[Inspector de Silva 08] - Taken in Nuala Read online

  Taken in Nuala

  By

  Harriet Steel

  Kindle edition 2020

  Copyright © Harriet Steel

  The author or authors assert their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author or authors of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note and Acknowledgments

  Characters who appear regularly in the Inspector de Silva Mysteries

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Other books by Harriet Steel

  Author’s Note and Acknowledgments

  Welcome to the eighth book in my Inspector de Silva mystery series. Like the earlier ones, this is a self-contained story but, wearing my reader’s hat, I usually find that my enjoyment of a series is deepened by reading the books in order and getting to know major characters well. With that in mind, I have included thumbnail sketches of those featuring here who took a major part in previous stories. I have also reprinted this introduction, with apologies to those who have already read it.

  Several years ago, I had the great good fortune to visit the island of Sri Lanka, the former Ceylon. I fell in love with the country straight away, awed by its tremendous natural beauty and the charm and friendliness of its people who seem to have recovered extraordinarily well from the tragic civil war between the two main ethnic groups, the Sinhalese and the Tamils. I had been planning to write a detective series for some time and when I came home, I decided to set it in Ceylon in the 1930s, a time when British Colonial rule created interesting contrasts, and sometimes conflicts, with traditional culture. Thus, Inspector Shanti de Silva and his friends were born.

  I owe many thanks to everyone who helped with this book. My editor, John Hudspith, was, as usual, invaluable and Jane Dixon Smith designed another excellent cover for me, as well as doing the elegant layout. Praise from the many readers who told me that they enjoyed the previous books in this series and wanted to know what Inspector de Silva and his friends got up to next encouraged me to keep going. Above all, heartfelt thanks go to my husband, Roger, without whose unfailing encouragement and support I might never have reached the end.

  Apart from well-known historical figures, all characters in the book are fictitious. Nuala is also fictitious although loosely based on the hill town of Nuwara Eliya. Any mistakes are my own.

  Characters who appear regularly in the Inspector de Silva Mysteries

  Inspector Shanti de Silva. He began his police career in Ceylon’s capital city, Colombo, but, in middle age, he married and accepted a promotion to inspector in charge of the small force in the hill town of Nuala. Likes: a quiet life with his beloved wife, his car, good food, his garden. Dislikes: interference in his work by his British masters; formal occasions.

  Sergeant Prasanna. Nearly thirty and married with a daughter. He’s doing well in his job and starting to take more responsibility. Likes: cricket and is exceptionally good at it.

  Constable Nadar. A few years younger than Prasanna. Diffident at first, he’s gaining in confidence. Married with two boys. Likes: his food; making toys for his sons. Dislikes: sleepless nights.

  Jane de Silva. She came to Ceylon as a governess to a wealthy colonial family and met and married de Silva a few years later. A no-nonsense lady with a dry sense of humour. Likes: detective novels, cinema, and dancing. Dislikes: snobbishness.

  Archie Clutterbuck. Assistant government agent in Nuala and as such, responsible for administration and keeping law and order in the area. Likes: his Labrador, Darcy; fishing; hunting big game. Dislikes: being argued with; the heat.

  Florence Clutterbuck. Archie’s wife, a stout, forthright lady. Likes: being queen bee; organising other people. Dislikes: people who don’t defer to her at all times.

  William Petrie. Government agent for the Central Province and therefore Archie Clutterbuck’s boss. A charming exterior hides a steely character. Likes: getting things done. Dislikes: inefficiency.

  Lady Caroline Petrie. His wife and a titled lady in her own right. She is a charming and gentle person.

  Doctor David Hebden. Doctor for the Nuala area. He travelled widely before ending up in Nuala. He’s married to Emerald, but they have no children. Under his professional shell, he’s rather shy. Likes: cricket. Dislikes: formality.

  Emerald Hebden (née Watson). She arrived in Nuala with a touring British theatre company and decided to stay. She’s a popular addition to local society. Her full story is told in Offstage in Nuala.

  Charlie Frobisher. A junior member of staff in the Colonial Service. A personable young man who is tipped to do well. Likes: sport and climbing mountains.

  Chapter 1

  The Residence was lit up for a grand party. The classically proportioned house – the official home of the British assistant government agent in charge of Nuala and the Hill Country, Archie Clutterbuck and his wife Florence – was always an impressive sight, but that evening, touches of gaiety gave it a festive appearance. Red, white and blue bunting strung between the columns of the entrance portico swayed gently in the warm air. Strings of fairy lights glittered in the palm trees.

  ‘It feels like Christmas,’ remarked de Silva as he edged the Morris into a space between a green Hillman and a black Austin 7.

  ‘Very pretty,’ his wife Jane said from the passenger seat.

  Safely parked, he turned off the engine and walked around the car to open the door for her. They paused to admire the charming picture that the Residence made, then, arm in arm, crossed the gravelled sweep. As they climbed the entrance portico’s wide steps, the sound of conversation and laughter greeted them.

  Inside, banks of greenery and flowers decorated the reception hall. The teak floor had been freshly polished for the occasion, and the air was perfumed with beeswax and the scent of flowers. Richly coloured silk hangings glowed on the walls, and they also displayed some finely carved wooden panels depicting a variety of scenes from Ceylonese folklore. Portraits of stern-faced colonial officers who had served in Nuala added a more sombre note. Chandeliers blazed and, in their dazzling light, Archie and Florence waited with smiles on their faces to greet their guests.

  ‘Jane, dear!’ trilled Florence when the de Silvas reached the head of the line. ‘How nice you look. We’re so glad you both could come.’

  She gave Jane a peck on the cheek then smiled at de Silva. He bowed gravely. ‘It’s a great pleasure to be invited, ma’am.’

  ‘I’m sure there wi
ll be lots of people you know here,’ Florence went on. ‘Lady Caroline and William Petrie have done us the honour of attending. They were asking after you, so you must be sure to pay your respects.’

  That wouldn’t be a hardship, thought de Silva. He and Jane both liked Petrie, the government agent based in Kandy, who was Archie’s boss, and his wife, Lady Caroline. They hadn’t met since that fateful cruise to Egypt, the resounding memory of which seemed, to de Silva, to be of him clinging on to a galloping camel. He couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Pleasure to see you both,’ boomed Archie. Spruced up in black evening attire, his jacket emblazoned with a row of medals, he already had beads of sweat on his forehead.

  ‘Likewise, sir.’ De Silva gestured to the queue behind them, saying to Clutterbuck. ‘You have a great many guests tonight.’

  ‘The more the merrier, eh?’

  ‘And the more funds we raise for the orphanage,’ added Florence. ‘I’m determined to outdo last year’s efforts.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, ma’am.’

  Florence wagged a finger at him and smiled. ‘You must buy lots of raffle tickets, Inspector. We have some wonderful prizes.’

  As they moved on towards the Residence’s ballroom, where guests were assembling for pre-dinner drinks, de Silva muttered to Jane under his breath. ‘Florence is very affable tonight, but my goodness, raffle prizes! I remember last year. How many china cats and knitted tea cosies does one household need?’

  Jane giggled. ‘Hush, Florence might get to hear. You know how hard she works to make this party a success, and the orphanage is such a good cause.’

  ‘I know it is.’ He looked contrite. ‘I suppose we can find room on the mantelpiece for one more ornament.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll win the first prize.’

  ‘A life-sized china elephant?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear. Florence has persuaded Archie to donate a case of his favourite whisky.’

  ‘Now, that would be worth winning.’

  In the ballroom, they both chose fresh mango juice from the tray of drinks a waiter offered. Many of the other guests had already arrived, and the room would have been too hot had not all the doors to the gardens been open. Luckily, mosquitoes were rarely troublesome in the Hill Country. De Silva noticed a piano and a collection of music stands on the raised dais to one side of the room and recalled that last year there had been dancing. He hoped he wasn’t expected to lead Florence onto the floor. Dancing with his wife was a pleasure, but with Florence it was more likely to be an ordeal. Discombobulated by her eagle eye, he was bound to put numerous feet wrong.

  Doctor Hebden and his wife, Emerald, squeezed through the throng to join them.

  ‘How lovely to see you both,’ said Emerald. ‘Time’s simply flown since we came back from our honeymoon; we’ve been so busy in the house. You simply must come and see the improvements when everything’s finished.’ She slipped her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm. ‘Mustn’t they, darling?’

  ‘Certainly, they must. Although I’ll admit straight away that I can’t take any of the credit. That’s all down to Emerald.’

  ‘I look forward to seeing it,’ said Jane, amused.

  De Silva noticed David Hebden’s cheerful expression as the ladies chatted on. He was glad that married life seemed to suit the local doctor so well. He’d always liked Hebden – an unassuming, thoroughly decent man, who’d often been a help to him in his police work. He also knew how fond Jane was of Emerald.

  ‘Have you been introduced to Florence’s guests of honour yet?’ asked Hebden when there was a lull in the conversation. ‘Aside from the Petries, that is.’

  ‘No, we’d only just arrived when you saw us,’ said de Silva. He grinned. ‘In any case, although Jane may be, I’m not sure I’m sufficiently important.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Emerald. ‘If David and I were introduced, I’m sure you and Jane will be. Not that it’s a particularly enlivening experience,’ she added in an undertone. ‘Apparently, Walter and Grace Tankerton are immensely rich, but I’m afraid they’re not lively company. He retired last year from some terribly important, and probably equally dull, job in banking. His wife is very reserved, and the daughter, Phoebe, hardly speaks.’

  ‘What’s brought them here?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Oh, they’re travelling the world. They’ve been in India and wanted to visit Ceylon before they return to England.’

  De Silva studied the family party, currently at the centre of a group being introduced to them by Florence. From a distance, none of the Tankertons appeared to be blessed with good looks. Grace Tankerton was a petite, bird-like woman with greying hair, who looked to be a good ten years younger than her husband. He too was thin and almost bald, with a walrus moustache; the pouches under his eyes spoke of long hours poring over paperwork. Both of them were conservatively dressed. Their daughter, Phoebe, wore an electric-blue frock that did nothing to flatter her complexion. She appeared to be taking no part in the conversation. Jane was a better judge of age than he was, but he guessed the girl wasn’t more than eighteen or nineteen. A pity any youthful charm she might have had was spoiled by a sullen expression. Her age suggested to de Silva that the Tankertons had married late in life.

  ‘Florence let her hair down to me the other day,’ Emerald went on. ‘She said that despite their huge fortune, the Tankertons don’t seem very happy. Grace Tankerton is the more outgoing of the parents but even she’s very quiet. As for the daughter, Phoebe, Florence isn’t at all impressed with her. She says she has no conversation and behaves in a very wilful and obstinate way towards her parents. I think Florence may be rather relieved when the visit ends.’

  De Silva wondered how the Tankertons felt about it. Florence was a good woman in many ways. For one thing, to use Jane’s expression, she was no slacker. If there was a job to be done, she would do it, and do it well. Admittedly, she was inclined to be bossy, but she was generous if she realised someone needed help. He’d never have described her as a good listener though. In a group, unless she was overawed by the company, and he suspected that was rarely the case, she liked to hold the floor. Perhaps the Tankertons, rich as they were, found her rather overwhelming.

  ‘Emerald, my dear,’ remonstrated Hebden gently. ‘I’m not sure you should say such things in public.’

  Emerald giggled. ‘You know I can’t resist gossip. Anyway, Florence grants they do have a redeeming feature that, in her eyes, goes a long way towards excusing any amount of dullness.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Jane.

  ‘They’ve made an extremely generous donation to the orphanage.’ Emerald whispered a figure behind her hand.

  ‘Gracious. That is generous.’

  If Florence was right about the Tankertons’ fortune, reflected de Silva, they could probably well afford it. But one must give credit for generosity where it was due.

  The conversation returned to the subject of interior decoration until the Hebdens left them to talk to other friends. ‘Do you know,’ said Jane when they were alone, ‘all that talk of improvements makes me think it’s time we made a few changes at Sunnybank.’

  An alarming vision of paint pots and dustsheets rose before de Silva’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, there’s no need to look so worried. Nothing as drastic as the Hebdens are doing. Just clearing out cupboards and drawers. I’m sure you don’t need all those old gardening magazines you hoard.’

  ‘I refer to them from time to time.’

  ‘What? All of them?’

  ‘Well, perhaps not… But what about all your film magazines?’

  ‘Oh, I promise to prune them too.’

  ‘Inspector de Silva! And Mrs de Silva! Good evening to you.’

  The de Silvas turned to see William Petrie and his wife, Lady Caroline, beaming at them. Like Archie and all the other men from the British community, Petrie wore formal evening wear, but it sat much better on his tall, lean frame than Archie’s did on his stouter one. Lady Caroline
’s evening gown was of a rich burgundy that complemented her ruby necklace. It was a very fine one. Aware that, unlike her husband, she came from one of the old, British aristocratic families, de Silva wondered if it was an heirloom.

  ‘It’s far too long since we’ve visited Nuala,’ she remarked when they had exchanged greetings.

  ‘Not so long for me, my dear,’ remarked Petrie.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m forgetting that dreadful business at the golf club.’

  To de Silva, the golf club affair didn’t seem all that long ago and was still quite fresh in his mind.

  ‘The air is always so invigorating up here,’ Lady Caroline went on. ‘And it’s delightful to see old friends. Tell me, Inspector, how is your garden?’

  ‘There are always problems, ma’am – slugs and snails that eat my young plants, squirrels that dig holes in the lawn, or eat the apples and pears before they have a chance to ripen – but on the whole, I have no serious cause for complaint.’

  ‘It sounds as if your complaints are very like those of the gardeners at Government House,’ Lady Caroline said with a smile. ‘I regularly have to commiserate with our head gardener.’ She gestured to her husband. ‘William can’t understand what the fuss is about. He can barely tell a dahlia from a daisy. He’d turn the whole garden into fields and plant crops if I’d let him.’

  Her husband chuckled. ‘I won’t deny I’d prefer to farm the land rather than cover it with lawns and flowerbeds.’

  ‘Surely you would allow some flowers, sir?’ asked Jane. ‘I think there are few sights more lovely than poppies and cornflowers blowing in the wind in a field of corn.’

  ‘You’re quite right, Mrs de Silva. I’ll allow poppies and cornflowers on this imaginary farm of mine. It’s a dream I hope to turn into reality when we retire home to England one day. But that may not be for many years.’