The Inspector de Silva Mysteries

by Harriet Steel

  ‘Angel! Stop that at once, you little…’

  The mop cocked its head to one side and emitted a low growl. Behind it, de Silva saw the assistant government agent. His expression was thunderous, and by his side, his elderly Labrador, Darcy, wagged his tail with an air of weary resignation.

  ‘I didn’t know you had purchased a new dog, sir.’

  ‘I haven’t. The little blighter belongs to Mrs Clutterbuck. She calls it Angel although Beelzebub would be a better appellation. Poor old Darcy’s nose is completely out of joint. He’s used to peace and quiet. My wife insisted we have the wretch today while she’s out doing good works.’ He fondled Darcy’s ears and the old dog leant against his thigh with a grunt. ‘Not much longer eh, old chap? She’ll be home soon.’

  He straightened up. ‘Now, what have you got to tell me, Inspector? Any sign of Mrs W-T’s body?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. My men have spent many hours searching and drafted in villagers to help, but there’s no trace of her.’

  Clutterbuck sucked air through his teeth. ‘William Petrie has had to go back to Kandy, but I doubt Lady Caroline or Wynne-Talbot will leave until the lady’s found, so pull out the stops, won’t you?’ He frowned. ‘I hope you told your chaps to keep this under their hats?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Unfortunately, someone didn’t. I’ve already had to take the editor of the Nuala News to task. Luckily I spotted the article and had time to keep it away from Lady Caroline and Wynne-Talbot but heaven knows how many other people saw it. All most regrettable. No one likes to see their family mishaps splashed over the front page. If Lady Caroline and Wynne-Talbot do hear of it, William Petrie will have something to say about the lapse and no mistake.’

  How the British liked their understatement, de Silva thought wryly. Helen Wynne-Talbot’s death was more than a mishap. He wondered if it was unfair to suspect that Florence Clutterbuck was the cause of her husband’s discomfiture.

  ‘Are you convinced it was suicide, sir?’

  Clutterbuck looked bemused. ‘Are you suggesting it might be something else?’

  ‘Probably not, but I would be more satisfied if someone other than Major Aubrey had seen the lady jump.’

  ‘I suppose we don’t really know much about him,’ Clutterbuck conceded, stroking his chin. ‘Is there anything that makes you doubtful apart from that?’

  ‘Mrs Wynne-Talbot seemed a quiet lady, but it’s a long way from that to being suicidal. We haven’t had the opportunity of checking whether her husband’s account of her depression is true.’ He didn’t mention what Hebden had told him about Ralph Wynne-Talbot’s visit. It would be up to the doctor to agree to reveal that he had breached his duty of confidence. ‘I’d just like to be convinced that Major Aubrey is a reliable witness. I’m also somewhat troubled by what you told me about one of the shikaris.’

  A frown creased Clutterbuck’s brow. ‘What was that?’

  ‘You said one of them had disappeared in the night and that it was unusual.’

  ‘Ah yes. You think he might have seen something Aubrey didn’t want us to know? Goodness, de Silva, this is all a bit too cloak and dagger, don’t you think?’

  ‘All the same, I’d like to know more about Major Aubrey.’

  He saw Clutterbuck stiffen, but he didn’t intend to back down. Being an Englishman and an officer wasn’t necessarily a guarantee of probity.

  Clutterbuck relaxed. ‘The belt and braces approach, eh? Well, I suppose you proved its worth in that Renshaw business last year. The fellows in Colombo may be able to telegraph the army office in Calcutta.’ He gave de Silva a steely look. ‘But I’ve little doubt they’ll confirm his bona fides and that will be the end of the matter.’

  ‘Would Colombo be able to tell us anything about the count and his wife?’ de Silva asked as an afterthought.

  Clutterbuck’s face reddened. ‘Dammit, de Silva, you’re going too far. The expedition’s already been a disaster from that point of view and if it gets back to Ranescu that we’ve been asking questions about him, relations will sour even more. Petrie and the governor would have my hide.’

  Excited by Clutterbuck’s raised voice, the household mop jumped up and capered about, yapping furiously.

  ‘Silence! Dratted creature.’

  The mop retreated to its basket in a corner of the room and started to pant, showing a sliver of pink tongue. It had a little slit of a mouth and pair of black button eyes, half-concealed by overhanging hair that gave it an air of permanent disapproval. Jane had often told him about the British theory that people grew to look like their dogs. Angel’s appearance was thought-provoking.

  ‘My apologies for raising it, sir.’

  Clutterbuck sighed. ‘I ought to apologise too, de Silva. That little brute’s been getting on my nerves all morning. Look, I really can’t countenance making inquiries about Count Ranescu and his wife in any official capacity, but I suppose we could go to the library here. I believe there are some volumes of the Almanach de Gotha somewhere on the shelves – the Almanach de Gagas as my father used to call it.’

  Clutterbuck chortled and de Silva made a mental note to ask Jane why the remark would be amusing. ‘My predecessor was very keen on researching that kind of thing and boning up on the lineage of aristocratic families – we haven’t cancelled the subscription as it can be useful if a bigwig visits – but it’s not my bag. Give me a fishing rod or a gun any day. A chap needs to get out in the fresh air and take a bit of exercise after a day stewing over a hot desk. Mens sana in corpore sano I always say.’

  Another question for Jane.

  ‘As for you, you can stay in here.’ Clutterbuck shook a finger at the mop. ‘Come along, Darcy. We’ll take you with us.’

  Clearly relieved to be free of his canine companion, Darcy led the way down a long corridor lined with faded watercolours of misty lakes and mountains.

  The library was far from being as grand as the one at the Crown Hotel that de Silva had once entered. Clutterbuck went to the window and pushed the heavy damask drapes aside, letting sunshine flood into the room. The bright light showed up the dust hanging in the air and lying on surfaces. De Silva noticed that most of the spines of the leather-bound books that lined the shelves had lost their glossy patina and their gold tooling was dulled by age.

  ‘A pity it doesn’t get more use,’ remarked Clutterbuck, surveying the room. ‘My wife’s a keen reader, but she’s more for Agatha Christie than the classics. D’you read much, de Silva?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I find it helps my understanding of English.’

  ‘Quite so.’ He went to a shelf. ‘Now, this is the most recent one, so it may help us.’

  He hauled out a heavy tome, took it to the desk and began to leaf through the crackling pages.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Count Victor Zoltan Ranescu, born 1872 Bucharest.’ His finger moved down the page. ‘Married 1897, Princess Maria Cristina von Donmar – born 1875, Spezia.’

  ‘So that means that Countess Ranescu must be sixty years old,’ said de Silva, frowning.

  Clutterbuck chuckled. ‘The old dog! If the lady I’ve spent the last few days with is sixty, I’m a monkey’s uncle. I wonder where Ranescu found her. Unless he’s newly widowed or divorced, one presumes that the real countess is at home looking after the family estates, blissfully ignorant, one hopes, of her husband’s antics.’

  He closed the book and put it back in its place on the shelves. ‘Well, it’s none of our business and we certainly don’t want to stir up a hornets’ nest by asking questions now.’ Absentmindedly, he brushed some dust from his sleeve. ‘Let’s go back to my study. A whisky before you go?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. That would be most welcome.’

  They walked back to the study where a scene of destruction met their eyes. Two of the cushions from the conker-brown leather sofa lay on the floor, feathers spilling from their torn covers. The mop glared balefully at them over the edge of a third one t
hat was gripped between its teeth.

  ‘Dammit! I should have known better than to leave the little blighter unsupervised.’ He wrestled the cushion from Angel who trotted off to his basket with an insouciant air. ‘I’d give him to the servants to look after when Mrs Clutterbuck’s out, but he knows how to get on chairs and steal food. He got into the boot room the other day too. One of the servants had left my best brogues out for polishing. He swears he left the door shut, but now my brogues have teeth marks and one of the tongues is chewed to pieces.’

  Scooping up stray feathers, he stuffed them back into the mangled cushions and put them on the sofa. ‘No good complaining.’

  He sneezed noisily. ‘My wife won’t hear a word against him. Now, how about that whisky?’

  As de Silva drove away from the Residence half an hour later, he felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t mentioned Kuveni, the girl Prasanna was concerned about. But with the Wynne-Talbot business unresolved, it probably wouldn’t have been a good time.

  He sighed. Always the British and their concerns came first. He hoped Prasanna wouldn’t feel too let down.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Have you had a good day, dear?’ Jane smiled at him from her rattan chair on the verandah. She picked up the small brass hand bell on the side table and rang it. ‘I expect you’d like tea.’

  ‘An excellent idea.’

  ‘Did you have time for lunch?’

  ‘Only a snack. I spent most of the morning with Archie Clutterbuck, and when I got back to the station, there was plenty to do.’

  ‘Are Prasanna and Nadar still searching for the body?’

  ‘I fear so. Clutterbuck wasn’t very happy to hear it. He doesn’t think Lady Caroline or Ralph Wynne-Talbot will leave Nuala until she’s found. I get the feeling he’s worried about the impression William Petrie will have of his abilities.’

  A servant hovered into sight and Jane ordered tea with sandwiches and cakes.

  ‘Perhaps he doesn’t understand how difficult something like this is,’ she continued when the man had gone. She shuddered. ‘If the body has disappeared, there could be all sorts of reasons why. Still, it’s understandable not wanting to leave, especially where the lady’s husband is concerned. Grieving is a long process and while there’s this uncertainty, it will be hard even to begin to mourn for her.’

  Tea arrived and Jane poured them both a cup. De Silva lifted his and savoured the delicate aromas of honey and pine rising from the coppery liquid. ‘Mm, white tea. This is a treat.’

  ‘A present from Florence Clutterbuck.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, not just to me. She brought gifts for everyone in the sewing circle. She wanted to thank us for all our hard work on the church kneelers. We also have some very nice soaps from Floris of London.’

  ‘That was good of her.’

  ‘In fact, she seems to be in a benevolent mood all round at the moment. She was full of stories about her new little dog earlier too.’

  ‘Ah, Angel.’

  ‘How do you know its name?’

  ‘I met him this morning. Archie Clutterbuck was in charge of him. Which reminds me, he came out with a phrase I didn’t know – mens sana in corpore sano.’

  ‘It’s Latin for “a healthy mind in a healthy body”. It’s supposed to have been said first by a Roman writer called Juvenal. It’s much beloved as a motto by English public schools. But how did you come to be talking of that?’

  When De Silva explained about the Almanach de Gotha, she laughed. ‘I’ve heard it called the Almanach de Gagas too. Gaga’s a rude word, it means old and not quite sane. People joke that the European aristocracy has intermarried far too often over the years and as with animals, it breeds some unfortunate traits.’

  She sipped her tea then put down the cup. ‘How was Archie coping with Angel?’

  ‘Not very well. For a small creature he’s quite a handful.’

  ‘Most small dogs tend to have an over-inflated idea of their size and importance.’

  ‘This one certainly does.’

  ‘I think he’s at the Residence to stay, though. Florence clearly dotes on him. Her main worry is keeping an eye on him. He sounds an adventurous little fellow and very good at getting out if he wants to go exploring. If he met a leopard, he wouldn’t stand much chance, no matter how loudly he barked.’

  She lifted the lid off the teapot and peered inside. ‘Would you like another cup, dear? It looks a little strong, but I can call for some more hot water.’

  He pushed his cup towards her. ‘No need, the stronger the better.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me if you found out anything interesting about Count Ranescu in the Almanach de Gotha.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s fit for your ears,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Nonsense. You know perfectly well I’m not easy to shock. Anyway, you’ve got me interested now, so you have to tell.’

  ‘Clutterbuck and I strongly suspect that the lady who claims to be the countess is a fraud.’

  ‘Goodness! What makes you think that?’

  ‘According to the Almanach, and Clutterbuck says it’s a recent edition, she should be sixty years old. The lady who’s come to Nuala with him can’t be a day over thirty-five.’

  ‘Oh dear, if it’s true, how embarrassing for them both if that becomes known. Do you need to say anything about your suspicions?’

  ‘Quite the reverse. Archie Clutterbuck’s adamant we keep them to ourselves, and I know I can rely on you to do so as well. He and William Petrie had hoped the trip to Horton Plains would provide an opportunity for putting the British government in Ranescu’s good books. It seems he may be useful. Anyway, through no fault of her own, poor Mrs Wynne-Talbot threw a spanner in those works. It would be unwise to make matters worse by embarrassing the count.’

  He stretched his arms above his head, laced his fingers and yawned. ‘After that delicious tea, I shall take a walk round the garden before it gets dark. Will you join me?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  She stood up and took his arm. As they set off across the lawn, he decided not to mention that Clutterbuck was checking on Major Aubrey. There would probably be nothing suspicious in his background in any case.

  Chapter 9

  Several days elapsed before he received another summons to the Residence from Archie Clutterbuck. This time Angel was not in evidence and Darcy looked vastly more contented than he had on de Silva’s previous visit.

  The assistant government agent, however, was perturbed. ‘You’ve got a nose for a mystery, de Silva, and sometimes I think it would be better if you didn’t, but there it is. Colombo telegraphed. It’s been two years since Major Aubrey was stationed in Calcutta and there’s a gap in his record that no one seems able or willing to fill in for us.’

  He frowned. ‘Not long afterwards, another telegram came warning me against making any more enquiries about him.’ Pausing, he took a cigarette from the box on his desk and lit it. ‘So there you have it,’ he said shaking out the match. ‘Our choice is to accept Aubrey and his testimony at face value or challenge him. In view of the messages from Colombo, the latter would be foolhardy.’

  There might be all sorts of reasons why the army didn’t like to divulge what an officer had been up to, reflected de Silva. He’d noticed before that they liked to keep the stories of their black sheep quiet. It could be anything from gambling and drinking to misbehaving with a fellow officer’s wife. Aubrey had been drinking early in the day when de Silva interviewed him at Horton Plains, and even though the immediate circumstances provided an excuse, he’d admitted he didn’t sleep well in general. Did that indicate he had problems?

  But even if he did, where did that get you? Telling Archie Clutterbuck that he, de Silva, had a vague feeling that something about Aubrey felt wrong didn’t amount to a convincing argument for further investigations into Helen Wynne-Talbot’s death.

  ‘De Silva?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I was just think
ing the situation through.’

  ‘And your conclusion?’

  De Silva took a deep breath. He was loath to give up, but for the moment it seemed the only sensible course of action. ‘We accept the major’s testimony,’ he said reluctantly.

  Clutterbuck gave him a penetrating look then nodded. ‘Good, I’m glad we agree.’ He flicked ash from his cigarette into an ashtray decorated with a picture of a leaping salmon. ‘I suppose your search for the body still isn’t getting anywhere?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

  ‘How many shikaris did you send out with them?’

  ‘Four, sir.’

  Clutterbuck chewed his lower lip. ‘Maybe send a few more to help.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  He didn’t like to tell Clutterbuck that yesterday, Prasanna and Nadar had returned dejected with no news and he had given them a short respite from their arduous search. He’d have to curtail that.

  ‘Damned difficult, I know,’ the assistant government agent went on. ‘But it’s been a week. I have to admit, I’m beginning to wonder if it might be best if she wasn’t found now. Unlikely to be a pretty sight.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Well, unless there’s something else you wish to discuss, I won’t detain you. I’m sure you’re busy and I have another meeting shortly.’

  De Silva remembered his promise to Prasanna; it really was time he raised the matter. It wasn’t fair to his sergeant to keep putting it off.

  ‘There is one thing, sir.’

  ‘Yes?’ There was a touch of impatience in Clutterbuck’s tone.

  ‘My sergeant tells me he’s had a complaint about the behaviour of one of the village headmen.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The complaint is that the man’s profiting from his position. Overcharging for government licences among other things.’

  Clutterbuck looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, de Silva, I haven’t got time to go into it with you now. Telephone my secretary tomorrow. He keeps my diary and will arrange a time for us to discuss it.’