Murder on a Summer's Day (31 page)

He was right, of course. I was being too hasty in expecting Jaya to be handcuffed and led away on the instant.

‘Mr Lazonby will now give each of you a copy of the Official Secrets Act, which I require you to sign.’

Lazonby placed papers in front of me and the two doctors.

It reminded me of a school examination. I half expected Lazonby to warn us against turning over our papers before hearing the word Begin.

Dr Simonson pushed the paper away. ‘Not necessary, sir. Patient confidentiality and all that, and as a matter of fact, I have already signed.’

Dr Habib followed his lead. ‘My discretion is assured.’

At that moment, I wished I had spent some time acquiring a medical degree. It was clear that the Official Secrets Act had been brought into the room for one person alone: me.

Dr Simonson pushed back his chair. ‘Mrs Shackleton, I’m setting off for home. Don’t worry about Mrs Sugden and the prince and his ayah. They’ll be safe now.’

‘Thank you.’

The two doctors left.

The piece of paper lay in front of me. I did not pick up the pen.

Sir Richard gazed at a bookcase on the far wall. ‘You will perhaps wish to work for your country again, Mrs Shackleton.’

‘Perhaps, but on a basis of trust. I don’t believe my grandfather, Lord Rodpen, signed any such document when he served his country.’

Now was not the time to reveal that I had no notion what either my real or adopted grandfather had done. I only knew that I was entirely uneasy about what was happening, or more precisely what was not happening: arrests.

‘How do I know something will be done? No one paid me any attention when I said that Prince Narayan was murdered.’

‘Give me a short while, Mrs Shackleton.’ Sir Richard tapped the manila folder containing our statements. ‘I may be able to answer any questions you have, once we have perused these documents. Then I believe you will appreciate the importance of your signature.’

Mr Lazonby and I were left alone.

‘Shall I ring for refreshments, Mrs Shackleton?’

‘No, thank you. But you might explain something to me.’

‘Of course, if I can.’ He walked to the bell pull. ‘But if you’ll pardon my insistence, I’m ravenous myself and I’m betting that you’ll join me.’

‘You missed breakfast?’

‘I did. And you too?’

I nodded.

He sat down opposite me. ‘What did you want to me to explain?’

‘Dr Habib said that Ijahar’s grandfather took part in the Sepoy Rebellion. What did he mean?’

I wanted to know what prompted Ijahar to act in the way he had. Was it fear or love of Jaya, nationalism, a hatred of the British, or all of those motives?

‘The chip has been passed shoulder to shoulder through generations. It was ridiculous. It should never have happened. Of course, it’s the Indians who call it the rebellion, or the revolt. We call it the Indian Mutiny.’

Like every schoolchild, I had heard of the Indian Mutiny, the siege of Lucknow, and had seen pictures of British women and children dying of hunger, thirst and disease in some terrible tower.

‘The Indian soldiers went mad, burned, slashed, slaughtered, men, women and children. It was a time of terror.’ He made a steeple with his hands, long fingers that looked meant for playing the piano.

‘Why?’ And as I asked, I remembered vaguely, something to do with a breaking of taboos.

‘Grievances, coming to a boil. You could say it was triggered by ammunition. The sepoys of Meerut refused to use the cartridges issued for Enfield rifles. The cartridges had to be greased and their paper ends bitten off. Rumour had it that the grease was a mixture of beef and pork fat, unclean to Moslems and a profound insult to Hindus.’

‘And was it true, that it was beef and pork?’

‘What matters is what those soldiers believed. Eighty-five sepoys refused Brevet-Colonel George Smyth’s order to fire the Enfields. They were court-martialled for mutiny, stripped of their uniforms, and clapped in irons. The madness, the mutilations, the slaughter of everyone with a white face began the next day. Smyth didn’t act quickly enough. The rebels went on to Delhi, to ferment revolution. They ransacked the city. When British retribution finally came, it was as terrible as anything the Indians had perpetrated.’

For a long time, we waited for Sir Richard to return. Refreshments came and went. The sun came out; the sun disappeared behind a cloud. The clock chimed the half hour, the hour, the half hour.

The door opened. As Sir Richard entered, Lazonby left.

‘Well Mrs Shackleton, we have had preliminary discussions. Naturally there is more to learn. Prince Jaya is now – I suppose we might say – under house arrest. Ijahar has proved helpful in supplying Mr Chana with a considerable amount of information.’

‘And what is to be done?’

‘Jaya will be punished, depend upon it. But this cannot come to trial. Imprisoned, he would be a hero to nationalist India. Execute him and we make a martyr. A democratic India would not appeal to him at all but the masses would not know that.’

‘So what will happen?’

‘He will be exiled and appear to have turned his back on his country. People who matter will know what he has done.’

‘Is that all?’

‘To a man like him, it is everything.’

‘But he is a killer.’

‘And remains a prince. He will do no more harm.’

‘Is that all you can say?’

‘It is too soon to say more. He will be allowed to attend his father’s funeral.’

‘The murderer at his victim’s funeral, that is not justice.’

‘It is politics.’ He sighed. ‘I like it no more than you do, but needs must.’

Almost two weeks had passed since Maharajah Shivram’s cremation. I had heard that Jaya was gone from Bolton Abbey, banished from the scenes of his crimes.

Having received a request from Indira to see me before she left Yorkshire for London, I drove to Bolton Abbey. I wondered whether she would ask me about Lydia Metcalfe. If she did, how much should I tell her of what I had learned? My information came from James. He had written to me from France.

Poor James. He seemed to think some naïve diamond merchant would hold up a hand and say, ‘Ah yes, that is the dubte suraj ki chamak diamond. I am about to cut and slice Gattiawan’s prized jewel.’

I decided against mentioning Lydia Metcalfe, unless Princess Indira brought up her name.

The tents and marquees were gone from the hill behind Bolton Hall. I parked at the rear of the house and walked round to the front. The bench where Mr Chana had sat stood vacant, yet welcoming. Who else would sit there in years to come, I wondered. They would look across the lawn, to the abbey, and beyond to the trees that rose on the far bank of the river, and have no notion of the high drama of these August days.

The young footman opened the door.

He led me to a bright room, perhaps the brightest the house had to offer. It was a music room, with chintz-covered chairs and sofas. I waited there until Indira arrived moments later.

She glided into the room, looking quite beautiful in a milky sari with barely a hint of silver. I thought of the last time I saw her, when she had been beside herself with worry and grief.

‘Please sit down, Mrs Shackleton.’

‘Your highness.’

‘It will be just the two of us for lunch. The duchess is with my mother-in-law. I wanted the opportunity to thank you for everything you did.’

‘I am glad to see you looking a little better.’

‘You must have thought me quite mad when I asked you to take Rajendra to safety.’

‘Not at all. Your instincts were right.’

She touched her perfect hair. No doubt some hairdresser had just been at work. How must it feel, I wondered, to be waited on, hand, foot and hair. I remembered Lydia Metcalfe, insisting that she preferred to ‘do’ for herself, without the attendance of servants she saw as enemies.

‘You were the only person I could speak to at the time, and I will remember that, and that you saved the life of my child.’

‘I am glad to have been of service. What will you do now?’

‘We travel to London. No one with any sense would sail for India in August, but in September we will return.’

It occurred to me that Lydia Metcalfe had deliberately set off early, to be in Gattiawan first.

‘When the time is propitious.’

She smiled. ‘I think you do not believe in astrology.’

‘I would not dismiss it. Jaya’s mother must have had high hopes after his birth when she had his horoscope cast.’

‘Yes. It will be a blow to her that she will never see her son again.’

‘Do you have news of him?’

‘Your government is still deciding where to send him. I believe he is now on Lindisfarne.’

‘Holy Island.’ Someone in government had a sense of humour.

‘The high tide creates a natural curfew. I do not know where he will live out his days.’

‘Any other man would face the death penalty for what he did.’

‘And for what he tried to do. His attempt on my child’s life was treason. Mr Chana tells me there is talk of sending him to the Isle of Man, or Tasmania. Jaya hates the sea.’

‘I don’t understand how you can be so calm about this.’

‘Having failed, Jaya would gladly have died a martyr to his cause. The worst punishment will be exile from India, from Gattiawan, constantly watched, forever cursing his failure. I understand that he has begun drinking rather heavily. I suppose his minders encourage that. It will be a living death for him, and I am glad. Yet strange as it seems, I miss him. Or, rather, I miss the person I thought he was.’

Before I had time to reply, the footman tapped on the door and announced that luncheon would be served.

We stayed where we were for another moment.

‘And the woman? Is there news of her?’

‘She is under surveillance, and on a ship to India.’

‘Going to collect her booty no doubt. It puzzles me that Jaya can be dealt with and prevented from travelling, yet a woman like that is free to maraud where she pleases.’

When would she speak of the diamond, I wondered?

I did not have long to wait. She smoothed her sari as we rose to go to the dining room. ‘I had hoped you would retrieve the diamond. Do you think she has hidden it?’

‘I don’t know. I did wonder whether Jaya may have acquired it, through Ijahar.’

‘I believe Ijahar would have been persuaded to confess, if that were the case.’ Her voice was icy. ‘She has it, Mrs Shackleton. I want it back, for my state, for my son, for India. Please do not give up.’

‘I am not sure what else I can do.’

‘Keep the diamond in your thoughts. Eventually, she will give herself away.’

We lunched on venison. Not knowing how long a deer must be hung, and how long after that it stays ‘good’, I wondered whether I might be biting into the white doe. This idea did nothing for my appetite, but I kept the thought to myself, and tried not to picture the doe so ingloriously trussed in Stanks’s barn.

To provide light conversation, I told Indira that today civic officials from Bradford Corporation would be driven three miles through a tunnel, four hundred feet below ground, to place the last brick in a sewage system extension and declare it open.

‘How extraordinary! I have never heard of anyone driving underground.’

A little voice came from under the table. ‘I want to go!’

‘Rajendra?’ We looked under the table. There he sat, his eyes full of mischief. He would be a trickster and a practical joker, like his father.

‘Come out of there. How rude!’

But we smiled.

‘May I? I should like to drive through a tunnel.’

Indira and I exchanged a look.

Seeing his mother’s hesitation, he seized the moment. ‘I have never seen a car go in a tunnel. Please let me go.’

‘What time does this ceremony take place?’

‘This afternoon at three o’clock.’

‘Will it be safe?’

‘It will be safe to watch. We would not be allowed in the tunnel. That will be for the lord mayor and dignitaries.’

For the first time, Indira’s eyes lit with amusement at the thought that Bradford aldermen would take precedence over Indian royalty.

‘I could not possibly go. We would be seen. It would not do.’ She took her boy’s hand.

The little boy’s eyes shone. I felt sorry for him, cooped up here, with no one of his own age to play with.

‘You could ride with me, and view the event from a distance. There’ll be so many spectators that we would not be spotted.’

‘Very well, you shall go, and take my little crown prince.’

Rajendra tugged at his mother’s arm. ‘You come too.’

She hesitated. ‘All right, but it is just between us, and we shall be incognito.’

The likelihood of Indira and Rajendra arriving incognito at Esholt Sewage Works would be as likely an event as my finding the Gattiawan diamond.

Half an hour later, we left by the side door, Indira in a Paris costume and hat with veil, Rajendra looking the perfect English boy in blazer, shorts and cap.

I was right about our failure to remain incognito. Indira had confided in the duchess.

When we arrived, we were met by a city official, an engineer, and Benjamin Jowett. We watched with some trepidation as the engineer led Rajendra by the hand to inspect the tunnels and take him for a ride to Esholt and back.

Mr Jowett reassured us. ‘He will love it. I’ve done the trial run. An unforgettable experience. The exhausts make the most extraordinary noise, and the only illumination is from the head lamps. He will come out the other side singing that he wants to be an engineer.’

Indira bit her lip. ‘What have I done, bringing him here?’

‘He will enjoy it, your highness, and remember it forever.’ Jowett produced a form from his inside pocket. ‘Mrs Shackleton, I don’t believe we have the pleasure of your membership in the Jowett club.’

It was December when I heard from James again. His letter lay on the hall stand. I dropped my bags of Christmas shopping and tore into it. We were hungry for news and wondered when, if ever, he planned to come home.