Dark Clouds Over Nuala Page 3

Hebden raised her gloved hand to his lips. ‘Good evening, Mrs de Silva. May I say how lovely you look?’

  ‘Thank you, you may.’

  The sound of a gong being struck hushed the room and dinner was announced. De Silva had never sat at a table that could accommodate quite so many people before. It stretched the length of another lofty and elegant room with floor-to-ceiling windows curtained in green velvet. The walls were painted in a pastel shade of the same colour. Four large chandeliers were spaced over the table, bathing the sparkling silverware and English porcelain in warm light; many-branched silver candelabras and bowls of yellow roses embellished the picture. Jane, who was seated half a dozen places away on the opposite side, flanked by the vicar and an elderly gentleman de Silva didn’t recognise, flashed him a conspiratorial smile.

  He found himself seated to the left of an elderly lady dressed in a floral pink dress that looked as if it might have come from the last century. Remembering Jane had once told him that, at a formal dinner, a gentleman always makes conversation with the lady on his right to begin with, de Silva introduced himself.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inspector,’ the lady said with a friendly smile. ‘I’m already well acquainted with your wife.’

  Over a pleasantly fragrant and spicy mulligatawny soup, followed by fillet of sole dusted with parsley, he learnt that her name was Joan Buscott and she was married to the elderly gentleman sitting next to Jane. He was a senior official in the Department of Roads and Railways and shortly due to retire. They were looking forward to a peaceful existence in a bungalow in a small town by the sea called Broadstairs.

  ‘It’s in Kent,’ the elderly lady informed him. ‘But as your wife is English, Inspector de Silva, perhaps you know the country well?’

  ‘I have never been, ma’am, but Jane has told me many tales about it. Let me see… Kent… the White Cliffs of Dover?’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  She hesitated. ‘Do you and your wife find… Oh, forgive me, I don’t mean to pry.’

  ‘No apology is needed. Yes, we have encountered disapproval in some places, but those who follow their hearts must not fear that.’

  ‘I quite agree.’

  They chatted about Nuala and then turned to discussing books until servants filed into the room to remove the empty plates from the fish course. The elderly lady smiled. ‘I have so enjoyed our conversation, Inspector. I hope we meet again before Broadstairs claims my husband and me.’

  ‘Likewise, ma’am.’

  ‘And now, as I’m sure you know, we must change conversational partners for the rest of the meal.’

  De Silva thought that Bertie Wooster might have described the lady to his left as heavy weather. He battled on gamely through the roast lamb and mango ice cream but it was a relief when Florence rose from the table to announce that it was time for the ladies to withdraw and leave the gentlemen to their port.

  Bottom waistcoat buttons were undone, cigars were lit and decanters circulated. De Silva was pleased to find that one of them contained a venerable malt whisky. He’d never developed a taste for port, or wine for that matter, so at dinner he’d accepted only a small glass of the latter out of politeness. Now, a rich, peaty smell tantalised his nostrils as he took the first sip.

  ‘Excellent meal, eh?’

  Dr Hebden had moved up to sit in the place vacated by the Broadstairs-bound Mrs Buscott. He seemed rather well greased, or was it oiled?

  ‘Very fine.’

  ‘You eat lamb?’

  De Silva nodded. ‘Those of us in Ceylon who are Buddhists follow the Theravada rule where the eating of meat is not strictly forbidden. The Buddha himself allowed his disciples to eat it at times.’

  Hebden smiled affably. ‘I have a lot to learn. It’s far too infrequent that I spend time outside the British community, except with some of my patients and they only want to complain about their ailments.’

  ‘Tell me, what brought you to Ceylon, sir?’

  ‘I wanted a change of scene, I suppose. A bit of adventure and a chance to see the world. I’ve never been a man for cities, and when I finished medical school, the idea of mouldering away for the rest of my days in Little Snoring in the Marsh didn’t appeal either. I spent a few years in Kenya then moved on here.’

  De Silva frowned. Did such a place as this Little Snoring exist? Rather than show his ignorance, he’d ask Jane later. In any case, Hebden’s attention was now diverted to the head of the table where Ralph Wynne-Talbot appeared to be telling his neighbours a highly amusing story.

  After a moment or two, Hebden turned back. ‘To look at Wynne-Talbot, you wouldn’t think he had a care in the world, would you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Hebden reached for a nearby decanter. De Silva suspected that by now alcohol had loosened his tongue.

  ‘He asked to see me on the day before the races. He was worried she was in poor shape. Said she’s suffered with her nerves for a long time and it’s getting worse.’

  ‘She? You mean his wife? Did she come with him?’

  ‘No. She doesn’t know he talked to me. He wanted it that way in case it alarmed her. According to him, she’s terrified of treatment. Hardly surprising. It can be pretty harsh, as you may know. Wynne-Talbot’s tried to reassure her no one would force her into anything she didn’t want to do, but he said it’s impossible to convince her.’

  ‘So have you been able to form an opinion of your own about her condition?’

  ‘From what I’ve seen, she’s not a happy lady, that’s for sure. This change in her life may help, or it might just make matters worse. I suggested he take her somewhere by the sea for a rest before they leave Ceylon. Give her a chance to build up her strength. He asked about pills but I told him I’d rather they steered clear of that kind of thing. Our American cousins are very keen on them – particularly barbiturates to cure insomnia and treat depressive illnesses – but we’re more cautious in England. Some might say we’re just less advanced but personally, I think it’s a case where that’s beneficial. Medical science doesn’t know a great deal about the side effects of those kind of drugs yet. Quite apart from that, they would be pretty hard to obtain up here in Nuala.’

  He glanced towards the head of the table again. ‘Ah, Clutterbuck’s getting up. I believe we’re joining the ladies. You’ll keep this under your hat, won’t you, de Silva? I’ve said far more than I should.’

  ‘Of course.’

  As etiquette demanded, they waited for William Petrie and Clutterbuck to leave the room first. Both men passed with a polite nod and a brief word, but Ralph Wynne-Talbot stopped to greet them. ‘Thank you for your help the other day,’ he said quietly to Hebden. ‘Much appreciated. I’m taking your advice and Helen seems more cheerful with the prospect of the two of us taking a quiet holiday.’

  ‘Excellent, glad to hear it.’

  Wynne-Talbot turned to de Silva. ‘Inspector! It’s a great pleasure to meet you again. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk. I hope we can remedy that later on. I’d be most interested to hear more about your work.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sure you have a lot of stories to tell.’

  De Silva laughed. ‘Indeed I do, sir.’

  Wynne-Talbot clapped him on the back. ‘But I mustn’t keep you gentlemen from the ladies. Shall we go?’

  In the drawing room, he found Jane and they spent a while chatting with other guests. There was no dancing that evening so the party broke up shortly after eleven o’clock. He fetched Jane’s wrap for her and they went outside to the Morris.

  ‘A pleasant evening,’ he remarked as they drove home under a starlit sky. ‘I even managed to have a very civil conversation with Hebden.’

  ‘Why ever shouldn’t you? I’m sure he never really took offence over the Renshaw case.’

  ‘Perhaps not. How did you get on with your neighbours?’

  ‘Very well. Reverend Peters and I discussed the fête over the fish course. He was as
king if I thought you could be persuaded to help with setting up some of the games and maybe stay on during the afternoon for anything else that needs doing.’

  ‘I expect I can manage that.’

  ‘Thank you, dear, that’s very kind. On my other side I had Joan Buscott’s husband – I saw she was sitting next to you. He’s such a nice man. Not that I would expect him to be anything else when he’s married to Joan. It turns out that he’s fond of detective stories too, so we had plenty to chat about. He was telling me about their early years in Ceylon as well. I’d no idea they’d lived in so many parts of the country. They came out forty years ago and his first job was to do with the construction of the railway from Kandy up to Jaffna.’

  ‘That must have been most interesting work.’

  ‘So he said, although he never got used to the heat up there. He was very excited to hear that Ralph Wynne-Talbot had been involved in the building of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I think he was hoping for an opportunity to talk to him about it.’

  ‘He may have done so. I noticed that Buscott moved to Wynne-Talbot’s end of the table when you ladies retired for coffee.’

  Jane frowned. ‘There was one wrong note before you joined us. Helen Wynne-Talbot was extremely rude to poor Joan. Most unexpected, and it showed her in a new, and not very attractive, light.’

  ‘How strange. I’m surprised anyone would find the need to be rude to Mrs Buscott.’

  ‘So am I. Joan’s the kindest of ladies, and very modest, even though she’s extremely well connected and many people in her position would be quite the reverse. She made some perfectly innocuous remark and that Wynne-Talbot woman was quite snappish with her.’

  De Silva thought of what Hebden had revealed but decided that, as he had promised to keep it confidential, he shouldn’t mention the conversation, even to Jane. It was odd, though. You would think that, even in low spirits, Helen Wynne-Talbot would try to be polite to her host and hostess’s guests when such a fine dinner had been arranged in her honour.

  ‘And I’d thought she was shy,’ Jane went on. ‘Well, if she is, she has a strange way of showing it.’

  ‘Never mind, I’m sure Mrs Buscott has the good sense to soar above such things.’

  ‘To rise, dear, she’s not an eagle.’

  He chuckled. ‘No, if she were a bird, I believe she would be something calm and gentle like a dove. Or possibly wise, like an owl, dispensing good advice.’ He eased his foot off the pedal then accelerated out of the bend. ‘The husband – Mr Wynne-Talbot I mean – went out of his way to be pleasant. He stopped purposely to speak to Hebden and me. He seems to be under the impression that police work is very interesting and I did not disillusion him.’

  Jane reached out and tapped his knee. ‘It is interesting, you know it is.’

  ‘In your books, yes, but in life there is a great deal of time when it is perfectly dull. A good thing really. Nuala does not want murders and bank robberies all the time. Especially when there is only myself to solve them.’

  ‘What about your sergeant and your constable? Don’t forget them.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t. Nadar may still be very inexperienced but his day will come. Prasanna is a bright young man and I have high hopes for him too, but he also needs time.’

  A shadow flickered in the trees by the roadside and he braked as a spotted deer, followed swiftly by two more, shot out. They stopped for a moment, transfixed in the headlights, before bounding away into the trees on the other side.

  Jane gasped. ‘My goodness, that was close. How awful if we’d hit one of them.’

  ‘Yes, and worse if it had been an elephant. I told you I came across one once on the road from Colombo to Kandy and had to reverse and wait until it wandered away.’

  ‘You did. It must have been most alarming.’

  ‘A little, but we have to live together, man and beast. They do not attack unless we attack them.’

  ‘Or if they’re hungry.’

  ‘That too. I’m sure a hungry leopard would consider Florence Clutterbuck a plump and tasty morsel and much easier to catch than those spotted deer.’

  ‘That’s very naughty.’

  ‘Only joking.’

  They fell into a companionable silence for a while. ‘One of her soirées came in useful though,’ he said at last. ‘I was able to impress Hebden with my knowledge of Shakespeare.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘The speech of Ophelia’s when she speaks of how much Hamlet has changed.’

  ‘You remembered all of it?’

  ‘Not all, just a few words. But I could see he was awe-struck.’

  Jane giggled. ‘Shanti, how much did you have to drink while I wasn’t watching?’

  ‘Mmm – one malt whisky? Maybe two.’

  ‘Well, go slowly. You know you don’t usually drink much and I want us to get home in one piece.’

  ‘Oh, we will, have no fear. Not far to go now.’

  They turned into their road and the Morris was soon scrunching up the drive. Jane waited for him to come round to her side of the car and open the door for her.

  She stood on the drive and gazed up at the sky for a few moments.

  ‘How beautiful the stars are tonight. I’m so glad we came here, Shanti. I don’t miss Colombo in the slightest.’

  ‘Neither do I. Give me the quiet life any day.’

  Arm in arm they went inside, leaving the garden to the creatures of the night.

  Chapter 4

  A few days later, he arrived at the station to find Constable Nadar with his head resting on his desk, apparently fast asleep. De Silva cleared his throat noisily and the constable jumped to attention as if he had been bitten by a snake.

  De Silva raised an eyebrow. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Inspector, sir! Forgive me. I only closed my eyes for a few moments. My wife and I had no sleep last night. Our baby son is teething.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. If it’s quiet today, I may be able to let you go early. Go and make us both some tea. That should wake you up.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Nadar scuttled off to the back room and de Silva heard the sound of the Calor gas ring hissing into life and the clatter of spoons on china. ‘Where’s Sergeant Prasanna got to this morning?’ he asked when Nadar returned a few minutes later with the tea.

  ‘Gone to the bazaar, sir.’

  ‘Oh? Has something happened there?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir.’ Nadar’s tone was evasive.

  ‘Well, he’d better not be long unless he has a good reason. He has a report to write up about those bicycles that were stolen on Monday.’ He took his cup. ‘I’ll drink this in my office. Tell Prasanna to knock when he gets here.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  It was odd, he thought as he sat at his desk sipping his tea. Prasanna had been behaving strangely for a week or more. He was often distracted and, at lunchtimes, he no longer dragged Nadar out to the backyard to practise cricket. Whatever was troubling him, it looked as if Nadar was in on it but unwilling to divulge any information. Surely it couldn’t be anything sinister? Prasanna was always conscientious and it was impossible to believe he was dishonest. No, there must be another explanation.

  A lightbulb went on in de Silva’s head. A girl: that was probably it. There were many pretty girls shopping or helping on their family stalls at the bazaar. Well, if that was the answer, he hoped Prasanna’s formidable mother would approve.

  He had been working on his papers for several hours when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in!’

  The door opened and Prasanna appeared. His expression lay somewhere between uncertainty and resolution.

  ‘Ah, you’re back. Anything of importance to tell me? Not the monkeys making a nuisance of themselves at the bazaar again? How many times do we have to remind the stallholders that we are policemen not animal tamers? Tell them to give some boys stout sticks and put them on watch ready to chase the monkeys away.’

>   He saw the sergeant’s chest expand as he took a deep breath. ‘Not the monkeys, sir. Something more serious than that.’

  De Silva waited.

  ‘I have been speaking with a lady there—’

  De Silva couldn’t resist tweaking his tail. ‘This would be a young lady?’

  Prasanna flushed. ‘Yes, sir, but there is nothing improper.’

  ‘Of course not. Please go on.’

  ‘Her name is Kuveni and she is in great difficulties.’

  De Silva nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘She and her family have been forced to leave their village and come to Nuala to find work.’

  ‘Forced?’

  Yes, sir, the headman of the village made their lives impossible to bear. He turned the other villagers against them and even accused Kuveni’s father of stealing, which was not true.’

  ‘Why did he want to harm them?’

  ‘The headman is a bad man, but no one in the village will stand up to him. They are afraid of him and he has convinced them that if they cross him, evil spirits will attack them.’ Prasanna’s frown deepened to a scowl. ‘He wanted to marry Kuveni but she did not like him and her father wouldn’t order her to do so.’

  ‘What else does this man do?’

  ‘He makes many promises then breaks them. Kuveni believes that when government licences are needed for anything, he also lies about the cost and makes the villagers pay too much, keeping the rest for himself.’

  De Silva picked up the pen on his desk and rotated it between the thumb and fingers of one hand. ‘You say this girl has a family? Who is there apart from her father?’

  ‘She has a brother, sir.’

  ‘Can’t the brother and father get together and persuade at least some of the villagers to stand up to this headman?’

  Prasanna shook his head hopelessly. ‘The father has been so troubled by the situation that he is ill and cannot work, let alone fight for his family.’

  De Silva sighed. Corruption was a problem in the villages. The government agents and their assistants were responsible for rooting it out, but many of the jungle villages were very remote. What went on in them wasn’t readily ascertained and unscrupulous headmen took advantage of the fact.