Barbara Cleverly - The Last Kashmiri Rose: Introducing Detective Joe Sandilands

Praise for Barbara Cleverly

The historical background of Barbara Cleverlys novel is as fascinating as the murder. Stiff upper lip soldiers, American heiresses, handsome Afghan tribesmen they are all here in spades. A great blood and guts blockbuster.
Guardian

A well-plotted novel The atmosphere of the dying days of the Raj is colourfully captured.
Suasanna Yager, Sunday Telegraph

Spectacular and dashing. Spellbinding.
The New York Times Book Review

Smashing marvelously evoked.
Chicago Tribune

An historical mystery that has just about everything.
Denver Post

Maintains the high standards set by earlier Sandilands tales, blending a sophisticated whodunit with full-blooded characters and a revealing look at her chosen time and place.
Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Also by Barbara Cleverly

The Last Kashmiri Rose
Ragtime in Simla
The Damascened Blade
The Palace Tiger
The Bees Kiss
Tug of War
Folly du Jour
Strange Images of Death
The Blood Royal

The Last Kashmiri Rose

First published in the UK by Constable,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2001

Copyright Barbara Cleverly 2001

All rights reserved.

Published in the US in 2011 by
Soho Press, Inc.
853 Broadway
New York, NY 10003

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cleverly, Barbara
The last Kashmiri rose / Barbara Cleverly.

1. Sandilands, Joe (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. PoliceIndiaBengalFiction 3. IndiaHistoryBritish occupation, 1765-1947Fiction I. Title
PR6103.L48 L37 2002

ISBN: 978-1-61695-002-6
eISBN: 978-1-61695-003-3

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

BARBARA CLEVERLY lives in Cambridge, England, surrounded by ancient buildings and bookshops. She was born and educated in the north of England at a Yorkshire grammar school and then at Durham University.

The Last Kashmiri Rose was Barbaras first book, which she was inspired to write following a successful outline sent to the Crime Writers Association/Sunday Times Debut Dagger Competition. A shortlisting and warm reception by the judging panel led to its writing in full. It was a New York Times Notable Book of 2002, and Barbara has written a further eight Joe Sandilands novels.

Contents

The Last Kashmiri Rose

BENGAL 1910

THE NIGHT BEFORE her sixth birthday Midge Prentice woke under her mosquito net and breathed the familiar smells of a hot Indian night. There was the smell of wet khaskhas mats hanging across the doors and windows to keep out the heat of early summer, sweet and musty; there was the smell of the jasmine which grew over the bungalow; there was the bass accompaniment inseparable from India of drains and of dung. But tonight there was something else.

Sharp and acrid, it was the smell of smoke. Midge sat up and looked about her. Running across the ceiling of her room there was a flickering reflection of flames. She struggled out of her mosquito net and, barefoot, stood down on the floor. She called for her father and then remembered he was away in Calcutta. She called for her mother but it was Ayah who answered her call.

Come with Ayah, now, Missy Baba, she said urgently. Come swiftly. Be silent!

Ayah gathered her up. Put your arms round me and hold tight. Very tight. Put your feet on mine and well walk together as we used to when you were a baby and then the bad, bad men wont see my Missy Baba. If I hide you under my sari theyll just think that Ayah has another baby on the way.

She swept silky folds over Midges head and they set off to waddle together towards safety. They had often done this before; it had been a game of her infancy. It was called elephant walk backwards and now this clumsy game was to save her life. Midge caught brief glimpses of Ayahs sandalled feet and was aware of others milling protectively about them and then they were in the open air. They were free of the bungalow. Mens voices Indian voices shouted harshly, shots rang out, a womans scream was abruptly cut short and then the roar of the fire as it took hold of the thatch grew deafening.

But then, gravel was crunching under Ayahs feet and she stopped. Sit here, she said. Sit here and keep quiet. Dont move. Be hidden. And she tucked Midge away amongst the rank of tall earthenware pots overflowing with bougainvillea and zinnia.

In the mess, half a mile away, Jonno crossed and uncrossed his legs under the table and with a slightly unsteady hand poured himself a glass of port and passed the decanter. He was thinking he was often thinking of Dolly Prentice, or, more formally, Mrs Major Prentice. He was sure he hadnt imagined that, as he had helped her into her wrap after the gymkhana dance, she had leant back against him, not obviously but perceptibly. Yes, surely perceptibly. And his hands had rested on her shoulders, slightly moist because it had been a hot night, and there had been a warm female scent. What was it she had said when, greatly daring, he had admired? Chypre. Yes, that was it Chypre.

And that wasnt all. They had danced close. Not difficult when doing a two-step and she had said, almost out of the blue, Youre getting to be quite a big boy now. It might have meant anything; it might have meant nothing. But he didnt think so. In memory he held that slender figure in its red chiffon dress as close as he dared.

The young subaltern on Jonnos left was also thinking of Dolly Prentice. He knew shed only been joking but she had said, Just bring your problems to me, young man, and Ill see what I can do. Had she meant it? He thought probably not. But it had been accompanied by a steady and speaking glance and, after his third glass of port, he decided, nevertheless, to take her at her word.

That bloody pony! Fifty pounds! He hadnt got fifty pounds! Why had he fallen for it? He knew only too well why. Hed been goaded into it by Prentice. Take it or leave it. Ponys yours for fifty pounds but be warned he takes a bit of riding! And the clear implication Too much of a handful for you! He thought if he threw himself on Dollys mercy, she might intercede for him get him off his bargain. Perhaps she could persuade her husband not to take advantage of a young and inexperienced officer? He didnt like appearing in the role of innocent naughty boy but still less did he like having to borrow yet again.

Then, by God! The pony! In his secret heart he was aware that he couldnt manage it. The pony was vicious. He had made a mess of Prentices syce. Put him on his back for a week, they said. Oh, what the hell! he thought. Damnation to you, Major Prentice! And he drained his glass.

The regimental doctor sitting opposite watched him guardedly. He always felt out of place in the elegant company of Batemans Horse. He tried not to, but could not help contrasting the splendour of their grey and silver mess dress with his own Indian Medical Service dark blue. He was not, in fact, thinking about Dolly Prentice. He was thinking about Prentice. He remembered (would he ever forget?) the public shame that had followed his first greeting at the hands of Major Prentice.