Lure of the Riptide Page 5

  Her shoe caught between the stones and she tripped. Her treacherous weakened thigh refused to support her and she tumbled back, pulling Renuka down with her. The sound of a riding crop whipped past her ear and her hat was ripped from her head.

  The horse disappeared down the next side street and the sound of its hooves was quickly lost. Maliha felt her heart pumping fast and she was panting. Pain shot through her thigh. She closed her eyes and deliberately slowed her breath. Ignoring the pain, she rolled over and pushed herself up until she regained her feet.

  Renuka was already standing and held out her hand. ‘I’m fine,’ growled Maliha. Renuka snatched her hand back.

  This is what she had been afraid of. Still, it would solve one problem: how to persuade Renuka to stay away from her from now on.

  ‘Your lovely hat,’ cried Renuka as she held it out to Maliha. The whip had cut through the fabric and straw. It was almost in half. ‘Thank goodness you threw me to the ground! If that foolish fellow had hit you instead …’

  Then I would be slightly more disfigured than I already am, finished Maliha.

  ‘This was no accident, Renuka. I told you it was going to get dangerous and this is what I meant.’

  A small crowd had gathered and was staring at them.

  Maliha snatched the remains of the hat from Renuka and grabbed her hand. She almost dragged her across the road to the entrance to her grandmother’s house.

  ‘You cannot accompany me anymore.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Do not be a child,’ said Maliha. ‘I told you I was beating the bushes to flush out the murderer. And this is what happens. It becomes dangerous. I love you, cousin, and you have a real life ahead of you. I do this because I do not. It does not matter what happens to me; it does matter what happens to you.’

  ‘But …’

  Maliha softened and took Renuka’s hand. ‘You have a life with Balaji to look forward to.’

  ‘And if my mother-in-law is like Arnithi’s?’

  ‘She won’t be,’ said Maliha. ‘I know she will be a good person and will love you.’

  ‘You can’t know that.’

  ‘It is what you deserve.’

  ‘Did Arnithi deserve what happened to her?’

  There are those that would say she did. ‘She created the situation whether she deserved it or not. It was she who chose to have a relationship with another man no matter how chaste it was.’

  Maliha looked at the maid. ‘Take your mistress home.’

  Renuka did not protest but walked slowly away. Maliha looked down at her ruined bonnet. It was only a material thing, it meant nothing.

  But it had been pretty.

  xi

  Maliha spent the rest of the day in her room. She did not like to admit it, but the attack had scared her. She tried to dismiss it as concern for her cousin but the fear in her own face when she looked into the mirror revealed the truth.

  She had no friends here. She thought for a moment of Mr Crier. He might be useful in this situation since he would be able to go into places she could not. But she had not seen him since they had left the RMS Macedonia. She could send a message to Barbara to see if she could find him.

  Maliha frowned and slammed her hand against the mirror’s surface. What was she thinking? She was perfectly capable of dealing with this. She had not needed him in England; she could have done without him on the ship. She most certainly did not need him now.

  All she had to do was determine the next move.

  She lay on the bed and replayed the attack. She had not been paying full attention and then it had happened so fast she had not been looking at the horse. Not that looking at horses was her favourite pastime. It had been a horse that had caused her injury. She did not like horses.

  However, her memory did not fail her. As always she could see everything again and even make out details she did not know she had noticed. The horse was black, quite heavy, and in extremely good condition. She could see the way the sun reflected off its coat and the oiled leather of the straps.

  In India horses were expensive, and required a great deal of looking after. Whoever owned the horse had money. The link between the horse and the Chasseurs was too obvious to be missed, even by a blind man.

  Unfortunately, she had seen nothing of the rider, as she had been too busy falling and trying to protect Renuka. Drat the girl.

  No. It was not Renuka’s fault; it was her own. She should never have allowed her to tag along in the first place.

  The attack had not been intended to kill her, only to scare and inflict pain. To scare her off. And that meant, as she had said to Renuka, the plan was working. But where did she go from here?

  The person who had attacked her was probably a Chasseur, tied into the fact that the murder weapon was a sabre. And someone at the barracks had intercepted the message from Arnithi, so knew she would be at the meeting place while Captain Paquette did not.

  The same person who attacked her was almost certainly the murderer. It was interesting that this person had not tried to kill her as well. That would be the simplest solution, but instead she was being warned.

  What did that mean? Did it mean anything? They could just be avoiding the coincidence of an investigator being killed. If she died the British might insist on an enquiry. The murderer could not afford that.

  Maliha sighed and lay down again. She stared at the ceiling and listened to the sounds of Pondicherry: the distant sea, the seagulls, the carriages and mechanicals in the street, and voices from within and outside the house.

  *

  She awoke to the sound of the dinner bell. It was dark in the room. She was not dressed appropriately but the hunger decided for her and she headed down. The door to the room Grandfather used as his office was open and the lights were off. Usually he worked in the evening.

  Grandmother barely glanced at Maliha as she entered the dining room. When the French built Black Town they followed their usual rules for the most part, creating rooms that fitted their culture. So that’s the way the rooms were used by the Indian upper classes.

  ‘Is Grandfather out?’

  Grandmother sniffed and snorted. Maliha winced, it was un-British, though not un-Indian. She felt like a triangular peg that fitted neither the round nor the square hole.

  ‘Your grandfather has a business meeting.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Maliha let her half-question hang in the air while she helped herself to the first course of rice.

  To her shame, Grandmother had not born any male heirs: only Maliha’s mother and her sister, Renuka’s mother. So she had no daughter-in-law to wait on her hand and foot. And no male heir to take over Grandfather’s business. Maliha, even as the eldest descendant, was not going to get anything from them. It would pass to Renuka’s brothers.

  ‘Each month there is a meeting at the French Officer’s Club,’ said Grandmother.

  ‘Oh?’ Maliha said again, and took another mouthful of rice, forcing her left hand to remain in her lap. It was an effort.

  Grandmother did not reply immediately. Maliha wondered whether she was debating about telling the truth—which she almost certainly knew, and which Maliha could easily guess. These so-called business meetings would be nothing more than opportunities for gambling and drinking. Yes, it was certain that business was also discussed but the atmosphere would be relaxed and soldiers could be relied upon to indulge themselves. After all they would not allow the social customs of the invaded to get in the way of their enjoyment.

  ‘The more important businessmen meet and discuss matters. They can also make deals with the French. It is a good arrangement.’

  ‘I see.’

  Maliha considered the possibilities: either all the businessmen indulged or none of them. Probably the latter since it would not be good if their behaviour leaked out. It was not that gambling, or even alcohol, was actually forbidden, it was that they were associated with bad karma. Anyone indulging was putting his next life at risk—an
d to be identified as a man who drank or gambled recklessly could threaten his business in this life.

  But that gave Maliha another thought. She was certain Arnithi had been killed by a Chasseur, but there was no solid motive that she could see. Unless one of them was jealous of Captain Paquette, or perhaps had hidden feelings for him, or was outraged at a European having a relationship with an Indian. But, in all those cases, a word in the right place could have brought the relationship to an end. It was not a strong enough motive for such a cold-blooded crime.

  On the other hand, perhaps a Chasseur might have been convinced to commit the murder for another person. Someone who had a real motive, one related to money and a great deal of it.

  She would write a letter immediately after dinner.

  xii

  Maliha sat on the bench in the hidden spot where Louis Paquette and Arnithi Devanaya had had their trysts. They may not have kissed, perhaps they did not even touch, but they were lovers nonetheless. Maliha had chosen to wear a sari, just as Arnithi would have done.

  It was not raining but the sky was overcast and there was an uncommon chill in the air with a light mist hanging over the sea. There was no wind and the waves growled rather than roared.

  A French Zeppelin-style airship had gone over fifteen minutes before but even its engines were muffled by the damp air and it was little more than a dark shadow in the sky.

  She jumped at the sound of a boot striking the step of the steep iron staircase. There was the clatter of a sheathed sword striking the metal railing. And last, a double crunch as he jumped the final distance to the sand.

  ‘Miss Anderson.’

  The voice was not that of Louis Paquette.

  ‘Major Chauvin, you got my letter then.’ She looked up into his dark eyes and held them. ‘I suspected it might be you, though for Captain Paquette’s sake I wished it was not.’

  There was pain in his eyes but she did not feel for him. He had murdered a woman in cold blood, and no reason could be justification enough. He made a choice and it was a bad one. If he had another life, this amount of bad karma would make it hell.

  ‘How could you think it was me?’

  ‘You mean apart from your attacking me in broad daylight on one of the infantry horses?’ she said, not hiding her contempt. ‘The murderer had to know Captain Paquette was having a liaison with Arnithi Devanaya, and be able to intercept the letter from her to know where she was going to be. Only a close friend would be in that position.’

  She looked back out into the grey mist. ‘And, of course, you are here now.’

  ‘I could kill you,’ he said quietly.

  She shrugged. ‘You could, but you won’t. There’s no money in it.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for money!’

  ‘I’m sure you thought you were doing it for your family’s honour,’ she said and watched the expression of surprise cross his face. She had been right. ‘But all you did was trade a forgivable shame for an unforgivable one.’

  Maliha gave him a moment to respond but he remained silent. ‘Did Mr Moopanar explain all the details? Yes, he must have done; otherwise you would not have done it.’

  ‘How could you know?’

  ‘Most people spend their time in this world with their eyes closed,’ she said. ‘I, however, do not. The Devanaya business was bankrupt and yet they paid for a five-day wedding and continue to live in style. The Moopanars export increasing tonnage of kaolin for all the new industrial applications, and yet they have taken a smaller house. And the link between them is Arnithi.’

  Maliha pushed her walking stick into the sand and stood up. ‘I noted old bruises on her body when I found her, along with more recent burns. The Devanayas were extorting money from the Moopanars. I imagine Arnithi had no idea. Every new bride expects to be treated badly by her mother-in-law. But how many more times would she fall down the stairs if the Moopanars did not pay? And not only that, but the silly girl was meeting another man. I’m sure that, if he dared tolerate the shame, P. K. Moopanar could have escaped the trap by exposing her crime. But perhaps he could not bear to see her stoned to death. A sword would be quicker and cleaner.’

  Major Chauvin shook his head as if trying to shake loose the tangles of his crime.

  ‘But you,’ she said turning to face him. ‘You are, I imagine, a very bad gambler.’

  ‘How could you possibly know that?’

  ‘Though your income must be greater than your friend’s, your uniform is older and in need of replacement. And since you were the one who killed her, Arnithi’s father must have had some hold over you.’

  He looked down at the sand at her feet. ‘I cannot stop.’

  ‘Nor do you win. So among your fellow officers and friends you have built up considerable debts, yes?’

  He gave the very slightest of nods.

  ‘He saw you losing and had an idea. I imagine he bought up all of your debts and then told you he would expose you and shame your family if you did not do as he instructed.’

  Chauvin nodded again. ‘And pay them if I did as he said.’

  ‘I’m sure he made it sound logical, almost the best thing to be done. She was behaving badly and her mere existence allowed another man to get away with extortion. If she disappeared, every problem would be solved.’

  ‘It is exactly as you say, Miss Anderson.’

  The damp weather made her leg ache more than usual. There was no position in which she was comfortable. She walked across the sand until she stood at the place where the stream flowed into the sea. The major followed.

  ‘So you ran her through with your sabre, stripped her of her clothes, and threw her in from here, assuming she would be washed out to sea and never seen again.’

  ‘I was wrong.’

  ‘You had no experience of the sea. Captain Paquette would probably have known when it was best to dispose of the body.’

  The stream did smell very bad. She turned and walked back up the beach to the bench. She heard his sword being pulled from its sheath. She turned and sat.

  ‘You will not kill me, Major.’

  ‘Won’t I?’ He loomed over her and touched the blade to her bodice.

  ‘You can put this right, Major. It is in your power.’

  ‘You ask too much.’

  Maliha went cold with anger. She held it in check. ‘Murdering a woman is less than your shame?’

  ‘I will be condemned to hell for eternity.’

  ‘Only if your Roman Catholic church is right. If Hinduism is right, you may have a few unpleasant lifetimes, but redemption is available.’

  ‘I am not Hindu.’

  ‘Neither am I, anymore.’

  ‘You are taunting me,’ he growled.

  ‘No, simply pointing out there are options,’ she said calmly. ‘Though I find, when you choose to follow the path of right, there is usually only one route and it is the hardest. I know you can see it, Major. You must choose whether to step on it.’

  Epilogue

  Barbara Makepeace-Flynn had given Maliha a warm welcome when she returned to the house in Ceylon.

  From her bedroom window Maliha could see the glass and steel of the Fortress and watch the ships lifting into the Void. The air was alive with airships and other flying machines from all parts of the world. The atmospheric tubes buzzed with trains heading up into India.

  This felt more like home than Pondicherry.

  Barbara might be a new acquaintance, but she did not judge and accepted Maliha as no one in her real family did—except perhaps Renuka. And here at the beating heart of the British Empire, there was always the possibility she might see Mr Crier again.

  At breakfast a few days later, Maliha read in the newspaper that a businessman named P. K. Moopanar had been found stabbed to death with a sword, along with a French cavalry officer who had apparently committed suicide with a revolver.

  It was the best outcome she could have expected.

  Read MALIHA ANDERSON Books 1-3

  The firs
t astonishing book in the Maliha Anderson series.

  bit.ly/maliha-0103

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Steve Turnbull was born in the heart of London to book-loving working-class parents in 1958. He lived with his parents and two older sisters in two rooms with gas lighting and no hot water. In his fifth year, a change in his father’s fortunes took them out to a detached house in the suburbs. That was the year Dr Who first aired on British TV, and Steve watched it avidly from behind the sofa. It was the beginning of his love of science fiction.

  Academically Steve always went for the science side, but he also had his imagination—and that took him everywhere. He read through his local library’s entire science fiction and fantasy selection, plus his father’s 1950s Astounding Science Fiction magazines. As he got older he also ate his way through TV SF like Star Trek, Dr Who and Blake’s 7.

  However, it was when he was 15 he discovered something new. Bored with a maths lesson, he noticed a book from the school library: Cider with Rosie by Laurie Lee. From the first page he was captivated by the beauty of the language. As a result he wrote a story longhand and then spent evenings at home on his father’s electric typewriter pounding out a second draft, expanding it. Then he wrote a second book. After that he switched to poetry and turned out dozens, mostly not involving teenage angst.

  After receiving excellent science and maths results, he went on to study computer science. There he teamed up with another student and they wrote songs for their band, with Steve writing the lyrics. However, they admit their best song was the other way around, with Steve writing the music.

  After graduation Steve moved into contract programming but was snapped up a couple of years later by a computer magazine looking for someone with technical knowledge. It was in the magazine industry that Steve learned how to write to length, to deadline, and to style. Within a couple of years he was editor and stayed there for many years.