The Palace Tiger

by Barbara Cleverly

  An unwelcome thought struck Edgar. ‘And what about the other deaths? Bishan? Prithvi? You’re not suggesting that –’

  The door opened and their names were called. Sahibs Troop and Sandilands made their way in to have their last interview with a dying prince.

  Already in an agitated state, Edgar hurried forward, his grief obvious, in response to the wide gesture of Udai’s outstretched arm.

  ‘Edgar, my friend! Time to say goodbye, I think. Not much time – though I must agree with . . . is it Tagore? . . . when he says, “The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough.” How trite death makes all such pronouncements sound, even the simple heartfelt ones!’

  Elegantly clad in an achkan of white brocade, pearls draping his silken turban, he was lying on a divan, a glass of whisky at his elbow, looking, Joe thought, as bright as a bee, as urbane and welcoming as the hostess at an eighteenth-century literary salon. Voltaire himself must have been greeted in the drawing room of Madame du Deffand with just the same charm, full of subtle flattery. In the place of the small group of musicians gently playing a keening melody, Joe almost looked for the young Mozart at a harpsichord. But the image dissolved at the sight of the symbolic pile of straw by the window and the two Rajput footmen who stood grimly by to place their prince on it when his last minutes came. In a far corner, the old scribe turned from his table to smile and nod.

  In attendance stood three courtly figures: Zalim Singh, for once expressionless and unsmiling, Sir Hector and an elderly, distinguished Rajput whom Joe took to be the palace physician.

  ‘And Sandilands, how good of you to come,’ said Udai. Before Joe could speak, he held up a hand. ‘Please say nothing to me of the disastrous hunt. No one can struggle against Fate though we all try to the last. Indeed, you see me here, still struggling. I have said I would like Bahadur’s ashes to be scattered on the river with mine. We spent little time together in life but we will make the great journey together in death.’

  A tear escaped from Edgar’s eye and embarked on the hazardous journey down the rough terrain of his cheek.

  ‘My men of medicine you see . . .’ He indicated the two still forms standing at the head of the divan. ‘. . . have administered the hiranya garbha and already I begin to feel its effect.’ He turned to Sir Hector. ‘Now, I know you’re interested, Hector, so I’ll tell you – I feel the predicted inner warmth, my pain has reduced by, oh – eighty per cent – my vision has cleared and my thoughts are sharp. Quite remarkable! But then – I must try not to confuse the physical effects of the pill with the mentally uplifting effects of my happiness.’

  Joe and Edgar looked at each other, fearful for the ruler’s sanity. His happiness? Was this was the speech of a dying man who had learned that morning that his last son had been killed by a tiger?

  ‘Whatever the agent producing this effect, it gives me the energy for two last requests. Will you approach, Sandilands? You have been enquiring into the deaths of my first two sons. Before I take my final breath I should like to hear your solution to these mysteries.’ Catching Joe’s hesitation and his wary glance at the others in the room, Udai smiled. ‘You may whisper the information if you wish.’

  While the others turned and tactfully spoke quietly amongst themselves, Joe went to stand close to the ruler, bent and murmured into his ear. Udai Singh closed his eyes, smiled and nodded.

  ‘You repeat what Major Ajit Singh said to me half an hour ago. And I must believe my pair of hunting hounds when they are each pointing in the same direction. What a pity you will never work together, Sandilands! You must put up the quarry for others to shoot down. You see, Edgar – we plan our last hunt together! And now, my friends, I will impose upon you to perform a last service. I would like to ask you to witness my will.’

  The old clerk stepped forward and handed parchments to Joe and Edgar.

  ‘Read it. It will look familiar. I would like you to sign the document exactly as you did before. I want you to take one of the copies away with you and present it to Sir George. You will note that the wording is the same, only the date has been changed. We now see that on today’s date, I, Udai Singh, Prince of Ranipur, name as my heir and future ruler of the state, my third son, Bahadur.’

  He smiled to see their confusion. ‘It seems the astrologers had it right, after all!’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They looked helplessly at Sir Hector for guidance. What were they witnessing? Euphoria? Madness? Some mental state of delusion brought on by the drug Udai had consumed? Hector gave a reassuring smile and made a fluttering sign that all was well.

  The energy of the dying man was burning itself out rapidly and no one was more aware of it than himself. With shining eyes, he was watching and enjoying their reaction, Joe guessed. A strange piece of deathbed manipulativeness. When he had relished their discomfiture sufficiently, he smiled and spoke breathlessly in a voice beginning to lose its clarity.

  ‘An hour ago my world was ending,’ he said. ‘Ending in misery. My three dear sons were all dead. The succession come to nothing. And then my beloved Shubhada came to see me. She is not Rajput by birth but she has the spirit of a Rajput ranee! And she came to tell me that she carries a child. A son. My son who will grow under her care to be a prince of Ranipur. I have asked her to name him Bahadur. The prophecy will be fulfilled, you see!’

  Joe was the first to collect his wits. While Edgar murmured congratulations and shed another tear, Joe looked hurriedly through the parchment he’d been handed. Not much time. There was no way he could wrap up in courtly phrases what he had to say.

  ‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘we will be delighted to sign these documents but may I suggest one amendment . . . as I see we have the scribe in attendance, this will be easily done?’

  The maharaja looked puzzled and with a wave of the hand invited him to continue.

  ‘When we come to the clause concerning the appointment of regents for the Prince Bahadur until he attains his majority – you name, of course, his mother Shubhada but also the person of Mr Claude Vyvyan. We are looking at a span of possibly more than seventeen years. Who knows, with the way promotion is going in the Empire at the moment, where Vyvyan will be in so many years’ time? Would it not be more circumspect, sir, to strike out the name of Vyvyan substituting simply “the current Resident of Ranipur” and allow the regency to go along with the office and not the individual?’

  Udai looked to Zalim for guidance, his mind beginning to fog, Joe calculated and he held his breath. Zalim was quick to respond. ‘Splendid idea, Sandilands! A piece of diplomacy worthy of Sir George. How very thoughtful.’ Udai nodded his assent to the clerk who made the necessary alterations. These were initialled by Udai with his last strength. Joe and Edgar signed the documents and the ceremonial red silk ribbons were attached. With a sigh, Udai nodded to his footmen who came forward and gently lifted him from the divan and placed him on the straw.

  At a sign from the doctor, Joe and Edgar tiptoed from the room.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Joe as they walked back down the corridor.

  ‘No idea, old man. I was just following you,’ said Edgar, and Joe realized that if he were ever to see true emotion in Edgar’s ugly features this was the moment.

  ‘Poor old Udai!’ said Joe. ‘But at least his last hour was a relatively happy one. Sorry – what a commonplace thing to say! – but he dies with his eyes not on the past but on the future and full of hope. And, surely, that is an unusual and blessed state?’ A sideways glance at Edgar showed that his attempt at consolation had gone wide of its target. He chose another approach. ‘But, come on now, Troop! We still have work to do. There are people about in this place who deserve their comeuppance. By the way, did you hear the click as the last piece of the jigsaw went home?’

  ‘Click? Deafening report more like! Shubhada pregnant? And how the hell does she know it’s going to be a boy?’

  ‘She doesn’t, of course. The astrologers do though, and their predic
tions cut some ice in Ranipur, especially with the ruler who is quite desperate for this piece of news. Extraordinary! That Udai should be succeeded by his third legitimate son!’

  ‘Well, at least it explains why she’s taken to walking about in full Rajput regalia,’ said Edgar thoughtfully. ‘She’s showing the ruler and the whole court that she’s the new Rajmata. She’s going to be mother of the next maharaja as well as regent for the next eighteen years. And she’s really entering into the role! She has, after all, an unquestionable stake in the kingdom now. And, you know, Joe . . .’ Edgar’s furrowed brow creased a little more as he struggled to order his thoughts and speculations. ‘I begin to wonder whether this new maternal princess might find her interest in the Resident is beginning to wane? Perhaps it already has?’

  ‘But her news explains why Bahadur had to die. The moment she announced her pregnancy to the ruler, Bahadur’s claim to the throne would disappear like smoke and what could they expect him to do but rush to his father with his story? No more playing around with threats and practical jokes!’

  ‘And what would be Udai’s reaction? Could this story about Shubhada possibly be true? Was there a sinister reason for her sudden pregnancy? The proof of the pudding, of course . . . only time would tell . . . nine months to be precise before anyone would see who the child favoured. I’d bet my last shilling that it’s Udai’s child but, the seed of suspicion once sown . . . And Udai was under pressure – he had only days not months to come to a decision. There was a strong chance that he’d play safe and denounce Shubhada, send Claude away, his career in ruins, or simply feed the pair of them to the crocodiles . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Could be arranged,’ agreed Edgar. ‘Ghastly accident while out fishing one evening, brave Resident hears screams, dives in to lend assistance. Snip! Snap! Gone to Delhi.’

  ‘And the fear of this retribution signed Bahadur’s death warrant.’

  ‘Yes . . . The boy was damn dangerous and no longer of any use to them. They didn’t need an unruly little Yuvaraj with a dubious claim to the throne when Shubhada was about to produce a legitimate heir. I think you’re right, Joe.’

  ‘And that’s a bad sign, Edgar! You’ve stopped arguing with me. We could be talking ourselves into a most embarrassing piece of jumping to conclusions. You may not know where you’re going but I’m heading for Lizzie Macarthur’s rooms. No, don’t groan! We need . . . I need a spot of Scottish scepticism and good sense. I also want to offer her my sympathy for her bereavement. She loved Bahadur, you know. Very much.’

  Lizzie looked surprised and not at all pleased to see them. She invited them to come in and take a seat in a voice that was only just polite. Her hair was dishevelled, her face pale and her eyes still swimming with tears.

  They sat down awkwardly side by side on the battered sofa. Lizzie didn’t make the customary offer of a drink which, for once, Joe would have been glad to hear, but eyed them balefully, settling down on a lab stool opposite. Joe had felt similarly intimidated in his housemaster’s study twenty years ago.

  ‘Don’t blame us, Lizzie!’ he plunged straight in. ‘Hear what we have to say, will you? You must be thinking that we’re the most incompetent pair of bodyguards to have let Bahadur die. That’s not what happened. The child was murdered. His killing was arranged in the most cold-blooded way.’

  She listened in chilly silence but without interruption to the tale which Joe and Edgar between them hacked out, correcting and reminding each other as they went.

  Finally, she looked at Joe directly. ‘You are telling me that Bahadur was killed by Claude and Shubhada, working together?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What a clever chap you are, Sandilands! You gallantly shoot dead a pair of man-eating tigers but a pair of hunting humans is too much for your capabilities? You sent the boy out . . . no, you staked him out like a goat and they tore him to pieces almost under your nose!’

  ‘That’s unfair, Lizzie!’ said Edgar. ‘Calm down, for goodness’ sake!’

  She made a visible effort to rein in her anger and, with a return to her usual cool tone, commented, ‘And Lois? What are we to think of her? She too a victim of two selfish people’s unthinking rush towards power? Poor, poor Lois! And tell me now what you propose to do with your information?’

  ‘I shall, of course, make Sir George aware of our suspicions and he will no doubt deal with Vyvyan in a discreet way. As for Shubhada, she is the mother of the future Prince of Ranipur and, as you know, the treaty we have –’

  ‘Shut up, Joe!’ said Lizzie. ‘Edgar, pour us a whisky and let’s think about this.’

  ‘In all this excitement, I hope you haven’t lost sight of the two previous deaths of heirs to the throne?’ said Lizzie. ‘Are we to suppose that Claude with or without the help of 3HH has been cutting a swathe through the royal family to achieve his ends? Three killings? Each one exposing him a little further? How dangerous! How mad! It’s hard to believe. And he’s such a charming man.’

  ‘No, as a matter of fact, I don’t believe Claude had anything to do with the first two murders. I think he and Shubhada saw the advantage they created for them, reducing the obstacles between them and the regency to one vulnerable but threatening young boy. They seriously thought they could pass the murder off as a further arranged misadventure, one of a series. I’m sure we were all meant to think that Zalim Singh was behind the clearing away of contenders for the throne, using his agent, Ajit Singh. If anyone enquired, he would discount any involvement by Claude because he truly was remote from the first two. It’s always misleading to assume that killings that occur in the same place or within a framework of time have necessarily been committed by the same man. No, I think Claude used the opportunity offered by the first and second deaths and hoped that if anything went wrong everyone would jump to the conclusion that another domino had fallen over – pushed by the same finger.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Edgar, ‘but have you stopped to think why he bothered? Risking his career, his reputation, his neck, for goodness’ sake . . .’

  ‘For what?’ said Joe crisply. ‘For the key to a fortune? For the inside of the bend to high office? For the love of a beautiful and powerful woman? No, hardly worth the effort, you’d say.’

  ‘Just doing what colonial powers have always done,’ said Lizzie thoughtfully. ‘Every provincial Roman governor expected to make three fortunes out of his stint abroad: one for Rome, one for himself in retirement and one to pay off the judges back home when he was charged with malpractice. I wonder how soon Claude was contemplating retiring? Tell me, Joe, is he still free to come and go about the palace? Or is he under restraint?’

  Edgar and Joe exchanged a look. ‘Free as the breeze for all we know,’ said Edgar. ‘Apart from ourselves, you’re the only one who’s aware, Lizzie. Even Udai has not been told. He thinks Bahadur was killed by a tiger.’

  ‘And if, as you say, Claude has nothing more on his conscience than the death of Bahadur, who did kill Bishan and Prithvi then? Are you just showing off or have you really worked it out?’

  ‘I’ve worked something out,’ said Joe. ‘Something in which Ajit Singh appears to concur if the ruler is to be believed. But I have yet to push the murderer into revealing himself . . . or herself. I may be wrong. I’ve been wrong once already. It had occurred to me that . . . sorry, Edgar, this will offend you, I know . . . I had thought that the sons had been removed to make way for Bahadur. Removed for the well-being and security of the princedom by their father.’

  When Edgar’s explosions of dismay and disgust had rolled away, Joe patiently explained his reasoning. Lizzie nodded several times.

  ‘Edgar, do be quiet!’ she said, finally. ‘Joe, are you sure you’re not right? It sounds very convincing to me. We all know – even Edgar knows – that the good of the state was Udai’s main concern. He would have put it first every time. And to be honest, I wasn’t in the least bit sorry when Bishan died. We all heaved a sigh of relief.’

  ‘But Prit
hvi was different. He would have been acceptable had not one vital flaw ruled him out as far as Udai was concerned, and that was his obdurate refusal to marry a second wife,’ said Joe. ‘But then Sir George tore the most almighty hole in my neat theory this morning when he told us that the British Government had been given news of the forthcoming marriage between Prithvi and a Rajput princess. Very hush-hush and before it was made public Prithvi had died.’

  Lizzie’s eyes were growing rounder by the second. ‘How extraordinary! No one here knew of that!’

  ‘I think at least one other person must have known. The main player so to speak. Madeleine. And if she knew, she’d have told Stuart. They would both have seen it as a betrayal. I think everything changed for Madeleine when the older son died. Her husband was certainly in line to be named Yuvaraj. He was growing ever closer to his father and they saw the economic future of Ranipur with the same eyes. You yourself wondered, Lizzie, why the ruler was delaying naming his heir. Could it have been that he was very prepared to ink in the name of Prithvi but with the proviso that he agreed to marry a princess of Mewar?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. And if your account of the dealings on the stock market is accurate, it would have made better sense for Prithvi to have succeeded. Bahadur was talented . . .’ Her voice wavered for a moment then she recovered her balance and went on, ‘but he would not have understood those dealings. Like his mother, he placed great store by wealth you can hold in your hand. He had, in fact, a very traditional approach to life. All those years in the zenana . . .There would have been a period of turmoil at the worst possible moment for the state. Zalim Singh would have been hard pressed to keep the ship of state on an even keel, I think. Poor Madeleine! She was battling the family, the court, the whole Ranipur way of life.’

  ‘And she was fighting for her own chosen style of life. She had anticipated glittering tours of European capitals on the arm of her rich and handsome young prince but had discovered that she could expect no more than a life in a city she hated, the unwanted foreigner who was proving an obstacle to his succession. And if she learned that a second, royal Indian princess was to become his wife she saw a bleak future living with people who resented her and a husband whose affections she must have begun to doubt.’