The Inspector de Silva Mysteries

by Harriet Steel

‘No time? Or he wanted to do it when he was far away from Nuala and there was no danger of anyone spotting them?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  Hebden closed the clasp of his bag with a snap. ‘Well, I must be on my way. Other patients to see.’ He put a restraining hand on de Silva’s shoulder. ‘No, don’t try to get up. Your balance will have been impaired too, and although I’m confident it will right itself with a few more days’ rest, you must be patient.’

  He picked up his bag and went to the top of the verandah steps, stopping there for a moment to survey the garden. ‘Your roses look very fine,’ he remarked. ‘Content yourself with enjoying them. Plenty of time for other things when you’re fully recovered.’

  Left alone, de Silva sighed and reached for the copy of Pride and Prejudice on the table beside him. He found his place and did his best to pay attention to the story, but his mind wandered. A peacock flew down from a tree, disturbing the stillness that the heat had imposed on the garden. He watched it fan its iridescent tail feathers in the sun then strut and peck for insects in the grass. Such a magnificent bird with its gorgeous plumage, its splendour enhanced by the haughty air of an aloof society beauty.

  Jane found him dozing when she returned from a visit an hour later. He roused himself quickly. ‘I wasn’t asleep. Only resting my eyes.’

  ‘Of course you were. Have you had a pleasant morning?’

  ‘I’ve not done much. Hebden came then I read for a while.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He told me to rest and keep the bandages on for a few more days.’

  ‘Quite right too. Everyone has been very concerned about you, you know.’

  He grimaced. ‘I’m not sure Clutterbuck or William Petrie were too pleased with the turn things took. They might have preferred it if Randall had been a better shot.’

  ‘Shanti!’

  ‘Well, he would have removed an inconvenient witness to the truth, and no one would have been any the wiser.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s the last thing they would have wanted.’

  ‘That’s because it would never occur to you that it might be a good thing, my love.’

  Jane clicked her tongue. ‘If you’re going to start feeling sorry for yourself, I refuse to listen to another word.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘Seriously, you mustn’t be disconsolate, dear. You did the right thing. They ought to respect that, even though it may take a little while for them to come round.’

  ‘It’s not only that. I am unhappy to have been the one to bring sadness into Lady Caroline’s life. She is a lady I admire and to have her joy at being reunited with her nephew shattered in such a cruel way—’

  ‘But what Randall did wasn’t your fault, dear.’

  ‘I know, but…’

  She bent down and kissed his cheek. ‘I do understand, but I’m sure she’ll recover. And she’s a good woman. I very much doubt she would want Randall to benefit from his crime.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Now, it’s nearly time for lunch. Cook has made all your favourites. That should cheer you up.’

  **

  ‘I forgot to mention that Sergeant Prasanna is coming this afternoon,’ said Jane as they drank coffee on the verandah after their meal. ‘I expect you would like to thank him.’

  De Silva nodded. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Prasanna yet and would be glad to. In his weakened and confused state, his plight at the coffee plantation would have been dire indeed had it not been for his sergeant.

  It was Prasanna who had read the note de Silva had taken the precaution of leaving on his desk and who had gone to the guest house early the following morning. He had questioned the owner and from the information he obtained, traced the guide who had brought Randall to the plantation. The man had taken some persuading, including the exchange of money, but he had eventually agreed to lead Prasanna to the scene of the crime.

  ‘I assume that he isn’t just coming to enquire after my health?’ he asked with a smile.

  Jane chuckled. ‘Yes, he does have another motive.’ She lowered her voice. ‘His mother has asked him to bring Kuveni to tea.’

  ‘Goodness me, this is progress.’

  ‘Yes, it certainly is.’

  She finished her coffee and put down her cup. ‘I have a few letters to write. Florence asked me to help her on the committee for her next charity event. Will you be alright here for a while?’

  ‘Of course. I can read some more of my book. Or maybe as Doctor Hebden advises, I should simply admire the roses.’

  ‘What a sensible idea. I must say, the more I know of Doctor Hebden, the more I like him.’

  Jane hadn’t been gone long and he only had a few pages left to read when one of the servants appeared in the doorway. ‘Sergeant Prasanna is here, sahib. Shall I show him in?’

  ‘Please do.’

  Even though it was a Saturday, the sergeant was in uniform. His dark, unruly hair was neatly slicked back and a passing beetle could have seen itself in the toes of his shoes.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir. I hope you are feeling better?’

  ‘I am, and I owe you a debt of thanks. You did an excellent job of finding me.’

  Prasanna beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  They chatted for a while. De Silva was pleased to hear that nothing had unduly troubled the calm at the police station while he had been away. ‘So,’ he said after a few minutes. ‘I understand from my wife that you and Miss Kuveni have an engagement this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ A little of the confidence in Prasanna’s voice ebbed then he rallied. ‘My mother has asked me to bring her to our home.’

  ‘And I’m sure the occasion will go like a ticking clock.’ De Silva smiled encouragingly.

  ‘I hope you’re right, sir.’

  ‘Of course I am. Well, you’d better be on your way. Go inside and find one of the servants. They’ll know where Kuveni is. Thank you again for all you did, and for coming to visit me. Doctor Hebden and Mrs de Silva are in league to keep me here for a few more days, but I’ll be back at the station as soon as I manage to escape their clutches.’

  ‘That is good news, sir.’

  Ah, thought de Silva with a sigh, as the young man hurried off, how fortunate Prasanna was to be young and fit. Just now, de Silva felt battered and very old. He reached once more for his book. Doubtless, Miss Austen would have shared Jane’s robust views on self-pity, so he had better not indulge in it.

  The sound of the book sliding from his lap jerked him awake, and at the same moment, the telephone rang in the hall. His ears must be improving. He probably wouldn’t have heard it a few days ago. Jane must have been close to it for the ringing stopped and he heard her voice speaking to the caller. A few moments later, she came out to the verandah.

  ‘How nice,’ she said brightly. ‘That was Joan Buscott. They are leaving for England early next week and she wants to come and say goodbye. I’ve invited her to have some tea with us.’

  ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘Oh, won’t you at least say hello to her? I don’t expect she’ll stay long and she’s so kind. She told me she was most concerned about you.’

  De Silva felt guilty. From what he knew of Joan Buscott, she was a very pleasant and kindly lady. He nodded. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just rather sudden.’

  ‘If you get tired and want to rest, I’m sure she won’t be offended.’

  An hour later, just as the clock on the drawing room mantelpiece struck half past four, they heard the sound of a car crunching over the gravel. The front doorbell shrilled, followed shortly afterwards by the murmur of voices. Jane got up to go and greet the visitor.

  When she returned, de Silva lurched forward in his chair in surprise. He had expected to see Joan Buscott’s homely, smiling face under its tidy pleat of grey hair, but not the elegant woman dressed in a pale-grey ensemble who accompanied her. Unsteadily, he hauled himself to his feet.

  ‘Lady Caroline!’

&
nbsp; ‘Oh, please sit down, Inspector. There’s really no need for ceremony.’

  ‘I am honoured,’ he said lamely. If only there had been more notice of her visit, he might have felt more composed.

  ‘Joan and I are old friends,’ said Lady Caroline briskly when they had all sat down. ‘So when I told her I wished to see you, she suggested I accompany her today. Inspector, I’ll get to the point. I want to assure you that you did the right thing. It was a terrible shock to me at first but that has now passed.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘My family didn’t always obtain their lands and privileges by praiseworthy means, but they have always been of the blood and I believe that should not change. The death of my poor nephew was tragic, but it must be accepted. The prospect of a rogue like Randall taking his place is abhorrent.’

  A wistful expression came over her face. ‘It’s a small consolation to me that my father never found out about any of this. The title and estate will go to a cousin of mine who is the next heir. As a boy, he often stayed at Axford and my father was fond of him. He’ll be a worthy successor.’

  De Silva’s mind reeled. It seemed that providence had decided to favour him. He felt his shoulders go down.

  ‘My husband has been obliged to return to Kandy,’ Lady Caroline went on, ‘but he asked me to send his good wishes for your speedy recovery. He also asked me to tell you that he is recommending you for a commendation for your bravery.’

  ‘Please thank him, my lady. His kindness is more than I deserve.’

  Lady Caroline smiled. ‘There I have to disagree with you, Inspector.’

  The rest of the conversation flowed easily over the clink of teacups. De Silva found that his appetite for the savouries and butter cake Cook had managed to produce at such short notice had improved remarkably. On further thought, he wondered if the visit was not as impromptu as Jane had liked to make out.

  When the visitors had left, he leant back in his chair, relief lightening his heart. Jane’s instincts were usually reliable. If William Petrie was on his side, Archie Clutterbuck would surely come round. But best of all, Lady Caroline forgave him.

  Dusk softened the outlines of the garden; the humid air throbbed with cicadas as the sun sank with the swiftness of the tropics. He smiled to himself. This teatime diplomacy was clearly an excellent thing. Perhaps if there was more of it, the world would be a better place.

  The dark shapes of a flock of egrets going to their roost arrowed across the sky. Soon, Jane would come to call him inside, but he wanted to watch a little longer. Peace had returned to Sunnybank.

  Chapter 31

  Two months later.

  Jane looked up from the new film magazine she was glancing at over breakfast. ‘Gracious, how interesting.’

  ‘What’s that?’ De Silva put down the Colombo Times he had been reading.

  ‘Laetitia Lane and Major Aubrey.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘They’re in Hollywood.’

  De Silva’s forehead wrinkled. ‘In America?’

  ‘Is there another place called Hollywood?’

  ‘Probably not. What does it say about them?’

  ‘I’ll read it to you. This week Hollywood welcomes Miss Laetitia Lane, star of London’s West End stage. Miss Lane arrived in style on the Queen Mary. She is contracted to Mammoth Productions to make three motion pictures. Her manager, Mr Aubrey St James – but it’s definitely Major Aubrey; there’s a photograph of them both – who accompanies her said Miss Lane was delighted to be in America. It’s been her lifelong ambition to see our great country. More pictures on page... etcetera, etcetera. Well! I always thought Laetitia Lane wouldn’t be kept down for long. I wonder what the two of them are really up to in America.’

  ‘More than meets the eye maybe. I doubt we’ll ever know.’

  ‘Will you be coming home for lunch today, dear?’

  De Silva scooped up the last of the string hoppers on his plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘I intended to. Will you be in?’

  ‘No, Kuveni and I are going to town to see about ordering her wedding sari. You don’t mind, do you? I want her to have something special. Her father and brother have offered what they can afford and if you remember, we talked about making up the rest.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind.’

  ‘And we’re meeting Sergeant Prasanna’s mother, so I’ll leave instructions with Cook to have something ready for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He grinned. ‘I wish you a successful trip. I hope Mrs Prasanna won’t try to take charge too much.’

  Jane sniffed. ‘Oh, I think Kuveni and I can handle Mrs Prasanna. She’s really a very nice woman when one gets to know her. She’s very keen to help with the preparations for the wedding too. Kuveni may not have been the daughter-in-law she had in mind, but she seems to have accepted the situation. Better than losing her son, and luckily, she and Kuveni already get on rather well.’

  ‘Good. That must be a weight off Prasanna’s mind.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, and I doubt many people will dare risk his mother’s wrath by criticising his choice.’ She sighed. ‘But glad as I am that everything has turned out for the best, I’ll miss Kuveni.’

  He gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I will too,’ he said and meant it. With her kind heart and graceful charm, the girl had brought sunshine into the house. It had been a taste of what might have been… But no, he wouldn’t dwell on that.

  ‘Let’s hope she visits us often,’ he said briskly. ‘Now, I should be on my way. Enjoy your shopping trip. Don’t come back too tired out. I have a plan for this evening.’

  Jane gave him a puzzled frown. ‘I don’t think there’s anything on at the Casino or a band at the dance hall. What do you have in mind?’

  He stood up and tapped the side of his nose. ‘You’ll have to wait and see. It’s a surprise.’

  At the station, he went into his office and hauled out the large, unwieldy box that sat on the floor of the big store cupboard. It had arrived from England only yesterday, too late for their anniversary unfortunately, but it could be an extra gift.

  How convenient that Jane would be out today. Slitting the tapes that bound it, he lifted the flaps and peered inside. It didn’t look too complicated and fortunately there were some instructions. He’d take it home at the end of the morning and set it up in the room next to the dining room. There was very little furniture there and they rarely used it.

  Later, at Sunnybank, a servant hurried out to help as he manhandled the box out of the Morris’s passenger seat. When they had carried it to the room and set it down on the low chest by the window, he took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. Even though the ill effects of his encounter with Claybourne and Randall had, thankfully, worn off, he wasn’t as fit as he would like to be. Still, perhaps this box held the answer.

  ‘Not a word of this to your mistress,’ he told the servant. ‘It’s to be a surprise.’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  De Silva pulled back the flaps of the box and took out the brass horn, then he and the servant lifted out the mahogany box containing the mechanism and the turntable. Before long, the gramophone was wound up and ready to test out. He removed the case containing the records he had ordered from its separate compartment in the box, chose one and put it on the turntable. The servant’s eyes widened as music emerged from the brass horn. They listened for a few moments then de Silva removed the needle and closed the lid. He gestured to the table and chairs. ‘All we need to do now is move these back to the wall to make space in the middle of the room.’

  A bit of huffing and puffing and it was done. ‘Excellent,’ said de Silva. ‘All ready to go. But remember – not a word.’

  As he ate a solitary lunch on the verandah, he thought of the records he’d chosen. Love: it was the theme of most songs. Love in all its many guises. Where would songwriters be without it? Indeed, where would the human race be? Songs, novels, films – to say nothing of the real thing. There was love that brought reconciliation like P
rasanna and Kuveni’s; doomed love like Matthew Claybourne’s and Ralph Wynne-Talbot’s; destructive love like the tragic Helen’s, and selfish love like Johnny Randall’s – a close cousin of greed and egotism that left a bitter legacy. Then there was the quiet, undramatic kind of love, the kind that acted as the bedrock of so many lives: the love between parents and children, and between husbands and wives.

  Lunch eaten, he sat and drank his coffee, watching a pair of bee-eaters flit about in the branches of the tulip tree nearby. The one he assumed was the male from the extra brightness of its green and blue plumage paused on a branch to sing, its dark eyes sharp and its orange bib swelling with the effort of the performance. Love again – even birds and animals weren’t immune to it.

  There was nothing urgent waiting for him at the station. A good day to take the afternoon off. He’d finished his latest book and he wasn’t in the mood for starting a new one. The female bee-eater flew away, pursued by the male. The garden drowsed in the heat. Perhaps he’d do the same.

  **

  ‘Shanti?’

  He woke with a start to see Jane standing in the doorway, a teasing smile on her face.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly four. I guessed I might find you here. You’ll be rivalling Constable Nadar soon.’

  ‘Just resting my eyes. How did the shopping trip go?’

  ‘Very well. We’ve chosen some beautiful silk for the sari. Kuveni will look a picture.’

  ‘Has she come back with you?’

  ‘No, she’s stayed in town. Prasanna’s mother insisted they both have a meal with her, so Prasanna will bring her home in a rickshaw later. She asked if I would stay, but I said I needed to get back to you. It’s a family occasion and I didn’t want to impose. Anyway, I’m dying to know what this surprise is.’

  He got up. ‘I’ll satisfy your curiosity, but you must close your eyes first.’

  Jane’s brow wrinkled. ‘You’re being very mysterious. What’s this all about?’

  ‘You’ll soon find out. Give me your hand.’