The Satapur Moonstone

by Sujata Massey

  “That’s right,” Perveen said, her suspicions of Ames solidifying. “I was wondering something. Why do you have a friendship with Roderick?”

  Colin’s brow creased. “I would say that we are friendly to each other, but not close. Why is that a concern?”

  “He’s not terribly—pleasant,” she said, struggling to find the words to express what she’d thought of his presence during the evening of the party.

  “Very few social graces,” Colin said with a small smile. “But I see virtually nobody except Rama over the long rainy season. If any visitor comes, I try to find some commonality, because it’s such a relief to have someone to speak with.”

  “If you will please excuse me,” Rama broke in gently, “I will go to make your tea.”

  “Thank you very much,” Colin said.

  After Rama had gone, Perveen said, “I wonder if the film is still inside.”

  Colin turned the camera over and paused. “A good question. The trouble is that if one opens the compartment to check, the film roll will be ruined.”

  Perveen weighed the value of the film’s images of animals and Colin’s friends against the chance to know what Roderick might have done. Shrugging, she said, “I can always take more pictures of monkeys. It doesn’t matter; let me open it myself.”

  She took the camera from Colin, and as she’d expected, the film was gone.

  “Why did you know the film would be missing?” Colin looked at her with something close to awe.

  “Perhaps because Mr. Ames didn’t want his image saved for posterity,” Perveen said.

  “He’s just an ordinary civil service engineer.” Colin kept his eyes on her, and when she didn’t answer, he said, “You seem to know something about him that I don’t.”

  “I heard from one of the old servants at the hunting lodge that Mr. Ames was on the scene when Prince Pratap Rao died. Quite a coincidence.”

  “He’s never spoken about it to me. Are you sure the servant was correct?”

  “He described an Anglo-Indian engineer, and what motive would this man have to lie about it?” Perveen looked around, feeling ill at ease. “Who else is staying at the circuit house today?”

  “Except for Rama here, we are absolutely alone.”

  “I just wanted to be sure our conversation is confidential.”

  “Of course it is. And now let’s not worry about Roderick Ames anymore. I want to hear what happened to you from the moment you boarded the palanquin.”

  “That’s a good place to start.” Perveen spoke about the palanquin’s breakdown, watching his face grow long, then relax as she described how she’d made it to the palace on foot with Lakshman and four of the bearers. She had just been speaking about how the moonstone pendant had gained her admission to the palace when Rama returned. He set down a pot of fragrant tea and a plate of small green packages. Guessing they were rice pancakes wrapped in banana leaves, she gave a sigh of pleasure. “Panki! I thought this was only a Gujarati dish.”

  “Gujarat is not so far. Recipes travel through the mountains like the birds,” Rama said with an elegant movement of his hand. “I will prepare a full dinner after this. What kind of chicken tonight?”

  “I don’t care what you cook. I could eat a dozen of these!” she declared, piling three panki onto her plate. She had been so busy at the lodge she’d eaten only one millet roti and was famished.

  Rama beamed. “I shall steam more panki for both of you.”

  After Rama left, Colin looked at her with concern. “Weren’t you fed well at the palace?”

  She was so glad to be back she could chuckle about it. “Things started out well enough. But very quickly, it became my aim to avoid eating. Let me tell you!”

  She told him about everything: from the atmosphere inside the palace to the business of the tutor also serving as the palace officer, from Mirabai’s fears and the possible poisoning attempt to her own growing suspicions that Pratap Rao hadn’t died from the exact cause the doctor had reported. The last part, she knew, was the most serious. It raised concerns both about the doctor’s performance and about the possibility of murder.

  But Colin didn’t immediately address that. Looking sober, he said, “I feel bad for having sent you into such danger—and also feel quite lucky you were clever enough to survive and return to me. But I’m a bit worried about you taking the clothing from the hunting lodge. I’ve been told never to take things from palaces, and I imagine that restriction holds for other royal property.”

  “Owen McLaughlin took plenty from the palace,” Perveen shot back. “And the government must see the clothing. It’s prima facie evidence there never was an animal attack.”

  She went to her room, where Rama had brought the valise. Unlocking it, she took out the shawl-wrapped bundle of royal clothing she had placed inside it. Out on the veranda, next to the hurricane lamp’s light, the holes in the clothing and the smudges of blood showed clearly.

  “These holes in the jodhpurs look like pecking made by birds,” Perveen said, pointing to the damaged fabric. “My guess is that local vultures came upon the prince’s body—just as vultures fed on the dead monkey at the palace. The scant blood makes it seem that he was already deceased when the scavengers arrived.”

  Colin winced. “It is gruesome to think about. But I still don’t understand the whole picture you are presenting.”

  Perveen took a long sip of tea before answering. Its heat warmed her, gave her the strength she needed. “Mirabai spotted vultures on the afternoon he went hunting, so he might have died close to that time. And if his killer had been an animal of prey, there would have been much more blood. Therefore, I suspect the agent of Prince Pratap Rao’s death was human. The maharaja’s body was burnt in religious rites the day Dr. Andrews confirmed his cause of death as an animal mauling. Thus we have no evidence other than the lack of more severe damage to the clothing.”

  Colin’s cup rattled as he put it down on his saucer quickly. “That’s quite an accusation.”

  “I agree, but I can’t see another explanation. One thing that troubles me is we don’t have the jacket. Sometimes what’s not there is as important as what is there. And I think we can agree that a leopard would not eat the material of the jacket, nor could it undress the prince and move the jacket elsewhere.” She paused, aware of Colin’s intense concentration on her words. “Only a man could do that.”

  “Or woman!” Colin interjected.

  Perveen thought about the theory of a woman killer. The most obvious possibility was Mirabai, who freely rode in areas outside the palace. And she was supposed to have suffered melancholia, although Dr. Andrews admitted he had not diagnosed this himself. Perveen reflected on the conversations they’d had together and did not think there was a strong chance of her being mentally ill or having the mindset to murder her child. Shaking her head, she said, “It could be, but is unlikely, given the number of men on the hunt who had ready access to the prince. In any case, I would like to speak to Dr. Andrews first thing tomorrow about whether he ever saw Prince Pratap Rao’s jacket.”

  Colin exhaled slowly. “I will keep the late prince’s clothing in a locked safe until we know what to do with it. So the new question is, who on the hunt could have murdered Prince Jiva Rao?”

  “And where is this safe?” Perveen was hesitant to give up something so precious.

  He answered without hesitation. “It’s built into the wall behind the portrait of the Poona Agency administrator.”

  Feeling more relaxed, Perveen settled back in her planter’s chair. It felt so good to be away from the palace and able to speak frankly. “The servant at the hunting lodge said that in addition to Prince Swaroop and the engineer, he saw a number of beaters and Aditya, who is the court buffoon. He’s one of the few men the maharanis will socialize with.”

  “If it’s true that Roderick was on the hunt, perhaps Rode
rick Ames took the camera because he didn’t want the image of him with you and me to be seen by those people.”

  Perveen raised her eyebrows. “That certainly is a fanciful theory. It would require him assuming that I would have time during my royal visit to have the film developed.”

  “In civil service school, junior officers were told that many palaces have their own photographers and darkrooms. It’s for reasons of privacy regarding royal images. Therefore, it’s conceivable you would have snapped more photographs at the palace and someone would have offered to develop your film.”

  “That’s an interesting idea, but Prince Swaroop must know he’s in the civil service.” Perveen thought some more. “Prince Swaroop arrived quite unexpectedly at the Satapur palace. Perhaps he learned about me because Roderick Ames stopped at his palace to warn him.”

  “Because the two were in league when it came to Prince Pratap Rao’s death?” Colin shook his head. “I don’t want to believe it.”

  Was he stalling on every possibility she provided because he had something to hide? “That is one theory. What I was thinking during the palanquin ride was a bit different.”

  “It’s best to consider everything.”

  She remained silent. The other idea she’d had could hardly be shared with Colin. If he went to his superiors with it, her job would be finished.

  “What is it?” Colin persisted.

  Perveen sighed. What he did with the information was out of her control.

  “Prince Swaroop told me that the British government reserves the right to take over princely states and add them to the empire. Do you confirm this?”

  A guarded look came over his face. “Yes. It has happened in the past. But I’ve not heard talk about that regarding Satapur.”

  This didn’t surprise her. “You live remotely and have been hands-off. I don’t know if that was the case with Mr. Owen McLaughlin, who once held the position of the Satapur agent.”

  “So you are saying there might be a long-range scheme of the government to disable the ruling family and grab Satapur for the empire?” Colin said slowly. “And they placed me—an inexperienced officer who doesn’t travel far and wide—in this position so I would not know to ask questions.”

  Perveen bowed her head. “It could be. But I doubt anyone in the Agency would act without orders from higher up. A portrait of the viceroy hangs in the lodge, and his face has been disfigured with black paint. I first assumed one of the servants did it. Now I realize it could have been Prince Swaroop, out of anger at this perceived situation.”

  Colin looked past her into the dark garden. “Either Swaroop or Mirabai could have defaced the portrait in rage, believing that the government killed Prince Pratap Rao. But if the prince’s death is a government conspiracy, that seems to rule out the likelihood there’s any poisoning going on in the palace. What do you say about that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just the same about Roderick Ames. I really don’t know if he’s involved, but I am concerned.” Perveen let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if I should have delved into so much about the past. The fact is, we are both responsible for Prince Jiva Rao’s safety.”

  Colin’s fingers drummed the planter’s chair’s long armrest. “If you are wondering about the likelihood of food tampering versus poor food hygiene, Vandana might have some ideas.”

  “I tried to visit with her on the way here, but she was unavailable. The guards said she was ill, though I don’t know if it’s true. I hope Dr. Andrews will check on her.”

  “Don’t worry! Whatever Vandana has can’t be too serious.”

  She felt annoyed by his certainty. “Why not?”

  “This morning, I saw Vandana riding past the point where I do my yoga exercises.”

  Perveen remembered what the doctor had said about cholera in the village. “I hope she didn’t go where people are ill. How long does it take for cholera symptoms to show?”

  “She has no interest in the village—don’t worry about that. I imagine she was taking a trail ride past the village to go into the woods. She’s told me before that she likes to visit the Aranyani shrine.”

  Aranyani, once again. During dinner, Vandana had spoken of her belief in leaving offerings for Aranyani. Perhaps she had gone to bring money for someone. But these were ungrounded suppositions.

  “We shall both call on her tomorrow.” Colin held up the pot of tea, and she offered her cup for him to refill it.

  “Back to the matter of Prince Jiva Rao’s education,” she said. “Because the maharanis disagreed with my recommendation, they may ask for a court hearing. Women in purdah are entitled to send representatives; perhaps one could be Mr. Basu, but I think he would serve as the dowager maharani’s mouthpiece.”

  “Who would speak for Mirabai?” Colin leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Some other palace insider?”

  “Prince Swaroop doesn’t agree with her position.” Perveen paused, thinking some more. “I mentioned Aditya, the court buffoon who seems to be almost like a family member—but he is not esteemed enough to speak in a courtroom representing a royal.”

  “I suppose we should not be tying ourselves in knots trying to help them after they rejected your decision. Which sounded like a logical one.” Colin sipped his tea. “I wish I’d also had the chance to meet Prince Jiva Rao. He comes into maturity in just eight years! I think if we do well by him, he’ll do the same for his state.”

  He had said “we.” Did that mean he would continue calling for her to visit Satapur? Or was he thinking she was going to help the maharaja settle into his school?

  Before she could ask about those things, Rama had quietly reappeared. “The boy has filled the tub in memsahib’s bathroom. Perhaps a bath before dinner?”

  Perveen thanked him. It was a good moment for an interruption; she needed some time to think over the difficult ideas she and Colin had discussed and also to soak her aching bones.

  “Could dinner be ready in the next hour or so?” Colin inquired.

  “Yes, but I must go to the village. We need some special vegetables and nuts for the dish that I have in mind.” Rama looked at Perveen with a faint smile. “A welcome-back dish.”

  As Rama headed off with the money Colin gave him, Perveen departed to her guest quarters. She took a quick bath, willing herself not to think any longer about her dark theories. She had reached safety; she would rest, and then the next thing to do would become clear.

  Perveen dried herself off and tied a fresh kusti around her waist. She had just finished draping herself in a gold-and-green sari when there was a tapping at the door.

  “What is it?” she asked, bringing the sari’s pallu over the front of her body to form the graceful swag that was essential to Parsi womanhood.

  “The plans are off. We’ve got unexpected visitors.” Colin’s voice was a whisper.

  A man did not whisper in his own home; something had to be wrong.

  She opened the door to face him. “Who are they?”

  Colin did not answer but pushed his way into the room, bumping a bookcase with his cane in his haste to enter. He muttered, “Prince Swaroop and several men from the palace.”

  “But—” She broke off, trying to think. Her growing theory about government interference was being challenged. She recalled what Baburam, the old man at the lodge, had said about bad luck. “The prince must have found out I took the late maharaja’s clothing.”

  Colin’s words came rapid fire. “I don’t think they know about that. At least, they didn’t say. Prince Swaroop says he and his men were trying to catch your palanquin procession. He was upset they couldn’t find you.”

  Perveen shuddered as she realized that Prince Swaroop might have caught her en route if the group hadn’t made the unexpected detour to the lodge. What would have happened then? “Did he give any reason for pursuing me?”

 
Colin leaned on his cane as if he needed its support. “He said the maharaja is missing.”

  At the words, Perveen felt a ringing in her ears. It couldn’t be. “Are you sure you understood them? What exactly do they mean by ‘missing’?”

  He shook his head. “Prince Swaroop spoke English to make sure I understood. They think you’ve kidnapped him!”

  19

  The Innocent on Trial

  Perveen had no response to give Colin. Of course, he knew she was innocent. But her head was filled with something Mirabai had said about her coming to the palace: While our lawyer guest is here, he’s fine. Perveen had not taken that to heart, and the worst had occurred.

  She slid her bare feet into a pair of clean sandals and went out. Thirty feet away, in the central section of the veranda, she saw three hulking men in hunter-green uniforms decorated in heavy gold braid. Green was not the color of the Satapur palace; it must have been connected to the prince’s own staff. Her eyes swept over what the men had with them: swords, bayonets, long rifles. If they really believed she had Prince Jiva Rao, would they use force to try to get her to reveal his hiding place?

  “Prince Swaroop is in the drawing room,” Colin said from behind her. “I told him that nobody else was in the palanquin when it was unloaded. But he insisted on speaking with you.”

  “That’s understandable.” She thought about her conversation with the prince. He had never agreed or disagreed about his nephew being in danger at the palace. In fact, he had spoken about the risk of him living unprotected at boarding school. And now the maharaja was gone; blaming things on her was a way of keeping himself in the right.

  Her legs felt heavy as she went into the drawing room. Prince Swaroop was sitting rigidly on the best piece of furniture in the room: a velvet settee with a rosewood back that stretched up to a ridiculous height. A second man was seated on a shorter side chair. He was a Sikh wearing a stout, well-wrapped turban decorated with a sapphire pin. She noted there was no refreshment on the tables in front of the visitors—a hospitality error. If Rama weren’t away in the village, the prince and his companion would have been served.