Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jaipur, April 1823
It was the day before Arabella’s eighteenth birthday party. Invitations had been sent, all preparations made. Now, at last, Jane was free of involvement in Elspeth’s overly fastidious planning and had some time to herself again. She was in her room, sitting at a small desk by the open shutters of her window, which looked out over the city rooftops towards the Aravalli Hills. Having decided to spend the morning writing home to her brother of recent events in Jaipur, she was keen to finish expressing her concerns about Captain Fraser and the murder of the Crown Prince of Kishangarh. Such was her plan, but before her letter was half-written, she was interrupted by a knock on her door.
Jane turned to see who it was. ‘Come in!’
As the door opened, a hot breeze blew in through the window, causing her writing paper to flap. It was her personal servant, Rashmi, standing tall in the doorframe in his red turban, his beard split in two and tied behind his neck as it always was.
‘Apologies, memsaab,’ Rashmi said. ‘There is a most insistent man at the gate who wishes to speak with you. His name is Mr Faraday.’
‘Faraday?’ Jane scrunched her brow. What was he doing here?
‘Yes, memsaab. I told him you were not to be disturbed, as you instructed, but he will not listen. Humble apologies once more.’
‘It’s all right, Rashmi. Thank you.’
Jane set her quill down and stood up, wondering as she closed the shutters what Mr Faraday was doing at the residency. She followed after Rashmi at a pace, thinking it must have something to do with Captain Fraser. Had something else come to light? As she left the building and strode across the main courtyard to find out, she certainly hoped so.
Albert Faraday was standing in the shade just outside the main gate as Jane approached. She thought he looked worse than when she had last seen him, if that were possible, although it was apparent from the tie at his neck and the wilting flower in his lapel that he had made some effort, for what it was worth. He still looked feverish, his skin pale and clammy, despite the heat. He pulled at his collar as she drew closer, putting on a wide smile that was over the top to say the least.
‘Mrs Hardwick! It’s so good to see you again. Though you do not realise it, you are the very tonic for what ails me. Why, the mere thought of seeing you again has lifted my spirits to—’
‘Good morning, Mr Faraday,’ Jane cut in, unable to listen to his overblown flattery a moment longer. ‘My servant tells me you wish to speak with me. I trust you’re here to discuss something important.’
‘Er, yes,’ Faraday stumbled, still smiling. ‘You’ve not heard the news then? Perhaps it is because I have not yet reported it.’
‘News? What news?’
‘Why, I should have thought that you of all people would know by now, Mrs Hardwick, living here at the residency as you do. The resident is surely aware by now, although I’m equally sure he must be a very busy man—too busy by far, it seems, to have broadcast this terrible news to the household. It is he with whom I would ask your favour in securing me an interview.’
‘An interview?’ Jane asked, frustration in her tone. ‘About what? Get to the point, will you? What should I have already heard about?’
‘The attack!’ Faraday said, throwing his arms in the air as if everyone in Jaipur should have heard about it by now. ‘The soldiers who left this very spot less than a week ago, charged with the conveyance of undisclosed items to Bombay at the resident’s behest, were set upon close to Kishangarh’s southernmost border. Many soldiers were killed, their cargo stolen.’
‘Stolen?’ Jane said, momentarily lost for words as she pictured the black strongbox she’d seen, and the enormous ruby it contained. This was news indeed. But what did it mean? Surely this was no random attack. Whoever was responsible had to know what they were after. ‘Do you know who led the attack?’
‘Dacoits were blamed at first, of course. Who else would be so bold as to attack a hundred armed soldiers of the East India Company? But rumours spread fast among the natives. I’ve heard that it was the Maharaja of Kishangarh, taking back what he felt was rightfully his. There’s a story behind the gossip, I’m sure of it.’
In light of what Jane knew, it made sense to her that the maharaja had ordered the attack on the soldiers in order to get his ruby back. The Blood of Rajputana, as he’d called it, clearly meant a great deal to him. ‘The attack happened near Kishangarh’s southernmost border, you say?’
‘That’s right, but what was the maharaja after? That’s what I’d like to know.’
Jane didn’t answer. She remained silent with her thoughts for several seconds.
‘So, an interview with Sir John Christie? Do you think you can arrange it? I’m sure he knows a great deal more about the matter.’
‘The interview. Yes, of course,’ Jane said, snapping out of her thoughts at last. ‘I’m sure he’ll be too busy, but I’ll see what I can do.’
‘That is all any man can ask or expect to hope for,’ Faraday said with a smile and a polite bow of his head.
Chapter Thirty
Jaipur, April 1823
Early on the morning of Arabella’s eighteenth birthday, Jane awoke with a start. Her eyes shot open and she sat up in her bed, her pulse suddenly racing. From the pale, pinkish light at her windows, she quickly determined that it was close to daybreak, not quite six o’clock. She had been dreaming that she was amidst the attack on those poor soldiers Mr Faraday had told her about the day before. She supposed it was because she had spoken about it at length with Sir John at supper last evening, the matter still fresh in her mind as she retired to her bed. Sir John had refused Mr Faraday his interview, which was much as Jane had expected. All through supper he appeared to remain deeply shocked by the incident, readily blaming the Maharaja of Kishangarh, against whom there would be serious repercussions should the rumours of his involvement prove to be true.
In her dream Jane kept seeing Captain Fraser over and over again, a turban on his blackened face, his eyes wild with murderous intent, the bright steel of his sabre covered with blood. That was her dream, although in waking she felt it silly to suppose that Captain Fraser could have anything to do with an attack on Company soldiers. These men were not natives, after all—people for whom Jane knew Fraser held little regard—but soldiers of the East India Company, much like himself.
But was it the dream that had awoken her?
Jane shook her head. No, it had been something else. She was sure of it. She folded back her bedcovers, stood and went to the window. All was calm and quiet, and yet she could not shake the unpleasant feeling that something was wrong. She put on her robe and tied the sash as she paced to the door to check the corridor, but before she had taken two steps towards it, she heard a scream and froze. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought it was Elspeth.
Jane was at her door in seconds. She flung it open, meaning to rush to her friend’s aid, to find out why she had screamed. As she opened it, however, she immediately cowered back, her heart beating faster. A man dressed all in black, his face and head covered in the same midnight cloth, was standing outside her door.
The man’s eyes looked as startled at seeing Jane as hers must have appeared to him. In an instant he’d pulled a curved dagger from his belt and had raised it above his head, ready to kill her if he chose to. But he did not. He paused with the dagger in mid-air, and Jane’s eyes were drawn to the markings on the inside of his right forearm, which was now exposed. It was a Sanskrit tattoo, etched into his skin in dark red ink.
Noting the intruder’s hesitation, Jane quickly kicked her door shut again and turned the key in the lock. She stood against it breathing heavily until she dared open it again. When she did, the intruder was gone. She looked left and right along the corridor, just to be certain. Then a moment later she heard another door open and close further along the corridor as Elspeth came out of her room. Thankfully, she appeared to be unharmed. They met at the top of
the stairs, and within seconds they were both surrounded by servants and residency guards, followed by Sir John in his nightcap, gown and slippers. He had a candle in one hand and a heavy-looking bludgeon in the other.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ he cried. ‘Elspeth? Did I hear you screaming? Whatever’s the matter?’
‘Intruders at the residency!’ Elspeth cried, frantically gesturing with an ivory-handled letter opener. ‘We are besieged!’
Sir John turned to Jane. ‘Jane? Is this true?’ he asked, as if holding little value in his wife’s hysterical opinion. ‘Have you seen any of these intruders?’
‘Yes. Outside my room a moment ago. Just one man, dressed from head to toe in black.’
‘One man, eh?’ Sir John turned to Elspeth with a look of disdain. ‘Besieged indeed. You need to take a hold of yourself, woman. I trust you also saw this man, hence your screaming?’
‘I did,’ Elspeth said, still brandishing her letter opener. ‘I wasn’t sleeping well. I was already awake when he opened my door and came into my room.’
‘What in heaven’s name did he want in there? And put that blasted letter opener down before you harm someone.’
Elspeth set the letter opener down on a side table between two brightly painted vases. ‘There could be more of them.’
Sir John drew a long breath. ‘Aye, I suppose there could,’ he said. Then, to the guards and servants, he added, ‘Conduct a thorough search of the premises, although I suspect whoever was here is long gone by now.’
‘Who was it?’ Elspeth asked as soon as the three of them were alone. ‘What did he want?’
‘How the devil should I know?’ Sir John said. He paused. ‘Heavens! Where’s Arabella?’
Elspeth put a hand to her mouth, clearly now as concerned about their daughter as Sir John was. They all rushed to her room, and there she was, still sleeping soundly in her bed.
‘Thank goodness,’ Sir John said in a whisper, although it seemed that little could wake Arabella from her deep slumber. ‘We’d best leave her oblivious to this for now,’ he added, turning back to the door.
As they made to leave, Arabella rolled on to her side and her movement drew Jane’s eye. There was something on her pillow.
‘Wait,’ she said, going closer to get a better look.
It was a small piece of cloth, and on the cloth was embroidered the same Sanskrit word she had seen tattooed on the intruder’s forearm. She picked it up and took it back out into the corridor.
‘What is it, Jane?’ Sir John asked.
‘It’s Sanskrit. The intruder carried the same mark. He must have put it there.’
Elspeth sidled closer to get a better look. ‘What does it say?’
Jane studied the markings. ‘The Hindi word is pativrataguna. It means virtue of loyalty or fidelity. In other words, a patriot. But to what or whom?’
‘And why put it on Arabella’s pillow?’ Sir John said. ‘What can it mean?’
‘It’s clearly a message,’ Jane said. ‘A warning perhaps?’
Elspeth put her hand to her mouth. ‘A warning! You think Arabella is in danger? But why? Who would wish to harm her?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jane said. ‘I’m just guessing. It was specifically placed on Arabella’s pillow, though. There has to be a reason, and the reason must concern your daughter.’
‘Let’s not jump to any rash conclusions,’ Sir John said. ‘Arabella is safe and sound. If the intruder wished to harm her just now, he would have done so when he had the chance. Go back to your beds. We’ll discuss the matter further over breakfast.’
With that, Sir John made off in one direction while Elspeth hurried away in the other. As for Jane, she knew she could not go back to sleep, any more than she thought Elspeth would be able to. She still had the piece of cloth in her hand. She looked at it again, reading the Sanskrit as she wondered what the message really meant. She felt sure it was a warning of some kind. Someone clearly wanted something, and it seemed to her that Arabella’s life was in danger if they did not get it.
The only thing that came to mind was the ruby, which she had heard the Maharaja of Kishangarh tell Sir John belonged to him. But if the rumours were true, didn’t the maharaja already have his ruby back? Why then send someone after it now? If the intruder was loyal to the Maharaja of Kishangarh, perhaps even loyal to the Blood of Rajputana itself, then it would appear that the maharaja was not behind the attack after all. In which case, who was?
Images from Jane’s dream suddenly flashed through her mind, and she saw Captain Fraser’s blackened face again. She shook her head. If he was behind the attack and the theft of the ruby, why should anyone threaten the resident’s daughter in order to get it back? Did the maharaja believe that the resident himself was somehow complicit in the attack? The idea seemed preposterous. She had seen Sir John lock the ruby away in that strongbox. Why include it in the itinerary with the rest of the jewels Bharat Singh had been carrying when he was killed if he meant to steal it back again?
Another possibility occurred to Jane. If indeed it was the Maharaja of Kishangarh who sent the intruder she had seen, perhaps he intended to threaten Arabella because he thought Sir John would have enough leverage with whoever did now have the ruby to get it back for him. That notion brought Jane’s thoughts around to Captain Fraser again. She sighed to herself, concluding that there were too many questions confusing her mind to make sense of anything just now.
She decided she would go and lie down on her bed until a more reasonable hour, even if she couldn’t sleep. She started back towards her room, but as she did so she saw that Elspeth had left her letter opener on the side table. She picked it up and turned back, thinking to return it to her, knowing that Elspeth could not yet have settled back into her bed. She knocked once on her door and entered.
What she saw made her wish she had not.
Elspeth was kneeling on the floor at the foot of her bed with her back to the door. The rug was folded over and there was a length of floorboard sitting on top of it. As Jane stepped closer, Elspeth turned towards her with startled eyes, expressing panic and confusion. She made no attempt to move. She just knelt there, frozen and fearful. In her hands was the Blood of Rajputana.
Chapter Thirty-One
Present day
The morning after Chrissie MacIntyre’s body had been found in the woods near Drummond Castle, Tayte was back at the desk in his room. He’d spent the time since breakfast thinking about Jane Hardwick’s latest letter while continuing to plough through Dr Drummond’s research, ever conscious of the fact that Ross wanted it back today and he still hadn’t found anything useful. There weren’t many records left to look at. He thought he only needed another half an hour or so, but as it was now almost time to accompany Sinclair to his brother’s funeral, he knew they would have to wait.
He’d been thinking about the recent murders, too. He didn’t know what was going on or why, any more than he felt DI Ross did, but as there was now no doubt whatsoever that the person behind these murders was the same person who wanted him to find the Blood of Rajputana, he did know it was all the more imperative to work out what had become of it. Sinclair had been right: the ruby had to be found and used to draw this killer out. The stakes suddenly felt higher to Tayte than ever.
That was if it could be found.
He’d read in Jane’s letter that the ruby had been sent to Bombay for onward passage to England, but it hadn’t made it out of Rajputana. It had been stolen, the raid on the soldiers carrying it blamed on the Maharaja of Kishangarh. And yet, in Jane’s latest letter he’d read that the ruby had somehow fallen into the hands of Lady Elspeth Christie. Tayte wished the letter he’d read on the iPad Ross had handed him the evening before had been complete so that he might have learned how Elspeth came to be sitting there with it in her hands, but he imagined it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the letter turned up.
Having also read those Sanskrit symbols in Jane’s letter—the same symbols that were
on the note the killer had left for him, he’d been reminded of the figure in the hooded cloak who was caught on Ross’s CCTV cameras the night one of Jane’s letters was slipped under his door. Jane’s latest letter had confirmed that Sinclair’s Rajputs were real, loyal to the Maharaja of Kishangarh and perhaps now to the restoration of the Blood of Rajputana. That was what puzzled Tayte most. To his knowledge, none of the family had yet succeeded in locating the ruby, and yet people were being murdered, seemingly because of it. For the life of him, Tayte couldn’t fathom why.
He checked his watch and noted that the funeral car would be there in less than ten minutes, so he put the record he was looking at on to a tall pile of those he’d already checked and stood up to make his way downstairs. As he did so, curiosity led him to peek at the next record in the box, and he immediately wished he hadn’t. It bore the Christie name. He went to take it out, wondering why a record for any of the Christie family was among Drummond’s research. He wanted to know if there were any more beneath it, but as he reached in to take the record out he was distracted by a knock at his door. Turning away from the desk, he saw that it was Murray.
‘Mr Sinclair sent me up with these,’ he said, holding out a long black trench coat and a black tie.
It would have been entirely inappropriate for Tayte to turn up at Jamie Sinclair’s funeral dressed in a bright tan suit, but it was all he had, so Sinclair had told him he’d find something more suitable.
‘Thanks, Murray,’ Tayte said as he took the coat and tie. He tried the coat on, and after struggling with it for several seconds, he added, ‘It’s a bit of a squeeze, but I guess it’ll have to do.’
‘Aye,’ Murray said, studying Tayte as if wondering how he’d managed to get it on at all. ‘Well, we’d best be going down.’
Tayte flicked his shirt collar up and began fastening his tie, which he now wished he’d done before he’d put the coat on. He could barely raise his arms. ‘After you,’ he said, not wanting to hold things up.
Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7) Page 24