‘Yes,’ said Joe, ‘as a matter of fact, I do.’
‘We must play some time,’ said Midge. ‘I’m used to dancing on most nights but now he’s gone off back to his regiment, leaving me forlorn, eating my heart out. No wonder I look so pale!’
‘He’s gone back to his regiment? After a tearful parting, no doubt,’ said Nancy.
‘Oh yes,’ said Midge. ‘Was there ever such a tearful parting!’
‘And this Paladin,’ said Uncle George, ‘this hero, this maritime Lothario, has he a name?’
‘This knight in shining armour!’ Midge giggled. ‘Oh, he’s got a name all right. And if he comes down to see me all will be revealed. He’s tall, dark and handsome… absolute blissikins! You’ve no idea! Oh, goodness, I do hope Dad likes him! He ought to!’
Her audience fell silent. All in their different ways were speculating as to how Giles Prentice would receive this unknown officer who seemed to have found his way into the doubtless inflammable heart of Midge Prentice. Midge Prentice, Dolly’s daughter. With Dolly’s looks and, it would seem, with Dolly’s propensities.
After several hours sitting together in Andrew’s car, to Nancy and Joe’s relief Midge finally fell silent and fell asleep, her head companionably resting on Nancy ’s shoulder. It was dark when they arrived in Panikhat and when they drew up outside Prentice’s bungalow.
A tall and slender figure, Prentice stood illuminated by the advancing headlights with the air of one who had been patiently waiting. Midge fell out of the car and ran towards him. Prentice dropped on one knee with his arms outstretched. Silently Nancy and Joe agreed to stay in the car. They waited until Midge’s voluminous luggage had been taken out and transferred to the house then, on a word from Nancy, Naurung slipped in the clutch and the big car stole silently out of the compound leaving Midge and Prentice on the verandah, each with an arm round the other, Midge, predictably, doing all the talking, Prentice all the listening.
‘Well,’ said Nancy, ‘what did you make of that? What did you make of Midge?’
‘I thought she was an absolute poppet,’ said Joe sentimentally.
‘You would!’ said Nancy. ‘I thought she was an absolute menace! Not Dolly’s daughter for nothing!’
‘I wonder,’ said Joe, ‘what Prentice will do to launch her in Panikhat society?’
‘I think I can guess! It’s Manoli Day for the regiment on Friday. It’s always held on the third Friday in March. Silly sort of thing really but in the Sikh War the regiment were, I must think, caught with their pants down and had to turn out in the middle of the night mounted any old how in their pyjamas – a sort of midnight steeplechase. It was, in fact, quite a gallant episode and they did whatever it was they were called upon to do (I don’t know the details) and ever since then they’ve given a ragtime dance on the anniversary of Manoli Day. And the proceedings are followed by a sort of ragtime steeplechase. It used to be quite a dangerous ride – still is, I suppose – and someone got dreadfully injured one year. Since then they’ve restricted the numbers – six or eight or something. Names picked from a hat by the Colonel.
‘Tell you what – I’ll invite Prentice and Midge to dinner before the dance. I’ll invite you too. Young Easton and Smythe seem quite jolly – I’ll ask them. Young company for Midge. Perhaps I’ll ask Kitty to balance the numbers. She’ll certainly be intrigued to see Dolly Prentice mark two! I’ll see what I can fix. Yes, come to the dinner and come to the dance.’
Joe sighed. ‘And what must I wear for this horrible entertainment of yours? Pyjamas?’
‘No, no! Mess dress. Your white jacket, blue cummerbund, black tie, mess trousers over boots with box spurs – just the usual. Don’t worry – we’ll provide the pyjamas!’
Chapter Sixteen
Joe had not slept well. The journey to Calcutta had tired his body but it was the evidence he had turned up and the new theories beginning to bubble in his mind that kept him awake. And there was something unidentifiably alarming in the figure of Midge Prentice. Something she had done or said had, at a subconscious level, left him in dread for her. Or was it something Kitty had said?
He plodded his way through the night, irritated to an equal degree by his thoughts and by the mosquito bites from Calcutta. In a despairing effort to cool himself he thought about his flat in Chelsea, its large windows open and a chill March breeze blowing through. There would be a thick mist over the Thames, there might even be the remains of snow clinging to the rooftops and, for a moment before he drifted into sleep, he heard the familiar hooting of a river barge.
But he had awakened to the usual bugle sounds and the noises of the station coming to life. He moved from his warm damp bed into a lukewarm bath and on to breakfast. For once the copious Panikhat breakfast served with clockwork precision at seven o’clock had lost its charm. So it was that, in his mood of indecision, he was glad to receive a chit handed in by a bearer from the office of the Collector and with a disproportionate spurt of excitement he recognised Nancy ’s handwriting. He read:
Good morning! I have a small – and probably inconsequential – lead. Want to come and follow it? If so, parade (mounted) here, as soon as possible. Send acknowledgement by the bearer saying yes or no. ND.
He scribbled ‘Yes’ and handed the chit back to the bearer for return to Nancy. He finished dressing and sent for his horse. ‘Sent for his horse’! How easy it was and how beguiling!
He rattled his way through Panikhat, familiarly acknowledging several people as he passed, and dismounted at the Drummonds’ bungalow. A syce was walking a grey pony up and down in the drive. Nancy appeared with a wave on the verandah.
‘Morning, Joe!’ she said. ‘The burra sahib is in the kutcherry.’
‘Indeed? And I am here,’ said Joe. ‘For me, to hear is to obey’
Nancy sat down on the step of the verandah and gestured to Joe to join her. ‘There may be nothing in this,’ she said, ‘and in the back of my mind is the thought that there isn’t anything in it so don’t be too hopeful. But it’s Naurung. He never stops! He’s located one of the ferrymen, one of the witnesses of the death of Alicia. He’s long retired from the ferries and is farming. It’s not far away, at a little place called Lasra Kot. It’s about ten miles away and has the advantage of being rather a nice ride. Are you on?’
‘Truly,’ said Joe, and he meant it, ‘I can’t think of any way I’d rather spend the day. Time we got away from this place for a few minutes.’
‘Well, as I say, there may be nothing in it, but…’ She gave him a level and considering look. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll waste the day, do you?’
She called over her shoulder and a bearer appeared with a small square basket on a strap.
‘What on earth’s that?’ said Joe.
‘Oh, very British! We’re having a picnic lunch. No Lyons Corner House where we’re going! Come on and say hello to Andrew.’
They made their way into the Collector’s office where they found him in shirt-sleeves with clerks taking dictation in attendance, each simultaneously, one in Hindustani, one in English. Joe was impressed. ‘That’s very clever,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t do that!’
Andrew greeted him warmly. ‘Joe! Good morning! If you’re really lazy – and I am – you don’t write letters, you dictate them and if you’re clever – and I am – you dictate two at once. I’ve even been known to dictate three! Actually, we’ve been doing this for so long, I just stammer a bit and these chaps put it into embarrassingly Augustan prose. So – you’re off into the mofussil, are you? I’ve already said this to Nancy and I’ll repeat it to you – don’t sit on a snake, don’t fall over a cliff, don’t cross a river, don’t have a bath – and you oughtn’t to come to, er, serious harm. If you’re not back in a fortnight I’ll send a search party.’ And to Nancy, ‘Where did you say you were going?’