The Towers Of Silence (The Raj quartet)

by Paul Scott

  He came back with the handbag held high, as men held such things. She put the pannier and straw hat down, took the bag, got out the receipts and crossed to the bureau. The lid was locked and the key missing. She stood until the flush of humiliation had come and gone and then turned and offered the receipts to Coley saying, ‘Will you see that Mildred gets these?’ Coley took them. Leaving hat and pannier behind she went into the hall where Mr Maybrick was waiting.

  ‘Barbie—’ he began.

  ‘No recriminations,’ she said. ‘I’m going to pack an overnight bag. I take it you have transport of some kind outside.’

  ‘Only a tonga.’

  ‘That will suffice. Do one thing for me first. Find out from Captain Coley where they have taken Mabel.’

  In her bedroom she collected nightgown, slippers, dressing-gown, a change of underwear and toilet articles. She crammed these into an old fibre suitcase whose handle was mended with string. Back in the hall ten minutes later she found Mr Maybrick and Captain Coley standing several feet apart and not talking.

  ‘If Aziz should come back, Captain Coley, you will tell him where I am, won’t you? And you will treat him with the same courtesy he and Mabel always showed one another, I trust.’

  Coley looked hunted. And then she realized that he was a coward, and always had been, in spite of that uniform, that precious insignia. She turned the screw.

  ‘Well? I have your word? The word of a British officer to an Englishwoman?’

  Coley flushed, aware of her mockery, and – with his fingers tainted by keys and valuables – of its justification; that she mocked him not only for himself but for the whole condition. She did not care. The charade was finished. Mabel had guessed the word years ago but had refrained from speaking it. The word was ‘dead’. Dead. Dead. It didn’t matter now who said it; the edifice had crumbled and the façade fooled nobody. One could only pray for a wind to blow it all away or for an earthquake such as Captain Coley’s wife had died in. Barbie saw how perhaps with one finger she might topple him, because there was nothing to keep him standing except his own inertia.

  But she had other things to do. She decided not to wait for his reply; and in any case the silence that followed her demand revealed how little she would be able to count on any promise that he gave. She marched out to the tonga with the fibre suitcase.

  ‘What was the answer?’ she asked when Mr Maybrick joined her.

  ‘We should go to the general hospital and inquire there.’

  ‘Then please tell the wallah.’

  ‘I’m bound to say Coley didn’t think there would be much point.’

  ‘Naturally. Captain Coley sees little point in anything. He should have died in the rubble of Quetta. In most ways he did. The Lord alone knows for what purpose the remains are preserved.’

  *

  She waited in the reception hall of the general hospital seated on an uncomfortable highly polished bench, watching Mr Maybrick making things difficult for one of the girls at the inquiry desk, a fair-skinned Eurasian who kept on lifting the receiver of her telephone, presumably trying yet another extension at Mr Maybrick’s insistence. After ten minutes something definite seemed to be decided and the girl suddenly looked impressed and helpful. Mr Maybrick came over to the bench. He sat down.

  ‘Beames is over at the nursing home annexe. If we go across now he’ll have a word with you. The nursing home is where Susan’s been taken, and Mildred will be there too.’

  ‘My business is only with Colonel Beames. I’m sorry you’re being put to so much trouble, Mr Maybrick. If you want to go home to your supper I can manage on my own.’

  He stood up, grabbed the suitcase and said, ‘Come on, we can walk it, it’s not far.’

  They came out and followed directional signs along the asphalt path. They both knew the nursing home well. They had visited Clarissa there the year she was ill with pleurisy.

  The reception hall was less forbidding than the one at the main hospital. There were rugs and bowls of flowers. The woman behind the desk was a VAD. Her grey hair was blue-rinsed.

  ‘Miss Batchelor?’ she asked, ignoring Mr Maybrick. ‘Colonel Beames is engaged but won’t keep you long.’

  Barbie and Mr Maybrick sat together on a leather sofa. The blue-haired woman made notes on a file of papers with a very sharp-looking pencil. Whenever she answered the telephone she said, ‘Pankot Nursing Home, can I help you?’ She had a miniature switchboard on the desk with red and green switches on it which she manipulated with dexterity and self-assurance. Once she banged a bell and was answered by an Indian porter to whom she gave a folded note and a brisk instruction. Ten minutes later another VAD came through the hushed swing doors.

  ‘Miss Batchelor?’

  Barbie stood up. She followed the woman through into a polished corridor and round a corner into another where they stopped at a white painted door marked Private. The woman knocked, opened and stood aside after announcing Barbie’s name. The room was carpeted. The civil surgeon got up from behind a large desk and crossed the carpet silently. In the few years they had passingly known each other they had exchanged not many more words. He was a tall man with a nose and eyebrows and jaws that looked as if they had champed bones.

  ‘I’m sorry to have had to keep you waiting,’ he said. He pulled a leather chair close to another, waited for her to sit and then sat himself. He subjected her to a kind of remote scrutiny. His was a face that accepted nothing and gave nothing. ‘It will perhaps have been an even greater shock for you than for any of us. I am so sorry. But I do now have my pathologist’s report which confirms my assumption of cerebral haemorrhage. I suppose one must be thankful that it wasn’t the kind of stroke that would have left her paralysed but alive. Had she complained of feeling unwell lately?’

  Barbie shook her head.

  ‘Well if she felt out of sorts I don’t suppose she’d have said so or called any of us in. She was very much a law unto herself wasn’t she? I’m sorry that there had to be this very slight delay in giving the certificate but in the circumstances I really had no alternative. I’ve told Mildred – Mrs Layton junior – the result of course. She’s here with young Susan, as I expect you know. You’re staying the night with the Peplows?’

  Barbie nodded.

  ‘Mrs Layton has phoned Arthur Peplow and given him the all clear to go forward with the arrangements. It’s unfortunate Sarah’s in Calcutta. Mrs Layton is going to telephone her sister but even if Sarah starts back first thing in the morning she won’t be here until the day after tomorrow. I’m afraid Susan’s in for rather an arduous time from what Travers says, so her mother won’t be able to see to the other business personally. Fortunately Arthur Peplow and Captain Coley have undertaken to deal with it.’ He brought a small envelope out of his pocket. ‘I want you to take the two tablets in this packet with some warm milk when you go to bed tonight. To give you a proper night’s rest.’

  She accepted the envelope. She said, ‘Thank you, Colonel Beames.’ She would not take the tablets. ‘That is very kind of you, and very practical. There is a great deal to do and one must be on one’s feet to do it.’

  ‘Well, yes, but it’s all being done. Don’t worry. Sleep is the best thing for you.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about the arrangements, for instance about the arrangements for transportation?’

  ‘Transportation?’

  ‘To Ranpur. I imagine there will be a service here at St John’s, especially as Mildred won’t be able to leave Pankot while Susan is having her baby. And perhaps some kind of brief ceremony the next day at St Luke’s. But I’m concerned about the transport. You see, I should wish to accompany.’

  ‘Did you say St Luke’s?’

  ‘Yes. St Luke’s in Ranpur. That’s where the actual burial is to be. At St Luke’s in Ranpur. She wished to be with her late husband, Mr James Layton. Hasn’t Mildred mentioned that to you?’

  ‘No.’

  She waited for him to say more. But his face had
gone out entirely. They heavy jaws were clamped shut.

  ‘Then I had better see her and remind her,’ Barbie said.

  ‘Are you sure those were the elder Mrs Layton’s wishes?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘I see.’ Beames paused. ‘Then I’ll mention it to Mrs Layton junior. Interment in Ranpur is not among the impressions I have about the arrangements but possibly I haven’t a complete picture. I do know that a service at St John’s late tomorrow afternoon has been talked of.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have to leave now for Flagstaff House but I shall be coming back later to see Mrs Layton. I’ll mention it to her then.’ He stood up. ‘We’ve given her the room next to Susan’s and she’s resting on my orders. She’s had a very trying time which would explain why she might overlook a point such as the one you’ve raised – if she has overlooked it. I’m sure that she’d know about it if it is an established wish or a definite instruction. You may depend on my letting her know what you’ve told me.’

  She got up. She had no intention of depending upon Colonel Beames, but that, she thought, need not concern him. She allowed him to lead her to the door.

  ‘Are you accompanied?’ he said.

  ‘Mr Maybrick is with me.’

  ‘Good. And have you transport?’

  ‘We have a tonga.’

  ‘It’s curious about the servant, isn’t it? But I knew of a similar case. I suppose it’s a kind of sixth sense coupled with this odd fatalism some of these old fellows develop. But it’s not proof of unfeeling.’

  ‘The opposite,’ she said. ‘Quite the opposite.’

  They stood at the open door now.

  ‘I wish to see her, of course,’ Barbie said. ‘Can I do that now?’

  He observed her without reacting visibly to what he saw. She felt the same expression moulded upon her own face.

  ‘I’m afraid not. But if you ring the general hospital in the morning and ask to speak to Doctor Iyenagar or to his assistant I’m sure it could be arranged, should you really wish it.’

  ‘Doctor Iyenagar?’

  ‘Or his assistant. Extension 22.’

  ‘Thank you, Colonel Beames.’

  He made as if to accompany her but she assured him she could find her way. She walked back along the corridors to the waiting-room. Mr Maybrick stood up. She went to speak to the blue-haired woman at the desk.

  She said, ‘Colonel Beames tells me that Mrs John Layton is staying the night. I may want to telephone her in the morning. Is that fairly easy?’

  ‘Yes, there’s a telephone in every room.’

  ‘What extension should I ask for?’

  The vicious-looking pencil ran delicately down the list.

  ‘Extension eight. Mrs John Layton.’

  ‘Is that also the room number?’

  ‘That is correct. Her daughter Mrs Bingham is in number seven.’

  ‘Thank you so much. Goodnight.’

  *

  ‘We should have left the case in the tonga,’ she said as they walked back along the asphalt path.

  ‘And let the fellow run off with it,’ Mr Maybrick replied. As if it contained things of value. ‘He’s probably gone away. It’s not like the old days. They’d wait all night to get paid what they were owed. What did Beames say?’

  ‘It was a stroke. So nothing need be delayed. They can go ahead with the arrangements.’

  ‘That’s a blessing.’

  ‘What are the arrangements, Mr Maybrick? Did Arthur tell you?’

  ‘He was hoping everything could be ready for a service at five o’clock.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then? The interment.’

  ‘In St John’s churchyard?’

  ‘Yes. He was relieved Mildred didn’t insist on cremation. So many people do nowadays and he doesn’t really hold with it. But she asked him to go ahead and select a site himself.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He was quite relieved. He hasn’t had a burial there for some while.’

  They came to the end of the path. ‘I’m afraid it will have to be stopped, Mr Maybrick.’ She halted and held his arm. They now stood on the broad asphalt area in front of the main entrance to the general hospital. The tonga-wallah called to them and then the tonga emerged from the dense shadow of a clump of trees whose branches overhung the drive.

  ‘What do you mean stopped? Aren’t you satisfied with Beames’s opinion?’

  ‘It isn’t that.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘The burial has to be at St Luke’s in Ranpur. I told him so but I’m afraid that might not be enough. I must see Mildred. I think I must see her tonight. Either she’s forgotten or Mabel never told her. She couldn’t deliberately disregard a wish like that, could she?’

  ‘What wish? Whose wish?’

  ‘Mabel’s. She wished to be buried next to her late husband James Layton, at St Luke’s in Ranpur.’

  ‘And you said so to Beames?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said he’d mention it to Mildred tonight when he gets back from Flagstaff House.’

  ‘Then he will. If it’s all that important you can tell Arthur when we get back and one of you can ring Mildred in the morning to check whether Beames kept his word. Come on. You need some food and something warm to drink and to get to bed and try to sleep.’

  He swung the case up beside the tonga-wallah.

  ‘I’m sorry to be a stubborn nuisance to you, Mr Maybrick, but–’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ he said. ‘Call me Edgar, can’t you, after all these years?’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ She nodded her head. ‘Edgar. Edgar.’ She began to laugh and covered her face. She could not stop. She laughed for her sorrow and for his name because it didn’t suit him and presently she was laughing for Mabel because the alternative to laughter was shriek after shriek of wild and lonely despair because Mabel had gone and she had lost her occupation and she saw that was how it was and would always be for everyone.

  ‘Barbie!’ Mr Maybrick (Edgar) was saying; he had her by the shoulders but she could not allow herself to be enfolded, admonished or cherished. She forced her body away and began walking towards the steps that led to the glass doors through which shone the lights in the main entrance hall of the hospital. She scrabbled in her handbag and found her cologne-scented handkerchief and dried her cheeks and eyes.

  ‘Now where are you going?’ he called.

  ‘It’s all right. You go back home.’

  He caught up with her as she placed her foot on the first step. ‘Barbie, what are you doing?’

  ‘I have to see a Doctor Iyenagar.’

  ‘A doctor what?’

  They were at the door now, each pushing one immaculate sheet of framed glass, so that the arrival had all the force of an important emergency. The Eurasian girl glanced up, startled. Barbie went to the desk without hesitating. The spirit of the hard condition had entered: an inspired visitation.

  ‘Colonel Beames will have rung,’ she announced in a penetrating voice. ‘Please tell Doctor Iyenagar I am here.’

  ‘Oh, but Doctor Iyenagar has left.’

  ‘Then his assistant, Doctor whatever his name is. Extension twenty-two.’

  The girl swung round in her swivel chair, fumbled with plugs. She said, ‘It’s Miss Batchelor, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I am to see Doctor Iyenagar or his assistant in connection with the death this afternoon of Mrs Mabel Layton. Colonel Beames should have rung before he left for Flagstaff House.’

  ‘Yes. I see. I don’t remember–’ She responded to a voice in her ear. ‘Get Doctor Lal, please.’ She looked up at Barbie. ‘Doctor Lal will come. Please sit down.’

  ‘Is he on the other end now?’

  ‘Not yet. I will tell him.’

  ‘There’s no need for him to come. Just tell him I’m here as arranged by Colonel Beames and then be good enough to have someone show me to his office.’ She turne
d to Mr Maybrick. ‘Edgar, why don’t you go back to the rectory bungalow and tell Clarissa I’ll be there in half-an-hour. You could send the tonga back for me. It oughtn’t to take me half-an-hour but if there’s any snarl up here I’ll have to get on to Isobel Rankin and ask her to get Beames to sort it out from that end.’

  ‘I’ll wait,’ Mr Maybrick said, then added, ‘You may need me if you have to deal with people called Iyenagar or Lal or whatever it is.’ He glanced at the Eurasian girl who looked at him as if she agreed. He looked back at Barbie. His face was redder than usual, but grave. He understood.

  ‘Doctor Lal?’ the girl said. ‘I’m sending Miss Batchelor to your office in connection with the late Mrs Mabel Layton. It is arranged by the civil surgeon. Please see her urgently. Thank you.’ She removed the plug and banged a bell. A chaprassi came. She gave him an order.

  ‘Doctor Lal will be waiting, Miss Batchelor,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She followed the chaprassi through into a corridor and found that Mr Maybrick was accompanying her.

  ‘Barbie, what are you doing, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Something I have to,’ she said. The chaprassi indicated a flight of steps leading to basement level. On the half-landing there was a directional sign. It said: Mortuary.

  Mr Maybrick grabbed her shoulder. ‘Barbie, you can’t!’ But she shook him off. The basement corridor was low-ceilinged and very hot. She glanced back up the stairs and saw Mr Maybrick leaning against the wall holding his elbows. He shook his head. His mouth moved. She did not think badly of him. Because of Clarice. Who had ailed in Assam. And died slowly. And been unrecognizable. According to Clarissa. Who knew.

  The chaprassi opened a door. A thin young Indian in a white coat got up from a stool at a bench littered with white enamel trays and large glass jars. The walls were of whitewashed brick. In one corner a fan whined on a chromium stand. There was a smell of formalin.

  ‘Doctor Lal?’

  ‘Yes, I am Doctor Lal.’

  ‘I was expecting to see Doctor Iyenagar but I’m told he’s left.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Half an hour since.’

  ‘Then you are in charge.’

  ‘Yes. You come from Colonel Beames, isn’t it?’