The Satapur Moonstone Read online

  “What happened exactly?” Perveen asked, switching to Marathi. Colin’s eyes flickered away, and she realized he was going to pretend he didn’t understand a word.

  The prince shrugged. “He was there, and I asked him to get the doctor. He knows where his home is. So he handed back his gun and went.”

  Perveen mulled over his words. They seemed to hint that the gun belonged to the royal party, rather than being an ordinary military-issue pistol.

  “He said he was on the hunt with you.” This wasn’t true at all, but she suspected he’d agree with her.

  Prince Swaroop shrugged. “Yes. He was interested in royal life.”

  “And how did he get close to you?” Perveen saw Colin digging into his food, and wondered if he had understood what the prince had just revealed.

  “He set up an electric house for me. My palace may be smaller than the main one, but there are more lights there, throughout.” He gave a small, smug smile.

  Playing on this, Perveen put an admiring warmth into her voice. “As you can see here, not even this Englishman has electricity! What does one pay for setting up an electric house?”

  “A few thousand. He certainly does not complain because he gets privileges like hunting trips. Although that was the very worst trip to go on.” His eyes became damp, as if he was about to cry. High emotion was the impact of too much alcohol on some.

  “Yes, yes,” Perveen agreed. “But tell me—if he was doing work for you, and you had him on the hunt, why didn’t you recognize his name straight out?”

  “I don’t like to see Indian faces with English names. I call him something else.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Kuta.”

  It was a Marathi word that meant dog and showed her the depth of Prince Swaroop’s rudeness. But it didn’t rule out the chance that Roderick Ames had been the one who had killed Prince Pratap Rao—perhaps in exchange for a very large payment from Swaroop.

  “Enough talk of the past!” Prince Swaroop said in English. He lifted his empty glass and looked around for someone to fill it. “We will search for Maharaja Jiva Rao. And this time, we must find him before it’s too late.”

  As Colin hesitated, Perveen sensed his reluctance to allow the prince to become utterly inebriated. But in that pause, Rama came forward, picked up the bottle, and poured into the prince’s glass until the bottle was empty. She shot a glance at Rama and saw sweat beading his brow. He probably had served the prince because he was nervous what would happen if the royal became angry.

  “The search,” Colin began. “Satapur is thirty-one miles at its widest point and forty-five miles running north to south. We have an official map of it, although the landscape might be different from what’s on the map.”

  Perveen was distressed by the idea that the map was wrong. “Why is that?”

  “During monsoon, waterfalls spring up. For example, when I first came here, there was a stone path from the village to the Aranyani temple in the forest. But after a few months of rain, every stone has been swept away. Today, trees have fallen where the path once was, and a ravine has been created that cannot be crossed.”

  The prince looked bemused. “You have seen this temple?”

  “Yes.” Colin shifted in his chair. “I’ve explored much of the state carrying the existing maps. When I find changes, I mark them. From that I can create new maps—unofficial ones.”

  “So the Kolhapur Agency gave a mapmaker this agent position?” The prince sounded amused.

  Two red spots appeared at Colin’s high cheekbones. “I was an ICS collector before this. Maps are my personal interest.”

  Perveen was going to suggest he bring out these maps for the prince to see, when she was distracted by a riot of barking.

  “Someone has come.” The prince attempted to stand but swayed so much that the Sardarji hurried around the table to hold him steady.

  Colin looked unflustered. “It is likely one of the neighbors! Rama will go to check on things.”

  Rama had already put down his tray of puris and gone through the door.

  Perveen felt nervous. “Will Desi bite someone he doesn’t know?”

  “Not likely,” Colin said soothingly. “He listens to Rama’s commands.”

  “Why is it that you have no durwan to guard the circuit house?” the prince asked disbelievingly. “There were guards in Mr. McLaughlin’s days.”

  “Desi is all we need. To look at him, you’d think he is the fiercest dog in the world—so any wrongdoer would certainly run.”

  “There’s a dog at the Satapur palace just like him. My man will go with your bearer and call my guards!” Swaroop said, and Dhillon hastened out. She waited, feeling tense, until she heard comfortable male conversation outside.

  Two minutes later Rama and Dhillon returned with a tall man dressed in a blue sherwani coat and matching trousers, with the sideways-slanting Satapur Palace pagri on his head. For a moment, Perveen was confused, but then she recognized Aditya.

  “Your Grace.” He put his hands together in a gesture of respect to the prince.

  “You must be from the palace. I am Colin Sandringham, the agent of Satapur.” Colin rose to offer a slight bow.

  Prince Swaroop waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t bother with that! He is only the court buffoon.”

  Perveen gave Swaroop a scathing look and got up herself to greet the buffoon. As she neared him, she smelled a mixture of smoke and sweat. Trying not to wrinkle her nose, she said, “Please come in, Aditya, and sit down. Is there some news?”

  “Yes. Take a chair—we will bring you food and drink,” Colin said, because Aditya was still standing uncertainly in his spot.

  But he remained standing. Edging away from Perveen, he said in stilted English, “I know you took him. But is he still alive?”

  This was such a change from the way Aditya had spoken before—it was as if an old friend had been replaced by an unpleasant double. Earnestly, she said, “I did not take him. The honorable Prince Swaroop can tell you himself Maharaja is not here.”

  “It is true,” Prince Swaroop said, following the declaration with a burp.

  “He is not here because she’s had him killed. Why else would he vanish after her visit?” Aditya demanded.

  The buffoon had spoken a bit of English to Perveen before, but she realized now that he was fluent. Perhaps the hunting trip with King George had taught him quite a lot—or he’d been sitting in on the children’s lessons with Mr. Basu.

  Colin put down his knife and fork. “I see how much you care for him. But Miss Mistry has absolutely no reason to harm the maharaja. She’s been employed by the Agency to keep him safe.”

  Aditya acted as if Colin hadn’t spoken and looked pleadingly toward the prince. “Your Grace does not know how upset the rajmata is. A third death could kill her.”

  “How is the choti-rani?” Perveen asked.

  “Who knows? She has gone riding. Her answer for everything.” His voice was contemptuous.

  Colin looked at Perveen with alarm. “It’s nighttime. She cannot be riding in the dark—”

  “Who knows if she returned?” Aditya said. “I came looking for Maharaja, not her.”

  Perveen noted the dullness in the buffoon’s voice, and the haunted look in his eyes. She asked, “Before leaving, were you able to have the funeral service for Bandar?”

  His eyes shone with moistness. “Yes. I performed the rites and sent him down the river. In his next life, he will be a great man.”

  “You are speaking of an animal’s good fortune at a time like this?” Swaroop scoffed.

  Quickly, the buffoon bowed his head. “Please forgive me.”

  “Is there anyone at the palace who might have taken the maharaja out?” Colin asked.

  “We are all like a family; we love each other,” Aditya answered after a
pause. “And the dowager maharani asked the durwans if any visitors came to the palace. They said nobody came to the palace except for her and the bearers of the palanquin.”

  “Servants and ladies-in-waiting can leave the palace, can’t they?” Perveen asked, thinking the enemy was most likely from within.

  “After Maharaja Mahendra Rao’s death, many servants were let go. The maharanis wished for fewer, deeply trusted people to serve.” Aditya’s words showed how highly he thought of himself, and how he wished for everyone to recognize his status.

  Yet he had misunderstood her question. It was likely because he was weary from having traveled so far and in darkness. How had he made it? Perveen reprised the invitation Colin had made earlier. “If you’d like, Rama will set an extra plate for your meal.”

  Aditya nodded gratefully, but as he moved toward the table, the prince spoke in a snappish tone.

  “No. He eats with the other servants.”

  Perveen’s shoulders flinched. The maharanis both treated Aditya almost in the same manner they would a courtier, so she had expected Prince Swaroop would do the same. And Aditya’s stony expression told her that he didn’t appreciate being dismissed so rudely.

  “Rama, bring this man’s meal to the tea table on the veranda.” Colin spoke quietly, and Perveen sensed he was trying to make up for the lapse of protocol without offending either side. “There is a washroom two doors to the left, just along the way.”

  The buffoon stalked out of the parlor.

  Rama edged closer to Colin and murmured, “But there is no more food in the kitchen! Everything is on this table.”

  Colin’s eyes darted to the scant food left on silver trays and bowls. “If everyone here has had enough, I’ll have Rama prepare a plate.”

  Prince Swaroop pulled a chicken bone from his mouth and said, “This circuit house has gone to the dogs.”

  Rama went into the kitchen and came back with the kind of metal plate used to give food to beggars or workmen. She supposed he was using it because he understood the caste restrictions Prince Swaroop was pointing to. Not looking at the courtier or Prince Swaroop, Rama spooned leftover rice and vegetables onto it. There was no vindaloo left.

  “So we are fed the same as servants!” Jaqinder Dhillon said in low Marathi to the prince.

  “Sorry, but we were not expecting royal visitors,” Colin shot back in the same tongue.

  Watching Rama walk out with the half-filled plate, Prince Swaroop drained his glass. “Is there more? Or are the bottles as empty as the kitchen cupboard?”

  Colin tilted the claret bottle. “It’s empty. Tomorrow, breakfast will be at eight because we must set out for the train station by nine.”

  Perveen kept her eyes on the half-open door to the veranda. She didn’t want to agree with any part of Colin’s plan, but she wanted the prince and his men to follow along. Aditya, too.

  She knew that with the men gone to Poona, she’d have a better chance at reaching the palace and finding out what she needed to know.

  20

  Diverging Journeys

  At sunrise the next morning, Perveen lit the candle at her bedside. After splashing water on her face, she dressed in the split skirt, blouse, and jacket she’d packed in Bombay. She filled a small bag with essentials: a flask of water, her notebook and pen, and the battery torch. Holding her boots in one hand and the pack in the other, she tiptoed quietly to the veranda. She did not want to make noise and wake anyone.

  But someone was already waiting.

  “Good morning,” Colin said from the planter’s chair that was his favorite. She noticed he was fully dressed in trousers, a white linen shirt, and boots.

  “Good morning. No yoga today?” She had been counting on his being absent.

  “No time for it. But look over there.”

  Although a mist was heavy, she saw movement in the jacaranda tree and recognized the monkey group. Hanuman dropped down to the grass, followed by four monkeys of similar sizes.

  Despite her desire to get underway, Perveen couldn’t help smiling. “His family travels together.”

  “Yes. They’ve always got company, and they can protect each other. We humans could learn from them.” He sighed, then turned back to appraise her riding costume. “So what is this about?”

  Perveen was mindful of the long line of guest rooms adjacent to the veranda. Tilting her head toward them, she murmured, “I’ll talk to you in the garden.”

  Colin followed her over to the jacaranda tree, where there was an iron bench overlooking the hills. She seated herself on the bench and began working on putting on her boots. She’d noted that Colin wasn’t using his cane. She wondered if he was feeling better than the day before or if he was trying to present an impression of strength for Prince Swaroop.

  Looking at her lacing up the boots, he said, “Your dress makes me think you aren’t planning on visiting the administration in Poona.”

  Perveen would not let him talk her out of her plan. “Yes, I have different intentions. I would like it very much if you’d meet me at the palace later on with whatever search party you can muster. I’ll make sure that you are allowed in.”

  Colin had not seated himself. He kicked at a white stone that lay between them. Keeping his eyes on the stone, he asked, “The prince doesn’t know where you’re headed, does he?”

  His question exasperated her. “Of course not. I don’t trust him as far as you kicked that stone. Though I believe what he said about paying Roderick Ames to do a private job for him—did you understand that?”

  “Mostly,” Colin said. “And it’s a conundrum for me. It is against ICS policy for us to take money from outside employers.”

  “You said that earlier. I have reason to believe that Roderick might also have explored working for Yazad Mehta. They went somewhere together the morning after we all had dinner.”

  Colin shook his head. “And if I say something about that relationship—I’ll lose my friendship with Yazad.”

  “It’s a hard position to be in.”

  “Yes. I would rather focus on another problem. What will I say to Prince Swaroop about your absence this morning?”

  Perveen bent to pick up the stone, which had landed a few inches from her feet. It felt smooth and cool in her hand. It seemed arbitrary whether a stone was considered precious or not. It was the same with people.

  “What you tell him is up to you. I don’t think he’ll miss my company at all. If you tell him where I’ve gone, though, he might chase after me instead of going to Poona with you.”

  Colin looked over his shoulder toward the circuit house, as if to check that no one had come out. “I could say you left word you were not in the mood to go to Poona. But I’m afraid it could be difficult for you to rouse Lakshman to get the men to carry the palanquin so early in the day.”

  “Lakshman and the bearers are too exhausted,” Perveen agreed. “I was not planning on asking for their help. I rather hoped to borrow a horse from your stable.”

  Colin’s eyes widened. “How will you recognize the way to the palace when you were inside a curtained palanquin the whole time? And horseback riding is difficult in certain parts of the forest.”

  Perveen would not address her own private fears. Instead, she said, “I kept the curtains open for most of my journeys. I saw quite a few landmarks. Also, there’s a path worn through the jungle. The journey is quite simple to manage, as long as it’s not dark.”

  A bright green parakeet swooped down from a tree, startling them both. Colin almost lost his balance.

  “Do sit down,” Perveen urged him, and he did, keeping a judicious foot of space between them on the bench.

  “When you left two days ago, I was anxious that you wouldn’t be allowed in. But now—my anxiety’s different.” Colin let out a gusty breath before continuing. “I’m quite worried about your safety. If
you’re killed at the palace, or on the way to it, what will I say to your husband? That I just sent you off completely alone?”

  “Oh, shut up! He’s not even in the picture frame!” The impolite words burst from Perveen before she could stop them.

  But Colin seemed more perplexed than offended. “What does that mean?”

  She hadn’t meant to divulge anything, but she didn’t want him using her husband as a tool against her. In a tight voice, she said, “That man is as good as dead to me. He’s not part of my life. If I were killed, it would actually be to his advantage.”

  Colin leaned back as if to better evaluate her. “Are you saying that you live apart?”

  “Oh yes.” Perveen tried to sound nonchalant. “He’s more than a thousand miles away. And I wish it were farther.”

  “You are divorced?”

  Perveen was annoyed by his calm-sounding question. “No. I cannot divorce Cyrus, because the abuse he gave me was not severe enough. A Parsi woman can only get a divorce if the damage is quite severe—loss of an eye, or a limb.”

  Colin’s face had paled at her words. She wondered if her speaking of a lost limb had made him think of his own loss. When he spoke, his voice was shaky. “But you live in British India and are a subject, just like me. Divorce is not impossible. Surely this could be brought to the court. What about adultery?”

  “There is an adultery provision for divorce among Parsis; however the accused spouse must commit adultery with a person who is not a prostitute. And I don’t have that evidence.”

  “I can’t believe marriage is so restrictive for such a progressive religion,” he said, frowning.

  “The British approved the standing laws made by Parsi males,” she pointed out. “Your government also upholds unfair family laws in other Indian religious communities: rules that keep daughters from inheriting as much as sons, widows from owning property, and men and women from leaving unhappy marriages.”

  Colin shook his head. “I didn’t know about any of this. I feel like a fool.”

  She longed to put out a hand to touch his; it was clear he was shocked. But that would be improper. Softly, she said, “I’m trusting you with this information about me. The Agency might not have hired me if they knew of my tarnished past.”