She laughed. ‘Not sure that’s true but it just could be.’
‘I had heard that the Ranipur welcome for the Prince of Wales last year was somewhat lavish?’ said Joe tentatively.
‘It had to be! There was a lot riding on it. Prestige, face. . whatever you like to call it. Each prince trying to outdo the rest in the lavishness of his hospitality. . Magnificence and spectacle were heaped before Edward Windsor. I only hope he appreciated it,’ she sniffed disrespectfully. ‘And, yes, you’re right — Udai had electricity installed and by that I mean from the generators upwards, culminating in rows and rows of fairy lights, if you please, outlining the palace. But they had the sense to offer the royal tourist sporting distractions as well — you know — pig sticking, duck shooting, camel racing.’
‘No chess?’
‘No. No chess! A huge outlay, all the same, for a two-day visit. Though nothing like the sixty thousand pounds they spent in Bharatpur on a single night-pageant. I have to say, Udai did well. Even I was stirred by the sight of the youthful British prince (for so he appeared to me) being carried by six stalwart Rajputs to the banqueting hall in a ceremonial chair, his fair hair lit up by the golden glow of thousands of oil lamps and bonfires and the palace outlined in silver light behind him.’
‘Hold hard now, Lizzie!’ Joe teased, putting on a Scottish voice. ‘Tha’s no a Stuart ye’re talkin’ aboot!’
‘No indeed. And I’m no admirer of the House of Windsor! But the lad made a good impression all the same. Even though it has left India counting the cost.’
She looked at him closely for a moment and said shrewdly, ‘You’ve already begun your inquisition, haven’t you? Well, I wonder what I’ve given away? Is there any other light I can shine on your problem?’
Joe laughed. ‘Just talk to me, Lizzie! I’m fumbling around in the dark. Be my torch!’
‘And here we all were, hoping the detective was going to tap Ajit Singh on the shoulder and have him consigned to his own deepest dungeon awaiting transport to the gallows in Delhi!’
‘Not the way it works, Lizzie. Even if I could find out for certain that Ajit Singh had killed off the two heirs, I have no powers to do anything about it. If he came to me with a signed confession in several languages I’d merely be able to comment, “How interesting. Now don’t do it again or HM Gov. will start to get a bit hot under the collar.”’
‘Pity! We’d all like to see the back of him. The sooner he’s replaced by that nice young lieutenant, the better!’
‘But if he’s involved at all, he’s only the instrument, Lizzie. It’s highly likely Ajit’s behind the killings. But who’s behind Ajit?’
‘Oh, anyone with influence or cash,’ said Lizzie thoughtfully. ‘He’d take a bribe. He’s been known — well, strongly rumoured — to have performed many services for the ladies of the zenana. A useful extension of their power.’
‘But what about a European, of either sex, requiring to whistle up a little skulduggery? Suppose for instance you needed someone to push old Edgar off a cliff?’
‘Huh! That’s a job I’d gladly do myself! Why give someone else the satisfaction? And — believe me, Joe — no one, not even you would find out that I’d done it. But yes. . yes. I think I could make it worth Ajit’s while to oblige. . What about it, Joe? Shall we?’
He smiled at Lizzie’s attempt to lighten the discussion and seized the moment to invite her to indulge with him in a little gossip and speculation.
‘Delighted to do that,’ she said, pouring out another generous measure of whisky.
Feeling rather foolish he asked, ‘Have you had a visit from a Parisian perfume house recently, here in Ranipur?’
Lizzie frowned and smiled uncertainly at the same time, assessing the seriousness of his question. ‘No,’ she replied decisively. ‘Jewellers, grocers, couturiers, purveyors of tinned soup, tobacconists, candlestick makers. . No perfumiers. There are always attar-wallahs selling their wares to the purdah ladies but I don’t think that’s what you have in mind, is it? Why are you asking?’
Joe explained, pleased to see that Lizzie also was intrigued but unable to account for the shared taste in perfume of Lois and Third Her Highness.
‘Shalimar? Can you be certain?’ said Lizzie, disbelief in her voice. ‘I’m not aware of it but I can imagine. Sort of thing that Shubhada would wear but — Lois? She wouldn’t buy anything but Yardley’s so someone must have given it to her. And who would do that but Claude?’ She giggled naughtily, pleased with her solution. ‘Claude! Well! What have you uncovered, Joe! Perhaps our upright Englishman has a secret penchant for oriental mystery? “Here, Lois, old gel, try a spot of this behind the ears, what!” Sorry, Joe. I’ve no idea. But I’ll see what a bit of female gossip can reveal. Not really my style but in the interests of detection. .’ She hesitated for a moment then said suspiciously, ‘It is in the interests of detection, I hope? Purely a professional enquiry? Not been getting too close to Lois, have you? You begin to worry me, young man! Sniffing, all too literally, around your female suspects! Are you an expert in scents? A. . what do the French call it. . a nose?’
‘Just one of my surprising skills,’ said Joe, smiling. He sniffed the air, stagily. ‘And you, Lizzie? Now let me see. . Mmm! Got it! Eau de formaldehyde! Very alluring!’
Too late he realized that his flippant remark had not amused Lizzie. She looked away and busied herself arranging the glasses on the tray but he caught a sudden expression of sadness and distance in the lively brown eyes. He decided to move to safer ground.
‘Tell me, Lizzie, what brought you to India?’
‘Elopement,’ she said at once, and sat back to enjoy his surprise.
‘Ah. Elopement. Now, are you going to enlarge on that or are you going to leave me squirming with embarrassment and framing my next question which will undoubtedly be about something of undeniable tediousness like the weather?’
‘I ran away from a rather dour Scottish home in the company of a young man who loved me. He was taking up a post in India and I came with him. We were intending to marry — I suppose that makes it an elopement.’
Joe nodded. ‘And what became of your young man, Lizzie?’ he asked quietly, unable to dodge the question, though fearful of the reply.
‘Henry had been offered a position of assistant surgeon in Bombay — a very lowly position, not at all what my father had in mind for me. When we landed there was an outbreak of the cholera and what would Henry do but roll up his sleeves and pitch in? And what would I do but help him? He died. I survived,’ she said bleakly. ‘I was actually then quite glad firstly of my father’s forgiveness and secondly for his influence in getting me a position here in the royal household. Though I was not unaware that by this gesture he effectively ensured that his disgraced daughter would stay on the other side of the world for some years, if not for ever. My stipend is generous and I’ve managed to save enough to ensure I have a comfortable return. I shall buy a little tile-hung lodge in the Home Counties, grow wisteria over the door and breed spaniels.’
‘Lizzie! I forbid you to do any of those things!’
‘Well, perhaps I may concede on the wisteria-hung, dog-infested cottage but the return home at least is not something I’m prepared to give way on. My job here, as you’ve noticed, is just about completed. I don’t want to be discovered in a few years’ time mopping and mowing in my dotage in some remote cubicle of the palace warren! And — tell me — what choices does a thirty-four-year-old spinster have in post-war Britain?’
Joe was prepared to give this question his best attention and they discussed for a while the depressingly narrow range of occupations open to a clever, unmarried woman. Under the warming influence of Lizzie’s large brown eyes and the no less large measures of her whisky, Joe was on the point of suggesting that she marry him and allow him to make her the happiest of women but on running the phrase through his mind again he thought he might not have got that quite right.