Murder on a Summer's Day (30 page)

Dr Simonson was on his front doorstep, just about to leave the house. Key in hand, he stared in disbelief at us, the motley crew.

‘Dr Simonson, I need you to allow Mrs Sugden, the little prince and his ayah to stay in your house for a few hours.’

‘What has happened to you all?’ He unlocked the door.

Not knowing where to begin, I said nothing. We stepped inside and into his kitchen where a fire glowed.

‘I smell burning, and you’re soaked.’ He picked up the tongs and added a couple of large cobs to the fire. ‘There are towels in the cupboard on the landing.’

Mrs Sugden wasted no time. She settled the ayah and the child by the fire and hurried up the stairs.

Clutching the shirt bundle, I drew the doctor into the dining room, and briefly told him what had happened.

‘And it looks as if you have something to show me.’

Putting the bundle on the table, I undid the knots in the shirt.

‘Good shirt.’

‘It was Prince Narayan’s. But it’s not the shirt I want you to look at but what’s in it. Could you tell me what it is?’

‘Mrs Shackleton, only you could devise a party game at a moment like this. Shouldn’t I be blindfolded and do it by touch and smell?’ He picked up the ginger and sniffed. ‘Root ginger.’

‘An anti-emetic. If someone accidentally or on purposely dosed himself with poison, this would prevent him vomiting, would it not?’

‘What are you suggesting?’ He picked up a charcoal biscuit.

‘And the biscuit would absorb poison.’

‘Look, you need to change. I gave all my late wife’s clothes to charity but there may be something up there and…’

‘The charcoal, how else might it protect someone from poison?’

‘Taken over weeks or months it would have a cumulative effect and… what’s this all about?’

‘And the nettles. That rash Jaya had. It was self-inflicted.’

‘Prince Jaya?’

‘Looking at all this together, doesn’t it tell you something?’

‘That I have in front of me a beautifully made monogrammed shirt, ginger, biscuits and flowers, etcetera.’

‘Is it just the rhododendron flower that is poisonous, or the leaves also?’

‘Both.’ He picked up a rhododendron flower. Its petals began to fall.

‘Jaya made himself ill, so as to avoid suspicion. Then he poisoned his father. How long would poison from the rhododendron take to act?’

‘I suppose about six or eight hours.’

‘Exactly. Overnight. That is why Maharajah Shivram was found dead this morning.’

‘My God, woman, why didn’t you tell me straight away?’ He dropped the flower.

‘Jaya poisoned his father last night, when the poor man was urging his son to take a little sustenance.’

The doctor let out a whistle. ‘These are wild accusations.’

‘Not in the least wild. If you want wild, imagine a cobra in my room this morning, imagine a cottage where Rajendra was taken for safety set on fire, imagine…’

‘I take your point.’ He opened a drawer in the sideboard and took out a gun. ‘Here’s my service revolver. I’ll fetch the ammunition. Do you know how to use it?’

‘I do.’ The voice came from behind. It was Mrs Sugden.

When the doctor had gone upstairs for ammunition, Mrs Sugden picked up the revolver and snapped it open. ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Shackleton. That great evil stoit won’t pull his stunt again while I’m here. Dry yourself by the fire, madam, before you catch your death.’

But I wanted to lose no more time. Waiting only until Dr Simonson returned with ammunition, I watched Mrs Sugden load the revolver.

The dining room at Bolton Hall smelled of kippers, coffee and kedgeree. In my ill-fitting clothes, still wet from my wade in the Wharfe, I smelled of river water, burning timber and thatch, and sodden tweed. My feet squelched.

Smiling inanely at several guests, including the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire and Mr Chana, I plopped across to Sir Richard, muttering a general ‘Excuse me’ to the assembled eaters.

‘I must speak with you.’

Unfazed, Sir Richard abandoned his kipper. I took this as less of a signal that he wanted, equally urgently, to speak with me and more of a snap decision that I must be expelled from the dining room.

He waited until we were out of earshot. ‘What has happened to you?’

‘I’ll come to that. Jaya tried to murder Rajendra. You must have Ijahar taken where Jaya cannot interfere with him. Otherwise, you will never elicit a straight story about the murders.’

‘You had better start at the beginning, but not here.’

The discreet Lazonby appeared from the woodwork. To his credit, Sir Richard did not hesitate for long. If I had asked him to put Jaya under arrest he would have demurred, but Ijahar was an easier matter.

‘Lazonby, ask Chana to find Ijahar and take him somewhere private.’

‘Lock him up, Mr Lazonby.’

‘Mrs Shackleton and I will be in the library.’

Still not having fathomed the labyrinthine corridors, I let Sir Richard lead the way.

He listened in silence while I told him what had happened, starting with my interview with Indira, the flight to the cottage, my being entertained by a cobra in the early hours, the fire, the attempted drowning of Rajendra, and ending with my having, once more, taken the crown prince to safety.

‘Princess Indira did what?’ Sir Richard stared at me, showing the rare emotion of shocked incomprehensibility.

‘She asked me to look after the little prince.’

‘From the security of Bolton Hall to some hovel? You should have told me. The poor lady is obviously under a huge strain.’

‘The poor lady knows exactly what she is doing. Pin your ears back, Sir Richard. These murders…’ He opened his mouth to find some softer word. I persisted. ‘These murders arise from Jaya’s political ambitions, and his determination to claim what he sees as his rightful place as a descendant of the Rajputs. He knows this area, having been on shooting parties here in the past. He was the man seen on Bark Lane, count on it.’

Sir Richard shook his head. ‘When his college term ended, he stayed with a university chum in Northumberland.’

‘Have you confirmed that? See who will vouch for where he was last Friday. Question Ijahar about where his true loyalties lie.’

Lazonby appeared. ‘I spoke to Chana, sir. He’ll have the valet locked in an attic.’

Sir Richard nodded to his assistant. ‘Get on the blower to the Wootten-Ferrers. Ask how long Prince Jaya stayed with them, and when he caught the train. I’m sure we can clear this up in no time.’ As Lazonby left the room, Sir Richard frowned. ‘Are you going to claim that Jaya poisoned himself and his own father?’

‘Jaya recovered didn’t he?’

‘Because he is young and healthy.’

‘Because he protected himself from the poison and induced vomiting, if indeed he took the poison. Did Maharajah Shivram vomit last night?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘If not, test for ginger in his stomach. It is a known anti-emetic.’

‘But Indians use ginger in their cuisine. It would not prove anything.’

‘I am guessing that Jaya took advantage of the outbreak of sickness to make himself ill. He then poisoned his father. Given that the maharajah’s doctor had been taken poorly, it was an ideal opportunity.’

‘Mrs Shackleton, this is all very well and most interesting – an insight into how the detective mind works – but it gives us nothing definite. You come up with a plausible motive, but why would Maharajah Narayan’s own valet conspire against him?’

‘Perhaps Narayan mistreated him. What about the scar on his eyebrow?’

‘I had the pleasure of meeting Prince Narayan on several occasions. He is not a man who would have mistreated an inferior.’

‘Who last saw Maharajah Shivram alive?’

He paused. ‘It was Jaya. Shivram encouraged his son to take nourishment.’

‘As I thought, and Jaya urged him to partake in a last supper. I think you will find that the poison was from the rhododendron plant, carefully gathered by Ijahar for his master, Jaya, the man he has been devoted to since they were six years old.’

Still, Sir Richard hesitated. ‘I suspected that the Maharajah of Kalathal…’

‘And you suspected Indira. Please, Sir Richard, at least bear with me until you are able to check some facts. Jaya will be back here by now. If I am right, where will he stop? Do we wait for Indira to be murdered, for him to have a second, and this time successful attempt on the child’s life?’

Sir Richard pulled the bell cord.

It seemed an age until the footman appeared. ‘You rang, sir?’

‘Find out the whereabouts of Prince Jaya. Come back and tell me.’

‘I can tell you now, sir. Moments ago the prince was in his room, calling for his valet.’

‘You do not know where the valet is. Is that clear?’

‘It is clear and true, sir.’

Only when the footman had gone, did Sir Richard acknowledge the state of me, wild-haired, wet, and dressed in a tweed skirt adorned with safety pins.

I had left a wet stain on the plush seat.

It was my turn to hesitate.

‘I have this in hand, Mrs Shackleton. No doubt you will wish to change before we go further.’

‘Yes, but listen to me first. This is what I believe happened. On Friday, about noon, Prince Narayan received a telegram from Mr Chana, advising him of a propitious day for his wedding to Lydia. He knew he would leave Bolton Abbey soon, so decided he would fit in a little shooting. After he shot the doe, he set off riding to Halton East to see Presthope, his go-between, and ask whether he had yet spoken to Lydia’s father. The prince never arrived at Halton East because on the way he met his step-brother, Jaya.’

Around the table in the centre of the library, we formed something like a small court of enquiry: Sir Richard, his assistant Lazonby, Dr Simonson, Dr Habib, and me.

Each person supplied his own small piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

Dr Simonson reported post mortem findings on Maharajah Shivram Halkwaer: poisoning due to his having taken a suffusion of rhododendron leaves in a small portion of curry or herb tea. Simonson had brought with him the silk shirt bundle of rhododendron flowers and leaves, ginger, charcoal biscuits and the bunch of nettles.

Lazonby referred to his notes, as if looking down would soften the words he had to say. ‘The Wootton-Ferrers drove Prince Jaya to Newcastle for the London train last Thursday. He said he was joining his family at the Ritz. He did not.’

Dr Habib was the gentleman for whom the phrase a fine figure of a man had been coined. On a good day he would be an excellent advertisement for his profession. Now, he appeared ill and drawn. ‘I was ill myself but I brought Prince Jaya’s temperature down. It is true that the rash could have been self-inflicted by nettles. The prince was always interested in chemistry and botany.’

Dr Simonson gave Dr Habib a sympathetic glance. ‘We were used to men feigning sickness in the armed forces, but it is not something one would expect of a royal prince.’

It annoyed me that Jaya was still free to wander about and had not been challenged. ‘There is enough information to have Jaya and Ijahar taken to the police station for questioning.’ Ijahar was still being questioned by Mr Chana, and reported to have said enough to incriminate himself.

Dr Habib’s face had turned to stone.

‘Much of this is circumstantial.’ Sir Richard rose. ‘Lazonby.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘You have paper and pens with you?’

‘I do.’

‘I would like everyone at this table to write a statement of what they have said today, without collusion.’ He left the room.

We remained at the table, like pupils kept back to write lines. Pens scratched. We did not so much as look at each other for the longest time.

Habib put down his pen. ‘Ijahar – I never trusted that creature. He has good reason, though, to hate the British. His great grandfather was one of the sepoys in the rebellion of 1857.’

I was still writing. I wrote every detail since coming to Bolton Abbey last Saturday, as if my words would make the difference between finding a path to justice and truth and letting Jaya off to live a life in which, to quote the astrologer, ‘the greatness of his ancestors would shine in him’.

We had all finished writing. The clock struck the hour. Sir Richard did not return. I began to feel concerned about Mrs Sugden, Rajendra and the ayah. If Jaya was as cold and calculating as I believed he was, they would be safe, for now. If the man was mad as a hatter, also a possibility, he might somehow find them and mow them down.

I wondered what the stars really had revealed about Jaya and his future.

Lazonby gathered in our statements.

Stop worrying, I told myself. Mrs Sugden is warned and armed.

The clock ticked on.

We grew restless.

Eventually, Sir Richard returned. ‘I have spoken with his lordship.’

None of the men made comment.

‘What about the police?’

‘His lordship will deal with the matter.’

‘How?’

‘Appropriately, once all the facts are clear.’

Lazonby slid our statements into a manila folder and handed it to Sir Richard.