‘You must have some living relatives,’ Sinclair said. ‘Cousins, at least.’
‘I’m sure I have, but for one reason and another I’ve not gotten around to them yet. I found I have a brother who’s very much alive. He had this idea that I should start a school where I could teach family history, but I’m not ready for that yet.’ Tayte paused and smiled to himself. ‘It might sound crazy, but I love my work too much. I’ve really missed the challenges assignments like this can offer.’
‘Well, I’ve no doubt whatsoever that you’ll face a great many challenges with your assignment here in Scotland before you go back to your family. As for myself, I don’t have any children,’ Sinclair added, no regret in his voice. ‘My wife wasn’t keen from the offset, so we focused our time and energy on other things.’
Talking of other close family members, Tayte was reminded of the figure he’d seen by the burn earlier. ‘I think I may have seen her.’
Sinclair gave a hearty laugh that rocked his shoulders. ‘I very much doubt that. My wife left me several years ago for an Italian toy boy. Last I heard she was living the life of Riley in Capri.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not.’
‘It’s just that I saw someone from my bedroom window. When you mentioned your wife, I assumed it was her.’
‘Where exactly was this person you saw?’
‘Across the stream.’
‘The burn,’ Sinclair corrected.
‘Yes, the burn. Do you know who it’s likely to have been? From what you’ve told me it seems you live alone here with Murray.’
‘Aye, it’s just Murray and me, and now you, of course. There’s a public right of way that runs alongside the burn, close to the estate. It was no doubt just someone out for a stroll. It’s a grand evening for it.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Tayte agreed. ‘Whoever it was stood there for quite a while, though.’
‘Did they now?’ Sinclair said. ‘Mind you, Drumarthen’s a fine-looking house from the outside. I’m not surprised to hear someone was taking an interest in it. We get plenty of tourists stopping by to take pictures in the summertime.’ Sinclair smiled to himself. ‘I should levy a charge for it.’
Tayte thought that was probably all it was, but he couldn’t shake the idea that the person he’d seen was staring up at him rather than the house, as if he or she knew he was there, and perhaps more importantly, why.
They continued to eat their meal. No wine was offered, not that Tayte particularly wanted any, but as with the general state of the house, the old car Sinclair ran, and the fact that they were eating free rabbit shot on the estate, he wondered whether the lack of wine was also on account of Sinclair apparently being far less well-off than he had imagined on first meeting him. The man’s London-based life seemed entirely at odds with what Tayte had learned about him since arriving in Scotland. Sinclair hadn’t baulked at Tayte’s fee, however, which told him that he had to consider it money well spent. The notion caused him to think about the gemstone mentioned in Cornelius Dredger’s letter again. Sitting at the table opposite him was a man who could evidently use the money from the sale of such a gemstone should it be found. Once again, it caused Tayte to question whether Sinclair had been entirely honest about his motives for wishing to identify his mystery ancestor.
Chapter Three
After dinner, Sinclair ushered Tayte through a stone archway that led along a short corridor to what Murray had previously referred to as the drawing room. It was apparent to Tayte as soon as he entered the cosy space that, just like the dining room, this was also no more than a pale imitation of the room it had once been. There were two wing-backed chairs sitting on a worn rug in the middle of the room, facing an open inglenook fireplace that seemed to dwarf its surroundings. Above the stone mantel, Tayte saw an assortment of antique shields and other items he imagined had once formed part of the family armoury. Sinclair tossed another log on to the now-dwindling fire and they sat down. There was a circular table between the chairs, on which were set two glasses and a decanter containing a rich, honey-coloured liquid.
‘Can I offer you a dram of whisky?’ Sinclair said. ‘It’s a fine single malt, distilled in Aberfeldy, just north of here.’
‘That would be great. Thank you.’
Sinclair poured their drinks and tapped his glass against Tayte’s. ‘Slàinte!’ he said, toasting Tayte’s good health.
As they settled back with their drinks, before Sinclair could begin his spiel about the original grand drawing room that had likely once existed at Drumarthen House, Tayte got straight down to business. ‘You told me you have one of the letters written by Cornelius Dredger’s great-aunt. What does it say? Can I see it?’
‘I was wondering when you’d ask,’ Sinclair said. ‘Anticipating it wouldn’t take long for you to get around to it, I brought the letter down to dinner with me.’ He twisted around in his seat and produced several off-white folds of paper from his back pocket, which he handed to Tayte.
‘The letter was written in September 1822,’ Sinclair continued. ‘It is, by its own account, the first letter written by Dredger’s great-aunt to her brother concerning her time in India. The mail service from India in those days largely relied on the East Indiamen—armed ships of the East India Company. Given that the letter’s journey to England could have taken the better part of a year from Jaipur, it would have taken a considerable time to receive a reply, although I expect Dredger’s great-aunt was in the habit of writing home as frequently as she cared to, without waiting to hear what her brother had to say.’
Tayte unfolded the letter. The handwriting, though faded, was tall and neat, written with care and precision, as if the writer took great pride in her letters home. He scanned over the names and addresses at the top of the page and began to read it out. ‘Having arrived in Bombay at great length via the Cape of Good Hope, some six months after setting sail from Southampton aboard the East Indiaman, Repulse—a magnificent merchant ship of more than sixty guns—we prepared for the overland journey to our destination in Rajputana.’
‘As can be seen in the following lines,’ Sinclair said, ‘after a degree of uncertainty as to whether she and the rest of the party she was travelling with would make it to their destination unharmed, she has arrived in Jaipur with her friend and her friend’s seventeen-year-old daughter.’
‘Who were sent for by her friend’s husband,’ Tayte said as he continued to read the letter to himself. ‘It seems that Dredger’s great-aunt is there as the other woman’s travelling companion.’
‘That was also my take on the situation,’ Sinclair said. ‘Further down she also mentions certain duties of care as far as her friend’s daughter is concerned. You’ll also note that this was not her first time in India.’
Tayte found the passage that mentioned the letter-writer’s return to India, noting that she had spent much of her childhood in Bengal. His eyes drifted back up to the top of the letter. On one side was the name and address of the recipient, William Dredger of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. On the other was the sender’s return address in Jaipur.
‘Her surname was no longer Dredger by the time she went back to India,’ Tayte said. ‘Jane Hardwick,’ he added, almost to himself. ‘She was clearly married, but there’s no mention of her husband. Maybe she was widowed, else why was she in India without him?’
‘Very good, Mr Tayte. Jane Hardwick was widowed in 1820, two years before she made the journey.’
Tayte smiled to himself. He glanced at Sinclair, who was smiling back at him. ‘Now why did I imagine for a minute that you hadn’t already looked into the family history of Jane Hardwick née Dredger?’
Sinclair’s smile broke into a small laugh. ‘I’m sorry, but I did warn you that my research has been extensive.’
Even so, Tayte had to remind himself that Sinclair had not been able to identify his four-times-great-grandfather, which told him that this assignment was not going to be easy. With so much research
already carried out, he knew he was going to have to think his way around the problem. He also thought that Sinclair’s research could prove useful in helping him to do that.
As if to pre-empt Tayte’s next question, Sinclair said, ‘I’ll make all my research available to you, of course. I’ll have Murray bring everything to your room in the morning. You’ll see that I’ve only been able to go so far where India is concerned. As for Jane Hardwick, from parish registers I’ve managed to find information about her birth and marriage in Derbyshire, but I’ve been unable to locate any information about her death. From that, an obvious conclusion springs to mind.’
‘That she never returned from India,’ Tayte said.
‘Aye. You’ll no doubt wish to go over my research to confirm my findings. Maybe I missed something, but perhaps you’ll find a record of her death in India.’
Tayte gave a nod, thinking that the odds of Jane having died during her travels in India in 1822 were certainly higher than if she’d stayed at home. On the other hand, it was possible that she’d simply chosen to remain in the country she had known, and possibly come to love, as a child. She may well have lived there to a ripe old age. Either way, Tayte was curious enough about Jane Hardwick to want to find out what had become of her.
He turned his attention back to her letter, and began to wonder why she had chosen to return to India. She was recently widowed, which accounted for her being free to do so, but what had driven her to make such a long and arduous journey? He thought a simple and likely scenario was that, after the death of her husband two years earlier, she had jumped at the chance to make a fresh start when the opportunity arose. From her letter it seemed that she was travelling as a companion to a friend who had gone to Jaipur with her daughter to be with her husband. He wondered who the other family was. No surnames were mentioned in the letter. What was their story, and how was it all connected to the gemstone mentioned in Cornelius Dredger’s letter? Tayte sensed it was an important question to answer.
As he read on, he learned that Jane Hardwick’s ongoing journey to Jaipur had been an eventful one, bordering on catastrophic as they neared their destination some months after arriving in Bombay. The letter gave some little account of the many towns and settlements they had passed through, having to wait at each for safe escort, often travelling with supply carts and soldiers of one regiment of foot or another. Then Tayte read that, having left the district of Tonk in eastern Rajputana, Jane and the entire party she was travelling with were soon in fear of their lives.
Chapter Four
India, September 1822
As Mother India had once been a part of her, so was she again now. Sitting with her travelling companions in an open horse-drawn carriage, with nothing more than parasols to shelter them from the relentless sun, Jane Hardwick could feel her presence like no other land she had known. It covered her skin, seeping deeper and deeper into her pores with every mile, knotting her hair and parching her throat. With every breath, she could taste the eternity of her dust.
They were on the Tonk Road, still some fifty miles south of Jaipur according to one of the soldiers leading the escort, and how Jane longed to be there. The road, like all roads she had travelled in India, was no more than a well-beaten route, born of necessity, connecting one town or river-crossing with another. She understood that to stray too far from such a road was to become all too easily lost amidst the unvaried open plains, having by day only the sun and the distant, barren hills for reference.
They were travelling in a four-seater carriage—a kind of barouche that on this occasion had no canopy. Jane looked across to her friend, Elspeth, and her seventeen-year-old daughter, Arabella, who had been her close companions since Southampton. Turning to her left, she glanced at the man sitting beside her who had joined them at Kota, many stages and as many days ago. He caught her eye and smiled at her, as he often did.
‘Not far to go now,’ he said. He had a yellowing, dusty piece of cloth on his head, no doubt having found the tall, black silk hats that were so fashionable in London impractical for travel in such climates. He removed the cloth temporarily to wipe the sweat from his brow. ‘Shall I see you again once we’ve arrived in Jaipur? I should very much like to.’
The man’s name was Albert Faraday, and he had made no secret of his affections towards Jane, pressing them at every opportunity.
Jane smiled politely, easing herself away. ‘I’m sure I shall be too busy,’ she said, looking across at her young charge. She decided to strike up a conversation with her so as to avoid further discourse with Mr Faraday.
‘Yes, Bella. Not far to go now,’ she said, sounding high-spirited as she repeated Faraday’s words. ‘I’m sure your mood will be much improved once you’re with your father in Jaipur.’
Arabella continued to frown. She had a beautiful smile, Jane thought, if only she would show it more often. But she understood what a wrench it was for her to be uprooted from the only home she had known at such a young age, leaving her friends behind. She had felt much the same way when she’d been forced to leave Calcutta after her father died.
Elspeth gave a loud sigh. ‘I’ll certainly be glad when this wretched journey is over,’ she said in her soft Scots accent. She sounded exhausted, although they were only a few hours into this particular stage of the journey.
Jane watched her open the reticule she wore on a black velvet tape around her neck. It stood out against her lace dress, which, as with all of their once-white dresses, had become tainted by the dust. Elspeth had taken to her opium pills again, perhaps to relieve the monotony of their seemingly endless journey. Or, as Jane sensed from their conversations over the past months, perhaps she took them for another, more personal reason. Elspeth removed one of her pills and placed it into her mouth. She drew a slow breath and sighed again, only this time she did so quietly and with satisfaction, no doubt taking comfort in the knowledge that her little opium pill would see her through.
Jane cared nothing for such things. She’d read of its effects, and she’d seen them manifested often enough. She had noted how it could, for a short time, replace misery with happiness, how it excited and enlarged the senses, and in many cases, when the dose was high enough, led to both moral and physical debility. Ultimately, however, it appeared to leave one all the more disconsolate. She had read that it was rare to find an ‘opium-eater’ over thirty years of age if the practice had been started early enough. To her knowledge, however, this was a new fixation for Elspeth, which had begun soon after their arrival in Bombay. She prayed that Arabella would not take to it as her mother had.
Interrupting her thoughts, Faraday sat forward and said, ‘I shall report of our journey together, the four of us, just as soon as I’m settled in Jaipur. You shall all receive a favourable press, of course. No finer travelling companions could I have wished for.’
At Kota, Faraday had introduced himself as a newspaper correspondent with The Times. Originally from Yorkshire, he’d said he was now travelling the length and breadth of India reporting on everyday life under Company rule. He was rarely to be seen without a pencil poised in his hand. When not in his hand, it could usually be found balancing atop his right ear, where it was now.
‘You’re too kind,’ Jane said. ‘And what will you write of the lovely Arabella?’ she added, winking at her. ‘Will you mention her musical accomplishments with the recorder?’
Although she tried to hide it, Arabella began to smile at the flattery.
‘Or perhaps you’ll say that she’s the bravest among us for making such a journey at her young age?’ Jane continued, determined to see Arabella happy again.
‘Yes to all of those fine merits,’ Faraday said. ‘And of you, Mrs Hardwick, rest assured, I shall note with great pride your expertise in the multifarious languages and dialects of India, having heard you speak them so fluently first-hand. You are an asset to all who travel with you.’ He paused, averting his eyes as he began to flick at the hem of his jacket. ‘A man predisposed to the
reporting of life in India would do better than he deserves to have such a fine woman at his side.’
Jane feigned a smile, but inside she was exasperated. Could she not converse with the man at all without the threat of some furthering of their acquaintance? She feared not, and it was hopeless to suppose otherwise. She didn’t want to hurt Mr Faraday’s feelings, but she had to say something to let him know that she had no romantic interest in him. If she did not, she imagined he would make it his duty to seek her out once they reached Jaipur, and he would become quite the nuisance.
She was about to speak her mind on the matter when a cry went up ahead. A second later, a single gunshot rent the air and their horse began to whinny and rear up on its hind legs, bringing the carriage to a standstill. Another shot quickly followed the first. Orders were shouted by the officers and shots were returned. Jane noted that the terrain was more hilly here, ideal for an ambush, she thought. She looked to the hills, where she saw plumes of white powder smoke as more shots were fired on their position.
‘Dacoits!’ she said to her companions.
‘Bandits?’ Faraday said with surprise, as if scarcely able to believe it. ‘The audacity! Don’t they realise they’re firing on at least fifty Company riflemen?’
The dacoits’ confidence worried Jane. ‘The reward must be worth it,’ she said. ‘Does anyone know what cargo we’re carrying on those ox-carts?’
The faces around her were blank, except for Elspeth’s, who seemed to smile with delight every time a shot was fired, as if she were watching fireworks explode around her. Her opium tablet had clearly taken its desired effect.
‘Munitions?’ Faraday offered.
‘Or perhaps opium,’ Jane said, the substance fresh in her mind at seeing its effect on Elspeth. ‘I read an account of one such attack in recent months. The dacoits took off with around twenty maunds. The guard was much the same size as this.’
Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7) Page 3