Outside the bungalow wall, a young man carrying a notebook was arguing with a constable guarding the gate. Perveen guessed the young man was a reporter. She tried not to catch his eye as she spoke out the car window to the constable standing on guard.
‘Are you from the Malabar Station?’ Perveen asked politely in Marathi. ‘Thank you for coming. I’m Miss Mistry, the family’s lawyer. I’ve come with the children’s governess.’
‘You were at the station,’ the constable said, nodding in recognition. ‘The inspector and sub-inspector are coming later this morning.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that. Thank you again,’ Perveen said.
‘Who are you? What is this?’ the reporter called out as the constable waved the car through.
‘Good luck to both of us,’ Alice muttered after they’d both stepped out of the car. ‘Any new thoughts about our plan?’
Perveen glanced at Sirjit, who had been instructed to wait in the porte cochère close to the zenana entrance. He had already opened up a newspaper and settled in for the wait. ‘Let’s divide and conquer as planned. You will knock on the zenana door and offer a free English lesson for the girls. It’s really too bad Amina isn’t here; she’d jump at the chance to speak with you. I will check if Mohsen’s here and then get on with my search for the passageway.’
‘Do you have the plans?’ Alice asked.
‘Yes, they’re in my bag, but I’ve got the layout more or less memorized.’
‘Then might I keep them in my satchel? Just because I don’t know the bungalow at all.’
Perveen gave them to her. ‘Let’s meet at the car when each of us is done.’
After they parted, Perveen made her first stop at the garden hut. Right in front of it, Mohsen was lying on a charpoy. He was dressed just in a vest and pajamas and fast asleep. Zeid sat next to the charpoy, gazing adoringly at his father.
As Perveen approached, Zeid got up and ran to hug her. ‘You brought him back! Memsahib, thank you!’
Smiling, she said, ‘The police released him, not I. But I am glad for you.’
The exchange had woken Mohsen. He lifted his head from under a blanket, grumbling at the children to quiet themselves. Then he turned and saw Perveen. Instead of giving her the smile she expected, he looked anxious. ‘You!’
‘Good morning, Mohsen,’ Perveen said pleasantly. ‘When were you released?’
‘A few hours after that telephone call they allowed to Sakina-begum. She convinced them.’
It was hard to think she might be chatting with the man who’d abducted her. Carefully, she asked, ‘What is the situation with the household? Are the begums asking you to stay on?’
‘Certainly.’ He looked at her with a hint of defiance. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m only resting here because the police are at the gate keeping away reporters.’
She supposed the police wouldn’t like it known that they’d released a suspect before taking a new one into custody.
Perveen told him she hoped he would be back on duty soon.
Feeling his eyes on her, she walked onwards to the entrance to the main house. The front door was locked and when she knocked, nobody came. This could only mean the police were clustered at the zenana. Alice would have to deal with them.
Perveen crept along the side of the house until she came to a side door that she remembered from the architectural plans. This was the servants’ door, she realized after seeing a small pair of rough sandals next to it. It was unlocked. After a short walk down a hallway, she found the large, elegant reception room that she’d first visited. This time she was well aware of the risks of being seen and heard through the pierced marble wall. Keeping her eyes on the jali panel, she slipped out of her shoes, but instead of bringing them to the shoe case, she put them under a chair.
Tiptoeing upstairs, she began preparing an excuse in case Zeid or Fatima came upon her. She would tell them she was looking for papers connected to the estate in the upstairs study. The children didn’t need to know she was looking for evidence connected to Mr Mukri’s death before she was certain of her suspicions.
They wouldn’t like what she was presently thinking. Although Jamshedji had told her about Mohsen’s release, she hadn’t realized he’d been freed just hours before her abduction. All the widows had the street address for Mistry House on the business cards she’d given out. He could have been dispatched to get rid of her. And Mohsen knew the pier. Razia had mentioned that Mohsen’s job, before he’d come to the house, had involved working for Farid Fabrics on the docks. Sakina might also have known.
Mohsen had wanted to know about a jewellery shop. Perhaps it wasn’t because he intended to steal; Sakina could have promised him a portion of the proceeds from selling her jewellery. Perveen caught her breath as she thought about the various things that might have been promised to the guard who performed household errands.
But how could such a conversation between a secluded woman and a male servant have taken place?
Sakina had said she took care of the garden’s flowers early in the morning.
In Omar Farid’s old bedroom, a shaft of midday sun fell across the space, brightening it.
She was sure Mr Farid would have kept the key to the locked door somewhere in the room.
First she checked the desk, but found only papers and money. She opened the double doors of a mahogany almirah. Gently, she moved her hands through stacks of folded men’s shirts, pajama trousers and sherwani coats. All were of average-quality cotton—the kind of clothing worn by an employee, not a boss. There was just one European suit, made from grey cotton and carrying the label of an ordinary Bombay tailor. The suit had a slight odour, as if it had been put away without washing.
All of the clothing was free of dust; it had to belong to Mr Mukri. He probably wore the suits only to work, or for special occasions. He had died wearing another suit; there had been so much blood, she could not remember its colour.
But she did remember something else. It was a comment Sakina had made when Perveen had first asked the widows about what they’d done after hearing from Amina there was a wounded man lying on the other side of the brass jali.
Just because the man was dressed in an English suit, it didn’t mean he was our household agent.
Sakina had refused to look, but she’d known what he was wearing—when Amina had never said anything about it.
A sharp lawyer would have recognized this incongruity the moment that the words had been uttered. But Perveen had been reeling with her own shock at seeing the body and the burden put on her by the police to get information from everyone. She had not registered what had been said until the moment she’d looked at the second suit in the almirah.
Perveen reminded herself of the task at hand. She finished checking the inside of the almirah and looked underneath and behind it for a hidden key. Nothing.
She realized ten minutes had already passed; she’d need to hurry up the search.
A box of matches was tucked in one bedside table drawer. The other one held a lady’s hair comb, two hairpins and a small vial of attar. She didn’t need to open it to smell the scent of sandalwood, the attar used by couples.
Turning the hairpins over in her hand, she saw a long, lustrous black hair. Sakina had the prettiest hair of the three wives; it was very likely hers. But the hairpin gave Perveen an idea. She went to the locked door and slipped the pin inside the keyhole. She turned it this way and that until she heard a click.
The door opened with a creak of dry hinges, revealing a narrow, dusty marble passage. The hall was stamped with many footprints and couldn’t have been more than two feet wide. It would have been horrifically claustrophobic if there hadn’t been a row of windows close to the ceiling. The windows were closed, which made the passage stifling. There was also a faint smell that brought Perveen back to the little room in the Sodawallas’ house.
Perveen walked the passage’s length, arriving at the door on the left that she knew was Sakina’s. But the
footsteps in the dust didn’t stop here; they continued around a left turn.
Was one of the other wives involved in the death?
Now she was in the second part of the ‘L’-shaped zenana hallway, where Razia’s and Mumtaz’s quarters lay. But her attention was no longer focused on the doors along its length. A dark bundle lay at the marble floor’s end point.
Perveen rushed forward, the smell of old blood filling her nose, making her want to retch. As she reached the bundle, she jerked to a horrified stop. Black chiffon, stained brown with dried blood, had been wrapped all around a small body.
Perveen lifted the chiffon away and found a young girl curled up with her dark hair half covering her face. It was Amina.
Perveen felt tears starting. She should not have waited to report the disappearance. She should have carried out a house search with police assistance the moment she’d heard Amina had gone missing.
Her hand shaking, Perveen put it on Amina’s forehead. It was still warm, although that might have been because of the heat of the passage. But as she moved the hair away from Amina’s face, it seemed as if she saw the girl’s nostrils move very slightly, as though she were taking in air. Her lips were dry and cracked.
Swiftly Perveen reached under the chiffon and found Amina’s arm. Sliding her fingers down to the inside of the girl’s wrist, she felt a pulse. Amina was alive but unconscious—the result of the heat? Or drugging?
Perveen needed to get Amina to safety. Dehydration, after three days, was a serious matter. Cyrus’s sister, Azara, had been neglected and had died after not taking in food and water. Perveen hoped it wasn’t too late for Amina also.
As Perveen struggled to lift Amina’s body, she thought about how only one of the widows wore black chiffon.
Perveen heard the sharp sound of a door opening. With a feeling of dread, she turned her head. Sakina had entered the passage.
32
A WIDOW’S LAMENT
Bombay, February 1921
The veil had dropped.
Sakina rapidly advanced towards Perveen, who had nowhere left to go.
‘Why are you here?’ Sakina asked.
‘I was interested in the passage.’ Perveen struggled to look composed. She thought of Alice, who was likely out at the car waiting for her. Even if Perveen screamed, Alice wouldn’t hear her. The walls were too thick. Desperately, she said, ‘The police also have details about this place and my plan to inspect it.’
Her second untruth of the day. But while Camellia had believed her, Sakina shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. We’ve only got one constable, and he is gawking at the huge, ugly Englishwoman who would like to become our governess.’
Perveen couldn’t tell from Sakina’s snide tone whether she believed Perveen and Alice were together. What she needed was to get Amina to safety; sorting out Sakina’s suspicions could come later. Keeping her hand on Amina, Perveen said, ‘I’m amazed this girl is still alive after three days in such a stifling hot place. Will you help me carry her out?’
‘But she is sleeping,’ Sakina said, sounding almost protective.
‘With all the noise we’re making, why is she still asleep?’ Was she poisoned, Perveen almost asked, but stopped herself just in time. She would not get far by accusing Sakina when there was so much she needed to learn. When Sakina didn’t answer, Perveen said, ‘I must make clear I am not your lawyer. I have taken on that duty for Razia-begum.’
‘Of course you would help her. She gets everything,’ Sakina said, her resentment surfacing. ‘But her sweet-tooth daughter isn’t as lucky. She drank falooda mixed with morphine.’
Perveen felt a tight hand close around her heart. ‘Did Mohsen buy the morphine?’
‘No. It was left from my husband’s illness. I found it in the room some weeks ago. At that time, I was only thinking about using it to take care of Mumtaz. But sleeping powder has a much greater effect on a small child’s body.’
Sakina had dropped two major revelations, but Perveen couldn’t react with horror. She needed to calm the woman—and that meant letting Sakina feel understood. Softening her voice, she said, ‘You were worried about Amina.’
‘The girl was always watching and listening. I didn’t know she had found this passage. Maybe her mother told her it existed.’ Closing her eyes tightly, Sakina fell into a silence. Then her eyes opened and she looked coolly at Perveen. ‘We must wait for her to awaken. When she has the ability to drink again, you will give her the medicine again, mixed with water. She trusts you.’
Perveen felt her stomach turn. ‘We mustn’t do that. You’ve known Amina since you married her father. She’s been like a sister to your own daughters.’
‘It will be a loss for them. Just as I lost love—twice.’ As she spoke, Sakina’s lovely features seemed to sharpen.
Perveen knew she had an opening. But how much could she say without pushing Sakina too far? Softly, she said, ‘Faisal lived with your family when you were young. You were so close. The best of friends.’
Sakina looked at her for a long moment. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Your family explained the situation to my father. They didn’t want you to marry.’
‘They thought they knew better than us.’ Sakina’s voice was wistful. ‘But I loved Faisal, and he loved me.’
It was hard for Perveen to reconcile the unpleasant man she’d met with this lover that Sakina had pined for. But men could change their ways—Cyrus was proof of that. ‘Was Faisal going to marry you after iddat was over?’
‘That was what he said at first.’ Sakina, who was leaning against the passage’s wall just a few feet away, gave Perveen a pained look. ‘But not after you visited, and we learnt about what he could and could not do. Because of my questions he became angry with me. He seemed to forget he would never have had a career in Bombay or a life in a mansion without me.’
‘Yes, in those early days when Faisal came to Bombay you must have impressed your husband with information about him.’ Perveen strove to sound admiring. ‘After all, he later granted him the most important position, as household agent.’
‘Yes. I suggested he hire Faisal for the accounting department,’ Sakina said with a sad smile. ‘I told him about Faisal’s degree, his good character, and that there were no opportunities for him in Poona. My husband took pity on him but thought it better for nobody to know that we were cousins. The other wives would have been jealous.’
And they’d have been rightfully suspicious when he moved into the bungalow. Softly, Perveen said, ‘I saw the drinking glasses by his bed. You went to stay with him at night, didn’t you, using this passage?’
‘I gave him the privileges of a husband.’ Sakina rested her head against the wall as if it hurt. ‘And at first, I felt nothing but amazement at my turn of fortune. But then I began to see how Faisal had changed.’
‘Tell me,’ Perveen said, stroking Amina’s hair as she spoke. She wanted to scoop up Amina and rush out—but the passageway wasn’t wide enough for her to carry Amina and get past Sakina. She’d also noticed Sakina was keeping her right hand nestled in the folds of her sari.
Sakina spoke in a rush, as if she had longed to unload her story on someone. ‘When we were young he was so daring and funny. Then he was always cross. He could not easily understand the expenses of this household. But he promised me that after iddat was finished, we could marry and live very well.’
‘With the addition of everyone’s mahr funds,’ Perveen said. ‘I don’t think he planned to use anything for a boys’ school. One thing I don’t know is whether he would have let the other begums and Amina stay after your marriage.’ Perveen wasn’t sure, but she thought she felt Amina stirring at her touch.
‘No. He would have chosen their husbands, and one for Amina. But then, in the last few weeks, I realized it might be impossible to get them married.’ Looking soberly at Perveen, Sakina said, ‘Mumtaz was tired and smelt of sickness. I know what that means. Faisal must have planted the seed in her.�
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Perveen remembered Mumtaz’s anxiety about Sakina finding out she was carrying a child. She’d been right about that fear. ‘How can you know she carries Faisal’s child?’
‘If I could not trust his intentions towards me, how could I trust him with anyone else?’ She raised her eyes heavenward. ‘He had already seen her at that filthy place where she used to play music.’
‘We don’t know the baby is his child,’ Perveen said, avoiding commentary on the Falkland Road lounge. ‘If the baby is born in August, it could very well be your husband’s.’
‘I don’t believe it.’ Sakina was trembling. ‘Her child taking a share of the inheritance? It’s not fair.’
Perveen thought carefully about how to sound like an ally. ‘Seeing the baby, once he or she is born, will tell us the truth. We cannot guess at it now.’
Sakina looked back the way Perveen had travelled, as if remembering her own past journeys. ‘In the month just after my husband passed, I believed all that Faisal said. But when you spoke to me and showed me the papers and talked about Razia, I realized that he could not use the funds as he said.’ A tight grimace twisted Sakina’s beautiful face. ‘We would have lost our security. He deserved to die for taking everyone’s money.’
When Perveen had rushed to see Cyrus at the bottling plant, she had felt as if she were being carried in a dark, furious cloud. Nobody could have stopped her from getting to him. ‘Sakina, I know the pain of betrayal. Is that how you felt? Is that why you killed him?’
The passion must have come through in her voice, because Sakina looked at her with a hint of surprise in her eyes. ‘Yes. When you drove away that afternoon, I made up my mind that I had to rid us of Faisal. I sent Mohsen off to buy something so he would be away from the gate, and everyone would think a criminal had slipped in. I had this already. It is a family piece that I keep in my safe for protection.’ Now she brought her right hand out so Perveen could see the long, silver dagger. The weapon had an elegantly worked handle and was highly polished; it looked like a relic from the Mughal period, something that should have been in a museum.
A Murder on Malabar Hill Page 35