Lure of the Riptide Page 2

  ‘They import silks and sell them.’

  Maliha considered that; since trading vehicles had taken to the air, things had changed. Once India had been a major stopping point in the trade routes between Europe and China. Land routes brought the materials from China into Northern India while sea routes brought them through the island chains.

  But once the Faraday Device had become common and airborne vessels could carry huge quantities of cargo—the RMS Macedonia Sky Liner that had brought her back to India was 35,000 tons and carried over 300 passengers—the sea and land trading routes were abandoned. Everything flew direct.

  It was unlikely the Devanayas were as rich as they claimed—if they were, it was based on past wealth.

  ‘Perhaps we should visit to pass on our condolences,’ said Maliha.

  *

  Maliha sat with a dozen women she did not know in the zenana, the women’s rooms, of the Devanaya house. She did not miss the subtle glances in her direction from the others. Renuka had slight acquaintance with the family, so it was not completely odd she should be there.

  But Maliha was effectively a foreigner. Too British for the Indians, too Indian for the British. And too British for the French, no doubt, as well.

  Mrs Devanaya was holding forth about her terrible loss. And her poor son, whose wife had been torn from him. She proceeded to attack the gods, and then plead with them.

  It was tiresome and unrevealing but the performance was expected of her in the circumstances. However, Maliha was not fooled, as she had seen the old wounds on the poor girl’s body. Those were not caused by her murderer; those had probably been made by this woman.

  Maliha stood and went to the window. The mother-in-law hesitated for a moment in her diatribe but managed to pick up again as if she had not been interrupted. At the window was an ornate screen designed to prevent anyone from looking in, but it did not stop Maliha from seeing out.

  The street was almost deserted. Death in a house would have that effect; the place was avoided if possible. In India, shame drove everything.

  Could Arnithi have killed herself? But who does that by running themselves through with a sword? Apart from the Japanese, of course.

  Maliha shook her head. There was a flash of green against the whitewashed houses. There he was again, looking at the house.

  Maliha put down her cup of cold chai (she would have preferred a British tea with milk) and headed for the door.

  This time the hostess did go silent and Maliha realised that all eyes were on her. Turning, she pressed her palms together.

  ‘Please forgive me,’ she said. ‘I am overcome with sorrow for the loss of such a fine daughter-in-law. Namaste.’

  Renuka jumped up to follow as Maliha swept from the room. She hurried in an unladylike way down the stairs. The servant at the door barely had time to open it as she rushed out.

  ‘Maliha!’ called Renuka. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I could not stand the hypocrisy, cousin.’

  ‘Hypocrisy?’

  ‘Do not pretend you do not know what happens to daughters-in-law that do not match the standards of their husband’s mother.’

  ‘But …’

  Maliha caught sight of the soldier on the corner. He looked nervous. He was less the Chasseur and more a rabbit faced with a farmer’s shotgun. Perhaps she was the farmer, as he was staring directly at her. She returned the look and strode towards him, walking stick clicking on the cobbles.

  She had managed to close the gap to no more than ten yards when his confidence gave out. He turned.

  ‘Wait, monsieur.’ Her voice brought him to a standstill, and he turned back with obvious reluctance.

  ‘Maliha,’ hissed Renuka, ‘you cannot speak to him, people will see.’

  Maliha stopped. ‘Tell me, cousin, what is said about me behind my back?’

  Renuka looked embarrassed and did not meet Maliha’s gaze.

  ‘So how much worse will my reputation be if I choose to speak to a man in the street?’

  ‘A little worse,’ said Renuka.

  Maliha smiled. ‘Yes, perhaps a little worse but it is a burden I am prepared to carry. You can always say that you warned me and tried to act as a chaperone.’

  ‘But I’m younger than you.’

  ‘But you tried.’ She turned back to the soldier and realised he would not have understood a word since they had not been speaking French. She changed gears.

  iv

  ‘Good afternoon, Captain.’ His rank insignia matched her memories.

  ‘Good afternoon.’

  ‘I am Maliha Anderson and you are?’

  ‘Louis Paquette, Captain of Chasseurs.’

  Maliha had often found that people caught off-guard tended to respond more honestly. So, there was no time like the present.

  ‘I was wondering, Captain Paquette,’ she said, ‘did you kill Arnithi Devanaya?’

  Renuka gasped. The man’s face, already pale like his hair, blanched. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Do you know who did?’

  He seemed to recover a little from the shock of the first question, and shook his head.

  ‘But you knew her.’

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘And what do I think, Captain?’

  He stared at her helplessly. He reminded her a little of Mr Crier from the Sky Liner.

  ‘Perhaps we should walk,’ said Maliha. ‘Fewer people to see and overhear.’

  It was 1908 and, in England, the old rules for courting were falling apart. If they had been in France those rules would have been completely different, anyway. But this was still India. Maliha kept a yard between them and even forced herself to walk a little behind him with Renuka on her other side.

  ‘How could you say such things?’ Renuka asked in Hindi.

  Frankly, Maliha’s Hindi was now so rusty her French was better than her native tongue, but it would not improve without practice. ‘Because I needed to know.’

  ‘What business is it of yours?’

  ‘I choose to make it my business.’

  ‘But …’

  Her poor cousin was clearly at a loss. At a distant thundering, Maliha glanced up, but saw not a cloud in the sky.

  ‘I was the one who found Arnithi’s body on the beach this morning.’

  Renuka’s cry of horror and surprise was drowned out by the increasing drone of diesel engines. A Zeppelin swam into view above the houses. Its massive size blocked out the sun and a good portion of sky.

  Maliha leaned in to speak directly into Renuka’s ear. ‘She had been murdered with a sword. Her wound was about the right size for a sabre. Just like the one this captain is carrying.’ Looking up, she saw the name of the vessel: Frederick III. She was half-expecting the Hansa, as it was the same design, but that vessel would be somewhere over the Dutch East Indies now.

  By the time the Zeppelin had passed overhead and the sound diminished enough for normal conversation, they had passed into White Town and were heading towards the beach.

  ‘Slow down, Captain,’ Maliha said as they reached the promenade. There were a few people, walking singly and in groups. Some European couples, nannies with prams. ‘I’m afraid my injury makes walking a strain after a while.’

  ‘It is unusual for one so young,’ he said. His attempt at casual conversation did not disguise the strain in his voice.

  ‘I was in an accident,’ she said. ‘The damage was quite severe.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that.’

  ‘At least the femoral artery was not severed,’ she said casually. ‘Otherwise we would not be having this conversation.’

  He hesitated. ‘Quite so.’

  ‘Now, perhaps you would be so kind as to explain your relationship with the dead woman.’

  ‘Her name is Arnithi.’

  ‘I find it highly suspect that you speak of her by her given name.’

  ‘I did not kill her.’

  ‘So you say, Captain, but as yet you provide n
o context and no evidence.’

  ‘Are you going to tell the police?’

  ‘That you had improper relations with a native girl—and a married one at that?’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘You met with her privately?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘This is not France, Captain; you cannot meet with another man’s wife with impunity.’ She could feel her pulse racing with her anger. ‘Do you know what the penalty is for adultery?’

  ‘There was no adultery!’

  ‘Death by stoning.’

  The energy seemed to go out of him as he repeated, almost in a whisper, ‘There was no adultery.’

  ‘You belong to an arrogant race, Louis Paquette. You think you can come here and apply your foreign rules to this place, and that everything will be the same.’ She did not look across at his face but kept her gaze in the distance.

  She could hear Renuka muttering under her breath. Maliha thought perhaps it might be a prayer.

  They approached a wrought iron bench with bleached wooden slats dotted with seagull stains. The benches were cleaned daily but one could not be too careful. Maliha extricated a handkerchief and dropped it onto the seat before sitting.

  The captain had walked on, but turned back on noticing she was no longer with him. He stood at the far end of the bench, staring at the waves as they beat on the sand. It was almost as if he and Maliha had nothing to do with one another.

  ‘Do you know how she died?’ His voice cracked as he asked.

  ‘A single sword thrust,’ said Maliha. Renuka gasped again. ‘She would not have died immediately but in terrible pain as her life’s blood drained away.’

  ‘Why must you say things like that?’ he cried, momentarily attracting the attention of a couple passing by, and scaring a seagull into flight.

  ‘Because you knew her, quite inappropriately, and you own a sword.’

  ‘I did not kill her.’

  Maliha sighed and pressed the heel of her hand into her thigh where it ached.

  ‘But if you did not, then who? And how did she end up naked in the sea?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Who else knew of your assignations?’

  He hesitated. ‘Only my closest comrades.’

  Maliha closed her eyes. What an unutterable fool he was. ‘The ones you were arguing with on the street this morning?’

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘I take it they were not in favour of your behaviour?’

  ‘I … no. But they only tried to persuade me—they would not kill her. For a soldier to kill a native would be crazy. The repercussions for him, for the country. We do not want an uprising like the British had.’

  ‘I imagine the scale would be considerably smaller,’ said Maliha. ‘It’s not as if you own a great deal of India.’

  He shook his head. ‘I do not understand you.’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Maliha watched a gull floating on the wind that flowed from the sea to the land. It hung there, drifting left and right, suddenly dipping as the wind dropped for a moment, or soaring up in a gust.

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘A reception in the Officer’s Mess, shortly after our brigade had arrived. We were new here.’

  ‘And how is it possible you even spoke?’

  ‘There was a disruption when a supplier’s demonstrations caught fire. As soldiers we protected the guests but were forced to withdraw through the building. I was unfamiliar with the layout and guided this young woman to what I thought was safety but turned out to be the dead end of a small reading room.’

  ‘So you kept her there until it was safe to come out.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you talked.’

  ‘She said she wanted to practice her French.’

  Very romantic, thought Maliha. ‘She was impressed by your virile nature and you were enchanted by her exotic beauty.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘So who sent the first letter? You or her?’

  ‘She did.’

  Stupid girl. Suffering under the weight of a mother-in-law who hated her, she indulged herself in a forbidden relationship. And it killed her.

  ‘And where did you have your assignations?’

  ‘They were not …’ His protest petered out. ‘We met in a secluded place where a stream pours into the sea at the north end of White Town.’

  ‘Day or night.’

  ‘Night and sometimes early morning.’

  ‘Very well, Captain,’ said Maliha, ‘you had best be getting back to your quarters. Do not do anything. Do not leave your barracks unless it is under orders. Do not speak of this to your friends. But’—she took a breath—‘if I write to you, follow my instructions to the letter. Do you understand?’

  ‘What can you do?’

  ‘A simple yes will suffice.’

  ‘I will do as you ask.’

  Maliha frowned. ‘If you do not you may find yourself becoming acquainted with Madame Guillotine.’

  v

  The following morning, Maliha dressed in her European clothes. Even the corset was a comfort compared to the exposure the sari enforced on her. It was her armour.

  The evening before, she had composed a schedule of visits she needed to make. The body of Arnithi would have been burned by now so there was no further evidence to be gained there, and it would be difficult to speak to any of her direct family since they would be involved in the death rites for the next two weeks.

  Maliha went to the courtyard to the sacred tulsi plant in the shade of a tree. Every house had one and every part of it, even the soil in which it grew, was considered holy. Maliha took the small watering can from its place set into the stone of the building, filled it from the pump, and watered the plant.

  Watering the tulsi is a woman’s blessing, said her mother. Taking cuttings of the leaves and twigs is a man’s duty. Maliha smiled as she smelled its aroma. It brought back the memory of tomato soup from school; Cook always used basil for flavouring, and the tulsi was a basil plant. She had liked tomato soup from the first time it had been served. It was vegetarian and smelled of home.

  She stepped out of her grandparents’ house and down the steps to the street. Black Town had been built by the French as well so the buildings, while having an Indian flavour, were essentially European.

  The sun was already above the roofs, and the dry streets, dusty and very hot. Years in the cold and damp of Britain had made her susceptible to the heat, and her heavy dress did not help, even though she had dispensed with many layers beneath it.

  ‘Maliha!’

  Maliha glanced up at the sky. She loved her cousin but the girl would only get in the way, and it meant Maliha would have to be more careful about who she saw and spoke to. She had no intention of ruining Renuka’s prospects in the marriage market, even if she disagreed with the risks and the process.

  So she turned and smiled.

  ‘Where are we going today?’ asked Renuka as she hurried up with a servant in tow. Another mouth to tell on Maliha.

  ‘We shall go to the beach.’

  Renuka frowned. ‘But we have been there and I have seen it a thousand times.’

  ‘Well, I have not. I am the visitor, so you must show me.’

  At Maliha’s insistence they took the longer route south to the edge of town and down to where the old lighthouse stood. Again it revealed the differences of the French and the British. While the latter built smooth round towers and painted them with black and white stripes, the French created something altogether more elegant.

  And completely redundant.

  It had been built almost ten years before Faraday had demonstrated his partial nullification of gravity, and perhaps twenty before the flying machines began to dominate trade.

  Now, nearly eighty years later, there were no trading ships to warn. All the great sea vessels were gone, consigned to history. So, it stood as a beacon to the dead past.

  �
�Why are we here, Maliha?’ asked Renuka. It was not the most salubrious area. Women and children worked at mending fishing nets hung on poles. There was water on almost three sides. The city had extended far beyond the original boundaries created by the French, and spilled across the estuaries, rivers, and inlets. The waterways were thick with boats.

  ‘We are looking for someone who knows the waters.’

  Leaving the lighthouse behind, Maliha strode north with the sea booming to her right—the waves were high today and crashed onto the sand in foaming breakers.

  She glanced left and right at the people, all low caste but not untouchables. Finally she saw him. Skin as black as night, straggly hair bleached white by salt and age. He was mending nets, too.

  Maliha approached and pressed her palms together. ‘Namaste.’

  He looked up at her. ‘Namaste.’ He was not blind, which would be a reason for him to be on shore, but both his legs stopped above the knee, though one was longer than the other. The skin had grown over and healed long ago but there were scars stretching from the injury.

  ‘May I speak with you?’

  ‘I am honoured but I cannot offer you my seat.’

  Renuka’s maid found the remains of a chair with its legs sawn off to reduce its height. Maliha sat.

  ‘I was walking on the beach at White Town yesterday morning and I found a land creature that had been thrown into the sea but washed ashore.’

  ‘That is a sad thing for a young woman to find.’

  ‘This poor creature had not been in the sea very long, and I wondered about the place where it might have been thrown in.’

  ‘The one who threw it in does not understand the winds and the tides.’

  Maliha smiled. ‘No, I do not believe they do. I imagine they thought the creature would never be found, and yet it was perfect. Not bloated through exposure to seawater, and with barely a mark from the ocean or its denizens.’ She took a breath. ‘Whoever did this will have put the creature in the water thinking it would be carried out to sea.’

  The old man was silent for a while. He even went back to fiddling with a knot in the net, trying to straighten it.

  ‘One might wonder why a lady such as yourself would want to know such a thing,’ he said finally.

  ‘An injustice has been done. A terrible crime, and it must be exposed. It should be avenged.’