Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

He eyed Claude covertly. In his easy conversational way, the Resident had presented Joe with four — or was it five? — potential heads on a platter. Joe watched him clap his hands and order more coffee to be brought. How could Joe describe the man’s mood? More than relaxed, he decided — elated, celebratory. But, after all, he had just been handed a significant position. And the key to the state treasury. An uneasy thought came to Joe: with the other heirs removed, Claude’s path to the regency was clear, with all the power and prestige that would flow from the position. Sir Claude and Lady Vyvyan? It sounded fitting. And after that? A governorship? The next Viceroy but two? Small wonder that the Resident and his wife were concerned for the welfare of the new Yuvaraj: Bahadur himself was the key which would unlock Claude’s glittering future.

A change had already come over Bahadur. The shadows had lifted and the boy’s good humour was beaming through.

‘Commander Sandilands!’ he exclaimed when Joe arrived, escorted by Claude, at Lizzie Macarthur’s rooms in the Old Palace. ‘I was hoping to see you! Tell me, sir, have you heard my good news?’ While he spoke he struggled out of the dark green laboratory apron he had been wearing and threw it impatiently on to the floor.

‘Indeed I have, and I congratulate you on your forthcoming elevation. The state of Ranipur is lucky in the choice of its successor,’ said Joe with a polite bow.

‘I have already conveyed my congratulations to the Yuvaraj,’ said Claude. ‘A happy day indeed!’

‘Well, if you two have finished clicking heels and playing courtiers. .’ said Lizzie briskly, ‘there are matters I have to discuss with the Commander.’

‘Yes, indeed. Thank you, Mr Vyvyan, for escorting the Commander,’ said Bahadur. ‘We needn’t detain you.’

Claude flicked a raised eyebrow at Joe, smiled, bowed briefly in farewell and left.

‘Bahadur, my lad, why don’t you make yourself scarce for a while? Buzz off with Jaswant, why don’t you?’ She indicated a silent elderly Rajput dressed in the drab uniform of a royal forester who was standing in a corner of the room. He was unusually small and dark-skinned for a Rajput and such was the stillness of the man that it was some moments before Joe had even become aware of his presence.

Joe glanced around the book-lined room. Benches at work height took up three walls and Lizzie and her charge had been seated at tall stools surrounded by open books, bell jars, specimen cases and metal trays carrying rows of scientific implements. The ruler must have placed a valuable order with Zeiss, Joe thought, noting two further microscopes standing to attention on a bench. A blackboard in one corner carried a chalk drawing, showing, he guessed, the circulation of the blood. Joe smiled to see the recreation in miniature of what must have been the familiar academic surroundings of Lizzie’s youth.

‘Half an hour, that’s all, then we must get back to our specimens!’

With dignity Bahadur replied, ‘Certainly I will allow you to confer with the Commander, Miss Macarthur. I will return shortly as I wish to speak with him myself. Meanwhile I will go with Jaswant.’ He glanced at the forester patiently standing by. ‘Jaswant is our animal collector, Commander,’ Bahadur explained. ‘And he reports a hatch of kraits in the locality. I have never seen one. I should like to see one.’

He preceded Jaswant out of the room.

‘Ah!’ said Lizzie flatly. ‘Growing up, you see! Growing into his new position. Quite right too. Twelve years old now. That’s a man by Rajput reckoning.’

‘Lizzie! Didn’t the boy mention a krait?’ said Joe, alarmed. ‘I don’t know much but I do know that’s the most dangerous snake in India! Is this safe? I mean, ought you to let him. .’

Lizzie smiled. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Joe! He’s perfectly safe with Jaswant. He’s a local man from the hills — a tribal, as some would have it — and no one knows the region better than he does. The two of us have practically raised that boy by ourselves with the occasional spurt of interest from his father or his mother. Jaswant won’t let him run into danger. He’d give his life for him.’

‘Like the Rajput nanny I heard about?’ suggested Joe.

‘Oh, that dreadful old story! Well, I’ve never had a child of my own so I suppose I can’t reliably comment but, yes, I too would go a long way to protect Bahadur. I’ve known him since the day he was born.’ Her eyes clouded but she went on crisply, ‘But then, he’s grown now and rather eager that we should all acknowledge the fact. So be warned, Commander! Though, I think you possibly got there before I did,’ she said with a sly sideways look.

She picked up the discarded apron, folded it and put it away then offered him a seat on a battered old sofa and while he settled himself, poured out glasses of whisky, Talisker, he noticed, casting a quick glance at the label. He had been about to refuse the customary whisky-soda pleading a surfeit of hock at lunch time but there was no refusing neat Talisker in a Waterford glass.

‘Slàinte mhath,’ she said, using the Gaelic toast.

‘Slàinte,’ he replied. He admired the pale liquid gold before taking a reverential sip. ‘Does this transport you to the shadow of the Black Cuillins of Skye, Lizzie?’ he asked.

‘Not really,’ she said prosaically. ‘Dashed good malt, though, don’t you think?’

‘The best! No expense spared, it would seem, in Ranipur?’ he ventured.

‘I’m afraid so, Joe. And it goes against all my frugal Scottish instincts. Excess, extravagance — can’t be doing with it. Apart from this indulgence, of course! And when you consider the poverty that exists side by side with the riches of this vast country, it does raise your hackles. I’m sure people will have spoken to you about the poverty, Joe? Europeans are full of advice, aren’t they? “. .Well, of course, you just have to ignore it. Give it six months, old boy, and you won’t even be seeing it any more. Beggars? What beggars?” Idiots! Anyone with a heart goes on seeing it!’

She paused for a moment, her flash of anger dissipating. ‘In fairness, I should say that Ranipur is rather exceptional. Udai is an example to all. He’s put a good deal of his resources into schemes to improve life for the common man, and there are no stories of reprehensible excess linked with his name. You must have heard the sort of thing. . you know. . a conversation overheard between two maharajas — “So difficult to decide with what to fill one’s swimming pool! Champagne, obviously, but should it be brut or sec?”’

She laughed. ‘Not sure that’s true but it just could be.’

‘I had heard that the Ranipur welcome for the Prince of Wales last year was somewhat lavish?’ said Joe tentatively.

‘It had to be! There was a lot riding on it. Prestige, face. . whatever you like to call it. Each prince trying to outdo the rest in the lavishness of his hospitality. . Magnificence and spectacle were heaped before Edward Windsor. I only hope he appreciated it,’ she sniffed disrespectfully. ‘And, yes, you’re right — Udai had electricity installed and by that I mean from the generators upwards, culminating in rows and rows of fairy lights, if you please, outlining the palace. But they had the sense to offer the royal tourist sporting distractions as well — you know — pig sticking, duck shooting, camel racing.’

‘No chess?’

‘No. No chess! A huge outlay, all the same, for a two-day visit. Though nothing like the sixty thousand pounds they spent in Bharatpur on a single night-pageant. I have to say, Udai did well. Even I was stirred by the sight of the youthful British prince (for so he appeared to me) being carried by six stalwart Rajputs to the banqueting hall in a ceremonial chair, his fair hair lit up by the golden glow of thousands of oil lamps and bonfires and the palace outlined in silver light behind him.’