Murder out of the Blue (Maliha Anderson Book 1) Read online

  iv

  The inspector had left her and gone about his business—probably to make life difficult for the Spencers—leaving her in the Reading Room. Now she simply stood and stared out at the landscape drifting by. But she saw none of it; news of her parents’ deaths had numbed her. Her fingers curled around the railing were cold.

  All these months, years even, she had dreamed of going home; it was the one thing that made school tolerable, and now there was no home to return to. Her father’s estate would go to someone in Glasgow who would not even want to know her. And if he had been conscientious enough to make his will, then anything left to her would be in trust for the next two years, if she ever managed to see a penny of it.

  “It’s an amazing land.”

  Maliha did not turn at Temperance’s voice. All she wanted was to shut herself away, from everyone and everything but she did not have energy to move.

  “Miss Anderson, you are crying.”

  Am I? she thought. She raised a hand to her cheek and touched the wetness. So I am.

  “Whatever is the matter, cariad?”

  Maliha choked as she tried to suppress a sob.

  “Was it that policeman? Men have no feelings.”

  Maliha shook her head. “No… no, not him.”

  “Come on, let’s get you somewhere private,” said Temperance and put her arm around Maliha’s shoulders. “You can’t go making a spectacle of yourself. Not when you’re almost home.”

  Her solicitations forced another bout of sobs from Maliha. Temperance turned her towards the door. The room was now quite busy and the spinsters and debutantes were looking.

  “My walking stick,” said Maliha pointing back towards the rail. Temperance walked back and picked it up, putting it gently into Maliha’s hands before guiding her through the door, across the deck, and below to her cabin.

  Chapter 7

  i

  Temperance unlocked the door and pushed it open. “In you go now, cariad.”

  She studied Maliha as she stepped into the dark interior just inches from her, breathing in the soap-smell of her skin. She followed Maliha inside, switched on the light, shut the door and turned the key gently so as not to alarm her guest. The room was a mess. She had left her empty cases open on the bed ready for packing and her sewing box was still open on the desk.

  They would be landing in only a few hours but there was still time.

  Maliha had stopped a few paces into the room, so Temperance gently took her by the elbow and guided her to the sofa and settled her into it. She relieved her of her walking stick and placed it along the side of the sofa just out of Maliha’s reach.

  “Shall I send for tea?” she asked.

  “Just some water, if you don’t mind.”

  “We don’t want to be disturbed, now do we?”

  Temperance went to the glass-fronted drinks cabinet. She had resisted the temptation to pour every last drop of the foul liquor into the basin lest the servants think she had drunk it herself. She folded down the front, took out a lead crystal tumbler, and poured water from the jug. She hated the way it moved so sluggishly, it was so unnatural.

  She looked at the reflection in the glass as she put down the jug. She saw her dress-making scissors in Maliha’s hands with the blades wide apart. She seemed to be examining them. Temperance smiled, it would be amusing to catch her in the act.

  “Do you sew?” she said.

  Maliha shook her head and put the scissors back. Temperance sat down beside her, passed her the glass, and placed her hand on Maliha’s. She had beautifully delicate fingers, but her skin was cold.

  “Why don’t you tell me what is wrong, cariad?”

  Temperance saw the tears well up again. Poor thing was in such terrible need.

  “Have you a kerchief?” Maliha asked sniffing indecorously.

  Temperance stood up and went to the dresser; she took a handkerchief from one of the smaller drawers and switched on the bedside light. Then she went to the door and switched off the main lights. She did not mind that her cabin did not have more windows, as darkness brought her closer to God. As she turned back, she noticed Maliha staring at the small window as if she had seen something. Temperance pulled the small curtain across it.

  “Here you are.” She passed Maliha the kerchief and watched as she delicately wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sat down close beside her, feeling the comfort of Maliha’s thigh pressing against hers. But she was not the one in need of solace. She placed her arm around Maliha’s shoulders and rested the other on her leg. She knew from many years of experience that those in grief were the easiest to manipulate. Listen to their sorrows, give them succour, and they could be commanded.

  In her quietest but most insistent voice she asked again. “Tell me what has happened.”

  Temperance allowed the silence to stretch out. Sometimes it took a while for them to gather the courage to speak.

  “It was in the paper. My parents are dead. My home is burned,” said Maliha. “I have no parents and no home.”

  Temperance almost laughed; that made it so much easier, but now was not the time for laughing. That would come later. “And no income, I’ll wager.”

  Maliha shook her head. “I don’t know what the arrangements are. It was only a newspaper.”

  The two of them remained silent for a time. Temperance watched her, seeing the downcast eyes, still on the verge of tears, and felt her own confidence grow. The girl had not thrown off her arm; she even seemed to be nestling deeper into the embrace. Neither had she removed the hand from her leg, the presence of which should be considered a great impertinence.

  Temperance kissed Maliha’s cheek. Maliha closed her eyes. Temperance’s heart leapt with joy. She had not been rejected. So many times she had been, and the pain was hard to bear.

  Maliha opened her eyes and turned to face her. Those eyes, still glistening with tears, looked searchingly into her own. Their lips almost touching, preparing for that first kiss.

  Maliha spoke: “It must have been a terrible shock when you discovered Lochana was a man.”

  ii

  Temperance’s arm about her shoulders became rigid, and the hand on her thigh tightened. Maliha pulled away from Temperance so she could see her full face more clearly in the half light. The look of excitement had been replaced by confusion and something much harder and sharper.

  “What?” Temperance’s voice grated as if someone had gripped her throat.

  “You killed her because you found out she was a man.”

  Temperance jerked away from Maliha as if she were poison. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her cigarette holder from the table, and put it in her mouth even though it contained no cigarette. In annoyance she removed it again.

  “The general killed the pervert,” she said. “Everyone knows that. You are weak in the head.”

  “No, he did not. He loved her.”

  “Love?” she screamed. “Thou shalt not lie with a man as with a woman; that is an abomination.”

  “The fact remains. He cared for her. He did not kill her. He could not have. You did.”

  Temperance fumbled with her cigarette case, jammed a cigarette into the holder and lit it. She took in a deep breath of smoke, blew it out, and felt its energy flowing through her, calming her. She laughed and sat down facing Maliha.

  “You’re a very dull girl, you know? You think you’re so clever with all your books. Well, if you remember I was reading your Shakespeare in the lounge all afternoon until dinner.”

  Temperance sat as if tied. Ankles and knees tight together, elbows pulled in.

  “That was to cover the tryst you had arranged with her. Lochana was found dead in the same clothes as she’d worn into Khartoum. If she had been killed in the evening, she would have changed. No. You arranged to meet with her immediately after your excursion. The chairs in the lounge are big enough that you could leave your cigarette holder there with a drink, and anyone would think someone was sitting there.”

/>   Temperance glanced at her cigarette holder. Then back at Maliha. “Or I was sitting there reading all afternoon. And you’re wrong. I saw her in the evening she said she was going for a walk.”

  “You made that up to confuse matters,” said Maliha.

  “You dare to accuse me of lying,” she cried. “I do God’s work.”

  But Maliha would not be side-tracked. “You came back to this room where she was waiting. And you … discovered she was a man and in a rage you grabbed up the nearest thing you could and you stabbed her. You thought you’d killed her then and there, and went to cover your tracks. But when you came back she was gone.”

  “You can’t prove any of this. You’re an ignorant half-caste daughter of a demented father.”

  Maliha ignored the insult. It hurt to be reminded of her father but in her years at the school the girls had been far more imaginative in their attacks, and Maliha had all that time to learn to let them roll off her.

  She changed tack. “Where’s your rug?”

  “What?” Temperance looked down at the bare deck and then at the door. “There wasn’t one.”

  “All the cabins have rugs, Temperance,” said Maliha. “You got rid of it because it was stained with Lochana’s blood. The seals are broken on one of the outer windows in the companionway outside; you threw it out the same way the general disposed of her body. I noticed when the master-at-arms was examining the general’s room.”

  Temperance sat back, her muscles loosening. She took another deep drag on the cigarette holder, held the smoke in her lungs, then blew it out smoothly. “You still have no proof, Miss Anderson.”

  “That’s true, everything up to now is strongly indicative that you killed her but not an absolute certainty. Except you made a mistake. An independently verifiable mistake.”

  “I don’t make mistakes,” she said.

  “You made a mistake with me, didn’t you? You thought I would succumb to your seduction, but I have to say, you are not my type.”

  Temperance leapt to her feet and slapped Maliha across the face so fast, she had no time to pull back. “Not your type? You ugly little whore. I do God’s work. I give God’s love where it will best serve His purpose.”

  Maliha’s cheek stung and she almost regretted the moment of facetiousness. But again, she hadn’t survived school without more than her share of physical mistreatment. A slap was nothing.

  “So what was my big mistake?” demanded Temperance.

  iii

  The pathetic little girl held her hand against her cheek. She had to die, of course: she would not accept the absolution of God’s love. She could not be allowed to prevent the spreading of the Truth. Maliha was nothing but a disgusting half-breed.

  Temperance took a long pull on her cigarette. It relaxed her. She saw her scarf on a hook on the far wall. Stabbing may not kill someone fast enough, but choking the living breath from her would be effective and satisfying.

  She strode across the room and took the silk scarf delicately in her hands. She loved its sensuous feel.

  “Well? What was my mistake?”

  It was almost as if Maliha accepted her fate. She did not turn about as Temperance twisted the scarf into a tight band.

  “You told Mrs Makepeace-Flynn about Lochana.”

  She could not have erred. “It was common knowledge.”

  “When you told her, no one outside of the crew knew.”

  “She told me herself.” Yes, that was it; the pervert had revealed the truth to her.

  “No, she didn’t. For two reasons: In the first instance, she did not consider herself to be male; and in the second, you dislike men. If you had known, you would not have given her time of day.”

  No. She could not have made a mistake. The little half-breed needed to die.

  iv

  In the dim light, a scarf whipped over Maliha’s head and tightened about her neck. The pain shot through her along with the terrifying knowledge she could no longer breathe.

  Temperance hissed in her ear. “Goody Two-Shoes. Let me help you to Hell where you’ll find your dead mother and father.” Maliha tried to pull the cord from her neck but it was too tight, too thin, she could not grip it. Spots danced before her eyes and there was a rushing in her ears. The muscles in her chest desperately tried to drag air into her lungs but could only spasm uselessly.

  It would be so easy to just let go. Why bother fighting? What was there about her life that really mattered? Then she remembered the child jumping high to touch the ceiling. And, as the noose tightened still more, Maliha reached back with both hands and gripped Temperance’s dress. She hooked her heels under the sofa and hauled as hard as she could. Temperance’s grip was so tight on the scarf her feet lifted from the deck and she flipped vertically in the air over Maliha’s head.

  The pressure lessened on Maliha’s throat and she released her grip as Temperance descended in front of her, facing away. She crashed to the floor and released her grip on the scarf. Maliha took in a grating, howling breath as Temperance tried to regain her feet. Maliha grabbed her walking stick, brought it up and then down in a sideways sweep that cracked against Temperance’s temple.

  The murderess collapsed to the floor. Maliha drew a second breath that rasped through her crushed windpipe. Temperance moved her arms, trying to gain purchase and climb to her feet. Maliha swiped her head with her stick again as hard as she was able. Temperance went limp. Maliha struck her one more time with immense satisfaction, though she was sure she would regret her gratuitous behaviour later.

  Then the door broke open and two police constables fell into the cabin. The inspector and Mr Crier stood in the doorway, and behind them was Lochana’s brother.

  v

  Maliha stood in the corner of her cabin watching two maids packing her things. She had not wanted any fuss, but the captain had been insistent. He assured her that both he and the P&O line would be forever in her debt. It was a kind thought, but she doubted it. The company’s executives would want to forget the whole affair as quickly as possible. Still, she was not ungrateful for the help. Her neck was very bruised, and she wore a high-necked blouse to hide the marks.

  The only good thing to come out of this would be that she would be able to disembark well before the press got hold of the story. She was content to let the inspector take the credit. The dried blood in the hinge of the scissors had settled the matter once and for all. The last thing Maliha wanted was her name involved and the connection made to the Jordan case. She would never hear the end of it.

  Someone appeared at the open door, hesitated, then knocked.

  “Yes, Mr Crier?”

  He put his head around the door. “Good afternoon.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “It has been suggested on more than one occasion that I am quite beyond help, Miss Anderson.”

  “What do you want?”

  He glanced at the maids. “Shall we take a turn about the deck? For old time’s sake?”

  vi

  “You do not have your stick,” he said as they reached the Observation deck. The sun beat down through the glass ceiling.

  “I don’t require it when we are underway.”

  “And yet you had it with you when you confronted the monster.”

  Maliha did not reply. She touched her fingers to her neck.

  “You are an extraordinary young woman, Miss Anderson.”

  She felt that comment, too, was best left unremarked.

  They reached the port rail and looked out. The vessel was equidistant between India behind and Ceylon ahead. Halfway to the horizon, two spits of land—one from each coast— reached out to one another but did not quite meet. But British industry was dealing with that issue: the bridge was taking shape.

  “Will you be returning to Pondicherry?”

  “There will be legal matters to deal with.”

  “Will you stay there?”

  “I cannot say.” There was nothing left there except memories and she carrie
d the best of those with her.

  “Do you have money?”

  “I’m not sure that question is entirely appropriate, Mr Crier.”

  “But if you are in need…?”

  She turned to face him, her face quite stern. “I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  She turned away again. “Besides, Barbara has offered me a room until such time as my future is known.”

  “Barbara? You mean Mrs Makepeace-Flynn?”

  “The very one.”

  “You are indeed remarkable,” he said, “to have tamed that beast. So you will be staying near the Fortress?”

  “That remains to be seen,” she said.

  Epilogue

  i

  One disadvantage of disembarking was that you did not get to see the place from the air as the ship approached. Instead Maliha was in the depths of the ship in the wide disembarkation lounge with the other first-class passengers.

  Her baggage had been collected and, together with Mrs Makepeace-Flynn—dressed in mourning, complete with veil—she had descended three flights into the main cargo area which contained, via a carpeted and enclosed companionway, the disembarkation lounge. Despite the very best efforts to make the lounge comfortable, the throbbing of the nearby engines and the heat of the furnaces could not be kept entirely at bay.

  The lounge did not lack in facilities. There was the bar, leather chairs and sofas, and staff constantly checking to ensure all their needs were satisfied. But still she was reminded of her trip to Brighton one Saturday morning and how she had stumbled on the cattle market. She had seen the animals penned tight, ready for sale and slaughter. It was not their ultimate destination that concerned her; it was the conditions they had to endure to get there.

  Of those people she had met during the journey, only Mrs Makepeace-Flynn remained. It had come out the Spencers had seen Lochana staggering from Temperance’s cabin to the general’s but they had kept quiet. What they were doing in corridors away from their own while everyone else was at dinner, she did not know, but it was apparently something the police were investigating; as a result, they were not disembarking with the rest.