Barbara Cleverly (27 page)

He trusted him

Prithvi thought he was certain to be next up for the gaddi,’ she objected.

‘Yes. And seeing a sample of the evidence tonight,’ Joe tapped the envelope, ‘I would say that’s a true picture of the situation at that time.’ He fell silent, not quite knowing how to go on.

‘And then I came on the scene,’ she said bitterly. ‘Is that what you’re not saying? By marrying me Prithvi was effectively putting himself out of the running

scratching himself from the contest?’

‘I’m afraid so. No child of yours could ever succeed and Prithvi repeatedly refused to take a second wife. He and his father must have had a deep, irreparable split over that.’

‘They did have a few pitched battles,’ she admitted. ‘Prithvi had a short fuse. So - I signed my husband’s death certificate

is that what you’re saying?’

His silence answered her.

‘Is that a bottle of whisky over there?’ she asked forlornly.

‘Yes, can I get you one?’ said Joe. ‘I’d gladly have one myself.’

‘Disgusting stuff,’ she commented. ‘But thanks.’

He poured out two glasses, adding a large measure of soda water to Madeleine’s.

She took a sip of her whisky, grimaced and took another. ‘But look here, Joe. Let’s take this a step at a time. Could any father no matter how much he disapproved of the life his son was leading - I’m thinking of Bishan now - arrange for him to be eaten by a wild panther? I’m not buying it!’

‘Well exactly! And that’s why it was such a good cover. Udai did check with the doctor that his son didn’t suffer. The doc thought this normal parental concern, and parental concern it certainly was but not normal. Bishan’s death was, in fact, quick and relatively painless.’

Joe told her about the opium dose and the killing methods of panthers and Madeleine listened wide-eyed.

‘But why would Bishan change his opium dose just like that?’ she wanted to know.

‘I asked myself, Whom would he trust sufficiently to accept an enhanced dose from him? His father? Perhaps after a discussion on the lines of “Why have you not presented me with a grandson yet? Having problems? Here, take a dose of this. It’ll make a man of you

put ink in your pen” or whatever the Rajput equivalent is. Speculation, of course, and how will we ever know? But the ensuing “accident” as staged was convincing.’

‘But who was he trying to convince? And why wouldn’t a knife in the ribs have been as effective? Or just an overdose of the drug? Why the fancy footwork?’

‘No. With the British Empire looking over his shoulder in the sleek shape of Claude Vyvyan, urbane, friendly but all-noticing, it would have to look as much like a genuine piece of misadventure as possible. And the opium and panther-wrestling routine was such a well-known and regular part of Bishan’s life it was feasible. But sharp old Claude must have become aware that all was not on the square. He wrote a report for Sir George, a report that never got through. There must have been something in there that Claude inadvertently or perhaps even deliberately let slip that they didn’t like the sound of. Sir George knows that Claude is nothing if not efficient and he would certainly have reported the death to him. His twitchy old nose began to smell a rat.’

‘And he stuffed you down the hole to see what you could discover?’

‘Something like that.’

‘And Prithvi had to die too - again apparently by accident - to clear the field for Bahadur. That I can’t stomach!’ she said, downing the rest of her whisky. ‘That creeping little coyote!’ She burst into a fit of sobbing.

Joe was disconcerted. ‘Not a member of the Bahadur fan club, then?’

‘No! Way too slippery! He despises me - well, don’t they all! - and he’s forever down by the planes, hanging around Stuart, watching

’

She fell silent and the silence stretched between them.

‘Joe, she whispered finally, ‘he could have done it! Bahadur knew enough about the planes to have cut the elevator wire. And we were all so used to seeing him holed up down there, feeling sorry for the poor little guy, we didn’t notice him any more. He’d had a couple of lessons with Stuart

’

‘But it was Ali who disappeared.’

‘Of course. Fall guy. They got rid of him so they could put the blame on him. He wasn’t around to deny it if things went wrong for them and their handiwork was discovered. Stuart never thought he would have done it, you know. Perhaps they asked him and he refused

Riggers don’t

couldn’t bring down their plane and their pilot.’

‘I had wondered why on earth Prithvi should have taken up the plane Stuart was meant to be flying. And, again, I can only think, “order or suggestion from above” and there aren’t all that many people above Prithvi in the hierarchy if you count them. Just one. His father. So we’re back to paternal machinations.’

‘Not quite sure what you mean but I can tell you that Prithvi did have a long talk with his father that morning. Do you think that’s how it happened? “Why don’t you demonstrate your ability for these Britishers? You’re as skilled as that Yankee pilot by now, aren’t you?” He knew Prithvi never could turn down a challenge. Do you think that’s how it happened, Joe?’

He nodded. He deftly put down his glass as she threw herself towards him, sobbing into his chest.

‘God, I’m stupid!’ she hiccuped. ‘I thought I was being so clever! “Give me my dues and perhaps I won’t tell the world about your naughty dollar deals!” Like an infant threatening to poke a grizzly in the eye!’ She tugged at a corner of his towel and dried her eyes. ‘I’m a target now, aren’t I, Joe? And I’ve brought my danger to your door. Look, let’s think this through. If Udai - and it’s still “if” as far as I’m concerned - is behind all this, he didn’t do it alone. Oh, I don’t just mean the ones who changed over the panther and sawed through the elevator cable, I mean I bet he had help at the planning stages. Certainly Ajit Singh and his men were there at the sharp end, the executive branch you might say, but also I’m guessing

’

‘Zalim?’

Madeleine nodded. ‘And I don’t forget young Bahadur, curse him! Believe me - I don’t forget him!’

Joe sighed. He went over to the door and drew the bolt across, switched off a light or two then returned to sit by Madeleine on the bed. ‘So, with the present ruler, the future ruler, the Prime Minister and the Chief of Police and the Palace Guard all eager that we shouldn’t get out of here and start talking to anyone,’ he said, ‘we have quite a problem. Suddenly your planes begin to look very attractive. Tell me - if you were to take off, where would you head for?’

He was quite sure she had no intention of revealing her plans but it was worth a try.

‘You could get to Delhi easily. But you might want to avoid a reception committee at the airport. These planes can land anywhere that’s firm. A road will do. Pick your point of the compass.’

‘And continue by rail perhaps? Rail leading to a port? Bombay? Madras? Calcutta?’

None of the names raised a flicker of response on Madeleine’s face. ‘Yeah. Could be done,’ she said noncommittally.

‘And all this leaves us with the night to get through,’ Joe began.

She reached for his hand and turned to him a face softened by something which in the half-light might have been affection. It could also have been pity or even need.

‘Joe

I could

we could

’

An uncertain Madeleine?

He stroked her shining head, put his arms around her and gave her the reassuring hug he reckoned she had been craving. ‘You’d better spend the night here again,’ he said gently. ‘My turn for the couch, I think.’

Ť ^ ť

Joe reported early for duty at the elephant gate, his packing done by Govind in the time it took to eat his breakfast. All traces of Madeleine had been removed as best the two of them could manage in a frantic ten-minute bustling about before the sun came up. Retrieving her envelope from underneath her pillow, she had grinned, ‘You’d wonder how I could sleep so well with my head on half Miami!’ and it had made its way down the front of her blouse. She took in her belt a notch to hold it firmly in place. ‘So long, Joe. See you in the jungle.’

‘What? You’re going too? This is turning into a charabanc trip!’

‘You didn’t think it was to be just a chaps’ outing, did you? Eight gents in velveteen coats, yarning over the angostura bitters? Sorry, Joe - we’re all being encouraged to go. To clear the palace for a few days, I’d guess. And, honestly, I’d rather take my chances with the wild tigers than the palace ones. I’ll feel safer out there with the snakes and the scorpions - no kidding! I think Lois and Lizzie are staying behind because they don’t approve of shooting animals but everyone else will be there.’

And here they were, milling about in the courtyard, some anxious and excited, others phlegmatic, even bored. Last minute instructions were given to the servants, forgotten items were urgently sent for from the palace. Everyone checked places assigned in the motor cars. It was going to be a two-hour journey and no one wanted to be put to sit next to Ajit Singh.

Joe stood back, silently admiring the forethought Colin had put into the planning. Heavy camp equipment which included iron water-tanks of drinking water had been sent off days earlier by camel and bullock cart and there remained only the ten members of the shooting party and their personal items of luggage to be distributed among the motor cars. Nothing had been left to chance, not even their placing in the fleet. Three passengers were allotted to each with a uniformed driver and Colin effortlessly ushered the guests into their places, hearing no argument. The first, a Rolls Royce, set off with Bahadur, Edgar and Ajit Singh, and the second, a Hispano-Suiza, with a perceptible lowering of the anxiety level, followed with Madeleine and Stuart and Sir Hector, firmly refusing to be separated from his medical bag which he insisted should travel with him.

Joe was invited to sit in the third motor car, a Dodge, one of three, with Colin and Claude, and with a further four cars carrying the baggage they set off, waved at by Lois and Lizzie.

‘Don’t shoot one for me, Joe!’ said Lizzie.

‘Darling, do check your boots for creepy-crawlies, won’t you?’ said Lois to Claude.

Joe looked round, concerned. ‘Colin! I don’t see Her Highness

’

Colin pointed ahead. ‘There she is, half a mile up the road. Shubhada elected to go on horseback accompanied by her grooms. It’ll be a point of honour with her to get there before we do. But she won’t find it that easy - the ground’s hard and dry. Good going for motor cars! We should make good speed.’

The drive along the forest road with the sun slanting through the trees awaking clouds of acid-yellow butterflies was magical in the early morning, though the approach of a seven-vehicle motorcade frightened away any animals they might have encountered. Some hinted at their presence by the occasional warning cry. On the last few miles to the camp site Joe noticed that the surrounding land was growing more rocky and broken and there were signs of ancient civilization on every hand. A crumbling sandstone fort looked grimly down from its hilltop, heavily ornate Hindu temples nestled in patches of jungle, and here and there they caught the grey-green gleam of lakes in valley bottoms.

Shubhada was already installed when they drew up, sitting on a folding camp chair, a half-read novel on her lap. Teasing, she waved a teacup at them and looked at her watch. ‘Oh, good. I was hoping you’d be here in time for tiffin,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I’ve already settled in. First to arrive has choice of tent, you know!’ She pointed to one at the end of the double row of white canvas tents pitched in a clearing. She had chosen the end nearest the jungle and furthest from the supply and cooking tents.

This did not please Colin, who had been about to place the two ladies protectively in the centre of the group, Joe guessed, but he smoothly reassigned the tents and all disappeared gratefully into their accommodation to smarten up and wash away the dust of the journey. Shubhada was in her element, striding about the camp in jodhpurs and riding-jacket issuing orders. He wondered what kind of a shot she was as he watched her fussing over a camp servant charged with unloading her gun case from the Rolls. It looked very splendid, he thought, as it disappeared into her tent, and he wondered whether she had been allowed to borrow her husband’s Purdeys for the occasion.

Everyone else’s guns had been delivered to the camp the day before and Joe’s Holland and Holland duly made its appearance. He welcomed the Royal as an old friend in this strange place. He took it out, held it to his shoulder and squinted down the barrel. He checked his ammunition and satisfied himself that all was well with the gun. He was not allowed to put it to more serious testing as all shooting had been banned by Colin. Now that everything was in place, he didn’t want to risk alerting the tiger to make off for a hunting ground farther afield.

A holiday spirit seemed to have invaded the group. Free of the crushing atmosphere of the palace and happy with their outdoor accommodation, they settled in the filtered sunlight of the glade to enjoy each other’s company over constant cups of tea and glasses of iced (now how had the khitmutgar managed that?) lime juice and soda. They sat down ten to lunch in the open at a table lavishly supplied by a field kitchen already in bustling order and manned by several palace cooks. The male guests were kitted out in khaki shirts and shorts and had good-humouredly adopted the Australian army bush hats Colin provided for them. No bright white pith helmets were to be worn on the hunt - a quiet camouflage was the order of the day. Bahadur and Ajit Singh conformed by agreeing to wear turbans of dull green. Everywhere, Joe was aware of teams of men cheerfully at work to support this enterprise from the twenty mahouts and their elephant handlers to the splendid major-domo figure who was organizing the valets and maidservants.

But Joe was uneasy. He strolled with Edgar a short way into the forest for a companionable after-lunch cigarette. ‘Nothing like it since the build-up to the Somme,’ he remarked to Edgar, pointing to the scurrying squads of servants. ‘And all for one tiger! Where on earth are they all sleeping?’