Dark Clouds Over Nuala Read online

  ‘If Kuveni’s brother goes back to the village while the headman is in charge, she is afraid of what will happen to him. Her father needs to be looked after and she doesn’t want to be left to manage all alone.’

  ‘That’s understandable. So she has asked for our help?’

  ‘She has, sir, but I am not sure what to do for the best. If I go to the village and see the headman, he may deny everything.’

  De Silva stopped turning the pen and tapped his chin with it. ‘You’re right up to a point. The headman will probably swear he’s doing nothing wrong, but a visit might encourage him to be a little more honest. However, that will be of no help to your friend. How are she and her brother making ends meet at the moment?’

  ‘Kuveni works for one of the sari makers in the bazaar. She has very nimble fingers and has learnt to sew and embroider to a good standard already. Her brother, his name is Vijay, used to help their father hunting and growing millet. Now he works in the bazaar delivering vegetables for some of the stallholders.’

  ‘So, as we agree that a visit to the headman won’t automatically solve your friend’s problem, we must approach it another way. The assistant government agent is up at Horton Plains at the moment leading a hunting party, but when he comes back to Nuala, I will speak to him. He may be able to assist us. There will be records of the licences this headman has applied for and they may help us to uncover his bad practices. If there has been no official inspection of the village for a while, Mr Clutterbuck may see fit to arrange one. It might frighten the headman into mending his ways.’

  Prasanna looked doubtful. ‘Kuveni says he is a ruthless man, sir. I am not sure he will be easy to frighten.’

  ‘We shall see.’

  De Silva picked up the pen again and made a few notes on the pad of paper in front of him. When he had finished, he replaced the cap and looked up at Prasanna with searching eyes. ‘You’re sure this friend of yours is telling you the truth? The assistant government agent will be angry if we raise the alarm for no reason.’

  Prasanna’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sure, sir.’

  ‘Very well, leave it with me. You may tell your friend that I’ll speak to Mr Clutterbuck and we’ll go on from there.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Now, put this out of your mind for the moment and go and do your work.’

  After the door closed behind Prasanna, de Silva glanced at the clock on the wall. It would probably be best to telephone the Residence after lunch now, to find out when they expected Archie Clutterbuck back from Horton Plains.

  He stood up, went to the window and watched the bustle of activity in the street. The inhabitants of Nuala were going about their business – working in offices; buying and selling goods; visiting their families and friends and enjoying all kinds of entertainments. Whenever his work took him to one of the villages, the contrast always gave him the feeling that a time machine had transported him back fifty years.

  The contrast wasn’t only in the quieter pace of life. As was general in Ceylon, people in Nuala believed in astrology. They didn’t like to take important decisions until they had consulted an astrologer to ascertain which day would be the most propitious for their plans. But in the villages, belief in otherworldly powers went far beyond that. Dark superstitions and the fear of arousing the malice of the spirit world were powerful methods of control for an unscrupulous headman.

  He returned to his desk and spent a few more minutes on his papers until the telephone interrupted him. He picked up the receiver; it was a call from one of Clutterbuck’s staff at the Residence.

  ‘Inspector de Silva here.’

  ‘Thank goodness I’ve caught you, Inspector. I was afraid you would have left for lunch. Mr Clutterbuck needs to see you immediately.’

  The urgency of the man’s tone left de Silva puzzled. Clutterbuck must be back earlier than he had anticipated and this was an unusually peremptory summons. ‘Then please tell him I will be with him very soon.’

  ‘He’s not at the Residence, Inspector.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s still at Horton Plains. He’s sending some of his shikari trackers to meet you at the start of the road up there.’

  De Silva was very puzzled now. ‘I’ll set off shortly, but may I ask what this is about?’

  ‘There’s been an accident.’

  ‘A serious one I take it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Mrs Wynne-Talbot fell from the precipice early this morning. Her body hadn’t been found when Mr Clutterbuck sent the message, but we must assume she’s dead.’

  Chapter 5

  The trackers waited for him at the place where the road to Horton Plains became so steep that de Silva was heartily relieved to be able to spare the Morris’s protesting engine any further torment. Mounted on stocky ponies, they had brought a spare one for de Silva. He hauled himself into the saddle and they set off up the narrow road.

  It wasn’t long before he wished he had a better head for heights. As the road snaked up through low, scrubby forest in a series of alarmingly tight hairpin bends, he averted his eyes from the sheer drop a few yards from the line of ambling ponies. Once, a monkey leapt from a nearby bush and, gibbering furiously, scampered across their path. De Silva’s pony shied and the reins slipped through his sweating palms. He quickly gathered them again and the animal settled but his heart beat faster for several minutes.

  Eventually, they left the forest behind and reached the vast, grassy expanse of the Plains. Released from anxiety, de Silva once more focused his mind on his destination. World’s End was the most famous spot at Horton Plains: a precipice where the ground dropped away for almost four thousand feet to the jungle below. The view, when it was not shrouded in mist, was legendary. But World’s End was a dangerous place for the unwary. One false step was all that was needed for a person to plunge to their death and it was known that several had, including, apparently, the hapless Mrs Wynne-Talbot.

  He frowned. Surely Clutterbuck and William Petrie would have warned their guests to be on their guard? The view was magnificent but it could be enjoyed from a few paces back if there was any danger of losing one’s balance. On his own visits, he had always stopped a few feet short of the drop.

  His questioning of his guides had produced very little extra information. All they had to tell him was that the accident had occurred around dawn. Helen Wynne-Talbot had been seen standing at the edge of the plateau, then she had fallen. His mind went back to the argument between the Wynne-Talbots at the racecourse. Had Helen Wynne-Talbot fallen accidentally or had she jumped, distraught after a fresh quarrel? It was a tragic explanation that he couldn’t dismiss out of hand, but he would have to tread carefully. The poor lady’s husband was bound to be very distressed. He must be careful not to step on the Petries’ toes, too. According to Florence Clutterbuck, Lady Caroline was very fond of her nephew, even though it wasn’t clear that they had known each other long.

  William Petrie was more of an unknown quantity. Socially, he seemed easy-going and kindly but there was usually more than one side to a man. Petrie wouldn’t have risen as high as he had in the colonial service on affability alone. Probably he would dislike showing any weakness. He might also be angry at such an unpleasant interruption to the hunting party. Particularly as he wanted this Count Ranescu in a receptive mood.

  Enjoying the gentler terrain of the flat, grassy ground, the ponies trotted along confidently. A herd of sambhur, watched over by a stag with magnificent antlers, stopped grazing and galloped away as they approached. Half a mile on, they left the ponies with one of the shikaris and continued on foot.

  At a height of more than seven thousand feet above sea level, the air was thinner than de Silva was used to and he found keeping up with the shikaris strenuous. Soon, he felt as if a giant hand had fixed an iron band around his forehead and was slowly tightening it.

  The path left the grasslands and plunged into another forest, this time a denser one. Clouds of vapour wreathed the gna
rled, moss-encrusted trees, contriving to leach the colour from the orchids and other epiphytes that had taken up precarious residence on their bark. The high altitude made the air chilly and damp. It moulded itself to de Silva’s body like a ghostly overcoat and he felt cold and miserable.

  Further on, high banks, veined with bulbous tree roots, rose on either side making it essential to walk in single file. A powerful smell of earth and decay filled de Silva’s nostrils. They started to walk over large boulders, the rock polished smooth by the waters of a now dry river. An incautious step trapped his foot and he grimaced with pain as he wrenched it out and limped on.

  He gave a sigh of relief when the boulder-strewn path ended and they reached the first viewpoint at the place called Little World’s End. There, they paused briefly to catch their breath before going on; ten minutes later, the hunting party’s camp came into sight, pitched about sixty yards from the precipice at World’s End.

  Archie Clutterbuck saw him first and hurried over.

  ‘De Silva! You made good time; well done. Terrible business. William Petrie’s not a happy man. Not at all the way that he wanted the expedition to turn out. Poor Mrs Wynne-Talbot just went over the side. Didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Did you see it happen?’

  Clutterbuck shook his head. ‘Fast asleep in my tent. These long days out in the fresh air always poleaxe me. No, it was Major Aubrey who saw her go. Says he didn’t sleep well – got up for a smoke outside his tent around dawn. He noticed Helen Wynne-Talbot was up and on her own. Thought she must have slept badly too. She was standing at the edge of the precipice and he assumed she was admiring the view – as you probably know, it’s particularly fine at sunrise. He could hardly believe his eyes when she just stepped out into thin air.’

  De Silva’s brow furrowed. ‘Suicide?’

  ‘Hard to credit it was anything else, unless she was sleepwalking, and don’t the medics say that even then a person has an instinct for self-preservation?’

  ‘I believe they do. How is Mr Wynne-Talbot taking the news?’

  ‘Much as you would expect – stiff upper lip and all that – but there’s bound to be a lot bubbling under the surface. He had no idea anything had happened until Aubrey raised the alarm. Lady Caroline’s very distressed and naturally worried about her nephew. You’ll need to handle both of them carefully.’

  The trace of an apologetic smile crossed his face. ‘Forgive me, de Silva. I appreciate you don’t need me to tell you how to do your job.’ He jabbed a hand through his thick, white hair. ‘This ghastly business has us all rattled.’

  William Petrie emerged from one of the tents and walked over to join them.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector. My apologies for dragging you up here at such short notice.’

  ‘Please think nothing of it, sir. I’m very sorry to hear what’s happened. May I offer my condolences?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Petrie’s calm demeanour gave nothing away. ‘Has Clutterbuck filled you in?’

  ‘I understand Major Aubrey saw Mrs Wynne-Talbot fall.’

  ‘That’s correct. The rest of the party was still asleep, including myself and my wife. She’s extremely upset by all this so she’s resting at the moment. I’d prefer it if she wasn’t disturbed.’

  ‘Of course, but if I may, I’d like to see the place where the lady fell and then ask the other members of the party a few questions.’

  ‘By all means, but apart from Aubrey, I doubt they’ll be able to tell you anything of importance.’

  De Silva nodded politely. ‘All the same, I would like to speak to them.’

  The three men walked away from the tents and had soon covered the short distance to the precipice. Beyond the edge, milky fog swirled, completely obscuring the jungle far below. It was a feature of World’s End that the view was only visible for a few hours in the morning before the heat from the jungle rose to meet the humid air of the plateau.

  ‘Aubrey tells me she stood there before she fell.’ Clutterbuck indicated a spot where a tuft of parched grass grew between a few loose stones.

  De Silva studied the spot. It was possible that Helen Wynne-Talbot had stumbled, but unlikely. The stones were small and it shouldn’t have been difficult for her to right herself. At sunrise, the visibility would have been good. Could she have been disorientated on waking, or fuddled with drink? If the violent argument he had witnessed at the races was a regular feature of the Wynne-Talbots’ relationship, she might have been in the habit of turning to the bottle for comfort. A temporary relief that would probably only make their marital difficulties worse in the long run.

  ‘Have you seen enough, Inspector?’ An impatient edge sharpened William Petrie’s voice.

  ‘For the present, sir. I’d like to speak to Major Aubrey now.’

  Aubrey sat on a camp stool in his tent. De Silva smelt whisky on the stuffy air. A glass and a half-empty bottle stood on a low table. The major followed de Silva’s glance. ‘Needed a stiffener,’ he said dismissively. ‘It’s not every day a chap wakes up to something like this. Of course, you can’t be in the army without seeing death close up, but there one’s prepared for it.’

  De Silva nodded. ‘It must have been a shock.’

  ‘It was.’

  Clutterbuck cleared his throat. ‘Well, gentlemen, shall we sit outside? Not much room in here.’

  Aubrey uncurled himself from his stool and stood up. He was in his mid-thirties, athletic in appearance and just over six feet tall, overtopping de Silva by several inches. His dark hair and chiselled good looks reminded de Silva of the American actor, Clark Gable, one of whose films he had seen recently with Jane at the cinema. Instead of Gable’s smooth confidence, however, Aubrey radiated tension and strain. Hardly surprising in the circumstances, reflected de Silva. He remembered that Aubrey was on leave from his post in Calcutta. Presumably it was exposure to the Indian sun that had tanned and weathered his skin.

  Clutterbuck led them to a table in the shade of a clump of trees. ‘I suggest we have something to eat.’ He snapped his fingers to summon a servant. ‘Coffee and eggs and be sharp about it.’

  De Silva frowned. Clutterbuck must be rattled, he didn’t usually play the colonial master so blatantly. With a sigh, he inwardly predicted that the servant would serve camp coffee. Revolting stuff that tasted of chicory and had probably never encountered a coffee bean. He suspected that Major Aubrey would have preferred more whisky and he wouldn’t have minded one himself. The damp chill of the journey still permeated his bones.

  They sat down and he brought out his notebook and pen from his knapsack and laid them on the table in front of him.

  ‘There’s not much I can tell you, Inspector,’ Aubrey began. ‘I don’t sleep soundly as a rule – army training I suppose – and it’s not unusual for me to wake at dawn.’

  ‘I understand you decided to get up for a smoke?’

  ‘That’s right. I pulled on my trousers and a shirt and went outside. The moon had set and the sky was turning grey. There was a faint line of red on the eastern horizon.’

  He stopped as a servant laid out cups on the table and poured coffee. The smell of chicory rose to de Silva’s nostrils. Two more servants arrived with plates and cutlery followed by fried eggs. At least those were cooked as de Silva liked them, soft yolks and a little burnt around the edges.

  Aubrey waited until the servants had gone before he continued. ‘At first I didn’t realise anyone else was up. I put a plug of tobacco in my pipe, lit it and wandered towards the precipice to take a look at the view. I’d heard it’s at its best at dawn.’

  He paused and drank some of his coffee. ‘That was when I noticed Mrs Wynne-Talbot. She had her back to me and she was standing right at the edge of the precipice. I wasn’t sure what to do. I assumed she’d come out to admire the sunrise as I had and I didn’t want to alarm her in case she stumbled. She must have heard me because she turned round. I wished her good morning and said something about the light but I
don’t think she had a clue what I was talking about. She had the strangest expression on her face, as if she was listening to a sound from far away.’

  He stopped and they all waited a few moments.

  ‘And then?’ enquired de Silva at last.

  ‘Then she simply turned to face the drop, and was gone.’

  ‘And how long do you estimate the whole episode lasted?’

  ‘A minute, possibly two, but that’s a guess.’ A note of sarcasm came into his voice. ‘I’m not in the habit of witnessing suicides so I forgot to look at my watch.’

  De Silva ignored the jibe and jotted down a quick note.

  ‘Were you acquainted with Mrs Wynne-Talbot before the expedition?’

  Aubrey shook his head. ‘Never met her or her husband until we started out from Nuala.’

  ‘Clutterbuck, Lady Caroline and I are the only people on the expedition who’d met the Wynne-Talbots before,’ William Petrie intervened.

  ‘I don’t believe I exchanged more than two words with her once we had met,’ Aubrey added.

  ‘Did she seem to be enjoying herself?’

  ‘Hard to say,’ said Petrie. ‘My wife’s nephew always takes the lead. Helen is,’ he paused, ‘was, a very reserved lady.’

  ‘I appreciate none of you knew her well, but was there anything unusual about her behaviour yesterday?’ De Silva lowered his voice. ‘Did anything seem amiss between her and her husband? Was she drinking more than usual?’

  Petrie’s eyebrows went up and de Silva was afraid he had been presumptuous. ‘There was nothing unusual about her behaviour and no argument with Wynne-Talbot,’ the government agent said firmly. ‘As for drink, from what I’ve seen of her, she hardly touched the stuff. A small sherry before dinner at most.’

  De Silva jotted down a few more notes. It was always possible that Mrs Wynne-Talbot drank more in private than she did in public, but suggesting that might further arouse Petrie’s displeasure and get them no further forward. He put down his pen.