and the excitement of finishing the journey. Perveen shifted her briefcase from her right hand to the left as she passed through the unlocked gates of the circuit house. Instantly, barking arose, and Desi ran toward her.

  “Desi!” she cooed, knowing he couldn’t see her and counting on his recognition of her voice. She put out her hand, hoping also that he’d remember her smell. He did. Desi’s warm, wet tongue greeted her, and his wagging tail slapped against her sari. Perveen laughed and said, “Show me the rest of the way, will you?”

  Hurricane lamps on the veranda illuminated Colin nestled into a planter’s chair wearing a white linen shirt and an Indian lungi of patterned blue-and-green cotton. As Perveen and Desi came into the light, Colin arose, taking hold of a cane. Instead of coming toward them, he went swiftly along the veranda and in through one of the doors. Perveen saw a gap where his prosthetic leg usually was. Probably he was departing because he believed his natural state couldn’t be exposed.

  On the other hand, he might have hurried inside because someone was there he needed to warn.

  Perveen’s mind flitted to Vandana. What if she wasn’t in her sickbed at home, but had gone to Colin because her husband was away? It could be that the Satapur agent was involved in whatever scurrilous proceedings she had in relation to the palace. They also might be having an affair.

  Perveen’s face was warm. Why should it matter to her if the Englishman was involved with a charming older woman who lived nearby? Perveen could have mistaken his personal interest in her, which meant everything going forward would be fine.

  “Will you ask sahib to come speak to us?” Lakshman’s voice was slightly labored from the uphill walk. He and the palanquin bearers had arrived just behind her.

  “Of course.” She’d almost forgotten about them. “You all must be paid tonight.”

  Perveen had stepped onto the veranda when Colin reemerged from his room. He was wearing linen trousers and both of the sturdy boots she remembered from before. His expression was guarded. “Good evening,” he said.

  “Sorry. I’ve come back without warning.” She felt stupid as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Obviously she had returned.

  “Weren’t you going to stay with the Mehtas?” he asked pointedly.

  “Yes. I stopped there and learned from the guard that Yazad is away and Vandana isn’t feeling well. She’s sick in bed,” she added, watching him for a reaction.

  In the lamplight, his green eyes seemed to grow larger. “Was it very disappointing not to be able to stay there?”

  Perveen glanced at Lakshman, who appeared to be listening closely. This was not a conversation she wanted repeated all over the village. “Of course not. I am prepared to let bygones be bygones. But first, the bearers must be paid.”

  “I’ll do it,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out some coins.

  “What will you pay them?” Perveen didn’t think it looked like enough.

  “The standard rate. Two days’ work is one rupee each and two rupees to Lakshman.”

  The men had worked above and beyond the call of duty to ensure her safety. In a low voice, she said, “Considering all that happened, I think they deserve more.”

  Colin pressed his lips together. “Unfortunately, I can’t pay them more. The Agency says that if one group of palanquin bearers is paid more than another, it causes discord.”

  “Well then, you give the rupee to each of them. I’ll use my own per diem fund for their baksheesh. When I make the expense account, I will explain all that they did to get me to the palace and back.”

  “So you were admitted?” His eyebrows rose.

  “Yes, of course I was.” Perveen turned away from him to dispense coins from the cloth purse. The tired men beamed as she put an extra rupee in each palm. In Marathi, she told them, “You solved problems nobody expected. You endured very bad weather conditions. And you moved fast, yet with care. From my heart, I thank you.”

  Lakshman and his crew left for the village, singing as they carried the now-empty palanquin away.

  “They’re very pleased,” Colin said, gazing after them. “Now, if you aren’t too fatigued, I’d like to make an apology.”

  “About their payment? There’s no need—”

  “Not that.” Clearing his throat, he went on. “I’m sorry for how I behaved earlier. I thought about it, and I understand the position you’re in.”

  She was flooded with relief. They would be able to work together; and she needed him badly, because of the danger to the royal children. “Thank you very much for that. There’s so much we need to discuss, but my boots . . .” She trailed off, letting him take in the spectacle of her stained and dirty footwear.

  He squinted at them and shook his head. “It looks like they’re ruined. Can you just take them off?”

  She felt awkward. “As long as it isn’t violating circuit house propriety.”

  “Of course not!”

  She bent to unlace the boots, realizing that her resistance to going barefoot was probably due to a desire not to be exposed. All Colin had seen of her until then had been her face
and hands. She wanted to keep things proper, but it felt very good to have her damp, cramped toes uncurl and touch the veranda’s clean tiles.

  “Is anybody else staying at the circuit house at the moment?” she asked, hoping that nobody else would see her in such a casual state.

  “How odd that you should ask.” Colin grinned, clearly at ease with her again. “Roderick Ames came through at lunchtime.”

  Her worries about Roderick Ames were coming to a head. “Why was that?”

  “Just said he was on his way back to Poona. While we were eating, I asked him if he knew anything about your missing camera.”

  “What was his reaction?” Perveen asked as Rama came out carrying a tray with water glasses and a small pitcher. His appearance with much-needed refreshment diverted her temporarily. She smiled at the silver-haired man and folded her hands in a namaste greeting.

  Colin settled down in his chair again and motioned for Perveen to sit as well. “He said of course he would never pinch anyone’s property, and he left without even finishing.”

  Rama placed the glasses on the table and asked, “Are you looking for Miss Mistry’s camera?”

  “Yes,” Perveen said. “Do you know where it is?”

  Rama lifted another item she hadn’t noticed because it was behind the silver water pitcher. As he handed Perveen her Brownie camera, he said, “This was set on the rock wall close to the place in the part of the veranda where you made your photographs. I just saw it at sunset today when I was setting out the lamps.”

  Yet he had waited to bring it until she was there—and conversation had turned to Roderick Ames.

  “May I see it?” Colin looked at Perveen, who nodded and watched him take it into his hands. “I had not realized until just now this is the cardboard model. If the camera had been there since our gathering, it would have been ruined by the rains. But it is completely dry—so it must have been returned.”