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

by Steve Robinson

  ‘As if someone purposefully wanted to ensure there were no survivors?’ Jane asked, considering Captain Fraser’s motives again.

  ‘I really couldn’t say, Mrs Hardwick. The captain who led the attack clearly wanted to set an example to any other dacoits in the area. That much is certain.’

  ‘Captain Donnan Fraser,’ Jane said, considering whether setting an example could very well have been all Fraser had in mind, given his recent orders to put an end to the dacoit problem.

  ‘Yes, that was the officer’s name,’ Faraday said. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘We’re acquainted, although I can’t pretend to know him well.’

  Faraday sat forward with a questioning smile. ‘May I ask why someone as genteel as your good self is interested in these macabre goings on?’

  Jane paused before answering, deciding whether or not to confide in Mr Faraday her suspicions that Captain Fraser had another motive for ensuring no one survived the attack. ‘What I’m about to tell you, I tell you in the strictest confidence,’ she said, having concluded that in her pursuit of the truth, she had to tell someone. ‘You’re to speak of what I’m about to tell you to no one, nor write about it in your correspondences without my permission. Before I go on, do I have your word?’

  ‘Of course,’ Faraday said, eyeing Jane sharply, clearly keen to learn what she had to say. ‘And you have my utmost attention.’

  ‘Very well,’ Jane began, and proceeded to tell Faraday why Naresh Bharat Singh was travelling to Jaipur the evening he was killed, adding everything she had heard spoken between Sir John Christie and the Maharaja of Kishangarh.

  Faraday pressed his fingers together and drew a deep breath. ‘In light of what you’ve just told me,’ he said as soon as Jane had finished speaking, ‘I’m sure you’ll be most interested to hear what else I have to tell you.’

  ‘Go on, Mr Faraday. What more do you know of the matter?’

  ‘Well, it has been drawn into question whether the people slain that evening by Captain Fraser and his men were dacoits at all.’

  ‘Not dacoits?’ Jane said, momentarily bewildered by the possibility.

  ‘Precisely,’ Faraday said, smiling—no doubt because he knew that his statement added weight to Jane’s suspicions. ‘Two people have since come forward, a man and a woman of no relation to one another, but who were related to those that had died in the massacre. This man and woman had been away from their families at the time—the woman fetching water, the man simply returning to his family from his recent travels. I was generously granted an interview with each of them independently. Both appeared genuinely shocked to hear that their families had been taken for savage and violent dacoits when, to the contrary, they each informed me that they and their families practiced Jainism.’

  ‘A tenet of nonviolence,’ Jane said. ‘A respect of all living things.’

  ‘Precisely, and in which case, they were hardly murderous dacoits.’

  She had not wanted to believe it possible, but at hearing this new revelation, Jane was all the more certain that Captain Fraser had set the whole thing up to mask the murder of Naresh Bharat Singh. To remove suspicion over the killing of one person, he was responsible for the deaths of close to fifty. Having gone out that evening and killed Bharat Singh, Fraser had taken Singh’s horse, his personal effects and his trove of jewels, which the sowar-prince had no doubt taken from Kishangarh to fund his and Arabella’s elopement, and had then pretended to find them after he and his men had brutally slain all those innocent people. Jane could still barely entertain the idea that any man could do such a thing, and yet she could now see it no other way. It all fitted together so well, but how could she prove it?

  ‘Thank you, Mr Faraday,’ she said. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jaipur, April 1823

  ‘Sir John, I must speak with you,’ Jane said upon entering the resident’s study.

  Sir John appeared as flustered as he usually did whenever he was at his desk. His brow was creased, his cheeks were flushed, and now that summer had begun its return to India, his forehead was glistening with sweat, despite the punkah that wafted slowly back and forth above him. He pulled at his starched white collar and grimaced at Jane as she approached.

  ‘I’m very busy, Mrs Hardwick,’ he said. ‘Can the matter not wait until supper this evening?’

  ‘I’m afraid what I have to say will not make fitting table conversation.’

  ‘Very well. What is it?’

  ‘It concerns Captain Fraser and the death of the Crown Prince of Kishangarh.’

  Sir John set his pen down and sat back in his chair. ‘Does it, indeed. Well, sit down, sit down. Say what you have to say and be quick about it.’

  Jane sat down, wondering how best to proceed. She had just come from Arabella’s room, where she had spent most of the morning conveying her findings since going to see Mr Faraday the week before. She could hardly take as long to tell Sir John of her suspicions. She reflected momentarily on how Arabella had cared little for what she’d told her, saying that none of it mattered now that Naresh Bharat Singh was dead. But it did matter, and she hoped the man sitting opposite her, a man in a position to do something about it, would feel the same way.

  ‘As you wish me to be brief, I’ll get straight to the point,’ Jane said, knotting her fingers together, feeling a little nervous in light of the accusations she was about to make. ‘I believe Captain Fraser murdered the maharaja’s brother and went on to massacre innocent natives to cover it up.’

  Sir John leaned forward, his brow suddenly more creased than ever. ‘Captain Fraser?’ he said, seemingly unable to believe his ears. ‘Be very careful, Mrs Hardwick. Those are serious allegations.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that,’ Jane said, ‘and I can assure you I do not make them lightly.’

  ‘You have some evidence to support this?’

  Jane quickly thought over what she knew. She shook her head. ‘No, but you must hear what I have to say. Once you have, I’m sure you’ll agree that the matter demands further investigation.’

  ‘Go on, go on,’ Sir John said as he sat back again, clearly growing impatient.

  ‘Very well. Firstly there’s the matter of motive. Captain Fraser, with your blessing, has his heart set on Arabella. I believe he overheard Arabella telling me of her plan to elope two evenings before Bharat Singh came for her, which of course was on the evening he was murdered. The captain had been at the residency all that day, and yet that very evening his duties called him away.’

  ‘That’s right. He’s a soldier. His time is rarely his own.’

  ‘That may be so, but it’s my belief that his time was his own that evening, and that he used it to stop Arabella eloping with the man she loved.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m sorry Bharat Singh didn’t cart my only daughter off to God knows where that evening,’ Sir John said. ‘Does that simple fact also make me a suspect in your investigations? I had as strong a motive as Captain Fraser—perhaps stronger.’

  It had crossed Jane’s mind, but as she had previously thought, if Sir John had known of his daughter’s plan to elope that night, he would simply have locked her door and barred her windows. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then why Fraser?’

  Jane cleared her throat. ‘A few days ago, I went to see a newspaper correspondent of my acquaintance here in Jaipur. He told me that those people Captain Fraser and his men slaughtered soon after Bharat Singh’s body was discovered—people who were allegedly dacoits—were in fact Jainists. In other words, they couldn’t harm anyone, nor any living thing. Simply put, they were not dacoits at all.’

  ‘So why were Bharat Singh’s horse, his ring and all the valuable possessions he was carrying with him that night found at their camp?’

  Jane sat forward, gesturing enthusiastically with her hands as she said, ‘Don’t you see? These people were used as scapegoats. It would have been easy for Captain Fraser to make out th
at he’d found Bharat Singh’s possessions after these poor people were dead, blaming them for his murder as a result, accusing them of being dacoits. And who was left after the massacre to say otherwise?’

  Sir John set a quizzical eye on Jane. ‘How can you know these natives were not dacoits when every last one of them was killed?’

  ‘Two family members later came forward.’

  ‘I see,’ Sir John mused. ‘That could prove very useful,’ he added, as if coming around to Jane’s way of thinking.

  ‘That’s what I thought, so I tracked them down, thinking that if I could talk to them I might be able to learn something more.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yes, and no,’ Jane said. ‘And this is where my suspicions of foul play were truly aroused. When I located where the woman had been staying, I was told she was dead.’

  ‘Dead? How?’

  ‘She met with a fatal accident, just the day before. It had something to do with an ox-cart. Apparently she was trampled to death.’

  ‘Dear, dear. And the other?’

  ‘I searched long and hard, even soliciting the services of several natives to help me, but I’ve not been able to find the man my correspondent acquaintance spoke of. He was a traveller, so it’s possible he went back on his travels after returning to Jaipur to find his family dead, but so soon? I suspect that he, too, is dead. I believe that Captain Fraser has been busy covering his tracks.’

  ‘I see,’ Sir John said. ‘You certainly pose an interesting theory, Mrs Hardwick, and I must confess that it holds up rather well. However, if Captain Fraser is guilty of the things you say, he has indeed covered his tracks, and perhaps too well. It won’t be easy proving any of this. It may be impossible.’

  ‘I know, which is why I’ve come to you, as a man of power and influence. Your close association with Captain Fraser may also work to your advantage should you see enough merit in what I’ve told you to attempt to bring the man to justice.’

  Sir John drew a long breath through his nose and sighed heavily. A moment later he said, ‘Captain Fraser may have his faults, as do we all, but it is my firm belief that he’s an honourable man.’ He paused, tapping his fingers together in deliberation. ‘I can promise nothing, of course, but leave the matter with me and I’ll see what I can do. How’s that?’

  Jane nodded. ‘I only wish for justice,’ she said. ‘For Naresh Bharat Singh, and for all those poor natives who were killed.’

  ‘I understand,’ Sir John said. ‘I’ll give the matter my utmost attention. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have important affairs of state to deal with first.’

  ‘Of course, Sir John. Thank you for your time.’

  The following morning, Jane was in the grand hall helping Elspeth and a host of servants with the decorations for Arabella’s birthday party, which was now just a few days away.

  ‘A little higher,’ Elspeth called to two of the servants, who were raising a swathe of bright cerise cloth above one of the windows, trying to position it perfectly in line with the rest.

  Jane was sitting at one end of a long table that was capable of seating at least forty people, writing place cards for all the key guests. ‘I still have my doubts as to whether Arabella will come to her birthday party,’ she said to Elspeth. ‘To my knowledge, she hasn’t left her room once since she heard the young prince was dead.’

  ‘No,’ Elspeth said, ‘but she’ll come around, just you wait and see. What girl could resist her own birthday party, and her eighteenth at that? One more day and she’ll be a grown woman, with a woman’s head on her shoulders. She’ll quickly realise how childish she’s been over this native boy.’

  Jane wished she could share Elspeth’s confidence over the matter, but having seen Arabella draw more and more into herself each day, she could not.

  ‘If it comes to it,’ Elspeth continued, ‘her father will have the servants drag her out of there. Enough is enough. We can’t disappoint our guests.’ Her face took on a horrified expression at the idea.

  Jane went back to writing her place cards, thinking there was going to be nothing but trouble and disappointment ahead as far as Arabella’s eighteenth birthday was concerned. She finished another and set it aside with the rest—only a dozen or so now to go. She picked up her quill pen to continue, dipped it in the ink, then she heard several heavy footsteps behind her and turned to see Sir John enter the room. With him were four armed soldiers in their smart red tunics. Two were carrying a small, but heavy-looking, cast-iron strongbox, painted black.

  ‘Elspeth, my dear,’ Sir John said, looking more jolly and showing more affection towards his wife than Jane had yet seen. ‘I’ve something to show you while I’m still in a position to do so.’

  ‘What is it, John?’ Elspeth said, going to his side, leaving the two servants holding the swathe of cerise cloth suspended on their ladders.

  At Sir John’s signal, the two soldiers holding the strongbox carefully lowered it to the floor by its handles. ‘A thing of most wondrous beauty,’ he said as he produced two keys from his waistcoat pocket: one large, the other small. He bent over the box, set the large key in the lock and turned it to release the locking bolts. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard the commotion outside this morning. This strongbox is to begin its journey to Bombay this very day for onward passage to England. Aside from these fine soldiers, there are close to a hundred more waiting in the courtyard inside the main gate to ensure it arrives safely.’

  ‘I did wonder at the noise,’ Elspeth said, ‘but really we’ve been far too busy to pay it much attention, haven’t we, Jane?’

  Jane stood up and went to Elspeth, her eyes now also on the strongbox as Sir John began to lift the lid, groaning a little from the weight of it. ‘Yes, quite busy,’ she agreed.

  ‘Inside this box,’ Sir John said, ‘are the many valuables Captain Fraser and his men found at that wretched dacoit settlement—the murderous scoundrels.’

  He paused as he reached down into the box, and as he did so, Jane saw a glimmer of gold within. Then Sir John withdrew another, far smaller—yet clearly strong—box, and closed the lid. He set the one down on top of the other.

  ‘In truth,’ Sir John continued, offering the smaller of the two keys to the lock, ‘I was in two minds whether or not to show this to you, but such things are a rare sight indeed.’

  Sir John opened the smaller box and withdrew something that was wrapped in green silk. It filled his hand. ‘I imagine few people will see it in this state again once it reaches England. I expect the Honourable East India Company will make a gift of it to His Majesty the King, to further strengthen the bonds between them.’

  He unfurled the silk very slowly, holding his hand up to the light as he did so, gradually revealing the largest ruby Jane had ever seen. Neither she nor Elspeth, it seemed, could contain the gasps that rose from within them.

  ‘There,’ Sir John said. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I’m told the natives call it the Blood of Rajputana, although I expect it will be renamed once it’s in England and has been cut.’

  ‘How beautiful indeed,’ Elspeth said. ‘Don’t you agree, Jane?’

  Jane nodded. It was beautiful, even in this rough, uncut state. Just the same, she could not help but look upon it with mixed feelings. She knew who it really belonged to, spoil of war or otherwise. At least, she had heard the Maharaja of Kishangarh claim that it belonged to him. She also knew full well how it had come to be there in front of her: it was as a result of Naresh Bharat Singh’s murder and the slaughter of a settlement of people whom Jane had come to believe were not murderous dacoits at all.

  Sir John held the ruby aloft for a full minute, turning his hand slowly back and forth so that the stone could be seen in its entirety. Then he began to fold the silk back over it again. ‘Well, there you have it,’ he said as he lowered it back into its place. ‘Now the ruby must commence its journey. I’ve kept its temporary custodians too long from their duties as it is.’ He locked the small box again and set it b
ack inside the larger one with the other treasures that had been recovered. Then he closed the lid and proceeded to lock the strongbox again. ‘They mustn’t be kept waiting a moment longer,’ he added, putting the keys back into his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘You’re keeping the keys, John?’

  ‘Of course. This box won’t be opened again until it arrives in England. The keys and the box cannot travel together.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Elspeth said. ‘How silly of me. Such a beautiful thing could play heavily on a man’s desires.’

  ‘Quite,’ Sir John said. ‘It’s far safer that the keys remain here. Once in London, the box can be opened by other means.’

  Without further prompt, the two soldiers who had carried the strongbox in picked it up again and began to leave.

  ‘I’ll let you get about your arrangements for the party,’ Sir John said. ‘I just thought you’d like to see it.’

  ‘Yes, and thank you,’ Elspeth replied, a hand on Sir John’s arm and a hint of warmth in her voice, perhaps on account of her husband’s rare and thoughtful gesture.

  Neither lingered in the moment. Elspeth returned to the two servants, whose arms were surely aching beyond belief by now, and Sir John made for the door. As he did so, Jane went to him.

  ‘Sir John,’ she said, almost in a whisper. ‘Have you managed to give any consideration to the matter we spoke of yesterday?’

  ‘I have. That said, I have no news for you. I should first like to speak with Captain Fraser, but his duties with these damned dacoits are keeping him away from us. As soon as he’s able to return to us, you have my word that I shall quiz him most thoroughly about the matter. Whatever he tells me can be substantiated or otherwise refuted by his commanding officer, or the other gentlemen he keeps company with. We’ll soon see if his story adds up. I must, however, be allowed to speak with him first.’

  ‘Of course, Sir John,’ Jane said, thinking that Captain Fraser had perhaps rather too conveniently made himself scarce these past few weeks.