The Girl from Cobb Street (31 page)

Anish let out a small whistle. ‘You have been busy!’ His shoulders hunched in thought. ‘If what you say is true, I’m not surprised he kept quiet about his family. It’s evident he’s been trying to be what he isn’t, and that’s led him into this foolishness.’

She would have called it more than foolishness, but she knew Anish wanted to help his friend, and perhaps, too, he was trying to soften the blow for her.

‘If he’s in trouble, we must help him,’ he repeated. ‘And that means getting rid of the evidence.’

‘But how on earth are we to move those guns by ourselves. And where to?’

‘It won’t be easy, I admit, but in the next few days, I’ll come up with a plan, I promise. In the meantime, say nothing to anyone. And that includes Gerald. We can’t be completely sure after all that he
is
behind the thefts.’

Daisy had begun to think the evidence too strong to doubt, but she willed herself to cling to this smallest of hopes. ‘How will you find out?’

‘I’ll ask him—as discreetly as I can. I’m his friend and I know he’ll tell me if he’s in trouble. Then together we can work out what to do. We’ll have to pay Rajiv to keep silent but that shouldn’t be a problem. Meanwhile, I’ll say nothing of your involvement.’

‘But if I hadn’t told you, why would you have become suspicious?’

‘Rajiv. I shall say that Rajiv let slip something he shouldn’t and I put two and two together. How does that sound?’ He smiled engagingly.

‘I think it might work. But what should
I
do?’

‘Nothing. At least nothing out of the ordinary. When I’ve spoken to Gerald, I’ll let you know as soon as we have a plan. It might take a few days but if you don’t hear for a while, stay calm and try not to worry. All will be well—trust me.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

O
ver the next few days, she tried to follow his advice. But though she presented a calm face to the world, she felt sick with anxiety. Banished from the Infirmary, she had nothing to distract her from the endless, unanswered questions. What if Anish were wrong, she fretted, and Gerald had nothing to do with the crime? Anish’s suspicions would break apart the one true friendship her husband possessed. What if Gerald were as guilty as they believed, but Anish was unable to persuade him the game he’d been playing was over? Then they would be faced with a dreadful choice. And even if Anish had been successful—how could two men—four, if you counted Rajiv and his accomplice—cause crate after crate of guns to disappear without anyone noticing?

Gerald appeared oblivious that she knew anything of the deadly cargo lying beneath their feet: Anish had kept his promise to say nothing of her involvement. Her husband was on edge, it was true, but his nervousness did not appear to include her. If anything he was more attentive, spending more time at home and showing her a degree of kindness that was unusual. The day after Anish’s visit, he’d returned with a large basket of fresh fruits, ones he knew to be her favourites, and tonight he’d ordered Rajiv to mark the Teej festival with a special dessert—the little baskets woven from transparent toffee and filled with cream and tinned peaches that she had so enjoyed at the Club dinner.

She discerned Anish’s hand behind the subtle change in her husband. By now he must have confronted Gerald with what he’d done and, as well as planning a rescue, made him feel guilty for the distress he’d caused. That was only right; Gerald should feel guilty. It might have been Rajiv who’d plotted to harm her, but it was her husband who had turned a blind eye. And even if he’d known nothing of his servant’s activities, which she could hardly credit, he’d brought her to this house where he must have realised she would face danger. She tried not to dwell on what had happened, tried to be grateful for the small gestures of reconciliation, but her heart remained stubbornly cold.

‘I’ve organised transport,’ he said with a cheerfulness that didn’t quite ring true. They were finishing the last delicious toffee basket. ‘The car will be here in an hour, but once we get into the town, we’ll have to go on foot. Everyone follows the procession and walks to the river.’

The thought of taking part in Teej, with her husband alongside, had delighted her when Gerald first mentioned it. But now attending a noisy, crowded festival was the last thing she wanted. Still, she was supposed to act as normally as possible, and refusing to go would prompt questions she couldn’t answer. If only she could hear from Anish. He’d told her to trust him and she did. If there was anyone who could sort out the trouble they were in, it was Anish. He’d warned her it would take time and she had tried to be patient, but three days on she was beginning to despair. It was just possible she would see him at the festival and under cover of the boisterous celebrations, might learn what progress he’d made. The hope kept up what little was left of her spirits.

The weather that day had threatened more than ever, the blackest of clouds forming fortresses in the sky and the air clogged and unmoving. A sundress was all she needed on this hottest of nights, and it took only a few minutes to change into the lightest of the
durzi’s
creations. The car was already waiting when she walked down the veranda steps and she sensed Rajiv’s eyes following them into the vehicle and away from the house. Since the dreadful morning she’d made her discovery, she’d been more than ever alert to the servant’s demeanour but it never wavered and it was impossible to guess whether he knew he was suspected. He hadn’t fled the scene of his crimes, so it was reasonable to assume he wasn’t expecting punishment.

The car drove them swiftly to the centre of the town, winding its way through narrow alleys that smelt of smoke and dust and frying gram and marigolds. The clouds had cleared temporarily and an enormous moon filled the sky. Fireflies fluttered in its light. They edged their way beside a trickle of people, smooth-skinned and graceful, with garlands of marigolds and sweet-smelling jasmine hanging from their necks. The trickle became a flood as more and more poured into the main square on their way to the river, their path lit by the moon and a sprinkling of fire torches.

‘It’s best we get down here.’ They had stopped in the centre of the square and Gerald was opening her door. ‘The procession will be close by, and we can follow it on its way down to the river.’

He was right. They had gone only a few streets when the noise of beaten gongs, the sounds of people shouting and singing became so loud they could barely hear themselves speak. She held tightly to her husband’s arm, fearing to be swept away on the tide of people. It was a bittersweet moment. This was how she’d imagined their life, sharing a fascinating new world, sharing a happiness that would grow. If only, she thought. But it was no good thinking of what might have been. A very different future awaited them.

Turning a corner, she got her first sight of the procession and it made her stare in wonder. Float after float, decorated with flowers and pictures and images of gods and goddesses, were making unsteady progress along a wide, beaten mud road. Several of the images stretched many feet high, swaying on the poles of devotees and bending down towards their followers with huge, staring eyes. Some of the goddesses were beautiful, but others terrible; all were made from wire and straw and clay, and elaborately modelled.

She walked on beside Gerald, jostled on either side by the crowd, a huge, expectant throng intent on enjoyment. It was as though they were attending a carnival and not a solemn ceremony. Infectious gaiety and religious devotion should surely not mix but in some strange way, they did. How far this evening was, she thought, from those bleak, grey mornings in the orphanage chapel, when as a child she’d been forced to kneel for hours on cold and unforgiving stone, while a preacher lectured his small audience on their shortcomings. The children had heard little and understood less.

The temple on her right could not have been more different. Lights were waving, music playing, gongs clanging, bells ringing, as the priest intoned his text. Each deity, she noticed, had his or her own niche in the temple forecourt and was surrounded by offerings of flowers. Followers were walking in circles, offering more flowers, more gifts, to their own particular god before they, too, joined in the river celebration.

Caught up in the magnificence of the evening, Daisy almost forgot her troubles. She melted into the good-natured crowd, soaking up the colour, the noise, the smell, the sheer bravado of the moment. Women in saris of scarlet and gold silk, saris of silver threaded cloth and brilliant blue brocade, clustered all around her. Heavy gold chains hung from their necks, golden earrings dangled from their ears. They wore jewelled rings on their fingers and toes, and bangles on their wrists and ankles. Even above the din of the procession, she could hear the jingle of the women as they pressed close to her.

She felt Gerald’s touch on her arm. She was in love with this dark, jewelled night and only slowly became aware of his presence. She saw that he was holding a small sheet of paper.

‘This message has just arrived.’ She’d seen no messenger, but then she’d been far away in a world of her own. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go. It seems I’m needed back at camp. Some paperwork has gone missing. It won’t be for long, I’m sure. Will you be all right on your own?’

It seemed odd that Gerald would contemplate leaving her here alone; it must be something very urgent to call him away at a time like this. But of course, she would be all right. What harm could come to her among this warm, loving crowd?

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, feeling a little guilty that she would.

‘Good. I know you’ll enjoy the ceremony. If I don’t return before it’s over, walk back to the square. I’ll be there with the car waiting for you. Most of these people will be going in that direction so you won’t get lost.’

‘Don’t worry, Gerald. I’ll be there.’

In barely a second he’d disappeared into the surging mass of people who had been walking behind them. Only after he’d left, did she wonder why he’d been called back to the cantonment for something so trivial as missing paperwork. It seemed unreasonable on a night like this, and for a moment a cold dread gripped her. Was it possible that he’d been found out before his mistakes could be made good? But absent papers were unlikely to lead to guns in the cellar, she reasoned. Was it rather that their problem, as she thought of it, was about to be solved? Tonight might be an ideal opportunity to move those guns. It was strange that she’d heard nothing from Anish but she supposed he might have been too busy making arrangements to call on her. She must put it out of her mind. Whatever Gerald’s reason for leaving the festival, she was happy to be alone, happy to immerse herself so completely in the magic of the night.

When she finally reached the riverbank, the place was alive with people and with deities. The moon had once more disappeared behind lowering cloud but beneath a dark sky, punctured by the flame of torches, the scene unfolded itself in all its glittering splendour. She was enthralled. There were steps down to the river, and people had taken up every square inch of them. The crowd was so dense that many had toppled into the river itself, but Daisy managed to squeeze her way through and somehow room was made for her on the highest step. She had a grandstand view. One by one, the images were carried down to the waters and floated by young men swimming out into the river. Torchlight glinted across the crowns of each god and goddess, glanced off their headdresses, then found its way downwards to their ornamented belts and weapons. As every image floated out into the night, gongs sounded and worshippers rang little brass bells. It was a cacophony of sound and colour and sweet-smelling incense.

She must have sat there for over an hour until her body was stiff from the cold stone. When the last goddess had been sent on her way, the crowds began to drift from the riverbank and walk back towards the town. Daisy started back too. Gerald had been gone for several hours and she wondered where he’d been. At the cantonment, as he’d said, or at the bungalow shifting weapons? She hoped it was the latter and that Anish’s plan would work. If it did and he managed to keep Gerald from disgrace, she supposed their marriage would go on as before. Except there wasn’t really a before. Ever since she’d arrived in India, she’d been falling out of love. It was hard to accept but it was the truth. She had been in love with an illusion that started to crumble from the moment Gerald left his bride to be met by a friend and instead drank himself insensible. All the weeks in between, weeks of trying to do the right thing, had been torture. And no doubt they’d been torture for him, too. But since her discovery of the stolen arms, whatever feelings she’d held on to, had gone. Now that she suspected her husband had known, even perhaps approved, the attempts to scare and to hurt her, she could not forget. She would forgive, she had to forgive, but she couldn’t forget, and it would always be there between them. Their future was as dark as this still, hot night.

The mass of people was gradually thinning, individuals and groups peeling off to the left and right, making for their homes along narrow alleyways, but a sizeable crowd was still snaking its way towards the square and she followed them. Or so she thought. But then they, too, began to fade away into smaller and different streets, and she had still not arrived at her destination. Without light from moon or torches, it was difficult to get a sense of direction. She was certain it hadn’t taken her this amount of time to walk from the square to the river, but she’d been so entranced by her first sight of the pageant that she’d paid little attention to the route she was taking. She was at a crossroads she did not remember, and stopped for a while to get her bearings. Several family groups passed her heading straight ahead. Should she follow them and hope to hit the square, or should she perhaps take another of these streets? The one on the right seemed broader. That was more likely to lead her where she wanted to go.