The Palace Tiger Read online

  ‘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.’

  ‘Hold hard now, Lizzie!’ Joe teased, putting on a Scottish voice. ‘Tha’s no a Stuart ye’re talkin’ aboot!’

  ‘No indeed. And I’m no admirer of the House of Windsor! But the lad made a good impression all the same. Even though it has left India counting the cost.’

  She looked at him closely for a moment and said shrewdly, ‘You’ve already begun your inquisition, haven’t you? Well, I wonder what I’ve given away? Is there any other light I can shine on your problem?’

  Joe laughed. ‘Just talk to me, Lizzie! I’m fumbling around in the dark. Be my torch!’

  ‘And here we all were, hoping the detective was going to tap Ajit Singh on the shoulder and have him consigned to his own deepest dungeon awaiting transport to the gallows in Delhi!’

  ‘Not the way it works, Lizzie. Even if I could find out for certain that Ajit Singh had killed off the two heirs, I have no powers to do anything about it. If he came to me with a signed confession in several languages I’d merely be able to comment, “How interesting. Now don’t do it again or HM Gov. will start to get a bit hot under the collar.”’

  ‘Pity! We’d all like to see the back of him. The sooner he’s replaced by that nice young lieutenant, the better!’

  ‘But if he’s involved at all, he’s only the instrument, Lizzie. It’s highly likely Ajit’s behind the killings. But who’s behind Ajit?’

  ‘Oh, anyone with influence or cash,’ said Lizzie thoughtfully. ‘He’d take a bribe. He’s been known – well, strongly rumoured – to have performed many services for the ladies of the zenana. A useful extension of their power.’

  ‘But what about a European, of either sex, requiring to whistle up a little skulduggery? Suppose for instance you needed someone to push old Edgar off a cliff?’

  ‘Huh! That’s a job I’d gladly do myself! Why give someone else the satisfaction? And – believe me, Joe – no one, not even you would find out that I’d done it. But yes . . . yes. I think I could make it worth Ajit’s while to oblige . . . What about it, Joe? Shall we?’

  He smiled at Lizzie’s attempt to lighten the discussion and seized the moment to invite her to indulge with him in a little gossip and speculation.

  ‘Delighted to do that,’ she said, pouring out another generous measure of whisky.

  Feeling rather foolish he asked, ‘Have you had a visit from a Parisian perfume house recently, here in Ranipur?’

  Lizzie frowned and smiled uncertainly at the same time, assessing the seriousness of his question. ‘No,’ she replied decisively. ‘Jewellers, grocers, couturiers, purveyors of tinned soup, tobacconists, candlestick makers . . . No perfumiers. There are always attar-wallahs selling their wares to the purdah ladies but I don’t think that’s what you have in mind, is it? Why are you asking?’

  Joe explained, pleased to see that Lizzie also was intrigued but unable to account for the shared taste in perfume of Lois and Third Her Highness.

  ‘Shalimar? Can you be certain?’ said Lizzie, disbelief in her voice. ‘I’m not aware of it but I can imagine. Sort of thing that Shubhada would wear but – Lois? She wouldn’t buy anything but Yardley’s so someone must have given it to her. And who would do that but Claude?’ She giggled naughtily, pleased with her solution. ‘Claude! Well! What have you uncovered, Joe! Perhaps our upright Englishman has a secret penchant for oriental mystery? “Here, Lois, old gel, try a spot of this behind the ears, what!” Sorry, Joe. I’ve no idea. But I’ll see what a bit of female gossip can reveal. Not really my style but in the interests of detection . . .’ She hesitated for a moment then said suspiciously, ‘It is in the interests of detection, I hope? Purely a professional enquiry? Not been getting too close to Lois, have you? You begin to worry me, young man! Sniffing, all too literally, around your female suspects! Are you an expert in scents? A . . . what do the French call it . . . a nose?’

  ‘Just one of my surprising skills,’ said Joe, smiling. He sniffed the air, stagily. ‘And you, Lizzie? Now let me see . . . Mmm! Got it! Eau de formaldehyde! Very alluring!’

  Too late he realized that his flippant remark had not amused Lizzie. She looked away and busied herself arranging the glasses on the tray but he caught a sudden expression of sadness and distance in the lively brown eyes. He decided to move to safer ground.

  ‘Tell me, Lizzie, what brought you to India?’

  ‘Elopement,’ she said at once, and sat back to enjoy his surprise.

  ‘Ah. Elopement. Now, are you going to enlarge on that or are you going to leave me squirming with embarrassment and framing my next question which will undoubtedly be about something of undeniable tediousness like the weather?’

  ‘I ran away from a rather dour Scottish home in the company of a young man who loved me. He was taking up a post in India and I came with him. We were intending to marry – I suppose that makes it an elopement.’

  Joe nodded. ‘And what became of your young man, Lizzie?’ he asked quietly, unable to dodge the question, though fearful of the reply.

  ‘Henry had been offered a position of assistant surgeon in Bombay – a very lowly position, not at all what my father had in mind for me. When we landed there was an outbreak of the cholera and what would Henry do but roll up his sleeves and pitch in? And what would I do but help him? He died. I survived,’ she said bleakly. ‘I was actually then quite glad firstly of my father’s forgiveness and secondly for his influence in getting me a position here in the royal household. Though I was not unaware that by this
gesture he effectively ensured that his disgraced daughter would stay on the other side of the world for some years, if not for ever. My stipend is generous and I’ve managed to save enough to ensure I have a comfortable return. I shall buy a little tile-hung lodge in the Home Counties, grow wisteria over the door and breed spaniels.’

  ‘Lizzie! I forbid you to do any of those things!’

  ‘Well, perhaps I may concede on the wisteria-hung, dog-infested cottage but the return home at least is not something I’m prepared to give way on. My job here, as you’ve noticed, is just about completed. I don’t want to be discovered in a few years’ time mopping and mowing in my dotage in some remote cubicle of the palace warren! And – tell me – what choices does a thirty-four-year-old spinster have in post-war Britain?’

  Joe was prepared to give this question his best attention and they discussed for a while the depressingly narrow range of occupations open to a clever, unmarried woman. Under the warming influence of Lizzie’s large brown eyes and the no less large measures of her whisky, Joe was on the point of suggesting that she marry him and allow him to make her the happiest of women but on running the phrase through his mind again he thought he might not have got that quite right.

  Before he could commit himself the door opened and Bahadur came back into the room ostentatiously consulting, Joe noticed, another impressive wristwatch. He was shadowed by Jaswant who was carrying a linen bag at his side. Half an hour had passed quickly in Lizzie’s company and, alarmingly, Joe calculated that, allowing for study or – heaven forbid! – capture, a family of dangerous snakes must be at large within a ten-minute walk of the Old Palace. He looked again at the bag Jaswant carried. He saw something stir in the depths.

  Bahadur looked rather put out to find his nanny and his British bodyguard side by side on the sofa sharing a convivial whisky and said with some asperity that if Miss Macarthur could spare the Commander he was ready to take him to a further appointment. Another glance at the watch underlined his eagerness to be off.

  ‘I have a feeling,’ Joe muttered in Lizzie’s ear, ‘that someone’s playing Pass the Parcel with me!

  ‘Keeping you on the move, at any rate. Perhaps there is a thought that a rolling policeman gathers no information? Where are you taking him now, Bahadur?’

  ‘We are working in accordance with the Commander’s expressed wishes,’ said Bahadur loftily.

  Joe wondered whether the ‘we’ was the royal we or referred to some company of which Bahadur now considered himself a part.

  He took his leave of Lizzie and set off to follow a pace or two behind the heir to the throne, thinking that couldn’t be wrong. After a few yards Bahadur waited for him to draw level and continued at his side.

  ‘You will miss the heat and the beauty when you go away to school in England, I think,’ said Joe conversationally.

  ‘I shall not be going away to school,’ said Bahadur. ‘I have decided to stay here in Ranipur where I am needed. I can have tutors sent out to me to continue my education and I have no desire to learn to play cricket.’

  Joe smiled to himself. This young Rajput promised to be a challenging ward for Claude.

  ‘I understand you would like to speak to my uncle, Zalim Singh?’

  Joe agreed.

  ‘Well, he is anxious to see you and to conduct you to the zenana. An honour, sir. My uncle is the only person who has the authority to admit you and he only does this because an audience has been requested by First Her Highness. You will not forget what I told you about Their Highnesses?’

  This last was not so much a question as a command. Again, Joe agreed.

  ‘Their grief and anger will have redoubled on hearing that I have been named Yuvaraj. I myself will not accompany you to the women’s quarters. It is full of their servants and who knows with what orders they may have been issued?’

  They seemed to be working their way into the deep centre of the Old Palace and it was some minutes before they arrived in front of a pair of highly decorated doors flanked by two Royal Guards who promptly stepped forward and barred their way. Bahadur spoke up sharply and Joe caught his own name in the exchange. Moving with synchronized efficiency, the guards opened the doors and one of them stepped inside and announced him. Joe looked around for Bahadur but, disconcertingly, the boy had quietly slipped away.

  ‘Sandilands! Do come in!’ a welcoming voice boomed out and Joe stepped into the room that he guessed to be the command centre of the state of Ranipur. Indian rooms in Joe’s experience were sparsely furnished: often merely carpets and cushions were added, perhaps with the thought that nothing else was required to compete with the lavish decorations to walls and ceiling, perhaps in the knowledge that anything more substantial risked attack by armies of ants or some sort of tropical fruiting body. Joe had heard both explanations. This room was an exception. Although it had the customary hangings, a silk carpet held down at its four corners by carved lumps of precious stone and many breathtakingly lovely Rajput paintings, the largest part of the floor area was occupied by desks, tables, bookcases and racks of ledgers: all the accoutrements of an office in Whitehall were here. Clerks were busy. No fewer than three were tapping away at typewriters, the very latest American models. In pride of place was another upto-the-minute piece of equipment – a Bell telephone, its black and gold splendour holding its own against the Eastern glamour of its surroundings. Electricity had been installed even in this far corner of the palace. The air was stirred gently above them by electric fans and the working areas were lit by pools of shaded light supplied by Liberty lamps.

  Poised and welcoming and obviously at the helm stood Zalim Singh, radiating efficiency in the centre of the busy scene.

  ‘Come in and take a seat, Sandilands! You discover me in full flow. Even on this sad day – no, I would say particularly on this sad day – there is work to be done. The funeral itself has thrown up a good deal of organizational matters which demand our immediate attention. I expect it is much the same with state funerals in London?’

  ‘Exactly, sir. And, I hope, having interrupted you, I will not long divert your attention from more urgent matters,’ Joe replied.

  ‘Oh, what could be more urgent than a murder investigation?’ Zalim said, a smile just failing to sweeten his blunt remark. ‘For I gather that this is what you are conducting under our noses, as you might say. But let me be frank and to the point, Sandilands.’ He waved a hand at one of the clerks. ‘I am even now dictating a report on the death of Prithvi Singh for the British authorities in Simla. As a matter of courtesy, you understand, for we are dealing with a purely internal, domestic matter. I will tell you now, Sandilands, as a trusted envoy of Sir George . . . would that be a fair description of your role? . . . that there is no mystery here. My report will state that the first two sons of Udai Singh have both died as a result of misadventure. There is nothing one could consider as sinister or worthy of further investigation in either death.’

  ‘As you say, sir,’ said Joe. ‘And if, when you have completed your report, you would like me to carry it back to Sir George in Simla I can guarantee its safe arrival,’ he added blandly. ‘Along with that of Mr Vyvyan.’

  Zalim inclined his head, acknowledging the thrust. ‘Thank you. I shall be pleased to do that. Now, may I offer you a cup of tea?’

  The door had opened to admit a servant carrying a silver tea tray and Zalim indicated that they should sit on divans at a low table to continue the discussion. He dismissed the three clerks and Joe found himself seated, alone, face to face with the real power in Ranipur.

  The two men regarded each other over the rims of their Meissen teacups for a moment then Zalim burst out laughing and put his cup unsteadily down. ‘Shall we stop circling round each other like a pair of over-cautious wrestlers?’ he suggested. ‘Look here – unofficially I’m prepared to admit there are inconsistencies in the details of the deaths of the first and second sons but I’m certain Sir George would encourage us all to focus on the point we have arrived
at and not let our eyes linger on the water that has passed under the bridge. And we have reached a position which I think is acceptable, even welcome, to the British as well as to the state of Ranipur. Do you agree?’

  ‘I do,’ said Joe. ‘But tell me, sir, are you content with the arrangements for your own future? Would you not have preferred to operate as regent within the state?’

  Zalim looked as though he had anticipated the question. ‘A regency lasts for a few years only and, knowing Bahadur as I do, I can tell you, Sandilands, that it will not be long before he has dispensed with the services of his regents. We are being open with each other now – I speak to you as I would speak to Sir George.’ He gave a slight bow as though conferring honorary governorship on Joe. ‘The appointments were, as you have guessed, of a cosmetic nature. Her Highness Shubhada is thereby guaranteed the consequence she desires and the British Government through its agent, Vyvyan, feels itself included in the future affairs of the state and remains our ally.’

  ‘But we know that the ship of state goes sailing on under the same steady hand?’ suggested Joe and Zalim’s broad smile encouraged him to add, ‘But, tell me, sir, was there ever a moment when you have thought that perhaps the helmsman deserved to be captain?’

  Joe held his breath. He knew he had gone too far. Zalim affected to look puzzled for a moment then his expression cleared and he replied calmly, ‘We Rajputs have little occasion to use maritime metaphors, Sandilands. Perhaps I can answer your impertinent query with an ancient saying of ours? “The Rajput’s kingdom is the back of his steed.” My ambitions are – have always been – circumscribed. I seek no further than my own saddle. I am more . . . able . . . than my brother in some respects and these skills I gladly deploy for him and the state. Allegiance to the head of state is the first of all the Rajput’s virtues. My head and my sword are always at his command and now, of course, at the command of the Yuvaraj. Fidelity is the source of honour in this life and of happiness in the hereafter.’