Barbara Cleverly - The Last Kashmiri Rose

‘Somersham,’ said Joe, taking him by the elbow, ‘William, there’s something you have to know.’

At once the horses began to stir uneasily and sniff the air. A moment later the smell of smoke borne on the wind off the river reached Joe’s nostrils. ‘Come with me,’ he said and led Somersham to the door. The stars were dimming, the moon hung on the horizon ahead of them. Joe pointed down towards Curzon Street.

‘Look there!’

The river mist was now swirling, shroudlike, about the bungalow. As they watched, silenced by the eeriness of the scene, a denser whiteness began to flow from the open doors and windows.

‘Good God!’ said Somersham. ‘What is this? What are you showing me? It’s fire! Is that Prentice’s house? On fire? Again? What the hell’s happening, Sandilands? I can’t believe this!’

Transfixed, they gazed on as sparks began to shoot from the roof and a yellow flame began to lick its way along the edge of the thatch. The yellow flames turned to shooting sheets of orange leaping upwards and, with an exclamation of dismay, they watched as a blood red fireball burst out from the roof and hung momentarily over the house.

‘Christ! You know I’ve seen this before, twelve years ago,’ said Somersham. ‘Surely not again!’

The rapid clamour of a bugle shattered the silence of the morning.

‘We must go down there,’ said Somersham urgently. ‘We must run!’

‘No! No, William, please listen to me. I know there’s no one alive in there. There’s something you have to know.’

As they watched, with commendable speed a horse-drawn fire engine galloped up from the infantry lines, furiously driven by a bearded Sikh and followed by the Shropshire fire picket at the double.

‘Stay, William,’ said Joe, ‘and listen to me. The last time we spoke you asked if I was getting any nearer a solution.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ said Somersham. ‘You gave me hope.’

‘I can give you more than hope now. I have the murderer.’

‘Peg’s murderer?’

‘Not only your wife – Joan Carmichael, Sheila Forbes, Alicia Simms-Warburton and – but for the mercy of God – his own daughter. It was Giles Prentice.’

‘Prentice, you say? Prentice did these foul things? And he’s still alive?’

‘No,’ said Joe. ‘Dead. He’s dead. He admitted his crimes. He would have murdered his daughter. He was shot in the act.’

Dazed, Somersham turned around and went to sit down heavily on the straw bale.

‘Prentice!’ he said. ‘But how? And why?’

‘I’ll do my best to explain,’ said Joe, patting his pockets in vain. He held out his hand. ‘Give me a cigarette, shove over and I’ll tell you.’ He joined him on the straw bale.

Carefully he laid out the whole tale of Prentice’s iniquity concluding with the words, ‘Andrew Drummond said to me, “Find him. You find him and I’ll shoot him.” I found him, though perhaps more accurately he declared himself as such people often do, unable to believe that anyone could frustrate their purpose, but it was Nancy who shot him.’

‘ Nancy! And what now?’ said William. ‘ Nancy – is she – er – all right? Is she safe? What would this be? Justifiable homicide? I hope she’s not in trouble with the law…’

‘There would be formalities to be gone through, of course, but no, I don’t think she’s in trouble with the law. My concern is not for Nancy but for Midge.’

‘Midge?’

‘Prentice’s daughter, Minette.’

‘Of course, Midge. Poor child. But look here, I say, Sandilands, Prentice’s house is on fire. The evidence will be destroyed, won’t it? Does she have to know what happened? Does she have to know her father was many times a murderer? Wouldn’t it be possible to keep this knowledge from her?’

Joe hesitated a long time before replying. ‘William, you’re the only person in the world who could say that. I can’t bring your wife’s murderer to justice and keep the facts from Midge.’

‘Justice!’ said Somersham explosively. ‘If Prentice were alive, I’d find the means to bring him to judgement. Silly Billy Somersham would have found the strength! But as it is, Joe, for God’s sake – spare that child and for the rest, let pass the judgement of God.’

The echo of the volley discharged by a Shropshire Light Infantry firing party over the grave of Giles Prentice died away and with it the rumble of wheels from the gun carriage which had carried him from his house to the cantonment cemetery. The clatter of hooves from the six grey troop-horses of Bateman’s Horse was silent at last and the serried ranks of Greys sowars – black mourning bands wound about their turbans – had tearfully dispersed to their barracks to grieve in private for the man who had brought them safely back from France. There were, at the last, some to weep for him, thought Joe. He watched as Prentice’s horse with muffled hooves and Prentice’s boots reversed and suspended on either side of the saddle was led away to the stable.

George Jardine’s Daimler with liveried chauffeur and footman waited outside Nancy ’s bungalow. ‘I suppose I must go and talk to Uncle George,’ said Joe, ‘but not yet.’

But at that moment, ‘Joe!’ called George Jardine. ‘There you are! I have to go but just walk a few paces with me, will you?’

He put his arm through Joe’s and they turned aside from the crowd of mourners at the churchyard gate. ‘Don’t say anything, Joe,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me anything. There are certain things I don’t want to know. “Death by misadventure” – that’s all I needed to hear.’

‘I was going to spend the day writing a report to you,’ said Joe.

‘I don’t want it,’ said George. ‘Let the dead bury their dead. And I’ll tell you – you’ve lifted a weight from this place. I feel it. All feel it. What more can I say? Congratulations, I suppose. So – congratulations!’

‘It was a mess,’ said Joe morosely.

‘Nothing like the mess it would have been if you hadn’t been here – never forget that!’

He started off back up the road to Nancy’s house but turned and said, ‘Oh, by the way, Joe – that box-wallah you and Naurung tracked down – the witness Bulstrode let go in the Peggy Somersham case – police finally caught up with him in Bombay. Wonderful invention, the telegraph! You were quite right, of course – March was the month he always visited Panikhat on his itinerary. Well spotted! Religious maniac apparently. And you spotted that too! I should think that by next week we’ll be announcing that we’ve got a confession. Wouldn’t be surprised to find he’s been responsible for more mayhem around the country. If anyone were to enquire. Eh? What? Wrap the case up and no need for panic next March. Should think there’s a promotion coming Naurung’s way, wouldn’t you?’

So cheerful, sincere and delighted was his large pink face that, for a moment, Joe believed him.

‘Well?’ said Kitty, taking the Governor’s place at Joe’s side.

‘ “The captains and the kings depart,

The tumult and the shouting dies…”

‘and I suppose you’ll be gone too. Gone from the Land of Regrets. Without regret, I wonder? Leaving some part of your heart behind?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Joe, ‘certainly that.’

Kitty gave him a steely and searching look. ‘Leaving anything else behind? It’s all right – you don’t have to answer. Everybody thinks I’m the most irresponsible tell-tale in Bengal but such is not the case. Your secret – if secret there be – is safe with me!’

‘Well, Nancy?’ said Joe.

‘Well, Joe?’ said Nancy. ‘Here we are.’

‘I didn’t want to stay and now, when it comes to it, I don’t want to go.’