‘Oh, Uncle! There will be things he wants to know.’ She gave Joe a searching look. ‘And things perhaps we ought to explain. And I think I’ve got something I ought to explain.’
She took hold of Joe’s arm and squeezed it to her. ‘I don’t know much, perhaps I don’t have to tell you that, but at the outset – and it seems a very long time ago – I said that when I got back to India all my dreams came true and you asked me – I don’t suppose you remember asking – whether all my dreams came true. Well, the plain answer is no. But last night you took me somewhere I hadn’t been before. It was probably obvious to you – I don’t know how these things work – but now I have to say that I am a trustee – a trustee for Andrew. He rescued me from France and in exchange I, and others of course, brought him back to life. I’m not going to do that and leave him stranded. You do understand that, don’t you?’ She looked earnestly at Joe. ‘It’s important to me that you should.’
‘I understood,’ said Joe.
‘Well, go on understanding. That’s all you have to do.’
As they drew into Government House, dazzling in the sunshine, a Daimler with a flag on the bonnet pulled in ahead of them.
‘Uncle George,’ said Nancy. ‘Just beaten us to it.’
There seemed to be a heightened efficiency, a heightened formality associated no doubt with the return of the Governor. As they entered, George’s European staff seemed much more in evidence. Their return was greeted on all sides and they were shown with rapidity into the presence.
‘How do I play this?’ Joe thought. ‘Do I say, “I’m afraid I spent last night in bed with your niece? I hope you don’t mind. Oh, and, incidentally, the next Mutiny may be about to break out”.’
But with dexterity Uncle George went straight to the heart of the matter. ‘Morning, Nancy, my dear! And good morning, Sandilands! Hope you got a good dinner last night? Sleep all right, did you? Can be damned hot in Calcutta. Now, been to see the Naurungs, I hear.’
‘Now how the hell did he know that?’ Joe wondered but the Governor read his question.
‘How did I know? You can’t do this job unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head and whatever else I may have I have a very good information system. Good idea, though! I find old Naurung is very worth hearing. Perhaps you’ll tell me what passed?’
Deeply relieved to be speaking in English without the necessity to pause for translation, Joe set to work to explain the scope of their enquiries, the fears of the Naurungs and the direction in which their deductions were moving. The Governor looked from one to the other, saying at last, ‘I asked you to discover whether these deaths were linked. I asked you to discover whether a suspicion of foul play could seriously be entertained. That now seems a long time ago. The answer to both questions is yes and I grieve to hear it. A dark and mysterious affair and I would say “No light, but only darkness visible.” Eh? What? And now you tell me you’re looking for a European murderer? I never thought otherwise.’
‘Yes,’ said Joe, ‘I think that fairly describes where we’ve got to. We have a strong suspicion as to who but we are no nearer the why and sketchy as to the how.’
‘Starting at the wrong end, you might say?’
‘Exactly. There must be a connection but we – or at any rate I – am too thick to see it.’
‘Don’t belittle yourself,’ said George politely. ‘Considering the cold trail you’ve been following, I think you’ve done very well. Now – leave it at that. Keep me posted. Come and see me whenever you want to. Hang on to the Naurungs. But continue to suspect everybody so don’t exclude the Naurungs.
‘But now I have another and purely domestic matter to discuss with you. You’re going back to Panikhat today. Correct? In Andrew’s car, I presume? Well you’ve got a passenger! Big enough to seat three, I assume? I have a very charming little guest (with a very great deal of luggage!) and perhaps you can guess who? No? Well, it’s Midge or perhaps I should say more formally that it’s Minette Prentice, Giles Prentice’s daughter. She was going back with Molly Bracegirdle but now Molly’s down with a gastric thing – Delhi belly as we sometimes call it, the Indian answer to Gippy tummy. Midge was here a little while ago but she’s gone down to the town to do a bit of shopping belatedly having decided she ought to have a present for her father. No money, of course! Spent it all! Had to finance her! Oh, my goodness – it’s Dolly Prentice all over again! Just like Dolly – of a, oh, er, a wheedling disposition, you’ll find.’
‘Where’s the child been?’ Joe asked.
‘Finishing school. Finishing school in Switzerland. Why on earth it’s called a finishing school I’ve no idea. Starting school more like, if you ask me! Now, I’ve got work to do but stay and have tiffin with me. In about half an hour? Nancy, my dear, go and organise your packing. Ought to leave as soon as we’ve eaten. You’ve a long way to travel and you don’t want to be motoring in the dark. And you, Sandilands? I expect you can amuse yourself for a while and we’ll meet back here?’
Joe spent his time wandering in the rose gardens and duly made his way back into the house in time for lunch. Walking across the wide landing to the Governor’s apartments, he heard the voice of Midge Prentice long before he saw her.
A cheerful unending babble of reminiscence. Joe paused outside the door and listened, curiously attracted by that little voice and even more by the reality when he opened the door. Recognisably the daughter of Dolly Prentice, recognisable from that old and faded photograph. Though Midge had her father’s dark colouring she had the same upswept eyes, the same pretty face and the same quality that Kitty had described as ‘elfin’.
The Governor made the introductions and Midge said at once, ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Commander. Now you can tell me what you think! I think it’s beautiful! I think it’s just what he will like. What do you think?’
She produced from a box and from its tissue paper wrappings a small ivory statuette. A figurine of an outstandingly erotic subject. Conventionally, two figures, their eyes half closed in bliss, were carved in convolute embrace and twisted ingeniously through 180 degrees at the waist.
‘There,’ said Midge once more. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think he will be absolutely charmed,’ said Joe, aware that he was only saying that he would himself be absolutely charmed. What the austere Prentice would make of it Joe could only speculate.
‘It must have cost a lot of money,’ said Uncle George with resignation.
‘Oh, it wasn’t too bad,’ said Midge. ‘I worked it out in pounds as best I could. I think it cost about thirty shillings. They were so nice about it when they saw I was with you from the flag on the car – they just let me sign for it.’
Uncle George began to look a little strained.
They sat down to lunch and Midge’s account ran on. She was now describing a fancy dress dance. ‘There we were,’ she said, ‘Betty Bracegirdle and me. She went as a Red Indian and I went as a cowboy. We won the prize easily and we did a lap of honour round the room and everybody cheered!’
‘And have you,’ asked Joe, ‘left a train of broken hearts behind all across Europe?’
‘No,’ said Midge morosely. ‘Not a train. Only one.’
‘Tell us about him,’ said Nancy as was no doubt expected of her.
‘Oh,’ said Midge, ‘it wasn’t a him, it was a her.’
‘A her?’
‘Yes.’ And, with a fluttering of downcast eyelids and a hand theatrically on the heart, ‘It was me. My heart was broken. Oh, he was so nice! He taught me to play piquet. If you’re on a boat, everybody plays cards in the morning – mostly boring bridge or double boring poker but he taught me to play piquet. We taught other people and after a bit all the best people were playing piquet with us. It was – the fashionable thing to do!’ And, to Joe, ‘Do you play piquet?’
‘Yes,’ said Joe, ‘as a matter of fact, I do.’
‘We must play some time,’ said Midge. ‘I’m used to dancing on most nights but now
he’s gone off back to his regiment, leaving me forlorn, eating my heart out. No wonder I look so pale!’
‘He’s gone back to his regiment? After a tearful parting, no doubt,’ said Nancy.
‘Oh yes,’ said Midge. ‘Was there ever such a tearful parting!’
‘And this Paladin,’ said Uncle George, ‘this hero, this maritime Lothario, has he a name?’
‘This knight in shining armour!’ Midge giggled. ‘Oh, he’s got a name all right. And if he comes down to see me all will be revealed. He’s tall, dark and handsome … absolute blissikins! You’ve no idea! Oh, goodness, I do hope Dad likes him! He ought to!’
Her audience fell silent. All in their different ways were speculating as to how Giles Prentice would receive this unknown officer who seemed to have found his way into the doubtless inflammable heart of Midge Prentice. Midge Prentice, Dolly’s daughter. With Dolly’s looks and, it would seem, with Dolly’s propensities.
After several hours sitting together in Andrew’s car, to Nancy and Joe’s relief Midge finally fell silent and fell asleep, her head companionably resting on Nancy’s shoulder. It was dark when they arrived in Panikhat and when they drew up outside Prentice’s bungalow.
A tall and slender figure, Prentice stood illuminated by the advancing headlights with the air of one who had been patiently waiting. Midge fell out of the car and ran towards him. Prentice dropped on one knee with his arms outstretched. Silently Nancy and Joe agreed to stay in the car. They waited until Midge’s voluminous luggage had been taken out and transferred to the house then, on a word from Nancy, Naurung slipped in the clutch and the big car stole silently out of the compound leaving Midge and Prentice on the verandah, each with an arm round the other, Midge, predictably, doing all the talking, Prentice all the listening.
‘Well,’ said Nancy, ‘what did you make of that? What did you make of Midge?’
‘I thought she was an absolute poppet,’ said Joe sentimentally.
‘You would!’ said Nancy. ‘I thought she was an absolute menace! Not Dolly’s daughter for nothing!’
‘I wonder,’ said Joe, ‘what Prentice will do to launch her in Panikhat society?’
‘I think I can guess! It’s Manoli Day for the regiment on Friday. It’s always held on the third Friday in March. Silly sort of thing really but in the Sikh War the regiment were, I must think, caught with their pants down and had to turn out in the middle of the night mounted any old how in their pyjamas – a sort of midnight steeplechase. It was, in fact, quite a gallant episode and they did whatever it was they were called upon to do (I don’t know the details) and ever since then they’ve given a ragtime dance on the anniversary of Manoli Day. And the proceedings are followed by a sort of ragtime steeplechase. It used to be quite a dangerous ride – still is, I suppose – and someone got dreadfully injured one year. Since then they’ve restricted the numbers – six or eight or something. Names picked from a hat by the Colonel.
‘Tell you what – I’ll invite Prentice and Midge to dinner before the dance. I’ll invite you too. Young Easton and Smythe seem quite jolly – I’ll ask them. Young company for Midge. Perhaps I’ll ask Kitty to balance the numbers. She’ll certainly be intrigued to see Dolly Prentice mark two! I’ll see what I can fix. Yes, come to the dinner and come to the dance.’
Joe sighed. ‘And what must I wear for this horrible entertainment of yours? Pyjamas?’
‘No, no! Mess dress. Your white jacket, blue cummerbund, black tie, mess trousers over boots with box spurs – just the usual. Don’t worry – we’ll provide the pyjamas!’
Chapter Sixteen
JOE HAD NOT slept well. The journey to Calcutta had tired his body but it was the evidence he had turned up and the new theories beginning to bubble in his mind that kept him awake. And there was something unidentifiably alarming in the figure of Midge Prentice. Something she had done or said had, at a subconscious level, left him in dread for her. Or was it something Kitty had said?
He plodded his way through the night, irritated to an equal degree by his thoughts and by the mosquito bites from Calcutta. In a despairing effort to cool himself he thought about his flat in Chelsea, its large windows open and a chill March breeze blowing through. There would be a thick mist over the Thames, there might even be the remains of snow clinging to the rooftops and, for a moment before he drifted into sleep, he heard the familiar hooting of a river barge.
But he had awakened to the usual bugle sounds and the noises of the station coming to life. He moved from his warm damp bed into a lukewarm bath and on to breakfast. For once the copious Panikhat breakfast served with clockwork precision at seven o’clock had lost its charm. So it was that, in his mood of indecision, he was glad to receive a chit handed in by a bearer from the office of the Collector and with a disproportionate spurt of excitement he recognised Nancy’s handwriting. He read:
Good morning! I have a small – and probably inconsequential – lead. Want to come and follow it? If so, parade (mounted) here, as soon as possible. Send acknowledgement by the bearer saying yes or no. ND.
He scribbled ‘Yes’ and handed the chit back to the bearer for return to Nancy. He finished dressing and sent for his horse. ‘Sent for his horse’! How easy it was and how beguiling!
He rattled his way through Panikhat, familiarly acknowledging several people as he passed, and dismounted at the Drummonds’ bungalow. A syce was walking a grey pony up and down in the drive. Nancy appeared with a wave on the verandah.
‘Morning, Joe!’ she said. ‘The burra sahib is in the kutcherry.’
‘Indeed? And I am here,’ said Joe. ‘For me, to hear is to obey.’
Nancy sat down on the step of the verandah and gestured to Joe to join her. ‘There may be nothing in this,’ she said, ‘and in the back of my mind is the thought that there isn’t anything in it so don’t be too hopeful. But it’s Naurung. He never stops! He’s located one of the ferrymen, one of the witnesses of the death of Alicia. He’s long retired from the ferries and is farming. It’s not far away, at a little place called Lasra Kot. It’s about ten miles away and has the advantage of being rather a nice ride. Are you on?’
‘Truly,’ said Joe, and he meant it, ‘I can’t think of any way I’d rather spend the day. Time we got away from this place for a few minutes.’
‘Well, as I say, there may be nothing in it, but …’ She gave him a level and considering look. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll waste the day, do you?’
She called over her shoulder and a bearer appeared with a small square basket on a strap.
‘What on earth’s that?’ said Joe.
‘Oh, very British! We’re having a picnic lunch. No Lyons Corner House where we’re going! Come on and say hello to Andrew.’
They made their way into the Collector’s office where they found him in shirt-sleeves with clerks taking dictation in attendance, each simultaneously, one in Hindustani, one in English. Joe was impressed. ‘That’s very clever,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t do that!’
Andrew greeted him warmly. ‘Joe! Good morning! If you’re really lazy – and I am – you don’t write letters, you dictate them and if you’re clever – and I am – you dictate two at once. I’ve even been known to dictate three! Actually, we’ve been doing this for so long, I just stammer a bit and these chaps put it into embarrassingly Augustan prose. So – you’re off into the mofussil, are you? I’ve already said this to Nancy and I’ll repeat it to you – don’t sit on a snake, don’t fall over a cliff, don’t cross a river, don’t have a bath – and you oughtn’t to come to, er, serious harm. If you’re not back in a fortnight I’ll send a search party.’ And to Nancy, ‘Where did you say you were going?’
Nancy told him.
‘Worse places to be,’ said the Collector comfortably. ‘Wish I could come with you.’ He took Nancy’s hand in his, kissed it, patted her affectionately on the bottom as she stood beside him. Not for the first time, Joe’s heart turned over as he saw them so friendly, so humorous and so attuned.
‘I really loved him,’ Nancy had said.
‘And she still does,’ Joe finished to himself.
They turned north together and rode up the muddy river bank until they encountered a tributary to the main river where they splashed through a shallow ford. On all sides people working in the fields getting in the rice harvest stopped with smiling faces to acknowledge them as they rode by. On every hand, bullock-drawn ploughs were at work across the fields to which millet and barley and rice contributed each a different shade of green in a timeless patchwork.
‘You can see why they call it the Land of Rivers. This is the India I love,’ said Nancy. ‘Do you wonder I wanted to get back to it from France?’
‘It certainly isn’t Calcutta,’ said Joe.
‘No. This is where we can really do some good. We stand between the farmer and his landlord, and, all the time, see that justice is done, you know. Keep the beady-eyed moneylender at arm’s length with a government-managed loan scheme. Andrew introduced that. And later today you’ll see the beginnings of his irrigation system. And you’re right – it isn’t Calcutta. I love it. I really do. I dream sometimes that I’m going to be taken away again. And wake up in a sweat. Oh, Joe – if only we could lift this shadow! If only!’
As usual when Nancy began with shining eyes to talk about India, Joe’s natural contrariness was roused. He opened his mouth to challenge what she said about the beneficent British attitude to the tenant farmers by reminding her that the hugely rich zamindars had been granted their enormous estates by the British themselves. If they were now struggling to rectify a state of affairs which had got out of hand they had none to blame but themselves and the peasant farmers were their luckless victims. If there was any crime in Bengal, it had its roots in social injustice of this kind. But he remained silent. What right had he, a six months’ expert, to challenge the views of someone born and brought up here, someone who was dealing with the realities of life from day to day?
The road narrowed and began to climb and the heat of the day began to build. Nancy led the way with confidence and Joe fell in behind. Looking at her from the crown of her wide-brimmed hat, following the line of her slender back, its silk shirt beginning to cling in the heat, her soft and slender bottom outlined rather than concealed by well-cut jodhpurs, ‘Love,’ thought Joe.
The Last Kashmiri Rose Page 18