by Nev March
I winced. “Miss?”
Diana burst out, “Pilloo never said! Only that it was a mistake from years ago, and now it was spoiling everything.” She bit her lip. “If it got out, we’d be disgraced, and…” She looked at Adi. “You would be ruined.”
Adi sat up, startled. “Me! What’s it have to do with me?”
“I don’t know,” Diana said, “but Bacha was furious.”
Adi stared at her, shaking his head. “What on earth was Pilloo talking about? I hardly said two words to her! I was in England most of the time she lived here.”
Miss Pilloo was fostered by the Framjis. Had she imagined some sort of tryst with Adi, her cousin? If so, it was an imaginary love affair, from the astounded look on his face. If she’d described it, in a journal, perhaps, was that enough for blackmail? Why would anyone kill for something so mundane? The burglar sought it, so it must still hold the power to harm the Framjis.
I said, “If it was something personal, from long ago, why would the burglar try to retrieve it after all this time? No, there’s more to this.”
One last piece remained. I asked Diana, “And your advice?”
“To tell Mama and Papa,” she said, miserable.
Burjor seemed mystified, so that last bit of counsel had gone unheeded.
As I said good night, Diana did not acknowledge me. That hurt more than I expected.
CHAPTER 23
THE DANCE
The following day, I entered the empty morning room to see a splash of color pass outside the window. Through the French door, I saw Diana fleeing along the balcony as though chased by the hound of hell.
Surprised, I called after her. “Miss Diana!” Perhaps I could repair the damage I’d caused with my brusque treatment.
A hand to her mouth, she paused. “Excuse me, Captain. I’m not good company just at present,” she said, turning to go.
“Wait, Miss.” I reached her in a few long strides. “What’s the matter?”
She ducked her head, cheeks flushed. “Nothing.” She shook her head, tucking in a wayward lock. Her distress alarmed me. What could have caused it? Who?
“Miss, forgive me. I must know.”
Diana slanted me a surprised look, so I explained, “Adi noticed Lady Bacha was withdrawn and quiet. It cuts him cruelly now, that he did not press her for an answer.”
She stared. “And you won’t make that error.”
“Precisely.”
Diana took a shaky breath. “It’s nothing, Captain. Really. Only that … sometimes I fear my parents will sell me to the highest bidder!”
Shocked, I said, “Miss!”
“No. I’m being silly. They only want what’s best for me,” she sighed. “Papa won’t insist I marry right away, but I must prepare for it, meeting eligible young men, their parents.”
That was the source of her upset?
“Would that be so terrible?” I ventured.
“No. But…” She placed her delicate fingers upon the balustrade and gazed at the lawn without seeing it. “You cannot know what it’s like. All my friends are married. Yet I’m afraid. They were so sought after, before. Now one barely sees her husband. Another cannot stand hers. And my friend Jeanie,” she whispered, “tries to hide bruises.”
Good heavens. “Some are happy, surely?”
“Perhaps,” she said, glancing sideways. “Advise me, then, as a disinterested friend.”
Disinterested? Here was testament to her innocence.
When I said nothing, she prompted, “Captain Jim?”
“You’re very young, Miss,” I said at last.
Diana looked affronted. “Whatever can you mean?”
“No one is disinterested, Miss Diana. Self-interest is one thing you can count on, in my experience.”
Her serious gaze traced my features. “As a friend, then. Advise me. What should I do?”
I half smiled. “I know nothing of matrimony.”
Diana’s mood lifted. “But you know men.”
That I did, having spent my life amongst all manner of them. At last I said, “The man who wins you will be fortunate above all others. Be sure he earns your regard.”
A dimple appeared in Diana’s cheek. “Why, Captain, thank you.” She searched my face. “So you’ve forgiven me?”
Surprised, I said, “For what, Miss?”
She said, “Withholding Pilloo’s letter, I suppose. I couldn’t show it to you. It looked awful for Adi.”
“Ah. You feared that Miss Pilloo’s letter indicated a relationship with Adi. That her imaginings had been used to blackmail Lady Bacha.”
Diana nodded. She was fiercely protective of Adi, and I’d badgered her to give evidence against him in Burjor’s presence. How that must have cut. She had pleaded with me to let the matter go, but I’d refused to comply.
I said, “That’s why you were upset. I’m sorry.”
Her smile as she said goodbye was a cool breeze that lifted my spirits.
Stop, fool, I told myself. You’re a bloke with few prospects to recommend him.
* * *
Burjor departed on business that very day, before I could broach the matter of the servant boy Kasim. Entrusted with his family’s safety, I worked at securing the house, drilled and worked the new guards into a routine and set them to patrol the grounds. In the days before the dance, I met Mrs. Framji often, but saw little of Diana. Framji Mansion bustled with activity.
Burjor returned just in time for Diana’s ball. That evening I donned my regimental red, and strapped on my sabre with some pride. Cleaned and pressed by Adi’s houseman, my dress jacket was serviceable enough, the frayed cuff scarcely noticeable. It did not matter, since I’d just keep watch from the background.
Adi, however, had a different plan. As we stood with his parents at the entry to receive guests, he said, “Remember, Captain, you’re my friend, not an employee. So don’t call me sir. All right?”
“Yes, sir.” I grinned at him.
Laughing, he punched my arm.
“Ow!” I feigned a grimace.
When he drew back, startled, I chuckled at his chagrin, for my injuries had healed. I felt quite whole again.
Just then Superintendent McIntyre stepped out of his carriage and caught us grinning like monkeys. His hand went up in a sardonic salute.
The train of carriages came up quickly after that, men in evening wear, ladies ascending in glittering sarees and evening gowns, complete with gloves, to meet Burjor and Mrs. Framji.
I daresay Adi and I made a dashing pair, he in black tails offset by my scarlet. Ladies eyed him with interest, but he simply bowed a welcome, as did I. In truth, I paid the women little heed since they constituted no threat.
I was more wary of the men. Parsee men wore white coats and trousers, or formal black attire. A southern prince, short, dark-skinned and serious, brought two companions, their bejeweled clothing outlandish beside the dark coats and top hats favored by British gentlemen.
Adi said quietly, “That’s the prince of Lalkot and his cousins.” He named the others, helping me place them with a few quick phrases. I watched closely. Someone meant my kindly hosts harm. Who? Someone in this company?
Our trusted Gurkha guards Ganju and Gurung were bearers tonight, with the new staff positioned out of sight on balconies and grounds. While I had no reason to expect a burglary, these precautions seemed prudent.
Framji Mansion sparkled under crystal chandeliers, all aglow. Guests flowed through the home, filling the ballroom, where music swelled from a violin trio in the corner. Byram entered with a pair of white-haired officers, one of whom spotted me.
“James! I thought you were dead.”
“Not yet, sir.” I saluted and shook hands. “Glad to see you, Colonel, Sergeant Major.”
“Agnihotri, is it? Still boxing?” the officer said. “Saw you fight in Burma.”
Adi’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed?”
I introduced him and they moved aside, leaving me with the Colonel.<
br />
“I’m sorry about the Fourteenth, lad,” said the Colonel. “It was a fine regiment.”
I hoped he would not mention Karachi. “Thank you, sir.” I puzzled over the odd way he’d phrased it. “The regiment … where is it?”
He looked sad. “Disbanded. Most joined the Twenty-fourth. You didn’t hear?”
“No, sir. Army hospital.” Why hadn’t Smith told me? Had I not asked about the regiment? Then I remembered—Smith had not answered, talking instead about my horse.
Gurung announced an arrival in his impressive crusty voice. “The Rani Sahiba—Queen of Ranjpoot.”
A group of women entered, bejeweled and wearing traditional sarees. A tall man strode in behind them. I was sure I had seen those great sloping shoulders before, as they passed by my window. The burglar.
That strapping frame, corded arms—we had fought in the moonlight. My breath felt tight within my ribs as his gaze skimmed over me. Standing among Smith and other officers in scarlet, I felt fairly well concealed.
Bending to my client’s ear, I said, “Adi, the burglar is here.”
He gave a start and turned.
“Don’t look.” I said, tilting my head to the door, “Tall chap in white, with the Rani.”
Mrs. Framji greeted the elderly Rani and seated her. The burglar stood behind her chair.
A young woman was presented, and I knew those delicate shoulders, the way she held her head. Hair piled in curls like the first time I saw her, Diana greeted the Rani. I could not bear to watch. Instead I scrutinized the burglar in white turban and finery. Why had he come?
He bent to murmur in the old queen’s ear. Wrapped in beaded silver, she unfurled a fan, which obscured my view of their faces.
I had a quick word with Gurung to set our guards on alert, but we need not have worried. The Rani and her retinue behaved impeccably around Superintendent McIntyre and the battalion of Ministry coves. Adi was presented and bore the group’s scrutiny with studied politeness.
I hung back, observing the burglar. Like many young men, he watched Diana constantly, scarcely taking his gaze from her. In peach froth, she was particularly lovely tonight, so one could understand the fellow’s interest. Yet something about his proud stance worried me. Would he try to dance with her? If so, should I thwart him?
“Who’re they?” I asked Adi, tilting my chin at two dandies vying for Diana’s attention.
Adi’s eyes crinkled. “The Wadia brothers, Percy—in the white jacket—and Soli, who’s older. Papa’d be quite pleased if she married one of them.”
Diana left the young men to dance with a dashing naval officer I knew, a married chap.
“That’s Ratan Wadia, their father, talking to Papa,” said Adi. “The other two are McHenry, of Public Works, and Sir Barry Carmichael, the Chief Justice, Papa’s friend. He used to visit us often.”
Crikey! Sir Barry had presided over Maneck’s trial. He was known to the Framjis, and had likely known Bacha and Pilloo too.
Dinner was served under large tents on the lawn, where tables had been draped in white and laid with all manner of delicacies. Not long after, the Rani and her retinue departed. We’d survived without incident.
At evening’s end, Adi and I stood by the other gentlemen. Only family, staff and a few close friends remained. Diana had danced all night, her gaiety spilling over the ballroom. A splendid hostess, she crossed the hall often, conversing with other ladies. After bidding her guests goodbye, she flopped into the settee, complaining about tired feet.
“Is it me, or has it grown cooler?” Adi asked, echoing my own relief.
The burglar, I’d learned from a fellow officer, was Nur Suleiman, nephew to the Queen of Ranjpoot. Here was another thread to my case. I would need to learn all I could about him. I told Adi what I’d heard.
“The Rani’s nephew?” Adi said. “You’re sure?”
“Seems impossible, doesn’t it? If he wanted to steal something from this house, wouldn’t he send one of his flunkies?”
A hand touched my sleeve.
“Dance with me,” Diana’s low voice murmured. Her color was unusually high, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as she tugged at my elbow. I hesitated.
“Come, Captain, let’s dance.”
How much wine had she imbibed? That seemed the only explanation for her request.
“Hmph,” Adi choked, turning away in amusement, leaving me to fend for myself.
What can a fellow do when so commanded? Excitement hummed within me. Holding out a hand, I led her to the dance floor.
As violins launched a new tune, I said, “We have two problems, Miss. Your feet hurt, and I don’t know how to dance.”
Diana paused in dismay. Forehead clearing, she said, “It’s all right. Everyone’s gone. I’ll teach you.”
Plucky little thing. She was really quite tiny. I should just return her to her settee and express my regrets. But now we were the only pair on the floor. Although just a few people remained, something was expected of us. Even the servants had stopped to gawk.
Right, I thought. Fortune favors the bold and all that.
I bent toward Diana. “Miss, do you trust me?”
She nodded, a little worried, but game to try whatever I proposed.
“Place your hands on my shoulders,” I said.
When she did, I caught her securely around her waist and lifted. She weighed little, and came up easily until we were eye to eye. My shoulder held with just a twinge. Then we were off.
“Oh!” She smiled as I whirled her about. “How nice to be so tall!”
As a dance it was surely ridiculous. But Diana’s laugh rippled out and made it fine.
Moments later she sobered and said, “Captain, I have a lot to tell you. Adi said you were interested in the princes?”
We moved sedately around the floor, Diana’s feet swaying in time to the melody. To my surprise she began to tell me about the three princely families that had been invited. In a few short hours, she’d compiled more intelligence than I could have extracted in a week.
I swished her to and fro in time to the music, distracted by her proximity and trying to focus on her words. The princedoms of Lalkot and Arkot were to the east, Ranjpoot, to the south. Ranjpoot’s Pat-Rani, who attended, was the deceased king’s first wife, or head queen. Two younger queens had borne mostly girls. The sole surviving son was just seven years old.
Diana quieted as the melody slowed. The tune drew to a plaintive close.
“Thank you, Miss,” I said, taking a long stride that brought us to the settee near her mother. Setting Diana upon it, I prepared to depart. Unexpectedly, she caught my hand and covered it with her own.
I sent her a quizzical look. What’s this, Miss?
She gave a small shrug, smiling and shy.
There are moments when a bloke wants to have a brilliant reply, a perfect bon mot, to tell the lady what’s in his mind. But no brainy reply came to me. Not a single word formed in my stunned cranium. Mindful of her mother, I raised the hand she’d laid on mine, kissed and released it. Bowing to her and Mrs. Framji, I returned to the gentlemen, feeling astonished and elated.
Breaking away from his guests, Burjor took my elbow. “Captain, let’s talk in my study.”
His ominous invitation dismayed me. However, this was just the opportunity I wanted, to ask him about Maneck’s mysterious clue, the servant boy Kasim.
CHAPTER 24
CONFRONTATION
“Have a seat, Captain.” Burjor indicated the settee, and dropped into a chair.
I sat down with growing concern. He’d been a generous host all evening, but now his customary bonhomie was conspicuously absent. Had I given cause for rebuke? Searching my memory brought forth no clues. Had something occurred this very evening?
A long pause followed in which he appeared to consider an opening. However, he did not speak. Instead he rose and went to the alcove by his desk that contained his saint’s portrait. There he bent his head before it and pray
ed softly.
Remonstrations I could have managed, even an uncalled-for reprimand. His strange expression was … fear? Surely not. Some deep-seated worry, then. My puzzlement melted to compassion for my troubled host.
“Whatever it is, sir. Let’s have it,” I said into the oppressive quiet.
He returned after a few moments, his footsteps unwilling, and slumped on the brocade seat. His deep-set eyes regarded me steadily.
“Sometimes I’m not sure,” he began, “that I’m doing the right thing. It helps, to speak to the prophet.” He motioned toward the alcove, saying, “You know we are Parsees, of course.”
I nodded, further mystified at his choice of topic.
He continued, “But you may not know what that is. We are Zoroastrians, followers of that ancient prophet Zarathustra.” Pointing at the saint’s portrait, he went on. “We do not convert anyone to be Zoroastrian. Centuries ago our ancestors came to Gujarat as refugees, from Pars, in Persia. We are very few—perhaps a hundred thousand in all.”
I waited. This history did not explain the ominous tone of his interview.
He said, “So if a son or daughter marries someone who is not Parsee, well, they can no longer continue the race. They are as good as lost to us.”
I offered, “I’ve heard Mrs. Framji speak about it at breakfast.”
“Yes!” His voice lifted in palpable relief. “So you see?”
“Well, no.”
My words drew him back into a fretful state. He rocked in his chair.
“Captain, you cannot marry Diana,” he said, finally.
Whatever I had expected, it was not this. Astonishment gave way to bitterness. I was a mixed breed, a bastard, not worthy of his daughter. Had I not seen that mix of pity and disapproval all my life? Indians did not tolerate the mingling of races any more than the English.
In polite circles, a man who was happy until then to shake my hand would hear my name, James Agnihotri, and pause. His shoulders would stiffen, and he might spot an acquaintance across the room, and need to meet him. Women who seemed perfectly gracious—as they heard my Indian surname, their eyes might widen with understanding. Those quick glances of confirmation, how well I knew them, and the reserve that followed, polite, distant and final.