Amelia sat on her seat of state, the large sofa in the drawing room, with Touie hovering behind her and the two policemen standing guard on either side of her. She greeted Mr. Dodgson with a brief nod. “Have you found anything of interest in my father’s study, Mr. Dodgson?” she asked.
“I was more interested in what was not there,” Mr. Dodgson murmured.
Prince Jahal stepped forward and bowed reverently to the older man. “Mr. Dodgson,” he said. “You would not recall my name, but you were pointed out to me during my brief stay in Oxford, when I was an undergraduate student two years ago. We were never formally introduced, but I am honored to make your acquaintance now.”
Mr. Dodgson bowed back politely to the Prince. “You were not at the House,” he commented.
“No, my college was Magdalen.”
“Interesting. Were you acquainted with a gentleman called Moncrieffe?”
“Do you mean Mr. Albert or Mr. Benjamin?” Jahal asked. “Mr. Albert Moncrieffe established himself in Rajitpur during the days of the East India Company and acted as our English Resident until his death earlier this year. He was a man of much influence, a good friend of my late father. It was he who insisted that I attend the same college as the one in which his own son had received his education. Perhaps he thought that I might turn the opportunity to better use than Mr. Benjamin Moncrieffe.”
“Of course,” Mr. Dodgson murmured. “Magdalen. As I recall, there was a generous donation given to that college two years ago. A number of valuable ancient Indian manuscripts, I believe, as well as certain, um, financial considerations. There was discussion of it at the House, but, of course, much was put down to jealousy and spite at the good fortune of another college attaining such a lavish emolument.” His curiosity satisfied, Mr. Dodgson moved back until he was wedged into the corner between the huge sideboard and the drawing room door.
Prince Jahal now advanced toward Amelia, hat in hand, and bowed ceremoniously. “Permit me to express my condolences on the death of your esteemed father,” he said carefully.
Amelia rose to curtsey to a reigning Prince, albeit an exotic one. “I am honored by your visit, Your Highness,” she said. “But I am also puzzled. As far as I know, my father’s connection with India ended when he and my mother left thirty years ago, shortly after I was born.”
“A very sad time in my country,” Jahal sighed. “I was not yet born, of course, but my cousin, Ashok, who was but a boy then, could tell stories—”
“Not suitable for a lady, let alone a mere child like Miss Bedelia,” Ram interrupted, indicating the young lady who had entered the drawing room. Jahal’s eyes brightened as he took in the angelic vision before him. Bedelia had taken the opportunity to change from the drab black dress she had worn to tend the plants, to the white linen dress trimmed with lace that she had worn to the séance. She carried a white handkerchief edged in black, which she applied to her eyes from time to time.
“Bedelia, curtsey to Prince Jahal,” Amelia ordered. “And sit here beside me.”
Bedelia smiled tremulously at the two noble visitors. “I would so much like to know about India,” she said sweetly, gracefully performing the required curtsey.
“And I would like to tell you about my country,” Jahal replied, taking her hand in his with a melting smile. His cousin brought him back to the business at hand with a diplomatic “Ahem!”
“As I said when I came to this house yesterday,” Ram went on, “Captain Arkwright was in possession of something that rightfully belongs to the House of Rajitpur, that is, to my cousin, Jahal.” His gaze fastened upon the small sandalwood box set on the table in the middle of the room.
“If you would tell me exactly what it is,” Amelia said, “I could find it for you among my father’s curiosities. I must warn you, gentlemen, that certain objects were lost during my father’s voyages. When he left India, he and my mother traveled about the world until they settled in Bermuda. I can assure you, Your Highness, the only things remotely Indian in this house are the two brass vases and the desk in my father’s study. Are you looking for them?”
Jahal looked at Ram, then at Amelia. “Brass vases?” he repeated slowly.
“I can show them to you, if you like,” she said, with a wave of her hand toward the door to the study. “But they are quite large, and not very pretty, in my opinion.”
“Large brass vases or furnishings were not what was taken from my cousin,” Ram said hastily.
“I can show you Papa’s curiosities,” Bedelia offered, oblivious to her sister’s frown.
“Before you go off to look at those shrunken heads and such,” Inspector Fletcher continued his interrupted questioning, “I would like a word with you, Mr. Ashok Ram. You were present at the unhappy events last night at Major-General Drayson’s house?”
“I was,” Ram said briefly.
“What did you make of it?” O’Ferrall asked.
“If by that you mean, did I kill the unfortunate Mrs. Cavanaugh, the answer is, no, I did not,” Ram countered. “I will tell you what I know of her, which is very little. Some months ago—”
“How many months?” Mr. Dodgson wanted to know.
“To be precise, in July. May I continue?”
Mr. Dodgson scribbled in his notebook and nodded absently.
Ram glared at him and took up his narrative again. “My noble cousin, Prince Jahal, received a communication from a … a person, resident in Portsmouth, which indicated that certain items were in the hands of Captain Jethro Arkwright, now living in Southsea, and if we wished to regain possession of them, they could be had for a price.”
O’Ferrall had his notebook out. “Just when did all this communicating take place? And who was this source?”
Jahal and Ram exchanged glances. Ram spoke for the two of them. “We received this information at the end of the month of July. Since Prince Jahal had already decided to come to England to participate in the yachting at Cowes and to present his respects to Her Majesty the Queen-Empress, we indicated to our correspondent that we would be able to conclude the bargain at that time. The death of Mr. Albert Moncrieffe, our English Resident, at the beginning of August only made the visit to England more necessary.”
“When you arrived in England, did you make contact with this, er, intermediary?” Fletcher asked.
“We received the communication you saw. It was delivered by hand to my cousin’s yacht, now moored in the Solent.” Ram folded his arms, as if to dare the police to prove him a liar.
O’Ferrall turned to Amelia. “Did you know about this?”
“I did not,” Amelia stated.
“But you acted as your father’s amanuensis,” Mr. Dodgson put in.
“Sometimes,” Amelia amended. “There were certain matters which my father preferred to keep … private. I copied those letters which he sent to his solicitor and those scientific societies in which he was interested. There may have been others. Mrs. Cavanaugh was more likely than I to know about them.”
“Mrs. Cavanaugh is dead,” Fletcher reminded her.
“Meaning what, pray?” Amelia’s voice rose in pitch and volume.
“That she may very well have been killed because she knew something about this Indian business, whatever it is!” Fletcher’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Ram.
Mr. Dodgson ignored Fletcher, intent on his own train of thought. “Then that is your handwriting on the manuscript in your father’s study? And on the botanical and biological samples in the glass cases? I thought it was too fine a hand for a man.”
“As I told you, my father thought that my handwriting was more readable than his,” Amelia explained
“But his was good enough to keep his logs and such-like?” asked Fletcher, with a look at O’Ferrall that spoke volumes.
“Of course,” Amelia said. “And, occasionally Emma—that is, Mrs. Cavanaugh—would be pressed into service as his intermediary. A go-between in effect.”
“Emma was always going out on business for Papa
.” Bedelia giggled. “With her basket over her arm. I thought she looked like a market-woman.”
“Bedelia!” Amelia shot her irrepressible sister another dagger-look.
“Maybe that’s why they had such a dreadful row that night,” Bedelia went on, blithely ignoring the frowns of consternation on the faces of the adults around her.
“What night was that?” Inspector O’Ferrall asked.
“The night he died, of course. Why, didn’t she say so at the inquest? Papa was in a dreadful temper, shouting the house down … Oh dear.” Bedelia looked around her, while the assorted adults stared back. “Have I said something wrong?”
“Just something that knocks Doyle’s poisoning theory into a cocked hat,” O’Ferrall said gleefully. “Miss Arkwright, I think you may be assured that your poor father’s death was entirely due to natural causes. If he had become violently angry that night, it may very well have led to a fatal heart attack. If anyone is to blame for his death, it would be Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
“Maybe that’s what she meant when she said ‘Murder’ at General Drayson’s séance,” Bedelia mused. Her sister looked at O’Ferrall with brimming eyes and said nothing.
Inspector O’Ferrall cleared his throat and looked back at his notebook. “Had Mrs. Cavanaugh been on some such private errand the day she was … that is, the day she died?” O’Ferrall continued.
“I do not know—” Amelia began.
“Emma was in and out of the house all day long,” Bedelia said gleefully. “She went to the inquest on Papa, and she did some shopping.”
“But you did not go,” Fletcher said.
“Amelia said we shouldn’t,” Bedelia told him. “She said it was only a formality. And it would have been, too, if Dr. Doyle hadn’t been so stubborn. Fancy thinking that someone poisoned poor Papa!”
Bedelia’s girlish imaginings were interrupted by a double knock at the door. Jenny answered the summons and returned to Amelia with the morning post and Dr. Doyle.
“There’s the letters, ma’am, and Dr. Doyle would come in ….”
“It’s quite all right, Jenny,” Amelia told her. “You may leave the letters on the table.”
“And what about the llustrated London News, ma’am?”
Bedelia jumped up and pounced on the folded periodical. “Oh, let me see!”
“Bedelia!” Her sister snapped out. “We are in mourning! We do not read sensational newspapers.”
“But I want to see if there is anything else about Uncle—” Bedelia began. She realized that all eyes were upon her, and stopped in mid-pout. “If you say so,” she said demurely, returning the offensive newspaper to the pile on the sideboard. Mr. Dodgson automatically patted the letters into a pile, sorting them by size and shape.
“I came to fetch my wife home,” Dr. Doyle said with an engaging grin.
“And Mrs. Hawkins,” Amelia added. “She has been quite busy on our behalf, Dr. Doyle, but Bedelia and I will do well enough once Jenny’s mother comes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jenny agreed. “Mum’s in the kitchen right now. She said I could stay on, and she’d be around in the mornings to lend a hand with the scrubbing.”
“Go and tell Mrs. Hawkins that Dr. Doyle is here,” Amelia ordered. She turned to Inspectors Fletcher and O’Ferrall. “As for you, gentlemen …” She took a deep breath. “I must go and see Mr. Lindsay-Young about the arrangements for my father’s funeral. Assuming”—she turned her gaze onto Dr. Doyle—“that you are finished with his earthly remains.”
Dr. Doyle’s mustache bristled with indignation. “Miss Arkwright, you have no right to remove your father’s remains without a proper autopsy.”
“Dr. Doyle.” Amelia faced him, her narrow chest heaving with emotion. “This is the last straw. You have disrupted my household enough for one day. Mrs. Doyle, I am very grateful for your attentions, but those of your husband are not welcome. If you please, Inspector O’Ferrall, remove Dr. Doyle!”
“Now wait a minute!” Dr. Doyle backed out of the drawing room, into the arms of Sergeant Stafford.
“You heard the lady,” Stafford said, not unkindly. “Perhaps you’d better take yourself and your theories elsewhere, sir, before I get orders to take you to the station.”
“I agree,” Mr. Dodgson said, interposing himself between the doctor and the arms of the law. “I must consult with you, Dr. Doyle. I have examined the study in which Captain Arkwright’s unfortunate demise occurred, and I have come to certain conclusions.”
Dr. Doyle allowed Mr. Dodgson to accompany him into the hall, where the two men eyed each other warily.
“What do you mean by taking their side?” Dr. Doyle asked, as if to add, Et tu, Brute?
“Quite simply, that since Captain Arkwright’s remains are no longer available to you, you might concentrate your attention on Mrs. Cavanaugh. The sooner that business is settled, the sooner I can return to Oxford. Dean Liddell and I have had our differences, and what he will think when he learns that I have become involved in yet another suspicious death after that business in Brighton I do not dare to contemplate.”
Dr. Doyle rubbed his mustache. “I suppose you are right, sir. I forgot that your time is not always your own.”
“Unlike you, young man,” Mr. Dodgson reminded him. “How did your investigation go?”
Dr. Doyle shook his head. “There’s something bothering me about those symptoms,” he confessed. “I can’t put my finger on it. Do you suppose I can get another peek into the old boy’s … that is, into Captain Arkwright’s den of antiquities before the good Sergeant throws me out?”
“If you like,” Mr. Dodgson sighed. “I prefer to remain where I can breathe. The late Captain Arkwright must have been a fanatical smoker; the place reeks of tobacco. Odd … I could not find his source of the weed. One expects to find a cigar-box or humidor for pipe tobacco in the room of a nicotine addict—”
“That’s it!” Dr. Doyle crowed. “Nicotine! Mr. Dodgson, thank you. Oh, dear God!”
He seized Mr. Dodgson by the hand and dragged him out the door and down the path to the horsecars. “We must get back to General Drayson’s house at once!”
“Whatever for?” Mr. Dodgson gasped, as he hurried to keep up with his energetic partner.
“Someone in that house is in extreme danger! I only hope we are on time!”
“What about Mrs. Doyle? And her mother?” Mr. Dodgson tried to pull away, but his young friend was stronger and more forceful.
“Touie will get home well enough without me. I must get to General Drayson’s house before the maids clean the drawing room!”
With that, Dr. Doyle shoved Mr. Dodgson onto the departing horsecar and hauled himself in after him, leaving Touie back at Treasure House to wonder what mad freak her new husband was following up now.
Sergeant Stafford watched them go, then signaled to Inspector O’Ferrall from the sitting room door.
“What’s that lad up to now?” O’Ferrall asked his loyal subordinate.
“I believe he said something about nicotine and General Drayson,” Stafford reported.
“Drayson? Is he still on about that handkerchief?” O’Ferrall asked.
Fletcher gave his rival a nudge and headed for the police carriage. “Whatever he’s up to, Doyle’s on the track of something, and we can’t let him get the better of us. Better send word to the station and then get over to Ashburton Road before he cracks the case for us.”
The two policemen left Treasure House, followed by the two Indians.
“Don’t you want to see the vases?” Bedelia asked plaintively, as Jahal and Ram headed for their waiting carriage.
“At another time, Miss Arkwright,” Jahal said with a smile and a bow. Ram merely favored her with a nod.
Bedelia watched them go, then turned to her sister. “I wonder what it would be like to live in India.”
“Quite unpleasant,” Amelia retorted. “Baby Bee, I really must see Mr. Lindsay-Young about Papa’s funeral. Mrs. Doyle and Mrs. H
awkins are leaving, but you will be quite safe with Jenny and her mother.”
Bedelia went back into the house, her face marred by a petulant pout. Someday, she thought darkly, they will all have to curtsey to me … when I am the Princess of Rajitpur! She stalked past Touie and Mother Hawkins without another word.
The two would-be saviours looked at each other. “What do you think, Mother?” Touie asked.
“I think I know when I am not wanted,” said that redoubtable matron. “Touie, you and I are going home. And when I see that husband of yours, I shall give him a piece of my mind!”
“Mother,” Touie warned, “Arthur knows what he is doing. If he ran off so suddenly, it must have been for a very good reason.” She turned back to Miss Amelia, who was standing on the doorstep staring at the two men in peacoats, who had not left their post across the street.
“Miss Amelia …?”
Amelia gave a starled noise and realized that she was being addressed.
“My mother and I will be off home now,” Touie told her. “If you need us, you need only to send Jenny.” She picked up the carpetbag with her clothing and led her mother down the path while the two Indians mounted their landau, to the astonishment of the population of Elm Grove.
Jahal had other things on his mind besides impressing the inhabitants of Southsea. “Mr. Dodgson is not the absent-minded professor of British humor,” he told his cousin, eyes narrowed. “In spite of his awkward appearance and strange manner, he is said to be one of the most astute logicians in England. He may very well succeed where others have failed. See that he is followed.”
“I shall have Dr. Doyle’s establishment watched,” Ram agreed. “Do you think the doctor knows who killed that woman?”
“I think he may find out.”
“And the ghost of Captain Arkwright?”
“There are no ghosts, cousin. Only memories of the past. I want to bring Rajitpur into the future, not the past. England is the future of India, Ashok. My friends and I will make that very clear.”
The Problem of the Spiteful Spiritualist Page 15