A Division Of The Spoils (Raj Quartet 4) (31 page)

‘How much do you think is generally known now about Sayed?’

‘How much? Or by how many people? Everyone is knowing something. No one is officially knowing anything. This is why the press keeps quiet. It is afraid of libel. Ask Ashok here what the students are saying. Tell Captain Rowan, Ashok, what the students are saying about Lieutenant Sayed Kasim. No? He does not want to say in front of you. The students are calling Sayed a hero because he fought with Netaji’s army against the British. They know he has been kept in prison-camp awaiting court-martial ever since he was recaptured in Manipur, but they say he will never be tried because the British are afraid that
MAK
will conduct the defence himself and bring proof that Indian King’s commissioned officers were left in the lurch by their English colleagues when the Japanese invaded Burma. And all things of that sort, isn’t it, Ashok?’

‘Not all students say this, uncle. Some concentrate on their studies. They aren’t interested in Bose. He is only a Bengali.’

‘Only a Bengali? You say this, Ashok? Are the physics teachers in Calcutta all non-Bengalis, then?’

‘It’s not what I say, uncle.’

‘Who is saying, then? Your friend Vidyar Awal for one, isn’t it? Ashok’s friend Vidyar is very anti-Bengali, very anti-Bose. His father is a major in the Engineers and comes from
UP.
You see how these distinctions arise.’

‘Yes, I do.’

Gopal sat forward suddenly.

‘What are they doing? They should have gone down Chowpatti. This is the old way to the special shed.’

‘That’s where we’re heading.’

‘To avoid crowds? There will be no crowds. Everyone knows
MAK
has gone up by road now.’

‘But you and I are going in the special coach,
VR.
Didn’t they tell you?’

‘The special coach? Oh, dear God.’

‘
HE
wanted us to be comfortable.’

‘Then we should go third class or in the wagon with poor old Mahsood’s coffin. Ashok, you must say nothing to your mother and father about this. Say nothing to anyone. Above all say nothing to your Auntie Lila.’

The boy was grinning. ‘Why, uncle?’

‘Oh, dear God.’

Rowan smiled, judging that Gopal was not really displeased. The little convoy turned left into the road that would bring them out at the coal and goods-yard area. They were already going past go-downs and repair sheds. Cyclists and car-driver had dipped head-lamps on. The road was not lit except where light fell from the high arc-lamps in the yards of the warehouses. There was a warm smell of drains, the acrid odour of coal and oil. They bumped over an uneven level-crossing. ‘Oh dear God,’ Gopal said again as if every spasm of discomfort were an indication of sustained discomfort to come. They approached a white post-barrier guarded by railway police. This was raised and the convoy entered an arc-lit cinder-yard and drew up at the entrance to a covered stairway to a covered footbridge. An English officer and an Indian station official were waiting for them. There was a batch of coolies to carry the baggage. The Englishman wore the armband of Movement Control. The Indian wore a sola topee. Rowan got out first. The
MCO,
not Captain Carter, but a man Rowan didn’t know, addressed him as sir and announced that everything was laid on. Gopal was still in the car directing the removal of his hand-luggage. The
MCO
spoke to his Indian colleague. ‘See to that lot, old son.’ Then he turned to the staircase as if he expected Rowan to go on ahead.

‘Okay, sir?’

‘Yes, fine.’ Rowan remained where he was. ‘Incidentally I’m not a civilian and I don’t outrank you. Has it been a problem getting the coach ready at such short notice?’

The
MCO
looked wary. ‘All we had to do was see the thing shunted out of the shed to the side platform. I didn’t know what the message meant at first because I didn’t know there was a special Government House coach. I’ve only been here three weeks.’

‘There used to be several.’

‘Just for the Governor?’

‘Governor, staff, secretaries, clerks, files. Government used to go up
en masse
to Pankot every hot weather.’

‘What happened to the other coaches, then?’

‘You’ve got them in general service. You’d probably have this one too if the interior would adapt.’

‘Yes. I looked inside. If you don’t mind me saying so I thought it was bloody ridiculous nowadays.’

‘It was built for an earlier age.’

‘And there’s really just the two of you tonight?’

‘That’s right.’

‘The message said two but about four or five servants turned up.’

‘That would be about the normal complement.’

‘They’ve been making beds and putting flowers in vases. I thought probably some ladies were coming along.’

‘I think the flowers are the usual drill.’

‘There’s a drill is there?’

‘It simplifies things.’

Gopal had emerged now. He carried an umbrella. Ashok held the tiffin-set. The coolies were dividing the luggage up among themselves. Gopal called out to one of them to be very careful with the box because the clasps were unreliable and the box was heavier than it looked. To anyone not knowing Hindi it probably sounded like a complaint. The
MCO
looked at his watch. On his face was that familiar English expression of utter detachment from an Indian activity. As Gopal and Ashok approached he said to no one in particular, ‘Right then.’

He led the way up the staircase to the covered bridge. Their footsteps sounded hollow on the worn and grimy boards. Rowan had never travelled on the special coach himself but he had accompanied Pankot-bound guests from Government House to catch the train on several occasions. The previous
MCO,
Carter, had appreciated the fact that there
was
a special coach. Most of those who travelled on it had priority passages. Without the coach Movement Control would have found itself turfing passengers out of the ordinary first-class compartments to make room for them.

The covered bridge always reminded him of his schooldays. There had been one at Chadford where he changed trains on the journey between London and Chillingborough. This one smelt much the same, impregnated with decades of engine
smoke. Briefly, above the undoubted Indianness of the station at Ranpur, he could imagine himself back at Chadford.

As they came down the stairs the station that was not Chadford presented itself, raw and uncompromising. They were at the front of the train. The special coach stood directly opposite the exit from the covered bridge. It was flanked by two guard’s vans, one separating it from the engine, the other from the first of the first-class carriages. Beyond this the train stretched back a couple of hundred yards or more. The platform was crowded but a rope barrier guarded by police kept the area in front of the Governor’s coach clear of everyone except people who had business there. Of these there did seem rather a large number.

Gopal was talking to the
MCO
’s Indian colleague, apparently putting Ashok into his care. Two Government House servants stood at the foot of the steps that led to the coach’s observation platform, which was also the point of entrance. They saluted Rowan when they caught his eye. The
MCO
was talking to a British sergeant who had a clipboard of papers. The luggage was going up into the coach. Beyond the barrier charwallahs were collecting money and taking back mugs from hands at windows. Further beyond where the crowds were greatest Rowan could still make out bouncing headloads – the luggage of late arrivals. He wondered where the coffin was and eyed the guardsvan-like coaches which flanked the one he and Gopal were to travel in. And had his suspicions.

‘You could help me out, maybe,’ the
MCO
said, arriving with his clipboard at Rowan’s elbow. ‘I know it’s supposed to be sacred territory but I’ve got six officers in three of the four-persons only compartments and three officers in most of the coupés. Now I’ve got a
GHQ
priority who’s just come in on the Delhi train.’

‘The one due in at 2130?’

‘It was ninety minutes late.’

‘And you want to put him in the special coach?’

‘According to my calculations after you and the Indian gentleman are settled in the two single-berths there’s a couple of coupés going spare. Unless of course the servants are travelling in style.’

‘What rank is your
GHQ
priority?’

‘Lieutenant-Colonel.’

‘That’s not senior enough to qualify as a possible exception. But I’ll ask Mr Gopal if he has any objection and then see how we’re placed. Has Captain Carter been transferred?’

‘Carter?’

‘The
MCO
here.’

‘I’m the
MCO
here. The previous chap’s name was Carter.’

‘Did he hand over to you?’

‘He’d gone when I got here. Why?’

‘He would have explained the uses and abuses of the special coach.’

‘I don’t know where abuses comes in.’

‘Abuses come in if the coach kept to save Movement Control inconvenience from sudden Government House priorities is treated as a convenient way of solving routine problems of overcrowding. If Mr Gopal and I weren’t going up to Pankot tonight the coach wouldn’t be on the train.’

‘It is on the train.’

‘Because we’re going up.’ Rowan looked at the top paper on the clipboard. ‘Is that a copy of the
GHQ
priority?’

The
MCO
pulled it from the clip and handed it to Rowan. ‘See for yourself.’

Rowan took the paper, the usual carbon copy of a movement order, with an illegible signature – someone signing for an officer of the Advocate-General’s branch. Rowan read the text. Then read it again and handed the paper back.

‘It says Colonel Merrick is accompanied by a sergeant and a servant. Where are they all at the moment?’

The
MCO
referred to his own sergeant, who said there was no problem about the servant and that the colonel’s sergeant had been ‘fixed up’. But the colonel himself was waiting, hoping for something better than a third place in a coupé. He had a disability. The
MCO
said, ‘What sort of disability?’

Rowan broke in. ‘I know the officer in question. Just a moment.’ He went to Gopal who was lecturing Ashok. ‘May I have a word,
VR
? Let’s go in.’

From the observation platform one entered directly into the sitting compartment. The coach had been equipped to look as much like a houseboat on the Dal lake as was possible. The
sofa and over-stuffed chairs were covered in chintz. Numdah rugs added to the thickness of an Indian carpet. There were chintz curtains at the windows. A faint smell of sandalwood.

‘Oh dear God,’ Gopal said yet again. He had brought the tiffin set with him and the umbrella.

Rowan put his briefcase on one of the chairs. ‘An interesting situation has arisen,’ he began.

‘We are to travel in an ordinary compartment?’

‘No, they’re all full up. The
MCO
wants us to take some of the overflow.’

‘To me this sounds like a confusion. Why do you call it interesting?’

‘The overflow happens to be Merrick.’

Slowly the smile and frown of pretended exasperation left Gopal’s face. He seemed to take a firmer grip on the umbrella and the tiffin-set, making them look like defensive weapons. Offensive, even.

‘Merrick? Ex-Superintendent of Police? Now Major?’

‘Major no longer apparently. Lieutenant-Colonel.’

‘You have seen him?’

‘Not yet. I wouldn’t know him by sight anyway. But there’s no doubt it’s Merrick. Would you object?’

‘Object to him travelling with us? Is that open to me? You are His Excellency’s chief emissary. It is for you to say.’

‘It could be useful.’

‘Useful? What could be useful about being with this man?’

‘Aren’t you in the least curious to see him?’

‘Not in the least curious, Nigel. I will have nothing to do with it, but please don’t bother about me. They can make up my bunk and I can nurse my cold.’

‘The beds are already made up in the two main single berths.’

‘No, no. I must have my own bedding. I have it with me. They can put it in one of the old
aide’s
coupés. Your Mr Merrick can sleep in His or Her Excellency’s berth.’

‘We’ll have to talk about what we do tomorrow before you go to bed. I’d better tell the
MCO
it’s no go. Obviously you feel strongly.’ It surprised Rowan a bit that he did.

‘And obviously you want him. You say useful. You are the better judge of this. So let him in. But first let me sort out my
sleeping quarters and disappear. If we must talk let us do so in there. And please send Ashok in to say goodbye.’

Gopal went through into the dining-compartment. Rowan returned to the platform and gave Ashok his uncle’s message. The
MCO
was standing with arms folded, his weight on one leg, advertising his patent amusement.

‘We’ll take Colonel Merrick and his party. The servant will have to muck in with our own but I don’t suppose he’ll be any less comfortable.’

‘You mean you’re offering two berths?’

‘For Colonel Merrick and his sergeant, yes.’

The
MCO
’s assistant said, ‘There’s that Major Hemming sir, the one who kicked up a fuss.’

The
MCO
nodded. ‘If it’s two berths going spare the answer is two officers, surely. Colonel Merrick and this Major Hemming.’

‘The berth’s aren’t going spare. There’s one for Colonel Merrick and one for Sergeant Perron.’

‘Is that his name?’

‘So it says on the Movement Order.’

‘The sergeant’s settled in.’

‘Then you’ll have to unsettle him or squeeze his officer into a coupé.’