Chapter 7 #2
Constance laughed brightly, which thankfully disguised Neil’s half-hearted chuckle.
“Have you and Miss Tyrrell eaten yet? You’d be welcome to join me for dinner. We could do a bit more catching up.”
Panic threatened to close Neil’s throat at Fletcher’s reasonable invitation.
“I’m afraid we’re actually supposed to be meeting an acquaintance of my grandmother’s,” Constance cut in smoothly. “Only we can’t seem to find him. His name is Borthwick.”
Wary surprise tightened Fletcher’s features. “You’re meeting Borthwick?”
Something in the way he said the name gave Neil a chill. Fletcher was nothing if not polite, but the delicate tension in his voice spoke volumes—none of them good.
He thought of the officer he had seen across the crowd at the festival earlier that day, straight-backed with piercing eyes.
“My grandmother is, anyway,” Constance dismissed lightly. “I expect we’ll just be there to fill out the table. You don’t happen to know where he’s staying, do you?”
“He’d be in the Lal Bagh, I expect,” Fletcher mused uncomfortably.
“The Lal Bagh?” Constance echoed.
“This whole property belonged to some Mughal prince who had his summer palace here,” Fletcher explained.
“Most of it’s torn down, but they’ve got one of the old sixteenth-century buildings set up as a private suite.
It’s meant for visiting dignitaries and such, but to be honest, hardly anyone uses it anymore.
The place has a reputation for being haunted. ”
“Does it really?” Constance brightened with gruesome interest. “By the nawab’s unhappy wife? Or maybe a brother he murdered to secure his claim on the throne?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea, I’m afraid.” Fletcher gave her an apologetic smile. “I think it’s all nonsense myself—probably an excuse by the dignitaries to avail themselves of the more modern plumbing in the club building. Borthwick prefers the old palace building for… other reasons.”
A hint of discomfort rang through Fletcher’s inflection.
Charles Borthwick was the head of the Raj’s secret police. Neil could think of several reasons why he might prefer a more private setting for his stay in Puri—some of them perfectly reasonable.
Others less so.
“That’s ever so helpful. Thank you.” Constance extended a hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Fletcher.”
“You as well, Miss Tyrrell.” Fletcher turned to Neil. “Do look me up if you’re staying in the area. The club has all my details. I’d love to hear more about whatever you’re working on.”
Neil felt like a fraud. “I’ll be sure to do that,” he lied.
Constance steered him out onto the veranda. The night air was only marginally less thick than the atmosphere inside the club.
Neil gripped the rail, leaning over it as a maelstrom of emotion roiled through him.
“Are you all right?” Constance asked quietly.
“I ought to be asking you that,” Neil returned shortly.
Constance tilted up her chin defensively. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know that,” Neil blurted out, the wretched mess of feeling twisting tighter inside of him. “I just…”
He could hear the low murmur of laughter from the lounge, mingling with the clatter of silverware. His hands tightened on the railing.
“I don’t like this place.”
Constance studied him through the gloom of the veranda. The thunder of the monsoon rumbled softly again in the distance. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”
Neil stiffened defensively. “Who says I’m ashamed of anything?”
Constance didn’t answer. Her look was steady and understanding. In the face of it, a little of the tension in Neil’s chest softly unraveled.
She glanced through the doors at the glittering people tipping back their glasses of champagne. “It takes more courage to walk outside of their circles than it does to fit into them.”
The soft certainty in her words struck Neil to silence as he gazed down at her through the shadows.
A more comfortable glimmer of mischief sparked in her eyes. She pulled him along the veranda, peering into the other rooms in quick sequence until they reached the end of the walkway, where the public areas of the club gave way to guest suites. “Where are Ellie and Adam?”
“Maybe they’re following another lead.”
Constance mulled this over. “We’ll have to go on without them,” she concluded authoritatively.
“Where?”
“The Lal Bagh. Where else?”
“But we’re only supposed to find out where Borthwick is staying,” Neil protested. “That’s what Mr. Chowdhury said.”
“What if your friend Fletcher was wrong?” Constance treated him to an innocently imploring blink of her lashes. “We wouldn’t want to give Mr. Chowdhury inaccurate information. We’ll just pop over and take a look.”
Neil groaned and let her pull him down into the garden.
?
The former Mughal palace building was separated from the rest of the club by a stretch of silent, manicured golf course.
The elegant structure was roughly square in proportion, rising two generous stories from the broad gravel drive.
The top floor boasted grand floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the grounds.
The lower level had more of the feeling of a fortress, the windows narrow and high-set in otherwise impenetrable walls.
The door stood at the top of a modest flight of steps. It was closed.
“Do you think you could boost me into one of those lower windows?” Constance asked.
Neil considered the slender openings. Getting Constance up to one of them would require Neil to put his hands on places that made the tips of his ears turn pink. And he’d have to wade into a thick woody hedge of some flowering shrub to do it.
“I don’t think so,” he replied.
“Hmph.” Constance frowned with dissatisfaction.
As they continued to study the building from their hiding place beside an ornamental pond, Neil found himself drawn toward lights that gleamed from the upper floor.
The tall windows there had been left open to catch the night breeze from the sea, which rushed softly in the twilit gloom at the far end of the golf course.
Fuzzily, he noticed how the lower floor of the building jutted out a bit further than the second level, creating a narrow ledge below the windows. A stone balustrade lined the length of it so that someone might step outside to enjoy even more of the night air.
In fact, the Indian gentleman standing at the window seemed to be contemplating doing just that.
The man looked to be somewhere in his forties, his stomach rounded with indulgence under a silver-streaked beard.
He cut an elegant figure in his richly embroidered kurta, which was tied at his waist with an ivory scarf.
There was something authoritative about the way he held his head under his jewel-pinned turban.
“Maybe we can just walk in,” Neil suggested thickly. “It’s open to other guests.”
“What makes you say that?” Constance pressed skeptically. “Your friend Fletcher didn’t make it sound that way.”
“Well, that Indian fellow in the window doesn’t look like he’d be there with Borthwick, and he certainly isn’t staff.”
Constance stared at him.
“What?” Neil asked, dragging his gaze from the old palace building to look at her.
“Stuffy, there’s no Indian fellow in the window.”
“Of course, there…” Neil trailed off as he looked back at the Lal Bagh.
She was right.
There was no one at the window. The room behind it was still brightly lit. Neil could see that it was empty.
Not only that… but the balustrade was gone. Instead, the ledge simply dropped away—though Neil could pick out a couple of uneven places along its edge where one could see the remnants of old stonework.
Where the balustrade used to be.
He was doing it again, he realized with a sick lurch. Seeing the bloody past.
“Stuffy?” Constance prompted, her tone laced with curiosity.
Neil did not want Constance getting curious about this.
“Ha ha ha.” The laugh rang false even to his own ears. He tried to make up for it by giving Constance a playful nudge with his elbow. “Nearly had you for a minute there, didn’t I?”
Constance narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Hmm.”
Neil’s nerves tightened.
He felt a dart of relief as she returned her attention to the Lal Bagh.
“We need to get inside,” she declared.
“Why?” Neil demanded. “Can’t we just wait to see if Borthwick comes by?”
“What if he’s already in there? We could be waiting all night.”
Neil fought for patience. “And what are we supposed to do if we get inside?”
“Confirm Borthwick’s location.”
“That’s all?” Neil pressed.
“Well,” Constance allowed with an air of studied innocence. “We could also get a bit more of the lay of the land. Anything that might help Mr. Chowdhury’s agents get their hands on the book.”
Neil waited.
“And if we should happen to see a way to get hold of the manuscript ourselves…” Constance continued.
“Absolutely not,” Neil retorted.
She lifted her chin stubbornly. “We don’t know how long Borthwick plans to stay here or how quickly he might be able to translate Tulsidas’s secret chapter. He could be gone by the time Mr. Chowdhury gets someone else inside!”
Neil groaned.
“We’ll only try for it if we see a clear opening,” Constance assured him.
“But Mr. Chowdhury said—”
Constance cut him off, suddenly fierce. “I am not walking out of this awful place with nothing, Neil.”
He thought of the quiet cruelty of the club secretary’s office. Constance had never hesitated to stand up to a bully, even if they were twice her size. It was a matter of natural instinct for her.
Neil would never wish for that to change.
“Fine,” he replied. “But only so long as it’s safe!”
“Of course,” Constance agreed—perhaps a little too easily.
She gave him an uncomfortably measuring look, her eyes sparking with mischief. “You’re a Cambridge-educated historian and archaeologist. And I’m sure you can speak fluently and intelligently about things like manuscripts and ancient languages.”