The Satapur Moonstone Read online

  Now she remembered Desi’s barking. Perhaps he’d been warning of someone who’d stolen onto the property. A thief from the outside who would never be identified.

  Perveen quickly pinned up her hair and draped herself in the same blue-and-gold sari she’d worn two nights before. Stepping out of her room, she scanned the veranda for Rama before remembering that he was probably leading Colin in exercises on the bluff. And then the worst thought came: What if the midnight intruder had been Colin or Roderick Ames? They were the only other people staying in the house. But what on earth could either man want in her luggage? She was supposed to be protected at the circuit house, but it was no safer than a cheap hotel.

  As she walked along the trail toward the Mehta estate, she felt a knot of anger tightening within her. She couldn’t limit her suspicions to only the men in the house. Vandana and Yazad could have an interest in the papers relating to the palace. And Dr. Andrews had warned her not to ask too many questions. Had he returned to investigate whether she had evidence of anything that could put him in a bad light?

  Perveen guessed that she was arriving too early for breakfast with Vandana. Most upper-class Indians breakfasted around ten, and it was not yet seven. But she was desperate to get away from the circuit house and to speak to Vandana about her serious concerns.

  The gate of Heaven’s Rest was open. Either someone had gone out, or her arrival was anticipated. Perveen decided the latter because she didn’t have to explain herself; the two durwans in pale blue uniforms waved her ahead on the long stone path leading up to the estate’s front door. An Indian maidservant dressed in a French-style black gown and white lace apron showed her through a highly polished marble hallway out to a garden with a wide veranda. Vandana was lounging in a planter’s chair, smoking a cigarette in the stylish black holder she’d used the night before. Although she wore a blush-colored peignoir and nightdress, her eyes were lined in black and her lips painted a deep pink. It was unsettling to see someone in nightclothes wearing full makeup.

  “Welcome, my dear! So glad you were able to come.” Vandana gave her a smile of welcome.

  “I’m glad that I’m not too early for you.” Perveen slipped into the empty chair next to hers.

  Vandana patted Perveen’s hand. “It is early, but I rose to say goodbye to my husband. And I know you were eager to get an early start as well.”

  Perveen surmised that a sweet matrimonial farewell was the reason her hostess had painted her face. “I found out the palanquin’s been repaired—but I’m not in a rush. I shall depart the circuit house around ten.”

  Vandana inhaled from her cigarette holder and blew out a smoke ring. “From your expression, I see you’re eager to travel. The prospect of a palace stay is enticing to most people.”

  “Of course.” Perveen kept her voice casual, but she caught the patronizing tone of Vandana’s comment. The Satapur lady was accustomed to such grandeur; Perveen, despite her degree and travels, was not part of that world. “Before we have breakfast, I’ve something to ask you.”

  Vandana nodded. “I am expecting many questions, and I will assist as best I can.”

  “Someone went into my room last night and removed my camera. Do you know anything about that?”

  Vandana put her cigarette holder down quickly. “No. Why would I?”

  An outright rebuttal should have been expected; but Perveen felt at a loss to answer the woman’s counterattack. Awkwardly, she said, “I don’t know. I just thought I’d ask everyone who was at dinner.”

  Vandana shifted in her chair, no longer looking comfortable. “You offered up that camera to Colin’s cook last night. Perhaps it was just too intriguing for him!”

  Perveen answered quickly. “I truly don’t think Rama would steal.”

  Vandana picked up her cigarette, smoked, and then addressed her. “What does Colin think happened?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him yet.”

  “But you asked me.” A tic at the edge of Vandana’s left eye had started to quiver.

  Perveen clearly understood that she’d offended Vandana. “I didn’t mean to accuse you. But you were there last night. You might have seen someone coming from my room—”

  “I did not. Did you come here for breakfast or an investigation?”

  “I came because I like you. And I hope you’ll tell me more about the palace.” Perveen looked straight at her—and after a moment, the tension in Vandana’s face eased.

  “I like you, too. I do hope you find the camera before you leave for the palace.” Her voice was soft.

  “Yes. And I will return to the circuit house after the palace—so if it turns up, Colin will give it to me.”

  A bearer dressed in the same crisp blue cotton as the Heaven’s Rest durwans stepped onto the veranda. In a low voice, he said, “Breakfast is ready, memsahib.”

  “We are having Yazad’s favorite, kande pohe. It’s a local specialty.”

  “It’s very popular in Bombay.” Perveen was relieved not to be presented with a fussy French dish. “I’m eager to try the Heaven’s Rest version.”

  “Come!” Vandana said, leading the way, her silk gown elegantly trailing after her.

  A table with a long white cloth was set up on the veranda on the other side of the house, which overlooked a tennis court. Perveen settled down to enjoy the food. The dish, a mixture of pounded rice, tiny chilies, bits of tomato, curry leaves, and spices, was delicious, especially with a fried egg served on the side, and a big saucer of the same purple berries that had been served at the circuit house but dusted all over with white sugar.

  Just as she had the night before, Vandana put out her cigarette before eating. She encouraged Perveen to eat heartily. “You never know what the food situation will be. Maharanis often go on fast for religious reasons.”

  “I see. And because they are of a different class, they might want me to eat alone,” Perveen thought aloud.

  Vandana pressed her pink lips together. “They might. Tell Rama to pack plenty of water and the right kind of food for the trip. Rice and puris and certain vegetable preparations won’t spoil.”

  “Where’s Yazad-uncle?” Perveen asked.

  Vandana’s long-lashed eyes widened with excitement. “He wanted to look at a site with Roderick before he went to Lonavala. He has an idea about where to place a proper road.”

  So when Yazad had said “see you in the morning,” he’d not been speaking to her, but to Roderick Ames. Now her curiosity was piqued. “Why would your husband wish to build a road?”

  “We’ve seen how the land collapses during the rains. A real metaled road could allow us to get our crops out on carts—and also help with postal delivery and other needs.” Vandana shrugged. “It would help us and others, too.”

  Perveen understood that the Mehtas must be far richer than she’d imagined. “Doesn’t the royal family need to approve such a thing?”

  “It’s an improvement that could be shared by the whole community. I doubt they’d mind.” She looked at Perveen. “You could put a whisper about it into the younger maharani’s ear. I expect she’s more accommodating than the old dowager.”

  Perveen realized all manner of intrigues were circling the palace without the maharanis’ knowing. Awkwardly, she said, “I don’t know that I can speak about that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have been sent to do one job. It’s to understand the needs of Satapur’s maharaja.”

  “His needs?” She raised a thinly plucked eyebrow. “That poor baby maharaja. It doesn’t matter. Forget what I said.”

  From the stiffness in Vandana’s tone, Perveen knew she’d taken offense. But after breakfast was finished, she led Perveen into a sitting room furnished with uncarved, curvilinear pieces that would only be fashionable in Europe. A stack of small fancy boxes decorated a shiny mahogany table. Immediately Perveen recognized the
insignia of her favorite watchmaker on one. The others were velvet and leather boxes that she imagined held delightfully luxurious items.

  “Yazad adores England and visits every few years. But he has a weakness for French accessories. If he hadn’t come to Paris to buy his first Longines watch, we’d never have met.”

  “Were you at school there?”

  Vandana hesitated a moment. “No.”

  “What then—family travels?”

  “I don’t tell many people, but I was working in Paris.” After a pause, Vandana added almost slyly, “I danced.”

  “My goodness! How marvelous!” Perveen spoke effusively to cover her shock. She did not think upper-class women, let alone noblewomen, could dance. But Vandana’s hair was short—clearly, she was a rebel. “Was it the ballet?”

  “No. I did traditional Indian dances, performing with the Royal Hindustan Orchestra. We were quite successful, if I say so myself.”

  “How did you learn? Did your parents allow it?”

  “No. I have good eyes, don’t I?” She looked coyly through her lashes at Perveen. “Every palace has dancing girls who live in the zenana. Young girls play together, regardless of caste.”

  “And you must have talent!” Perveen added.

  “A talent for physical movement—and opportunity,” Vandana said smugly. “I was shopping for myself at Hermès twelve years ago when Yazad crossed my path. He recognized me from my theater performance the night before and rushed up to kiss my hand.”

  “What a fairy tale!” Perveen sighed, imagining it.

  Vandana’s big eyes flared. “It’s true!”

  “I believe you,” Perveen assured her. “I just meant that it’s such a romantic story. To meet another Indian so far away—to find true love—and, now, for you to be enjoying India together.”

  “It’s not the dream I had when I was young—but it has turned out to be my karma,” Vandana said. “Go on; choose something.”

  “I feel dreadful taking anything,” Perveen said as Vandana began popping open various boxes. “I know you must have bought these things for yourself.”

  “Oh, these are not for me. I don’t go to anyone’s residence without a gift, except when I visit Colin, who cannot accept anything because he’s in the ICS. Look at these—four cigarette cases from Cartier.”

  Perveen eyed a beautiful gold cigarette box inset with sapphires. “Do the maharanis smoke?”

  “I’ve no idea about the younger maharani, but the dowager probably wouldn’t let her.” She picked up a slim rectangular orange box. Opening it, she said, “These are very fine riding gloves from Hermès. I’ve heard Mirabai is a passionate rider.”

  “What size are her hands, though? Do you know?”

  Vandana knitted her brow, revealing lines that Perveen hadn’t noticed before. “I hear she has a slender figure, and that usually means narrow fingers. Why don’t you try them?”

  Perveen could barely get the pale gray kidskin gloves halfway over her fingers. “They’re quite narrow!”

  “They will stretch,” Vandana promised. “But also take a larger pair that fits you, just in case you’re invited to go riding.”

  Perveen nodded because she knew the gloves she’d brought were crudely made in comparison. “Thank you very much. What about the dowager maharani?”

  “As the elder lady, she must have a very special gift.” A gleam came into her eye. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Vandana exited the sitting room and came back a few minutes later with a red box embossed with the name Cartier. She opened it to show a creamy moonstone pendant in a rose gold setting.

  “My goodness—that is spectacular,” Perveen said. “How can you give it up?”

  “It means nothing to me,” Vandana reassured her. “I bought it in Paris, but I’m sure the stone is from India. Moonstone is semiprecious, but this soft, milky shade makes it unique.”

  “Yes, it’s very special.” Perveen took a deep breath. “Somehow I must pay you for it. And the gloves.” She hadn’t the financial resources with her and disliked asking for anything extra from Colin.

  Vandana lit a fresh cigarette for herself and smoked before answering. “Don’t be silly. The government wouldn’t approve such expenses.”

  “But this is too valuable to accept—”

  Vandana held up a hand as if to stop further protests. “It’s a tribute a royal would approve. Let’s not speak of it again—this was paid for long ago and is the least of my concerns.”

  “I feel very awkward doing this,” Perveen confessed. “This is so far from my everyday experience of how to conduct legal business.”

  “Take it,” Vandana ordered. “All I ask is that in exchange you return to Satapur soon and stay with me for a few days. It gets very lonely here with no women around.”

  “I’d adore that,” Perveen said with sincerity.

  After twenty more minutes of pleasant conversation, Perveen left for the circuit house in a horse-drawn tonga commanded by Vandana’s driver. With apologies, the driver stopped at the point where the wide path ended by the hill leading up to the circuit house. Perveen disembarked and walked the final ten minutes.

  As she came close to the veranda, her attention was drawn to eight men sitting in the grass around a rough-looking bamboo contraption: two poles with a four-foot-square box fixed between them. One side of the woven box was partially open for air, but that purpose was defeated by grimy beige curtains. She had hoped for strapping men to hold the palanquin, but the carriers had very thin frames. Scars on their legs told the tale of how many hard miles they’d traveled.

  Perveen made a calculation. She weighed at least nine stone—126 pounds. Her trunk was at least twenty more pounds. Although eight men were there, she’d been told that just four would carry the contraption and switch at intervals with the others. It would be hard, heavy work along the narrow paths and steep slopes of the mountain range.

  After a whole day of wishing for it to arrive, she now found the palanquin was the last thing she wanted to ride in. But she could hardly voice a complaint.

  10

  The Wilds of Satapur

  Perveen had packed up and locked her trunk earlier in the morning, so it didn’t take long to get herself and her belongings out to the veranda. Colin was there, dressed in his usual linen shirt, cotton trousers, and high boots. It was a practical uniform that made him look more like an explorer than a bureaucrat.

  “The morning sun’s done a bunk,” he said, looking out toward the fog-draped hills. “I hope it reappears.”

  “It would be much better if it doesn’t rain. I know the journey is at least three hours.” She felt uneasy about the weather on top of all she’d experienced that morning. She wanted to tell him about the intrusion in her room but didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding as if she was accusing the servants.

  “Three hours in good weather. If it rains, they’ll have to shift to a longer route, to avoid going through a waterfall.” Colin gave her a sympathetic look. “Your expression is dubious. I hope it isn’t Yazad’s stories of bandit terrorists.”

  “No. It’s just that those men who’ll carry me look quite thin. I’m more worried that the weight of me and my luggage will do them in than anything else.”

  He laughed. “You weigh less than I. And I’m certain you’ll return in a few days telling me about the splendid pictures you snapped in the forest.”

  Not without a camera.

  “I’ll miss you,” Colin continued. “Not just when you’re away at the palace—but after you leave me for Bombay.”

  Perveen absorbed the words, wondering if this warmth he felt for her had led him to snoop about in her trunk. Could he have taken the camera? It was a dreadful thought, but she needed to raise the issue. Carefully, she said, “I’ve enjoyed the food and atmosphere at the circuit house. However, I mu
st mention something that’s gone wrong.”

  “Of course. What is it?” He was no longer smiling.

  “Between yesterday evening and five o’clock this morning, someone removed my camera from my trunk.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Are you certain? Might you have left it somewhere?”

  “I’m absolutely sure that I put it in my trunk.”

  With a serious expression, he said, “I will speak to Rama about this.”

  “Please don’t accuse him,” she said quickly. “It’s so unlikely he took it.”

  Colin nodded in agreement. “I wasn’t going to accuse him. He has been with me for over a year, and I trust him with my life. But he needs to know so he can make his own investigation.”

  Looking down the row of closed doors on the veranda, she spoke in a low voice. “Of course, Mr. Ames was here.”

  Colin frowned. “He’s stayed here many times, and nothing’s ever gone missing.”

  Perveen imagined that an engineer on a government salary could afford a camera. And the previous night, he’d made a comment about knowing how to take a picture. “I’d still like to speak with him before I go.”

  “That won’t be possible. I heard him leaving his room before sunrise.” At Perveen’s startled expression, Colin added, “He said yesterday he would depart early. Taking advantage of morning temperatures is the usual pattern for official travel.”

  “He was doing something this morning with Yazad Mehta, I heard.”

  “What’s that?” Colin’s voice was surprisingly sharp.

  Perveen didn’t want to get in the middle of the talk about building the road. “Something that took them away from Heaven’s Rest. I’m not sure exactly.”

  “Ames didn’t tell me that.” He shook his head. “I only hope that he isn’t doing a side project for Yazad Mehta. The hydroelectric dam is a government project. But one can’t work privately for an Indian. That’s a rule for all of us in the civil service.”

  Just as civil service officers couldn’t take gifts. “How well do you know the Mehtas?”