Christmas in Nuala
Page 1
Christmas in Nuala
An Inspector de Silva Mystery
Harriet Steel
Contents
Copyright
Author’s Note and Acknowledgements
Characters who appear regularly in the Inspector de Silva Mysteries.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Other Books by Harriet Steel
Copyright
Kindle edition 2018
Copyright © Harriet Steel
The author or authors assert their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author or authors of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Author’s Note and Acknowledgements
Welcome to the fifth book in the Inspector de Silva mystery series. Like the earlier ones, this is a self-contained story but, wearing my reader’s hat, I usually find that my enjoyment of a series is deepened by reading the books in order and getting to know major characters well. With that in mind, I have included thumbnail sketches of those featuring here who took a major part in previous stories. I have also reprinted this introduction, with apologies to those who have already read it.
Three years ago, I had the great good fortune to visit the island of Sri Lanka, the former Ceylon. I fell in love with the country straight away, awed by its tremendous natural beauty and the charm and friendliness of its people who seem to have recovered extraordinarily well from the tragic civil war between the two main ethnic groups, the Sinhalese and the Tamils. I had been planning to write a detective series for some time and when I came home, I decided to set it in Ceylon in the 1930s, a time when British Colonial rule created interesting contrasts, and sometimes conflicts, with traditional culture. Thus, Inspector Shanti de Silva and his friends were born.
I owe many thanks to everyone who helped with this book, especially Jane Dixon Smith for the festive cover. Praise from the many readers who told me that they enjoyed the four previous books in this series and wanted to know what Inspector de Silva and his friends got up to next encouraged me to keep going. Above all, heartfelt thanks go to my husband, Roger, without whose unfailing encouragement and support I might never have reached the end.
All characters in the book are fictitious, apart from well-known historical figures. Nuala is also fictitious although loosely based on the town of Nuwara Eliya. Any mistakes are my own.
Characters who appear regularly in the Inspector de Silva Mysteries.
Inspector Shanti de Silva. He began his police career in Ceylon’s capital city, Colombo, but, in middle age, he married and accepted a promotion to inspector in charge of the small force in the hill town of Nuala. Likes: a quiet life with his beloved wife; his car; good food; his garden. Dislikes: interference in his work by his British masters; formal occasions. He is Sinhalese and a Buddhist.
Sergeant Prasanna. In his mid-twenties. Married with a baby girl. Shows promise in his work. Likes: cricket and is exceptionally good at it. He is Sinhalese and a Buddhist.
Constable Nadar. Younger than Prasanna and less confident. Married with a little boy. Likes: his food; making toys for his baby son. Dislikes: sleepless nights. He is a Tamil and a Hindu.
The British:
Jane de Silva. She came to Ceylon as a governess to a wealthy colonial family and met and married de Silva a few years later. A no-nonsense lady with a dry sense of humour. Likes: detective novels, cinema, and dancing. Dislikes: snobbishness.
Archie Clutterbuck. Assistant government agent in Nuala and as such, responsible for administration and keeping law and order in the area. Likes: his Labrador, Darcy; fishing; hunting big game. Dislikes: being argued with; the heat.
Florence Clutterbuck. Archie’s wife, a stout, forthright lady. Likes: being queen bee; organising other people. Dislikes: people who don’t defer to her.
Doctor David Hebden. Doctor for the Nuala area. He travelled widely before ending up in Nuala. Unmarried and under his professional shell, rather shy. Likes: cricket. Dislikes: formality.
Chapter 1
‘The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown.’
Almost in tune, Inspector de Silva sang the carol under his breath as he returned from the police station that afternoon. It was the week before Christmas, a time of year he enjoyed. Even though he was a Buddhist, in common with many of his co-religionists, he thought of Jesus Christ as a Bodhisattva – a teacher whose life had been a blessing to the world.
Accordingly, he had no objection to celebrating the season. In fact, he relished it. He liked the festive spirit that livened up the British community, the colourful decorations, and the Christmas carols. Although he found most British food bland, much of the traditional Christmas fare appealed to his sweet tooth. He looked forward to the mince pies, the fruit cake with marzipan and icing, the crystallised figs and apricots, and of course, the plum pudding.
Inside the bungalow, he was met by the pleasing aroma of baking. Jane rarely entered the kitchen; it was their cook’s domain, but she broke the rule at Christmas. There were mince pies to be made, and the Christmas cake, baked weeks ago to her family recipe, to be fed with brandy at regular intervals.
He put his head round the kitchen door. She smiled, brushing back a lock of hair from her damp forehead. ‘Hello, dear.’
He gestured to the tray of mince pies, golden brown and warm from the oven. ‘They look good. Am I allowed one?’
‘Just one. The rest are for the sewing circle’s Christmas meeting.’
She turned to their cook. ‘Roll out the rest of the pastry trimmings and decorate the next batch as I showed you. When that’s done, we should have enough.’
Later, they sat in the drawing room for a pre-dinner drink. ‘Florence is giving her annual party at the Residence tomorrow evening,’ Jane remarked.
The Residence’s Christmas party was another thing that de Silva enjoyed. It was far jollier and more relaxed than Florence’s other entertainments. The only black spots were the beverages she served, one of them being mulled wine. He appreciated that the warm, syrupy mixture was probably very welcome on a frosty English night, but in the balmy climate of Ceylon, it was distinctly unrefreshing. The second offering was eggnog: a strange, British concoction of milk, eggs, sugar, spices, and whisky. He preferred his whisky unadulterated.
‘I wonder what Florence will have in store for us this year,’ he remarked. There was normally an entertainer who put on a show to amuse the children of the British and the handful of local families invited. He had to admit, the performances usually amused him too.
‘Apparently, she has a magician arranged,’ said Jane. ‘He’s Clarence Rushwell’s nephew.’
A picture of Clarence Rushwell came into de Silva’s mind. He was a curmudgeonly old man who rarely ventured away from home, but when he did, his wild, grey hair, spindly figure, and old-fashioned clothes gave him the air of a Dickensian villain – Ebenezer Scrooge, perhaps. He lived on the edge of town, about fifteen minutes’ drive from Sunnybank, in a place that de
Silva had never visited, but it was reputed to resemble an ancient fortified manor. However, although its architecture was Gothic, the house had only been built in the late nineteenth century by the eccentric owner of the rubber plantation that surrounded it. Sadly, the extravagance of the project, coupled with poor management of the plantation, had ruined the man, and he died a few years after building his dream home.
Subsequently, the house fell into disrepair and might have disappeared entirely, swallowed up by the jungle, if Clarence Rushwell hadn’t bought it – gossips said at a knock-down price. Since then, he’d lived alone in a tower that formed part of the house. However, de Silva recalled that his nephew, Robert, occupied a bungalow on his uncle’s land.
De Silva had come across Robert Rushwell on numerous occasions and always thought him a decent, honourable man. He was a keen cricketer and had, apparently, in his younger days been a good all-round athlete.
‘I didn’t know Robert Rushwell had talents as a magician.’
‘Oh, not Robert. This nephew is a man called Count Arcanti.’
‘Where’s he sprung from?’
‘Italy. His late mother was Clarence’s younger sister. She married an Italian count, and they lived in Naples. Cosmo, who inherited the title when his father died, was their only son. Apparently, Clarence grumbled about him and his wife coming to Nuala, but now they’re here, he’s thawed a little. Countess Arcanti is very attractive and charming - which may have helped.’
‘Oh, so you’ve met her?’
‘Yes, when I was helping at the school the other afternoon, Florence brought her in for a visit. The children were enchanted by her. She played with them for a long time and wanted to know all about the teachers too. Florence introduced us, and when the countess heard you and I would be coming to the Residence party, she said she very much looked forward to meeting you. She asked where we lived, and when I explained, said we must be near neighbours. She even apologised for not inviting us to visit her – she said in Italy it’s customary to entertain neighbours all the time, but the living arrangements at Clarence Rushwell’s house are unconventional to say the least. He refuses to have electricity installed, and everything from meals to hot water for washing must be carried up from Robert’s bungalow. There’s a generator for electricity and a kitchen there. Of course, I assured her no apology was needed, and I hoped she would visit us one day.’
‘Why don’t the count and countess live down at the bungalow?’
‘Apparently, the count shares some of his uncle’s eccentricity. He’s enjoying this medieval style of life. She confided that she hopes the novelty will wear off soon, and she can persuade him to take rooms at the Crown.’
‘It sounds as if she’ll deserve some luxury by then. I look forward to meeting this couple. A count who is a magician. Unusual.’
‘I agree. The countess told me it’s a hobby of his. The Arcantis seem to lead rather a bohemian life. In Naples, they give parties where the count entertains their friends with conjuring tricks and illusions.’
‘I’m rather surprised Florence approves.’
‘It’s Christmas, dear. She likes to let her hair down.’
Florence was also likely to be swayed by the fact that the Arcantis possessed a title, thought de Silva.
‘Did you learn all this from your conversation at the school?’ he asked.
‘Some of it, but the rest of my information comes from the sewing circle. There’s always someone there who knows what’s going on in Nuala.’ She lowered her voice. ‘For example, everybody’s known for a long time that the Phelps’ daughter, Anna – you remember her dear, I introduced you to her at the school rummage sale last July – well, she and Robert Rushwell are sweet on each other. Her mother’s been hoping he’ll propose, and she’s convinced herself it will happen this Christmas – mind you, she said that last Christmas and the one before. She’ll be so relieved if he does. Anna isn’t in the first flush of youth. She’ll be forty soon, and Agatha does so want to see her happily married.’
De Silva chuckled. ‘Her motherly duty will then be done, eh? Well, perhaps he’ll propose at Florence’s Christmas party, but we could try to help him along. Should I follow them around with a bunch of mistletoe?’
‘You wouldn’t dare! Seriously, I hope things work out well for them. Robert’s a nice man, but his uncle, Clarence, is a different matter. Poor Anna Phelps might be taking on responsibility for a very difficult elderly relation.’
De Silva was puzzled. ‘In that case, it surprises me that Mrs Phelps is so keen for her daughter to marry Rushwell.’
‘I suppose she thinks Clarence won’t be around much longer. He’s elderly and not in good health. You have to remember that as she gets older, Anna’s choices are becoming rather limited, and she is very fond of Robert.’
‘I suppose they wouldn’t have to stay in Nuala.’
‘It’s not that simple, dear. I understand that Robert feels responsible for his uncle, despite his faults. Apart from the Arcantis, who’ve only just come on the scene and may not plan to stay in Nuala, Clarence and Robert are each other’s only living relatives. And then there’s the rubber plantation. Over the years, Robert’s tried hard to improve it. Unfortunately, he’s not had much success, but I think that’s because his uncle is so against change. If Robert was in sole charge, he could probably make it profitable again. It must be hard for him to give up the prospect.’
‘He’s Clarence’s heir then?’
‘I’ve heard so, and it seems only fair. Robert’s been working for his uncle for many years, and people say the count is already wealthy.’
‘Are these people the ladies of the sewing circle?’
Jane smiled. ‘How did you guess?’
‘But suppose Clarence leaves no money that Robert can use to rescue the plantation? Good intentions alone are rarely enough.’
‘I’ve heard rumours there’s no shortage of money. It’s just that Clarence never agrees to spend a farthing more than he has to.’
Chapter 2
The following day, de Silva and Jane drove to the Residence for the party. Lacking spruce or fir trees in its grounds, Florence had instructed the Residence’s outdoor servants to festoon the palms along the drive with lights; more twinkled on the columned portico of the Residence’s elegant façade. The effect was magical.
Standing in front of an enormous Christmas tree, shipped in for the festivities and glittering with baubles and lights, Florence and Archie stood in the entrance hall to greet their guests. Archie’s concession to Christmas was a red bow tie to liven up his dark suit, but Florence had surpassed herself with a festive scarlet chiffon dress and numerous strings of pearls.
In keeping with the informality of the occasion, Darcy, Archie’s Labrador, and Angel, Florence’s Maltese terrier, were in attendance: Darcy with one eye on his master’s whereabouts and the other on the canapés: Angel condescending to wag his stumpy little apostrophe of a tail when anyone patted him.
‘I’m so glad you could come,’ said Florence, beaming. Her cheeks looked a little flushed. Charitably, de Silva put it down to the warmth of the evening, rather than over-enthusiastic testing of the mulled wine and eggnog he assumed would be served.
‘What a day it’s been,’ she went on. ‘I was afraid nothing would be ready in time.’
Jane smiled. ‘It all looks lovely. I’m sure it will be a wonderful evening.’
‘How kind you are. Now, you must go into the drawing room and have some mulled wine.’
They passed into the drawing room, accepting glasses of mulled wine from one of the servants who stood by the door with a silver tray. Eggnog must be off the menu this year.
Swags of colourful paperchains decorated the walls; ivy, and holly from the tree that Florence had planted when she and Archie first came to Nuala, festooned the grand marble mantlepiece. Canapés were eaten and mulled wine drunk. Dressed as angels, a group of children from the British school treated the guests to squeaky renderings o
f Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and Silent Night. Anna Phelps was acting as conductor.
***
Cosmo Arcanti and his wife spent the first part of the evening strolling around with Florence being introduced to the company. When it was Jane and de Silva’s turn, de Silva found them very charming and unstuffy, despite their aristocratic status. They both spoke English well, the count with very little trace of an accent. He told them he had been educated at an English school.
‘The count and his cousin, Robert, don’t look much alike,’ remarked Jane afterwards in an undertone. ‘Perhaps the count gets his good looks from his father.’
With his olive complexion, and strong features, Count Arcanti certainly was a handsome man. His wife was equally striking, and both were tall. Robert Rushwell was of a similar height and build to his cousin, and had the same thick, dark hair, but even his greatest friend wouldn’t have described him as more than pleasant looking. The count clearly took more care of himself too; his hands were smooth and well-manicured, while Robert’s were sunburnt and roughened from his work at the plantation. The cousins seemed very different in character as well, thought de Silva. Robert was a good fellow, but quite reserved.
Eventually, the magic show was announced, and Cosmo Arcanti stepped onto the little stage set up at one end of the drawing room. De Silva hadn’t known what to expect. He hoped the countess wouldn’t have to submit to the indignity of being sawn in half, but he needn’t have worried. The count confined himself to a variety of tricks with cards, cups and balls.
‘What did you think of the show?’ asked Jane as they drove home. ‘I hope Florence wasn’t disappointed.’