Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7)

by Steve Robinson

  ‘Methods and Materials of Painting of the Great Schools and Masters by Charles Lock Eastlake,’ Tayte read from one of the spines. ‘There’s enough material in here to keep just about anyone content. I’ll be sure to come back and take a better look when I have more time.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sinclair said. ‘You have your research to do.’

  He turned away, heading for the door, and Tayte followed after him, collecting his things as he went. When Sinclair reached the door he stopped.

  ‘I meant to say, it’s Jamie’s funeral the day after tomorrow. You’re welcome to come along with Murray and me if you wish. I doubt there’ll be many there, and to be frank I’d appreciate your support. Jamie didn’t care much for the rest of the family. I’m sure he’d prefer to be in the hands of a stranger such as yourself when it comes to lowering his coffin into the ground.’

  The invitation came as something of a surprise, but how could Tayte refuse? ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’d be glad to attend.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Sinclair said as they headed back along the corridor. ‘I’ll let you know what time the car’s due to arrive. We can all travel to the church together.’

  Jefferson Tayte set his briefcase down by the desk in his room, took off his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair, eager to find out what was inside the parcel that had arrived for him. Without another moment’s delay, he tore it open like an excitable child at Christmas, and what he saw put a wide smile on his face. The contents of the package were accompanied by a note, which he read out to himself.

  ‘I thought you might need these. Love Jean.’

  Tayte had purposefully left his Hershey’s Miniatures at home, thinking to put them out of reach for a week or so, trying to break the habit. He held the bag up and continued to smile. Given what was going on here in Comrie, he thought he might just need them now. The note prompted him to take out his phone and call Jean. She picked up on the second ring.

  ‘JT!’ she said, sounding excited to hear his voice. ‘I’m so glad you called.’

  ‘Why? Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, everything’s great. I’m just glad to hear your voice. I miss you.’

  ‘I miss you, too. How are you? How’s Ben?’

  ‘We’re both fine. We’re about to head out for lunch.’

  ‘I wish I was going with you. I’ve decided I have to stay and help out here if I can. I don’t know if what I’m doing will make a difference, but I have to try. Two more people were murdered here last night—a man and his wife. You might have heard about it on TV already. I know it’s happening in Scotland, but I expect something this big would have national coverage.’

  ‘I’ve not seen the news lately,’ Jean said. ‘I’ll have a look later. Promise you’ll be careful, JT.’

  ‘I promise,’ Tayte said. ‘I don’t believe whoever’s doing this is after me. It all seems too personal—something to do with the ruby I’m after and this syndicate the victims were a part of. I’d better get back to it. I just called to say thanks for the candy. You must have read my mind.’

  ‘I’m glad it arrived okay. Just don’t eat it all at once.’

  ‘I’ll try not to.’

  ‘Save me a couple of Mr Goodbars, will you?’

  Tayte pulled a face. ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘Go on, you can do it. The discipline will be good for you.’

  Tayte sighed. ‘I’ll give it a go, but I can’t promise anything. You know Mr Goodbar’s my favourite.’

  ‘Why do you think I chose it?’

  ‘There’s a cruel streak in you, Mrs Tayte. You know that, don’t you?’

  Jean laughed. ‘You’re the one who wanted to cut back. If you can’t save two chocolates for the woman you love, what hope have you got?’

  Tayte sighed again. She had him there, but he had a plan. He opened the bag of Hershey’s, took out two of the Mr Goodbar chocolates and walked over to the wardrobe where he’d put his travel case. Out of sight is out of mind, he thought as he dropped the chocolates inside, knowing he could now eat the rest of the bag without having to leave two of his favourites in the bottom, calling to him every time he saw them.

  ‘No problem,’ he said, smiling to himself. ‘You have a great lunch. I’ll call again soon.’

  When the call ended, Tayte grabbed his bag of Hershey’s, opened his briefcase and thrust them inside before temptation could get the better of him. ‘Pace yourself, JT,’ he told himself. ‘You only have one bag, and it’s not even full.’ He pulled his laptop out and began to gather his thoughts. When he set it down on the desk and opened it, however, every thought in his head abandoned him. His breath caught in his chest. He was looking at another of Jane Hardwick’s letters. The old paper was identical and there was clearly no need for an envelope with his name on it this time.

  He opened the letter and saw that the year was now 1823, having been written several months after the previous letter he’d read. He quickly scanned the contents and saw mention of marriage, and of tears, but he was less concerned with the contents of the letter at this point. What concerned him most was how it had got into his briefcase, sandwiched between the keyboard and screen of his laptop. He’d had his briefcase close by him all day and he’d had no reason to open it before now. So who had? He considered who’d had the opportunity.

  ‘Moira Macrae?’ Tayte mumbled under his breath.

  He shook his head. His briefcase had either been in his hand or by his side throughout his entire visit. The only time it had left his sight that morning was when he’d thrown it on to the back seat of DI Ross’s car on the way to Moira’s house, and then on the way back to Drumarthen again. He’d been holding it since then, apart from a short time while he was looking at the books in Sinclair’s library.

  ‘Damian Sinclair?’ Tayte said, still thinking aloud.

  Although Sinclair had every opportunity to leave these letters for Tayte, he had trouble comprehending how his host, his client, could be the one feeding Jane’s letters to him like this. If Sinclair had them, he could just as well have presented them all to him upon his arrival at Drumarthen. What was to stop him?

  The answer quickly presented itself. Whoever had the letters was in the frame for the murders of Jamie and Dr Drummond. Tayte also thought about the timing. Someone was releasing the letters to him one at a time. There had to be a reason for that, and Tayte now supposed it was connected to the murders. So far, a letter had turned up just before or just after someone had been killed. It was as if the killer was buying himself time to complete what he’d set out to do before Tayte knew Jane’s full story.

  Tayte thought back to the last time he’d opened his briefcase. Until a moment ago, he’d had no reason to go in there for anything since the afternoon before, when he’d finished his research into Robert Christie. It occurred to him then that whoever put this latest letter in his briefcase could well have done so the night before, when they left the previous letter on the lamp table in the main hallway. It could easily have been Callum Macrae or Ewan Blair, or anyone else who might have taken advantage of Macrae having left the front door off the latch when he’d gone out to help Murray.

  Tayte sighed to himself. He had no way of knowing who had put Jane’s letter in his briefcase, but he thought the fact that they had all turned up at Drumarthen was telling. He supposed there was perhaps a connection to the house itself, or were they simply being left at the house because that was where he was? The letters were, after all, intended for him to read. He shook his head, deciding it was best to stay focused on his objective. As he picked up Jane’s letter again, his other hand subconsciously wandered down into his briefcase and withdrew one of his Hershey’s Miniatures. Then he deftly unfurled the wrapper with one hand, popped the chocolate into his mouth and began to read.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jaipur, March 1823

  As the months came and went, Arabella and the young sowar-prince fell more deeply in love. But it was an ill-fated love. Ja
ne was sure of that.

  On one side, Naresh Bharat Singh had his Hindu religion to consider: Rajput marriages were arranged, and as the Crown Prince of Kishangarh, his marriage was to be no different. His bride was already determined, as was the date of their marriage. Since meeting Arabella, however, and coming to understand what real love felt like, it was a marriage he no longer desired. His brother the maharaja, and all his counsel, would tell him that love did not matter, and who was he to question their time-honoured customs? But to Naresh Bharat Singh, it mattered very much.

  On the other side, Arabella’s father was no different from the vast majority of British officers and officials in India, showing little more than contempt for its native people, however high their caste. He would also not let up on his own designs for his daughter’s marriage as he continued to extol the virtues of Captain Donnan Fraser at every opportunity.

  But these things did not deter Bharat Singh, whose English had improved considerably over the winter months. ‘I believe that true love, once recognised, should be seized with all the heart, for it may never be found again,’ he had told Arabella one evening as they sat holding hands by the stream.

  Jane’s translation services were hardly required any more, but Arabella seemed to enjoy her company, as a chaperone, a friend, and perhaps even as a mother in light of Elspeth’s all too frequent absence from her daughter’s life. As their time in India progressed, Elspeth had taken to her bed more and more with one illness after another, and had now come to rely on her opium pills to see her through each and every day.

  Jane was with Arabella now, standing outside her father’s study at the residency as Arabella tried to pluck up the courage to knock on his door.

  ‘I can’t do it!’ Arabella said in a strained whisper. ‘Can’t you ask him for me?’

  ‘You know the answer to that, Bella. You must find your courage if you mean to go through with this, or we’ll be here all afternoon. You do want this, don’t you?’

  ‘Aye, with all my heart,’ Arabella said. Then she drew a deep breath and knocked.

  ‘Come!’

  Her father’s coarse tones sent a shiver even through Jane as she stood beside Arabella, whose hands, she noticed, were already aquiver.

  Jane gave her a warm smile. ‘Go on, dear,’ she said. ‘You can do this.’

  Arabella nodded. ‘Don’t go away, will you?’

  ‘I’ll not move an inch. Now go on with you.’

  Arabella stepped closer to the door and turned the handle. ‘I’ll leave the door open so you can hear us,’ she said. Then she stepped inside.

  Through the gap, Jane couldn’t resist watching Arabella walk slowly towards her father. He was sitting at an intricately carved Indian rosewood desk of huge proportions, which made him seem small by comparison. Suspended from the high ceiling above the desk, a turquoise punkah wafted slowly back and forth. The punkah wallah operating it was out of sight, perhaps sitting outside beyond the lattice windows so as not to distract Sir John at his work.

  ‘Bella, my darling!’ Sir John said, his face lighting up at seeing her. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘I–I hope I’m not interrupting you,’ Arabella said, stammering slightly.

  Sir John slapped his right hand down on to a pile of papers that sat a foot high on his desk. ‘Company business would allow me no respite whatsoever if I let it,’ he said. He removed his reading glasses and sat back in his chair. ‘In truth, you’re just the excuse I need to rest my eyes. Now, what troubles you so much that it can’t keep until tiffin?’

  Trouble was just the word Jane had in mind as Arabella stepped up to the desk.

  ‘You recall the Crown Prince of Kishangarh, Father? He visited with us last autumn with the maharaja.’

  ‘Yes, of course. A fine young man, although of very few words, as I remember.’

  ‘Do you really think him a fine man?’ Arabella asked, optimism in her voice.

  ‘As fine as any Indian prince, I’m sure. But what of him?’

  Arabella began to turn her heel back and forth. She was a long time answering. ‘He would like . . .’ she began, faltering.

  ‘Yes, what would he like?’

  ‘He would like to ask you a very important question. A question whose answer has been weighing heavily on my mind.’

  ‘Well, get to it,’ Sir John said, sitting forward on his elbows. ‘What is it?’

  Arabella coughed nervously. Then she stuck her chin out and said, ‘The crown prince would like to ask you for my hand in marriage.’

  There, it was done, Jane thought as she waited to hear Sir John’s response, although she could guess at his reply. She had told Arabella many times in recent weeks that her father was unlikely to agree to such a union. Had she tried hard enough? She feared not, but who was she to stand in the way of two young people who had found a place for one another in their hearts?

  Sir John fell back into his chair, his face suddenly lined with disbelief at what his own ears had just heard. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he said, screwing his face up further. ‘Has the heat affected your senses? Of course you cannot marry him!’

  ‘But, Father,’ Arabella protested. ‘He’s a crown prince, and—’

  ‘I couldn’t care less if he was the wealthiest maharaja in India. You’re not marrying a native and that’s final. Besides, what of Captain Fraser? You know full well by now that he has his heart set on you, just as you know it’s my wish that you and he should marry.’

  At that point Arabella burst into tears, and Jane couldn’t stop herself from rushing to her side.

  ‘Now it all becomes clear,’ Sir John said. ‘I suppose I have you to thank for putting my daughter up to this. You’ve been filling her head with romantic notions since the day you arrived, haven’t you? If I thought I’d ever hear the last of it from my wife, I’d send you packing this instant!’

  While there were a good many things Jane would have liked to say to Sir John Christie at that moment, she knew better. Instead, she put her arm around Arabella and led her out of the room as the girl continued to sob her young heart out.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jaipur, March 1823

  Five days later, Jane was sitting at the supper table opposite Arabella. The evening meal was almost over, and Jane could see that her young charge was glad of it. The reason was sitting beside her in the form of Captain Donnan Fraser, whom Sir John had insisted join them yet again, for the second time that week. Since Arabella had told her father of her wish to marry Naresh Bharat Singh, it seemed to Jane that Sir John had gone out of his way to bring Captain Fraser and Arabella together even more than usual. Jane had no doubt that he did so in the hope that his daughter would soon give up her foolish notion of marrying the crown prince, but Jane knew she would not.

  The table conversation had so far been congenial enough, although it had largely been dominated, as usual, by Sir John and Captain Fraser discussing politics and military matters, in which no one else seemed to have the slightest interest.

  ‘What’s your brother up to these days?’ Sir John asked the captain. ‘Last time you spoke of him he was fighting in the Punjab, and we all know how that turned out!’

  ‘Every dog has its day,’ Fraser said. ‘The Sikh Empire may have won the war for now, but they can’t hold out forever. I received a letter from Lachlan just a few weeks ago. He’s not too far away. His company is currently stationed in Delhi, awaiting orders. He believes he’ll be coming to Jaipur soon. It would be good to see him again. It’s been too long.’

  Fraser sipped his coffee and set the cup down again, turning to Arabella with a smile that had not been far from his lips all evening. ‘Thanks to your father,’ he said, nodding to Sir John, ‘it is my sincere hope that you and I at least shall soon be able to see all the more of one another.’

  ‘How so?’ Arabella said, frowning as she continued to toy with her dessert, clearly in no mood for it. ‘What of your duties?’

  ‘That’s just the th
ing. Pretty soon my duties will be limited to Jaipur and its neighbouring states. I’m to deal with the dacoit problem in the area, having been granted full autonomy to stamp it out once and for all.’

  ‘And the area will be a safer place for it,’ Sir John bellowed. ‘As I told the Governor-General of Rajputana just last week, you’re just the man for the job.’

  ‘How convenient for you,’ Jane said, smiling to hide her sarcasm.

  ‘Aye, indeed,’ Elspeth said, signalling to one of the servants to top up her brandy glass for the umpteenth time that evening. ‘I look forward to your visits almost as much as Bella must. It’s so nice to have someone of the opposite sex to talk to from time to time.’

  At the other end of the table, Sir John sat up, his cheeks flushing. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Come now, John,’ Elspeth said, smiling back at him, her head visibly wobbling as she spoke. ‘You know full well what I mean. You barely know I’m here.’

  ‘You barely are here! How many of your pills did you take this evening?’

  ‘Enough to see me through another evening in your company.’

  ‘You forget your place, madam!’

  Before the conversation could decline further, Arabella got to her feet and said, ‘I’m going outside.’

  ‘That’s a splendid idea,’ Fraser said, rising with her.

  ‘No, Captain Fraser. Unlike my mother, I’ve had quite enough of your company for this evening.’

  ‘Arabella!’ Sir John protested.

  Arabella ignored him. ‘Jane, would you care to join me?’

  As Fraser dropped back down on to his seat, his expression bewildered, Jane stood up and neatly folded her napkin. Then she and Arabella left the room to the sound of Sir John’s flustered voice.

  ‘Now see what you’ve done, woman!’

  It was a cool evening, the courtyard air sweetly scented with the subtle fragrance of amaryllis and a host of other colourful spring-flowering plants. Looking up as she breathed in the scent, the immeasurable night sky reminded Jane of such dark, clear nights aboard the Repulse on their voyage from Southampton, now over a year ago. There was an enormity to the sky that was difficult to comprehend, the myriad bright stars so infinite and intense.