Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

Bahadur gave him an astonished look. ‘Oh, yes. They have tried to have my mother killed many times. But my mother is clever and well served by the palace servants who always bring warning. She is called Lal Bai. They hate her because she is a village girl and speaks only her village tongue but mainly they hate her because my father has always spent much time with her.’ Bahadur looked doubtful for a moment. ‘Until Third Her Highness came to live here. That was a year ago and my mother and I have seen very little of my father since then.’

‘So, where have you found a billet? Where do you sleep?’

‘I sleep anywhere and everywhere. Never in the same place twice.’

He paused and looked at Joe, wondering how far to trust him. Joe arranged the features of his killer’s face into what he hoped was a reassuring and receptive expression and waited.

‘There are people watching me. Everywhere I go I feel I am being followed. I hear footsteps behind me in the corridors and when I turn, there is no one there. Figures I have noticed ahead of me disappear. In the night, I hear noises I don’t understand. Govind finds me places. There are many rooms only he knows about. Sometimes I sleep in the elephant pens. They keep watch over me. There are ninety-five elephants and I know every one of them. They know me.’

‘So, that’s Govind and the elephants. Anyone else you can rely on?’

‘Yes. There is a forester, an old man who has always cared for me. And I like the airman, Captain Mercer. He is very friendly and says one day he will teach me to fly. He lets me stay in the hangar whenever I like and he never gives me away. But my best friend in the palace is a good man who is staying with my father. A tiger hunter. He has taught me all his skills. His name is Colin O’Connor. I go out into the jangal with him as often as he will take me.’

‘Mmm. . Doesn’t sound all that secure to me, roving round the jungle with a tiger hunter,’ said Joe. ‘You mentioned a nanny, I think? Is she still in employ at the palace?’

Bahadur’s face softened. ‘Yes, she is here. She is a Scottish lady, Miss Macarthur, and she is very fierce. She would fight for me with the courage of a tigress but she is a woman and she could not keep off an assassin with a parasol, could she?’

‘Where are her quarters?’

‘In the Old Palace. I will take you to see her tomorrow. She will be pleased to meet a friend of Sir George.’

‘Another elderly conquest!’ thought Joe, grudgingly. ‘The umpteenth member of the Sir George Appreciation Society.’

‘I’d like to see you again tomorrow, Bahadur. In fact it would put my mind at rest if I had you in my sights as much as possible every day. Stick as close by me as you can. If anyone asks why, tell them you’re teaching me astronomy. Now, look, I’ve got to write up a report for Vyvyan, bathe, dress and get myself down to dinner. Better get a move on!’

Bahadur looked at his wristwatch. Joe blinked in admiration. It was a diamond-encrusted Cartier watch and though Joe would never have remarked on another man’s possessions, the look of boyish pride as Bahadur consulted it prompted him to make the anticipated admiring comment. Bahadur smiled in glee, his first genuine smile, and instantly he slipped the watch off his wrist and handed it to Joe. ‘I’m so glad you like it. It was given to me by a jewel salesman from London who visited last year. My father was much impressed by the man’s generosity to his son and placed a large order with him. Now I give it to you. Please take it.’

Joe’s embarrassed protests were brushed aside. ‘But this is our custom,’ the boy said firmly. ‘If a guest admires any of our possessions, we are proud to give them to him. You are a warrior like the Rajputs, I see this, so I know you must understand. Would you not want to give me something of yours if I truly admired it?’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ said Joe automatically, taken in by the boy’s expression of earnest innocence and honour.

Too late he realized that he had been trapped. Bahadur placed the watch ceremoniously in the centre of the dressing table, turned to Joe and said, ‘Well now, I really must be going. I’ll return tomorrow and we’ll continue our conversation, sir.’

Joe held his breath as the boy made his way to the door. Was he going to get away with it? Reaching the table by the door, Bahadur caught sight of the Browning M and raised his hands in an actor’s gesture of surprise and recognition. He picked it up. It slid into his grasp with familiar ease, the scale appropriate to his small hand. ‘Keep this safe, Mr Sandilands. I would be most distressed if you were to lose it because it is the most beautiful, the most comforting gun I have ever handled. Just to have such a gun as this — though unloaded, as you say — tucked into my belt, would make me feel more secure.’

He sighed.

Joe knew he’d been tricked but he recognized that the crushing fear the boy was living under was genuine, the threat real, his plea heartfelt.

He took a deep breath. He heard his own voice saying with what he thought might just be the formality and pride appropriate to a Rajput warrior, ‘I would be honoured, Bahadur, if you would keep the gun.’

They smiled at each other in complete understanding and Bahadur and his Browning disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived.

Soaking in his bath, Joe was torn between rage and amusement. He was angry to have lost his gun though luckily he had had the forethought to pack his old service revolver along with ammunition. Ammunition! A sudden cold thought sent him dripping, naked, from the bath to his trunk. He tried to recollect the weight of the little gun in his hand when he had wrested it from Bahadur and could not. Cursing his carelessness, he dug around and, with a sigh of relief, found the spare clips for the Browning still where he’d placed them, wrapped up in a waistcoat.

He counted them. There was one missing.

Joe groaned. A nervous twelve-year-old was loose about the palace armed with the police commander’s own gun. Not unloaded as he had thought but with eight lethal bullets up the spout. Joe imagined Sir George’s comments if he ever found out. Suppose the lad went straight back to the zenana with his new toy to exact retribution from the maharanees for the attempts on his mother’s life? Like a fox in a hen-coop he’d be able to kill at will.

Joe tried to put these horrifying but fanciful ideas out of his mind. There had been something about the boy that had earned his confidence. He didn’t doubt his courage and he’d been impressed by his cleverness and quick thinking. Perhaps Bahadur had presented him with a true bill — he genuinely wanted to keep the gun as personal protection. Well, so be it. He reasoned that Bahadur could trust no one; he could be in genuine danger of death from an unknown quarter and, ultimately, his only defence might well be the Browning. And then, though heaven forbid, he’d be damned glad he’d given it to him. He told himself to relax and finish dressing. He had left himself only an hour in which to complete his report for Claude.

Feeling rather foolish sitting at his desk in evening gear and the promised white tie, all pressed at a moment’s notice by the palace staff, Joe found supplies of writing paper and an excellent fountain pen, already loaded with black ink, and set to work. The words flowed easily, no detail was missed and he was happy with his account. He folded it in two, slipped it into his pocket and, after a guilty look at the Cartier watch, he tucked that into his other pocket, not knowing what else to do with it and acknowledging that the security of his room was nonexistent. He pulled the bell and waited for his escort to the dining room. He had left a perfect ten minutes to spare.