The Satapur Moonstone

by Sujata Massey

  Looking up at her, Swaroop said, “You will bring the maharaja.”

  “I wish I could help, but he is not here.” She was upset to hear her voice crack, which surely made her sound guilty. “And may I please become acquainted with the gentleman you’ve brought with you?”

  “It’s Dhillon, my prime minister.” He arose from his seat and walked toward her with quick, angry steps. “Where did you put him, then? I heard you made a stop.”

  Backing off so they weren’t as close, she thought about his words. Maybe they had gone to the lodge already. The other alternative was that he had spies throughout the area. “We made two stops,” she said, refusing to allow him the chance to correct her on something later. “The first was for food and drink at the old hunting lodge, and the second was at Yazad Mehta’s estate nearby.”

  Swaroop’s eyes flickered from her to Colin. “I know Mehta. Why would you see him?”

  “I’m friends with his wife. You may know her from your childhood at the palace—”

  He interrupted her. “It is because you knew such an estate is a clever place to hide the maharaja.”

  “Miss Mistry would not do such a thing,” Colin interjected. He was standing at her side, and she was aware that while he was much thinner than Prince Swaroop, he was an inch taller. His presence had a comforting strength.

  Perveen endeavored to sound logical. “If you go to the estate and speak to the Mehtas’ guards, they can tell you whether there was a boy with me.”

  “You call him a boy? He is the maharaja!” Swaroop stepped toward the two of them in an unveiled menacing fashion. “We already stopped at the estate and spoke to the durwans. They reported that you got out of the palanquin to speak to them, and that they did not come near the palanquin to look inside. How could they know whether or not you had my nephew? They said you seemed most eager to get inside the estate, even though they told you the lady of the house was indisposed.”

  Reacting to the prince’s aggressive movement, Colin stepped between the two of them. Firmly, he said, “Your Highness, please don’t doubt Miss Mistry. She has worked very hard for the welfare of the maharaja.”

  Perveen felt sick, realizing how her assertive behavior could be twisted to look suspicious. “The carriers, who are ordinary village men you could speak with as well, unloaded me and my luggage here. They took away a palanquin that was so light that they were singing. Mr. Sandringham here was the witness.”

  “Yes, it is true. Your Highness, please walk through the circuit house and look,” Colin said placatingly. “Once your mind is at ease that he’s not here, we must put our heads together on how to best search for the maharaja. I am just as worried as you are.”

  “For the worst reason. To you he is the future puppet. You’ll send him to that pathetic boarding school for royal boys where he’ll be taught obedience to the British.” Prince Swaroop looked around the parlor as if Jiva Rao might be trussed up beneath the sofa. Curtly, he asked, “Where are your servants?”

  Colin looked uncomprehendingly at him. “My bearer, Rama, is my chief employee. He’s gone to the village on some errands. Two village boys also work here. I’m not sure where Hari and Mohit are at the moment.”

  “Gone to the village!” Swaroop seized on Colin’s revelation. “Is that where you’re hiding him, among the peasants?”

  “As we’ve explained, the maharaja did not travel here with me. Let’s be logical.” Perveen paused to swallow and put her thoughts together before continuing. “How could he leave the palace grounds without the guards seeing him? I know from past experience that a child in a large home has many places to play, fall asleep, or maybe get locked into—accidentally or not.”

  Mr. Dhillon spoke in a cool, modulated voice. “Miss Mistry, are you saying you believe he’s safely in the palace?”

  She looked at him, aware that he’d misunderstood, but grateful that he wasn’t as inflamed as the prince he served. “I would not say that he’s safe. Maharani Mirabai was certain someone was trying to kill Jiva Rao. If he can’t be found here or at the palace, it’s certainly possible that something worse than kidnapping has taken place.”

  Mr. Dhillon said nothing, but closed his eyes, and Perveen wondered if he was thinking that if he’d stayed at the main palace, Jiva Rao would not be in this predicament.

  Prince Swaroop looked down for a long moment, and when he returned his gaze to her, she saw the bluster was gone. Was it because he knew he himself was in danger of being accused of kidnapping? Gruffly, he said, “I accept your invitation to look over the place.”

  “I’m most relieved. Go anywhere you wish!” Colin said.

  After the prince and the sardarji had arisen and departed the drawing room, Perveen asked Colin, “Can you please tell me what the Agency has said about the next person in line to the throne?”

  Colin nodded, as if he understood her suspicion. “There is no document with that information outlined. Prince Swaroop surely could petition for the right to reign, if Prince Jiva Rao is found dead. But it would most likely be rejected, because the laws of succession do not allow one to look backward a generation to appoint the uncle of a rightful heir. There was a direct line already established from fathers to sons: Mohan Rao, Mahendra Rao, Pratap Rao, and now Jiva Rao, in his brother’s stead.”

  “What happens if Jiva Rao isn’t found?”

  “It’s most likely that a regent would be appointed until the government chose a new maharaja. That is exactly what happened in Baroda. Most likely they’d choose a malleable and good-looking young man of royal caste.”

  Perveen reminded herself that there was still a chance Prince Swaroop held out hope of getting to rule. There were so many rumors about how the British oversaw states that it was entirely possible. In any case, she was sure that Swaroop feared society’s judgment, because for a Satapur prince to vanish while he was paying a social call—twice—seemed more than coincidence. She considered all the drama and indignation that Prince Swaroop had shown them, and also the fact that, based on when he’d arrived, he must have ridden from the palace at nighttime—a hazardous situation. It all seemed to show a desperate concern for his nephew. But was it real—and when had he left the palace? She asked Colin, “Could it be possible to reach here safely riding most of the way in the dark from the Satapur palace?”

  “I don’t know. Are you thinking he set off earlier than you did?”

  Perveen nodded. “He already told us he traveled via the forest path that I took to the palace. It could be that he went that way much earlier because he had something in mind. Perhaps he meant to apprehend me when I was defenseless.”

  “Dear God.” Colin looked at her, his face more serious than she’d ever seen. “It would be crucial for Swaroop to appear deeply concerned if the surviving heir to Satapur has vanished. Especially since Prince Pratap Rao died when they were together on a hunt.”

  Perveen belatedly realized it had been too trusting to allow Swaroop to tour the circuit house unescorted. The prince, Dhillon, and the guards all had the power to plant evidence that could make it seem Perveen was the guilty party, with Colin as her accessory. Prince Pratap Rao’s garments had been secured within the circuit house safe, but if they found them, what trouble could ensue? Perveen said, “I agree with you about his possible motivation, and I dislike the idea of them roaming everywhere without a witness. I’ll follow them. But I need an excuse for it.”

  “You can open doors they cannot.” Colin crossed the drawing room to a handsome campaign desk. From the middle drawer, he brought forward a ring of house keys. “All the unused bedrooms are kept locked, so they will need you to help with access. I’d go myself, but you move faster.”

  It was the second time he’d referred to his disability with her. But there seemed to be no griping about it this time; it was just a statement of fact.

  Over the next half hour, Prince Swaroop search
ed the house. The prince demanded every almirah be unlocked, and Perveen complied. Following closely without comment was Prince Swaroop’s minister, Mr. Dhillon. If only she could get him alone for an interview. She imagined he knew the truth. Was his loyalty truly to Prince Swaroop rather than Satapur?

  After the house was finished, the royal party descended on the outbuildings on the property. As the prince strode by Desi, whom Colin was holding on a leash, the tall dog strained at the leash and growled. It was as if he recognized the maharaja’s uncle for the dangerous force he was.

  Keeping an eye on the men as they entered the stables, Perveen walked over to Colin. She had been ruminating over what they could do, and it was time to tell him what she’d concluded. Quietly, she said, “I must return to the palace. Somebody there may have noticed something that could explain what happened.”

  Colin pressed his lips together. “That’s too dangerous. Our first duty is to inform the government and get direction from them.”

  She was not surprised by his reaction—but she was unwilling to concede. “I disagree with that plan. Kolhapur is quite far, and what could a cluster of British gentlemen do to find Prince Jiva Rao?”

  “I’m looking for help closer by. The officers in Poona could offer us arms after they have received clearance from higher up.”

  “What do you mean, arms?” Perveen couldn’t believe he was talking about starting a war.

  “Military involvement is allowed in defense of the royal family. A military search of the palace is safer than you going alone.”

  “But where is the military stationed?” She felt more impatient than ever. “It could take days.”

  “There’s a cantonment in Satapur very close to the palace. But official orders must be given before the soldiers can help.”

  “Ah. Even though Prince Swaroop is prime minister, he must wait for British orders?”

  Colin kept hold of Desi’s leash as the dog strained in the direction of the gates. “I’m afraid so. I propose that tomorrow morning we go to Khandala and then take the train to Poona. There’s no time for sending them a letter. If I present the situation to the chief councillor by tomorrow afternoon, word could be sent to the cantonment by telegraph.” He paused. “It would be best if I could get Prince Swaroop to come with me to give his side of things. But they’ll certainly need to hear what you’ve told me.”

  “I’ll write a memorandum about all that happened at the palace. But I won’t join your trip tomorrow.”

  “And why is that?” Colin asked tightly.

  “The administrators in Poona will only pay attention to you and Prince Swaroop. In their eyes, I’m just a woman.” Perveen decided to push on. “Here is how I can be more useful. I could return to the palace in the hopes of locating evidence and also getting testimony from witnesses who would be too frightened of soldiers.”

  Colin shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You and your bosses didn’t think that two days ago,” Perveen retorted.

  “Someone’s coming,” Colin said, looking toward the gates. Desi was focused on that direction, but his tail was wagging.

  Perveen was not surprised to see Rama coming through. He put his heavy bags down on the grass. Stretching his arms, he said, “I see new horses at the stable. Are some people staying with us?”

  “Yes. Prince Swaroop of Satapur, his prime minister, and three guards. It’s an unexpected visit.”

  Rama’s forehead creased with worry, but he nodded. “How many rooms should be prepared?”

  “We don’t yet know if Prince Swaroop will stay overnight,” Perveen said, though she realized as she said it that, with the sky dark, there could be no other option for the royal party. The thought of sleeping under the same roof as Swaroop was disturbing.

  “Look—they’re coming back over to us,” Colin said in a low voice.

  Prince Swaroop and his followers were emerging from the stable. Now Swaroop stood before Perveen and Colin. In a more muted voice than he’d used before, Swaroop said, “As you can see, I didn’t find him.”

  Perveen wanted to say, I told you so! but she was wise enough to remain silent. And she was grateful that they hadn’t found Prince Pratap Rao’s garments.

  “You have our word, as the maharaja’s guardians, that we are as anxious to find him as you are.” Colin thumped his cane on the ground, as if for emphasis. “I propose we expand the search through the jungle and possibly inside the palace.”

  “We have already looked there,” Swaroop said dismissively. “And tonight, palace guards and villagers are going with torches through the jungle.”

  Just as they had when the first prince disappeared.

  “We could ask for the assistance of the military. What do you think about that?” Colin spoke in a way that made it seem as if the decision were up to the prince.

  Swaroop frowned. “But that must be ordered by the British.”

  “Yes, that is true,” Colin answered firmly. “If you come with me to Poona tomorrow, you can tell them what’s happened, and I will confirm the details. But first, you must stay the night. There is no possibility of traveling in the dark.”

  The prince’s face grew longer. Perveen imagined that he wanted to say no—but he could not get on his way given the lateness of the hour. He had to lie in bed with the British, at least for one night.

  “My cook can prepare chicken in one of ten ways,” Colin began in a cheerful tone. “Let me tell you . . .”

  The long teak table was set for four, and Perveen set out white paper place cards that Colin produced from a desk drawer. It was clear using such cards was an unusual occurrence for him, and Perveen was better versed on the correct rules for seating than he was. He’d worried about whether the prince should get the head of the table due to his rank, but she had reminded him that according to the circuit house’s copy of Debrett’s Peerage, the honored guest, royal or not, was seated at the host’s right. The card for Jaqinder Dhillon was placed on the opposing side, and Perveen put the card for herself at the table’s foot.

  In the hour before dinner was ready, Perveen watched Rama hurrying, making mistakes with serving, and she could only imagine how disconcerted the last-minute visitors had made him. Four boys from the village arrived to aid in preparing guest rooms and baths, and the three guards who’d traveled with the prince were shown to their quarters in one of the garden huts.

  Perveen had asked Rama what he would prepare.

  “I have plenty of rice and dal and greens. But a chicken that is just big enough for two cannot stretch to feed four as a roast. I’ll make vindaloo.”

  “A good idea.” Perveen had felt anxious, as if this were her own house that was lacking.

  Once all were at the table, Colin opened up a bottle of claret. It was finished among the three men in ten minutes, so he asked Rama to bring another one. Prince Swaroop drank readily, and she felt nervous watching Colin pouring him more. She feared that Swaroop could turn angry and undisciplined, and if Colin kept pace with him, he’d be unguarded in what he said. Yet the prince was significantly amiable, and even joked that Perveen had run from the palace because she didn’t want to eat with him but now had to dine with him after all.

  This made Perveen, who had not taken a drop of wine, quite nervous. She was the only female dining with males, more vulnerable than in her father’s worst nightmares. Trying to seem blasé, she said, “The lady I mentioned earlier, Vandana Mehta, is less than a mile away. It’s a shame she’s not available tonight to join us.”

  “And which number cousin is that? I have sixteen first cousins and scores more second and third,” the prince said casually. “My mother is the only one who can keep track. She refers to them as ‘your ninth cousin-sister’ and so on.”

  “I don’t mind us not having other guests tonight,” Colin said, pouring more wine for the prince. “It would be u
ncomfortable making small talk when we know the maharaja is very likely away from home, either by himself or with someone who has a malevolent purpose.”

  He was right. Perveen felt like a dolt for getting carried along with Swaroop’s chatter. After Colin’s comment, the prince’s face had darkened. Perhaps he’d realized he appeared not to be grieving enough.

  Perveen considered what could make good table conversation at such a difficult time. “Your Highness!” she said, smiling pleasantly at Prince Swaroop. “Are your men carrying maps of the area that we could study in order to plan tomorrow’s search?”

  “We have no need of maps. I know every hill in Satapur. In fact, my knowledge of my land is what made it possible to get from the palace to this place so quickly,” he said, spearing a piece of chicken. “Knowing the land, I drove back to my palace, and there I gathered my men, and we took our fastest horses. I haven’t been here since I was twelve years old, and Mr. McLaughlin was sitting at the head of the table. He treated his royal visitors well. There were thirty servants in attendance including a French chef. We had a mutton roast and a cream cake, and he gave me my first champagne.”

  He was indeed disassociated from his nephew’s disappearance. She was becoming fast convinced that the two princes disappearing while their uncle was around was not coincidental. But she did have someone else to ask about. “What do you think of the ICS engineer, Mr. Roderick Ames?”

  “Who?” He swirled the wine in his glass, not looking at her.

  “Oh, I had heard you asked him to fetch the doctor after Prince Pratap Rao was found.”

  The prince was in the midst of drinking and suddenly choked. His minister jumped up, took the glass away, and thumped him on the back.

  “Are you all right, Your Highness?” Dhillon’s voice was easy, as if he had seen this happen before. But Perveen sensed her words had caused the shock.

  “Yes,” he said sourly. “Now I remember. There was an Anglo-Indian ICS officer who saw us in the forest.”