[Inspector de Silva 09] - High Wire in Nuala Read online

  An Inspector de Silva Mystery

  High Wire in Nuala

  Harriet Steel

  Contents

  Copyright © Harriet Steel

  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

  Other books by Harriet Steel

  Copyright © Harriet Steel

  Kindle edition 2020

  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.

  Author’s Note and Acknowledgments

  Welcome to the ninth 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, Julia Gibbs did a marvellous job of proofreading the manuscript, and Jane Dixon Smith designed another excellent cover for me. Praise from the many readers who tell me that they have enjoyed previous books in this series and want to know what Inspector de Silva and his friends get up to next encourages me to keep going. Above all, heartfelt thanks go to my husband, Roger for his unfailing encouragement and support, to say nothing of his patience when Inspector de Silva’s world distracts me from this one.

  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

  It was a busy Saturday afternoon at Nuala’s racecourse, but the crowds had not flocked there to see horse racing, they had come for the Russian circus. Arriving a few days previously, it had aroused a great deal of excitement as the brightly painted wagons carrying the great mounds of canvas for the circus tent and all the other accoutrements that would be required had passed through town on the way to the course.

  Posters had gone up in shop windows and on public noticeboards advertising the show. The first performance was taking place that Saturday afternoon. Amongst the promised delights were a high-wire walker, trapeze artists, a dance troupe, jugglers, a fire-eater, and Cossack riders. There was even a snake charmer; an act that de Silva, with his horror of snakes, was dubious he would enjoy. He said as much to Jane as they crossed the racetrack to reach the large area of sandy grass it encircled.

  ‘I’m sure the snake charmer will have his charges well under control. Although I must admit, I was rather surprised to see the act advertised. From what I’ve read about Russian circuses, snake-charming is not a traditional one, but perhaps this circus puts it on to appeal to audiences from other countries.’

  ‘I thought there might be more animals – elephants say, or lions and tigers. I’m glad to find I was wrong.’ De Silva heartily disliked the idea of wild animals being coerced into performing for the entertainment of humans.

  ‘Sadly, in many circuses there would be, but the owners may have thought it too difficult to manage wild animals on long journeys. I believe they’re on the road a great deal.’

  A little way across the open ground a camp of small tents had been erected, presumably for the circus people to stay in. Beyond it, were a few larger tents that might also be used for accommodation, and then the big top itself. This took pride of place, but many stalls had been set up close to it, like moons around a giant planet. These included a coconut shy, throw-the-ball-in-a-bucket, hoopla, and hook-a-duck. From numerous refreshment stalls there wafted tantalising aromas of spices, coconut, and jaggery, the crumbly, dark-brown sugar that was the staple ingredient of most of the sweetmeats made in
Ceylon. De Silva sniffed appreciatively; the smell of jaggery always took him back to his childhood.

  Jane put a hand on his arm. ‘Shanti, dear, we’ve only just had lunch.’

  He grinned. ‘As usual, you read my mind. Perhaps I’ll wait until after the show to give in to temptation.’

  The crowds milled around; the ladies from the British community wore summery frocks and sunhats, and most of the men were dressed in the cream linen suits and panama hats favoured by Englishmen in the tropics. It was saris for the local ladies, and their menfolk wore tunics of cream or white cotton or linen, smartly trimmed at collar and cuffs, over loose trousers or comfortable sarongs. As it was the weekend, de Silva had chosen the local attire.

  Jane surveyed the scene from beneath the wide brim of her straw hat. ‘Emerald and David Hebden are over there,’ she said. ‘Talking with the Applebys. Shall we go and say hello to them?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  When they had all exchanged greetings and chatted for a few moments, de Silva looked down at the little girl standing next to Charlotte Appleby. He knew that the Applebys had a large brood of children and guessed this must be one of them; she had her mother’s fair hair and blue eyes. He smiled. ‘I expect you are almost as excited as I am about watching the circus.’

  The little girl held up the toy rabbit she had been cuddling. It was obviously much loved, threadbare in many places with much of its remaining pink fur faded to a greyish white. ‘Rabbit’s excited too,’ she said, smiling shyly back. Everyone laughed.

  Raising one hand, George Appleby shielded his eyes from the sun and peered through the crowds.

  ‘Time’s getting on. I suppose we ought to round up the rest of the family. The boys went off to play on the stalls. I hope they’ve made good use of the pocket money I gave them. At least they might get in a bit of bowling practice at the coconut shy.’

  ‘I noticed your eldest up at the club the other day,’ remarked David Hebden. ‘He’s making quite an impression in the under-elevens.’

  ‘Good of you to say so, old chap.’

  George Appleby spoke in the offhand tone de Silva had noticed that British men adopted when anyone praised their own, or their family’s achievements, but he saw the pleasure in Appleby’s eyes. Praise from David Hebden was worth having. He was generally considered to be Nuala’s star cricketer.

  The Applebys said their goodbyes and disappeared into the crowd.

  ‘Shall we walk around for a little longer?’ asked Emerald. ‘The performance doesn’t start for half an hour, and it might be a bit cooler out here than it will be in the tent with all these people squashed inside.’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ said Jane.

  ‘There’s a stall selling rather pretty straw baskets that I’d like to have a better look at.’ Emerald turned to her husband. ‘You don’t mind, do you, darling?’

  David Hebden gave a mock sigh, but he grinned. ‘Of course I don’t.’

  He and de Silva followed in the ladies’ wake, chatting easily. Hebden’s position as the local doctor brought him into contact with de Silva quite frequently, even before Jane and Emerald had become good friends.

  ‘I don’t know much about these circus people,’ remarked de Silva. ‘I believe they’ve never visited Nuala before. No doubt that’s why their arrival has caused so much excitement.’

  ‘That, and the fact that I think most people are glad of a happy distraction at the moment.’

  ‘You mean the war in Europe?’

  ‘Yes. Early days, of course, and we don’t know how it will turn out, but there are plenty who remember the last one. It would be over by Christmas, people said, and it went on for four years.’

  Hebden sighed. ‘One wonders if mankind will ever learn. Still, mustn’t spoil a glorious day. Incidentally, I can tell you something about the circus folk. One of the riggers had an accident when they were in the middle of putting up the tent. Nasty fall, poor chap. He broke his arm, and his boss brought him to the surgery for me to have a look at it. Luckily it was a clean break, so easy enough to set, but he’ll have to wear a sling for a few weeks. His boss, who’s also the ringmaster, is a fellow called Boris Goncharov. He told me a bit about his company while I was patching up his employee. Most of his people are Russian as he is, but they’ve been travelling all over the East for years. Goncharov said they left Russia in the early ’20s when things started to look not so good for them. I assume their way of life didn’t fit into the communist scheme of things.’

  From what de Silva remembered hearing of the tightening of the grip of the communist state in the years following the Russian Revolution, he imagined that leaving had been a wise decision, but he felt extremely sorry for anyone who was forced to turn their back on their homeland.

  They caught up with Jane and Emerald who were debating the merits of two straw bags: one in natural straw and the other dyed pink. ‘The plain one will be stronger and carry more,’ remarked Jane, holding it up.

  ‘But the pink one is prettier.’ Emerald turned to the stallholder, who waited for a decision with a patient smile on his chubby face. ‘The pink is a very good choice, memsahib,’ he said. ‘It goes with your dress.’

  ‘Then that settles it,’ said Emerald briskly.

  A few moments of bargaining ensued until both parties felt that honour had been satisfied.

  ‘I suggest we go and find seats before all the good ones are gone,’ said Hebden. ‘It’s bound to be full. They’re not giving any evening performances and they’re only here a few days.’

  The sides of the tent around the area where the audience were to sit had been rolled up and the air inside was less stuffy than de Silva had feared it would be. The heat was, however, bound to increase as more people crowded in. Jane and Emerald had brought fans, but he and Hebden would simply have to endure any discomfort.

  Moving slowly down a side aisle, they found themselves behind Reverend Peters and his wife. De Silva was surprised to see them; he wouldn’t have associated the dry, albeit very pleasant, vicar of Nuala’s Anglican church with an entertainment as frivolous as a circus. Perhaps Peters had come to please his wife. Mrs Peters beamed as she talked to Emerald and Jane and was clearly enjoying herself, but in the hubbub de Silva was unable to hear what was being said. She was a small lady with a waif-like figure, who looked even smaller when seen beside her lanky husband. She wore her grey hair scraped into a bun at the nape of her neck, but the severity of the hairstyle was mitigated by the habitually kind expression on her homely face. Like a baked apple, there was something wholesome about her.

  ‘You were having a long chat with the vicar’s wife,’ he observed to Jane as he slid into the seat beside her when they and the Hebdens had found room a few rows back and on the opposite side of the aisle from where the Peters had taken their seats.

  ‘She was telling me about the circuses she remembers watching as a girl. She’s a real enthusiast.’

  ‘I can’t believe her husband is.’

  ‘I was surprised too, but apparently he was eager to come. I knew he has a great interest in orchids, but I had no idea that he’s also a keen ophiologist.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Snakes, dear. He’s interested in snakes.’

  ‘Good grief. Whatever for? All I want to know about snakes is that they are a long way from wherever I am. As I said, I’m already worried about this snake charmer.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘And as I’ve told you, I’m sure you’ve no need to be concerned.’ She glanced in the Peters’ direction. ‘Apparently, this isn’t Reverend Peters’ first visit here. He came up the day before yesterday on the pretext of introducing himself and inviting anyone who was interested to come to church tomorrow, but according to his wife, what he really wanted to do was buttonhole this snake charmer and talk to him about snakes.’

  ‘Did he succeed?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Mrs Peters said the man was delighted to meet a fellow enthusiast, and the vicar came home very pleased wit
h his excursion. He was gone for hours. It seems the snake charmer has numerous snakes that he doesn’t use in his act, as well as those that he does, so they had plenty to talk about.’

  De Silva looked around him. ‘I see that Archie and Florence Clutterbuck have brought a party from the Residence.’

  He recognised quite a few of the assistant government agent’s staff, but sadly Charlie Frobisher, with whom he usually had the most to do, was absent. He had come to the police station not long ago to say goodbye. He had enlisted in the Royal Air Force and was going up to the base at China Bay in the north of the island to train as a pilot. De Silva remembered David Hebden’s remarks about the war, and a shiver went through him. He hoped Frobisher would come through unscathed.

  ‘Prasanna and Kuveni, and Nadar and his wife are over there,’ Jane remarked. ‘With the children.’

  ‘Where? Oh yes, I see.’ De Silva raised a hand to greet his sergeant and his constable, but as they were busy keeping their excited children in their seats, he doubted they noticed him.

  ‘Prasanna and Kuveni’s little girl’s grown such a lot since I last saw her,’ said Jane. ‘But then young children do grow fast. It makes me feel old.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘But still beautiful. And not old,’ he added hastily.

  Jane giggled. ‘Gracious, if this is the effect the circus has on you, we should come every day it’s here.’

  A small band consisting of three trumpeters, two cymbal players, an accordionist, and two drummers was positioned at one side of the brightly lit ring. Suddenly, the trumpeters raised their instruments to their lips and a loud fanfare broke through the buzz of conversation. Jane leant forward in her seat. ‘I think they’re about to begin. How exciting!’