Dark Clouds Over Nuala

by Harriet Steel

  ‘In one of the places where we looked first, sir. I had almost given up when one of the villagers saw her. I think her fall must have been broken by trees growing out of the rock. There was very little injury.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘When we found her, if I had not known otherwise, I would have thought she was asleep.’

  De Silva felt relieved. If the husband wanted to be the one who formally identified her, it might be less of an ordeal for him if the body wasn’t too badly damaged.

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘She has been taken to the hospital, sir. Doctor Hebden sent this for you.’

  Prasanna handed over a piece of paper and de Silva ran his eye down the doctor’s scrawled acknowledgement and recommendation that a funeral be arranged as soon as possible.

  ‘I’ll notify the assistant government agent and he can deal with the family. Well done, Prasanna. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy or a pleasant job.’

  ‘No, sir. Thank you, sir.’

  De Silva glanced at the doorway where a young man and a girl in a yellow sari waited quietly. ‘Who’s this you’ve brought with you?’

  Prasanna led the girl forward. De Silva racked his brains; he was sure he recognised her. Ah yes, the yellow sari. On the day he and Jane had gone dancing, he’d noticed this girl and her beautiful eyes as he drove through the bazaar.

  ‘Sir, this is my friend Kuveni,’ said Prasanna tentatively. ‘And this is Vijay, her brother.’

  Chapter 20

  ‘Bring up a chair for the lady.’ De Silva smiled at the girl and she gave him a shy smile in return.

  Prasanna fetched a chair and held it out for her solicitously.

  ‘Shall we speak in Tamil or Sinhalese?’ de Silva asked when she had sat down. Prasanna and Vijay remained standing on either side of her.

  ‘Sinhalese, sir,’ said Prasanna.

  ‘So, your friends are Sinhalese?’

  ‘No, we are Vedda,’ the girl said in a soft voice.

  Ah, that wouldn’t make life any easier for them, thought de Silva. The Veddas were an ancient race, but often looked down on by the other occupants of Ceylon who considered them a backward people. Historically, they had lived by hunting and were nomads, but now some of them had settled and grew crops on small patches of jungle that they cleared with axes and fire. They weren’t welcome in many villages and were rarely seen in the towns. He wasn’t surprised to hear that the headman was making trouble for Kuveni and her family.

  ‘What do you want to see me about?’ he asked, looking at the girl.

  ‘It is about their troubles with the headman of their village, as I told you, sir,’ Prasanna intervened.

  De Silva held up his hand. ‘Let her speak for herself.’

  There was an expression of quiet determination on Kuveni’s face as she began.

  ‘My family used to live in a village in the jungle. It is a day’s walk from Nuala. We did not have very much, but my brother and my father cleared a piece of land each year so that we could grow millet or maize and some vegetables. I helped with the digging and planting and occasionally we had a little meat from hunting.’

  Neither the brother nor the sister appeared to have suffered from their simple diet. Both looked healthier than many of the poor Tamils and Sinhalese de Silva saw in town. The girl wasn’t only blessed with a pretty face, she had thick, glossy hair and clear skin. The brother, Vijay, looked strong and supple. His black hair stood out like a bush around his narrow, finely-featured face.

  ‘From the earliest I remember, the headman made life difficult for my father. When it was time for getting the government permits, we were always the last in line. He also demanded a larger share of what we grew than he made the rest of the village give.’

  De Silva frowned. He knew it was common practice for village headmen to take a proportion of their villagers’ produce as payment for carrying out their duties. These included applying to the British for the permits without which it was illegal to clear and cultivate land, but the amount taken was supposed to be reasonable and not harder on one family than another.

  ‘Eventually, my father went to him and asked why he was treating us like this. We had never made any trouble for him.’

  ‘What was the headman’s answer?’

  ‘He said my father was making his complaints up. It was foolish of him because we are Veddas and the villagers did not want us there anyway. It was only because of his goodness to us that we were not driven out.’

  She grimaced. ‘His goodness to us! There is no goodness in that man.’

  Her brother had been listening intently but de Silva wasn’t sure how well he understood the conversation. The girl’s command of Sinhalese was impressive.

  ‘How did you learn to speak the language?’ he asked her.

  ‘From the women in the village. They love to talk when they are together making food or collecting water. I listened.’

  ‘I interrupted you. Go on.’

  ‘Then the headman’s wife died.’ She looked down. ‘He said that I pleased him. If I would go and live with him, he would see to it that the other villagers treated us well. By which he meant he would treat us well.’

  ‘But you didn’t accept him?’

  The girl shook her head and he saw tears on her cheeks. ‘I asked my father what I must do but he wouldn’t speak about it. I decided to say no, and then the headman was very angry. He made life even harder for us and I was afraid I would have to agree after all, but while I was still unsure, he accused my father of stealing from him and had us chased from the village.’

  ‘Where is your father now?’

  ‘Here in Nuala, but he would not come with us to see you. He does nothing but sit all day. Everything is hard for him and he says he cannot breathe with buildings and people everywhere. At night he has bad dreams. We are very worried about him.’

  ‘Kuveni is afraid he will harm himself,’ said Prasanna.

  ‘Why do you think that?’ asked de Silva gently.

  ‘His spirit has been broken by all the troubles. What the headman said was a lie, but some people, the ones who do not like us because we are Veddas, were ready to believe it. My father had already stopped laughing and telling us the old stories and songs. Now he says we would be better off without him.’

  She fell silent. With a sigh, de Silva turned to her brother. ‘Do you understand what your sister’s told me?’

  The young man nodded.

  ‘And is it the truth?’

  Another nod.

  He addressed Kuveni once more. ‘How are you making money to live?’

  ‘One of the sari makers in the bazaar gives me work. It’s harder for Vijay because, although he understands some Sinhalese and Tamil, he does not speak any language but our own. He gets work delivering vegetables.’

  ‘You must tell the inspector about Vijay’s other work, Kuveni,’ prompted Prasanna. ‘It is important he knows what Vijay saw.’

  A wary expression came over Kuveni’s face. She twisted a fold of her sari. ‘He has friends who help him sometimes. They are shikaris for the British when they do their hunting. Vijay was always the best at tracking. If he goes with them, they give him some of the money they are paid but he has to be careful not to be noticed.’

  De Silva put down his pen and scratched his head. He shouldn’t condone what the young man was doing. The Europeans and Americans who came to Ceylon for the hunting were invariably well off and usually generous with their tips, provided that their trackers did a good job and found them plenty of game to massacre. Accordingly, tracking jobs were highly sought after and jealously guarded. Under the British system for regulating hunting, they were supposed to be parcelled out by village headmen. No wonder Vijay didn’t want to be noticed.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Because Vijay was at World’s End on the night when the English lady died. He saw her fall but then he ran away because he should not have been there.’

  De Silva felt a surge of int
erest; he scrutinised Kuveni. ‘Please ask your brother to say exactly what he saw. It’s important he understands the question and doesn’t miss out anything he remembers.’

  Kuveni spoke rapidly to Vijay who answered at some length.

  ‘He says he saw the British lady come out of her tent. She stood for a few moments but she seemed to be in a dream as if she was not awake. She walked very slowly towards the precipice. Some of the ground she walked on was sharp with stones. Creeping plants grow there that will give you pain if you are not used to going barefoot. But the lady took no notice and kept on walking. A man came out of one of the other tents. Vijay saw it was the British officer. By the time he noticed the British lady, she was standing at the edge. She turned once. Vijay does not know if she saw he was there. Then she was gone.’

  ‘Please thank your brother. His information is very helpful. I promise you his name won’t go outside this room.’

  Kuveni looked relieved.

  De Silva leant back in his chair with a frown. This new evidence was very interesting. From the scene the young man described, it was possible that Mrs Wynne-Talbot had been sleepwalking. Her slow pace and obliviousness to pain could be indications that she was in a trance. But then, as he and Clutterbuck had discussed just after her death, sleepwalkers were known to retain a sense of self-preservation, so why would that be absent in this case? Might there be drugs involved? Yet none had been found in her tent.

  He turned the possibilities over in his mind then finally settled on suicide. With what Helen Wynne-Talbot’s husband had told them about his wife’s state of mind, it seemed the most likely cause of death. But why did he still feel that something wasn’t quite right? Was there unfinished business? A loose end left untied?

  He put the thought out of his mind. He was seeing conspiracies where there were none. Fortunately, as Clutterbuck needed no further convincing of Mrs Wynne-Talbot’s suicide, keeping Vijay’s secret safe was easier. Normally he would agree that regulations should be upheld, but in this case, they could go hang. All that remained was to do what he could to help this brother and sister.

  ‘I’ll speak again with the assistant government agent,’ he said.

  A look of anxiety crossed Kuveni’s face.

  ‘As I said, there will be no need to explain to him that your brother was at World’s End.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You may go now. I assume my sergeant knows where to find you?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then I’ll send him to you when there’s news. Prasanna, come back here when you’ve shown your friends out.’

  ‘I didn’t want to dash their hopes,’ he said when Prasanna returned. ‘But I’m afraid I’m not very optimistic.’

  His sergeant looked downcast. ‘But you will try, sir?’

  ‘Of course, I’ve said I will.’

  Prasanna’s eyes swivelled to the window and the view of Kuveni and Vijay walking away from the station. The girl’s slim figure and pretty face turned many heads as she went by. It was easy to see why Prasanna was keen to impress her with his usefulness, but he must be aware that he was heading into deep waters. With his mother’s ideas about suitable girls, she was bound to disapprove strongly. He wanted to give the lad some advice, tell him Kuveni wasn’t the only girl in the world. But of course there was no point. Anyone could see that the boy was head over heels in love. All the time she had been speaking, his eyes had never left her face. As far as he was concerned, no one else mattered.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I expect your mother will be pleased to have you home. After your good work on the Wynne-Talbot case, I’ll see to it you’re rewarded with a bonus.’

  Prasanna thanked him and departed, but the prospect of a bonus didn’t seem to have cheered him much.

  Chapter 21

  At home, he and Jane sat on the verandah drinking tea as he brought her up to date with the news about Helen Wynne-Talbot, Laetitia Lane and James Aubrey.

  ‘Gracious, it all sounds very dramatic about Miss Lane and Major Aubrey,’ she said when he had finished. ‘Just like the plot of a film. Do you know where they’ll go now?’

  ‘They’ve already left Nuala, but for where, I have no idea.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ll be retired to some sleepy village in the English countryside as they would be in a novel. Or maybe the South of France to enjoy their reward from a grateful government.’

  De Silva grinned. ‘I imagine Laetitia Lane would choose the second option every time.’

  ‘No doubt.’ She sighed. ‘So we can all settle down happily again, except, of course, for poor Ralph Wynne-Talbot. Florence told me there’s been news from England. His grandfather has died. It’s so sad they will never meet. Florence says Lady Caroline intends to travel back to England with him after the funeral. I expect he’ll be glad of her support. He’ll have to take his seat in the House of Lords as well as taking charge of the Axford estate.’

  ‘Hmm, yes. I suppose he will have a lot to think about.’

  ‘Sergeant Prasanna must be relieved to be back in Nuala. I hope you gave him plenty of praise.’

  ‘I did, but I can’t say he’s very happy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Poor lad,’ she said when he reached the end of the story. ‘Even if he does find that this girl cares for him, he’ll have to get round his mother. From what I’ve seen of her, that won’t be easy.’

  ‘No, it won’t. At least the Prasannas are Buddhists, so, strictly speaking, there ought not to be a problem of caste as there would be if they were Hindu. But that’s not to say there’ll be no prejudice, especially as the girl is from the Vedda people.’

  They lapsed into silence. ‘I do hope something can be done,’ remarked Jane after a while. ‘It must be hard for them, living among strangers.’

  ‘No doubt, although I believe the girl will adapt given time. If she’s already managing skilled work, she might do well in the end.’

  ‘You liked her, didn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose I did. She hasn’t had any advantages in life but she seems intelligent and polite. The sort of person one would like to help.’

  ‘Perhaps she might even be better off staying in Nuala.’

  ‘Who knows? Certainly Prasanna would be delighted.’

  ‘Do you think Archie Clutterbuck will help them?’

  He frowned. At the moment he was in no position to press Archie Clutterbuck to do anything, but hopefully time would change that. Anyway, he didn’t want to say too much and make Jane worry.

  ‘He’s a decent man. I expect he’ll agree to look into it eventually. When all the excitement’s over, I’ll bring the subject up again and see how he reacts.’

  ‘Good.’

  She shivered.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I was just thinking about poor Helen Wynne-Talbot. She must have been very unhappy to take her own life. I can’t imagine what she was thinking as she walked towards that precipice.’

  ‘If Vijay is right, there might have been nothing going through her mind.’

  ‘You mean she was sleepwalking, or had worked herself up into some kind of trance?’

  ‘There have been many instances of that at religious festivals here and in India. People’s minds depart from their bodies and they harm themselves without feeling pain.’

  ‘But Helen Wynne-Talbot was British.’

  ‘I agree it would not be a British way of behaving, so, in answer to your question, I think it’s extremely unlikely. It was early morning and only just getting light. Vijay may not have seen Mrs Wynne-Talbot’s face as clearly as he thinks he did. People from the villages are very superstitious, Vedda people more than most. Vijay probably finds it impossible to credit that anyone would harm themselves unless a devil had entered their body.’

  Jane sighed. ‘I suppose we shouldn’t be too quick to mock. After all, there’s a great deal we Europeans don’t understand about mental illness.’

  He got to his fe
et; suddenly he was weary of talking about the case. It had been a waste of time and worse still, for the moment, it had probably lost him Archie Clutterbuck’s goodwill.

  ‘Do I have time for a walk around the garden before dinner?’

  ‘Plenty of time. I’ve been teaching Cook to prepare some new dishes and I thought we’d have one of them tonight: chicken fricassée. I told him to take his time and it won’t be ready for at least an hour.’

  She picked up her book. ‘Oh, and dear,’ she added, ‘if you’re planning to be out for long, would you change your shoes? It’s cooling down and there’ll soon be dew on the grass.’

  He went to the bedroom to change his shoes then returned to the drawing room. Surreptitiously, he opened the silver cigarette box that Jane liked to keep for visitors. He took out a cigarette then went to the garden by the side door. Once he was outside, he lit the cigarette and inhaled, drawing the pungent smoke deep into his lungs. He couldn’t remember when he’d last smoked – Jane preferred him not to – but just now, he needed the calming effect of tobacco.

  That expectant hush that foreshadows night had descended on the garden. As he wandered between the flowerbeds, daylight faded. He stopped to smell a chrysanthemum that had opened fully since that morning: a sunburst of shell-pink petals, each one tightly furled like the paper spills the servants used to light the fires in winter. After roses, chrysanthemums were his favourites. He remembered how his mother used to boil up the flowers to make a fragrant tea. She’d sworn by it as a cure for headaches and sore throats. When he was a teenager and hard to rouse in the mornings, she’d always brought him a steaming cup to wake him up ready for school.

  He wondered what she would have thought of his marrying an Englishwoman. She’d been both kind and generous, but he suspected that, like Sergeant Prasanna’s mother, she would have preferred him to settle down with a nice Sinhalese girl. His father, a policeman too, might have been more accepting. His work would have brought him into contact with the British whereas his mother spent her time in the house or with her Sinhalese friends.