Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

‘Yes! I see it now. Definitely Yashastilak!

‘But you must be wondering why I have asked you to come and talk to me, Sandilands? Of course, it is always a pleasure to meet an attractive young man and I wish we could converse in more auspicious circumstances.’ Her voice had taken on a businesslike tone. Clever Zafira, Joe noticed, was managing to convey this in his rapid translation.

‘My son, Bishan,’ went on the princess, ‘should even now be preparing to take his place on the gaddi but that will never be. They tell me his death was an accident but I do not believe this. My purdah prevents me from finding out the truth. In the zenana we hear only what the outside world chooses to tell us. I hear from Edgar who has long been my friend that you go after the truth like a hound. When you have found it I would like you to come again and whisper the name of my son’s killer. You will be well rewarded.’

What could Joe do but politely commiserate with the grieving princess and promise that he would tell her the truth which she deserved to know when he was in a position to reveal it?

‘But there is one matter you could clear up for me,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I don’t wish to intrude on family grief but it would be useful to my enquiries to know more precisely what were Bishan’s immediate family circumstances. Was he married? Did he have any children? I have only just arrived in Ranipur and things that are common knowledge to others are not yet known to me.’

Her voice became cooler but she answered swiftly enough. ‘He was married. His wife is about the place somewhere in the zenana. They were married when they were children as is the custom. My daughter-in-law is a princess from a southern state. And, no, Bishan was not blessed with children. My daughters between them have many children but we were still waiting for Bishan’s good fortune. .’ Her voice trailed away and Joe sensed that his question had disconcerted her.

‘But your thoughts, Sandilands, follow mine down a well-trodden track. If Bishan had had several sons, my husband would not have been reduced to the disastrous choice he has had to make in the matter of his successor. I hold Bishan’s wife, dull little mouse that she is, much to blame. If she had compelled his attention as I continually urged. .’ Regret and rage cut off her words.

It seemed the right moment to take his leave and Joe extricated himself as smoothly as he could, blindly following Zafira’s swaying hips and clapping hands through the corridors. As he plodded on he felt a weight of sorrow for the disregarded mouse and wondered to what dark corner of the zenana she had fled to hide her shame and to escape the scorn and anger of her mother-in-law.

Predictably, the lowering features of Edgar Troop greeted Joe as he emerged from the zenana.

‘There you are, Sandilands! And here I am, you see, on sheepdogging duty,’ he said with an awkward laugh. ‘After the day you’ve had, Joe, I expect it will be nothing but good news to hear you can stand down now.’

Well, this was a surprise! Insightful sympathy was not a trait Joe easily ascribed to Edgar.

‘Not that, officially, you were ever on duty, of course. I don’t lose sight of that,’ he murmured. ‘We’ve arranged to have a portable meal served in Colin’s quarters — just the three of us — and we can spend the evening planning the tiger hunt. Colin got down here a few days before us and he’s been able to do a bit of reconnoitring. He’ll fill us in on his plan, assign duties, check the armament. .’

Joe smiled to see Edgar’s heavy features suffused with the joy of anticipation. This was his world: an evening spent in unbuttoned but purposeful ease with like-minded men, competent and keen. The barracks not the brothel, after all, appeared to be his natural habitat.

‘Did you manage to have much talk with First Her Highness?’ Edgar asked casually when they had distanced themselves from the zenana.

‘Incredibly, it was more in the nature of a mild flirtation,’ said Joe.

Edgar scowled. ‘She likes her distractions. It entertains her to make a fool of gullible young Englishmen. Never underestimate her. You can’t see her in the shadows behind that screen but it’s always strategically placed with you a little way away sweating it out in the sunshine. She sees you all right! Every shifting expression!’

‘Yes,’ said Joe. ‘I’d worked that one out! Thinking of introducing a similar technique to the CID when I get back. We too find it useful to catch the shifty expressions.’

‘What did she want with you? Apart from the chance to view your manly features?’

‘What everyone wants: find out who killed her son and whisper the killer’s name to her.’

‘And did you turn up anything interesting?’

‘I found that Bishan was a most unsatisfactory first son. He was a neglectful husband and produced no children.’

‘ I could have told you that! In fact, I rather think I did. Out of his brains with something or other most of the time. Rumoured to have been interested in boys but I don’t think there was any evidence. Neutered tom, I’d have said.’

Joe was very prepared to take Edgar’s estimation of sexual orientation as professional and reliable.

‘No loss!’ Edgar added, echoing Sir George. ‘His mother mourns him but no one else.’

‘A different character from his brother, Prithvi?’

‘Well, remember they were half brothers. And yes, Prithvi was a much more likeable fellow. Got on much better with his father. Was trusted by him, you’d say. Good-looking, charming, bit of a drinker but he got that under control. Playboy. Madeleine wasn’t the first girl he got involved with but she was certainly the last. It was obvious to all that he was head over ears in love with her. . But in all other ways he was a bright chap. You’d have liked him.’

Emerging from the palace buildings, Edgar stopped and pointed ahead. ‘But forget all that for the evening. There’s Colin’s bungalow — over there, half a mile away at the north end of the Long Pond. Do you see it?’

They followed a hard-beaten lakeside path, glad of the shade of fringing willows and the cooler air rising from the water. The sun had sunk behind a ridge of the Aravallis, turning the sky into an upturned copper bowl reflecting itself in the waters of the lake. A few birds, moorhens, he judged from their movements, were sculling about on the burnished surface but all was otherwise silent. Two grey, hunch-shouldered herons stood poised at the fringe, their frozen silhouettes emphasizing the deep stillness. It would be an hour or two before the animals would gather in twitching unease, making a fragile truce when they came down to drink as night fell. Joe noticed a small boat on the lake making for the shore. An Indian was rowing but Joe could not identify the other figure in the stern.

Following his gaze, Edgar commented, ‘Third Her Highness. She’s a keen fisherman. All-round sportsman in fact. She’ll be an admirable regent for young Bahadur. Set him a good example and perhaps a challenge! I’d like to see her weaning the lad away from the influence of that nanny of his. Too much store set by subordinate clauses, Bunsen burners and Plato’s views of the universe. What the lad needs is some experience of real life!’

The bungalow was built to a blueprint of the civilian accommodation designed by Edwin Lutyens. Practical, constructed to catch every air current that could be caught and, best of all, predictable. After nine months in India, Joe could have found his way around it blindfold. Colin’s welcome was warm and brisk. Without preamble he led them to a table on the verandah overlooking the lake. It was laid with sheets of paper, pencils and bottles of mineral water chilling in silver ice buckets and they settled to something very like a military briefing.