The Inspector de Silva Mysteries

by Harriet Steel

  Archie Clutterbuck frowned. ‘That’s enough, my dear. Given time, I’m sure Mrs Wynne-Talbot will grow used to her duties and discharge them well.’

  Florence harrumphed and shot him an icy look. ‘I only meant that one can’t underestimate what hard work it is fulfilling one’s social duties. I can vouch for that myself. The last few days have been so busy with arrangements for tomorrow’s dinner.’

  ‘And I’m sure it will be a great success,’ her husband added quickly. ‘Now, would you ladies like a glass of something? I saw Pimm’s on offer in one of the tents.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ said Jane with a smile. Reluctantly, De Silva relinquished his hopes of that cashew and pea curry.

  They headed for one of the tents and found a table. Clutterbuck ordered a jug of Pimm’s. For a while, they chatted over their drinks then he stood up.

  ‘If the ladies will excuse me, I think I’ll go outside for a smoke. Join me, de Silva?’

  ‘Certainly.’ He wondered whether there was anything particular Clutterbuck wanted to talk about or whether this was just one of the informal chats he liked to engineer to keep abreast of things in Nuala.

  They left Jane to listen to Florence on the subject of the following night’s plans and to commiserate over all the work involved and went outside to find a quiet corner. Clutterbuck produced a monogrammed gold cigarette case and offered one to de Silva.

  ‘No thank you, sir.’

  ‘Ah, forgot. You’re not a smoker, are you? Good of you to keep me company then.’

  ‘A pleasure, sir. I’m glad of some fresh air.’

  ‘Anything to report?’ asked Clutterbuck when he had exhaled the first puff.

  ‘Nothing important, sir. There’s been the usual petty pilfering in the bazaar and a few disputes between stallholders but in general things are quiet.’

  ‘Good, good. Glad to hear it.’

  He looked around before recommencing in a lower tone. ‘I must admit, I agree with my wife about our visitor, Mrs Wynne-Talbot. But it’s not a subject to air in public. You never know who might be listening and heaven forbid such talk got back to the Petries. It would be bound to cause offence. I hear Lady Caroline’s a great fan of her nephew.’

  ‘The lady certainly does seem very reserved, but as you say, she’ll probably grow into her role.’

  ‘She’s a looker there’s no doubt. One sees why Wynne-Talbot was attracted to her. Petrie’s asked me to organise a hunting party up at Horton Plains. We’ve a few others coming along. A chap from Romania called Count Ranescu, and his wife among them.’

  De Silva attempted not to look blank. He had no idea where Romania was and made a mental note to ask Jane. She was bound to know and she would probably know the names of its capital city, its mountains and its major rivers too. Geography was a subject she had particularly enjoyed teaching her pupils in her days as a governess.

  Clutterbuck lowered his voice. ‘Romania fought on our side in the Great War and it’s still one of our allies, but the Foreign Office chaps are worried that Germany’s taking too much of an interest in the place. It has substantial oil reserves and an expanding arms industry. The Powers that Be want to keep an eye on developments and when they heard that Ranescu was coming to Ceylon for a spot of hunting, Petrie was told to play host and cultivate him. Apparently he’s got his finger in a lot of pies.’

  He tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the ground. ‘Our other guest’s a fellow called Aubrey. He approached me not long ago asking if there was a party he could tag along with. He’s on leave from his regiment in Calcutta. Came here to see a bit of Ceylon before he goes back to England. Petrie had no objection, so I told him he could join us. He seems to have done a lot of hunting in India, so he should be a decent shot.’

  He paused and looked at de Silva shrewdly. ‘Not a hunting man, are you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  De Silva refrained from adding how distasteful he found the habit of slaughtering game in the name of sport. It was an unpleasant fact of life and the British administration was unlikely to abandon its lucrative system of selling hunting licences in the foreseeable future.

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ replied Clutterbuck, ‘I’m not as fond of it as I used to be. These days I’d be satisfied with shooting for the pot – duck, snipe, that kind of thing. But I expect our visitors will be after bigger trophies.’

  He dropped his cigarette end on the grass and ground it out under his heel. ‘Right, time to return to the ladies.’

  De Silva excused himself to pay a call of nature and was on his way back when he noticed Ralph and Helen Wynne-Talbot walking in his direction. They were alone, deep in conversation, and some instinct made him slip into the shadow of a nearby tree to avoid meeting them. His curiosity was piqued.

  The Wynne-Talbots stopped when they were close to where he stood. Although he was unable to make out what they were saying, he had the impression that their exchange wasn’t amicable. Ralph Wynne-Talbot’s head was very close to his wife’s and he seemed impatient, speaking rapidly, emphasising his words with jabs of his finger. Helen Wynne-Talbot’s delphinium-blue eyes were red-rimmed and her lovely face pale as if she had been crying. Suddenly, her husband grabbed her by the wrist. She turned her face from him and tried to pull away, but he held on for a few more moments before he let her go. De Silva felt sorry for her.

  He waited until they had passed on, then returned to the others, mulling over what he’d seen. He wondered what had been the cause of the problem. Whatever it was, it seemed that, in spite of their glamour, the Wynne-Talbots were not a happy couple. He considered whether he ought to mention what he’d seen to Archie Clutterbuck then decided against it. The state of the Wynne-Talbots’ marriage was no one else’s business.

  Chapter 3

  Torches blazed on either side of the drive leading to the Residence, illuminating its white-pillared portico. Guests were already mounting the wide steps to the grand entrance doors to be greeted by servants in white and gold livery set off by scarlet turbans.

  ‘Goodness,’ Jane whispered, gathering up the skirt of her dress as she put her foot on the lowest step. ‘Florence has surpassed herself. By the look of things, this is going to be a splendid evening.’

  De Silva resisted the urge to tug at his bow tie. With such a crowd, it was bound to be hot inside, and since he’d come to Nuala, he’d grown used to living in a cooler temperature than he had been accustomed to in Colombo. He fiddled with his cufflinks instead. Formal English clothing was very unsuitable in the heat; he envied Jane her cool silk.

  The scent of jasmine and roses met them in the entrance hall. A receiving line that consisted of the Clutterbucks, the Petries and the Wynne-Talbots had to be negotiated before they reached the drawing room where servants awaited them with flutes of champagne on silver trays. They each accepted a glass and moved further into the room.

  De Silva had never seen the Residence’s drawing room before and he drew a sharp breath in admiration. It rose to the height of two storeys and was painted a pale shade of blue, the colour set off by the gleaming white marble of the pilasters that punctuated the walls at regular intervals. The intricate details of the decorative plasterwork frieze that ran round the room a few feet below the ceiling were highlighted with gilding. More gilding graced the enormous mirror that surmounted a large and magnificent fireplace with a marble surround. The furniture was antique and the rugs on the parquet floor looked to be made of the finest Kashmiri silk. He suspected that Archie Clutterbuck’s faithful Labrador, Darcy, would be banned from entering such an elegant room. It didn’t really look like his owner’s natural habitat either. The assistant government agent was more of an outdoors man.

  A couple they were acquainted with came over to greet them; they’d been talking for a few moments when de Silva heard a vaguely familiar voice behind him.

  ‘Good evening, Inspector!’

  He turned to see the local doctor, David Hebden.

  ‘Go
od evening to you too, sir.’

  Hebden gestured to the room. ‘A marvellous place for a gathering like this, eh? I’ve not seen it before.’

  ‘Nor have I. Yes, it is magnificent.’

  He smiled; he was glad of the opportunity to chat to the doctor on a social occasion. Hebden had been in Nuala for even less time than he had and their paths didn’t often cross. He hadn’t felt they’d got off to a very good start with the Renshaw business the previous year. In case they had to work together again, it would be good to defuse any resentment on Hebden’s part.

  ‘I expect our hostess is pleased we have fine weather this evening,’ Hebden went on. ‘No muddy shoes on her immaculate rugs.’

  De Silva nodded. Where would the British be without the weather to talk about?

  ‘The weather was excellent for the races too, I hear. Unfortunately I was called away to see a patient up at one of the plantations and was unable to attend. Are you keeping busy, Inspector?’

  ‘Not too busy, I’m glad to say.’

  ‘The good people of Nuala are behaving themselves then. Excellent. Let’s hope it stays that way.’

  The receiving line had dispersed and the Clutterbucks and their companions were mingling with the guests. Hebden surveyed the room. ‘I see a few of my patients are here. No doubt they’ll all ignore my strictures on overindulging in food and alcohol this evening. I understand the Residence kitchen lays on a good spread and Archie Clutterbuck has an excellent cellar.’

  ‘I don’t expect one night’s indulgence will prove fatal.’

  Hebden chuckled. ‘Hopefully, you’re right. I don’t want to lose them too fast. I have to make a living.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Lowering his voice, Hebden glanced at the Wynne-Talbots. ‘So what do you make of our honoured guests?’

  ‘I’ve only met them briefly. She’s much quieter than her husband but both seem very charming.’

  A hesitant expression came over Hebden’s face, as if he was about to betray a confidence, then it disappeared as swiftly as it had come. ‘The few Australians I’ve met haven’t been backward in coming forward. Wynne-Talbot’s English, of course, but apparently he’s lived there for many years and he seems to share that characteristic. He has a great future ahead of him where I’m sure it will stand him in good stead.’

  He glanced once again at the group gathered around the Wynne-Talbots. ‘He certainly has a marked effect on the ladies. I suppose you’d call him a handsome chap.’

  ‘How does it go? The glass of fashion… the observed of all observers?’

  ‘Hamlet? I wouldn’t have put you down for an aficionado of William Shakespeare, de Silva.’

  ‘Ah yes, my wife has me reading all kinds of authors, and she sometimes drags me along to our hostess’s soirées. We were treated to readings from the plays of Shakespeare last month.’

  ‘One of the many advantages of marriage, I’m sure – having someone to broaden one’s horizons.’ Hebden smiled ruefully. ‘I fear I’m still looking for the right girl.’

  ‘I’m sure we can find her for you in Nuala, Doctor Hebden.’ Smiling, Jane had joined them.

  Hebden raised her gloved hand to his lips. ‘Good evening, Mrs de Silva. May I say how lovely you look?’

  ‘Thank you, you may.’

  The sound of a gong being struck hushed the room and dinner was announced. De Silva had never sat at a table that could accommodate quite so many people before. It stretched the length of another lofty and elegant room with floor-to-ceiling windows curtained in green velvet. The walls were painted in a pastel shade of the same colour. Four large chandeliers were spaced over the table, bathing the sparkling silverware and English porcelain in warm light; many-branched silver candelabras and bowls of yellow roses embellished the picture. Jane, who was seated half a dozen places away on the opposite side, flanked by the vicar and an elderly gentleman de Silva didn’t recognise, flashed him a conspiratorial smile.

  He found himself seated to the left of an elderly lady dressed in a floral pink dress that looked as if it might have come from the last century. Remembering Jane had once told him that, at a formal dinner, a gentleman always makes conversation with the lady on his right to begin with, de Silva introduced himself.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inspector,’ the lady said with a friendly smile. ‘I’m already well acquainted with your wife.’

  Over a pleasantly fragrant and spicy mulligatawny soup, followed by fillet of sole dusted with parsley, he learnt that her name was Joan Buscott and she was married to the elderly gentleman sitting next to Jane. He was a senior official in the Department of Roads and Railways and shortly due to retire. They were looking forward to a peaceful existence in a bungalow in a small town by the sea called Broadstairs.

  ‘It’s in Kent,’ the elderly lady informed him. ‘But as your wife is English, Inspector de Silva, perhaps you know the country well?’

  ‘I have never been, ma’am, but Jane has told me many tales about it. Let me see… Kent… the White Cliffs of Dover?’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  She hesitated. ‘Do you and your wife find… Oh, forgive me, I don’t mean to pry.’

  ‘No apology is needed. Yes, we have encountered disapproval in some places, but those who follow their hearts must not fear that.’

  ‘I quite agree.’

  They chatted about Nuala and then turned to discussing books until servants filed into the room to remove the empty plates from the fish course. The elderly lady smiled. ‘I have so enjoyed our conversation, Inspector. I hope we meet again before Broadstairs claims my husband and me.’

  ‘Likewise, ma’am.’

  ‘And now, as I’m sure you know, we must change conversational partners for the rest of the meal.’

  De Silva thought that Bertie Wooster might have described the lady to his left as heavy weather. He battled on gamely through the roast lamb and mango ice cream, but it was a relief when Florence rose from the table to announce that it was time for the ladies to withdraw and leave the gentlemen to their port.

  Bottom waistcoat buttons were undone, cigars were lit and decanters circulated. De Silva was pleased to find that one of them contained a venerable malt whisky. He’d never developed a taste for port, or wine for that matter, so at dinner he’d accepted only a small glass of the latter out of politeness. Now, a rich, peaty smell tantalised his nostrils as he took the first sip.

  ‘Excellent meal, eh?’

  Dr Hebden had moved up to sit in the place vacated by the Broadstairs-bound Mrs Buscott. He seemed rather well greased, or was it oiled?

  ‘Very fine.’

  ‘You eat lamb?’

  De Silva nodded. ‘Those of us in Ceylon who are Buddhists follow the Theravada rule where the eating of meat is not strictly forbidden. The Buddha himself allowed his disciples to eat it at times.’

  Hebden smiled affably. ‘I have a lot to learn. It’s far too infrequent that I spend time outside the British community, except with some of my patients and they only want to complain about their ailments.’

  ‘Tell me, what brought you to Ceylon, sir?’

  ‘I wanted a change of scene, I suppose. A bit of adventure and a chance to see the world. I’ve never been a man for cities, and when I finished medical school, the idea of mouldering away for the rest of my days in Little Snoring in the Marsh didn’t appeal either. I spent a few years in Kenya then moved on here.’

  De Silva frowned. Did such a place as this Little Snoring exist? Rather than show his ignorance, he’d ask Jane later. In any case, Hebden’s attention was now diverted to the head of the table where Ralph Wynne-Talbot appeared to be telling his neighbours a highly amusing story.

  After a moment or two, Hebden turned back. ‘To look at Wynne-Talbot, you wouldn’t think he had a care in the world, would you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Hebden reached for a nearby decanter. De Silva suspected that by now alc
ohol had loosened his tongue.

  ‘He asked to see me on the day before the races. He was worried she was in poor shape. Said she’s suffered with her nerves for a long time and it’s getting worse.’

  ‘She? You mean his wife? Did she come with him?’

  ‘No. She doesn’t know he talked to me. He wanted it that way in case it alarmed her. According to him, she’s terrified of treatment. Hardly surprising. It can be pretty harsh, as you may know. Wynne-Talbot’s tried to reassure her no one would force her into anything she didn’t want to do, but he said it’s impossible to convince her.’

  ‘So have you been able to form an opinion of your own about her condition?’

  ‘From what I’ve seen, she’s not a happy lady, that’s for sure. This change in her life may help, or it might just make matters worse. I suggested he take her somewhere by the sea for a rest before they leave Ceylon. Give her a chance to build up her strength. He asked about pills, but I told him I’d rather they steered clear of that kind of thing. Our American cousins are very keen on them – particularly barbiturates to cure insomnia and treat depressive illnesses – but we’re more cautious in England. Some might say we’re just less advanced but personally, I think it’s a case where that’s beneficial. Medical science doesn’t know a great deal about the side effects of those kind of drugs yet. Quite apart from that, they would be pretty hard to obtain up here in Nuala.’

  He glanced towards the head of the table again. ‘Ah, Clutterbuck’s getting up. I believe we’re joining the ladies. You’ll keep this under your hat, won’t you, de Silva? I’ve said far more than I should.’

  ‘Of course.’

  As etiquette demanded, they waited for William Petrie and Clutterbuck to leave the room first. Both men passed with a polite nod and a brief word, but Ralph Wynne-Talbot stopped to greet them. ‘Thank you for your help the other day,’ he said quietly to Hebden. ‘Much appreciated. I’m taking your advice and Helen seems more cheerful with the prospect of the two of us taking a quiet holiday.’