The maharani nodded. “Of course, this is true. But I also do not care.”
“You were content to take advantage of a young woman’s misery?” I asked sharply.
“Yes,” she said without apology. “I have what I wanted, what justice required. No blood was shed, so I consider that a victory, Miss Speedwell.” She turned to Anjali. “Finish the story, child.”
Anjali went on. “Effie took the diamond and wrapped it into a piece of oilcloth. She passed that to me and I went out to the summerhouse, where I was supposed to meet Bhairav to hand the jewel to him. It was essential this happen as quickly as possible because we did not know when Lady Hathaway would realize it had been stolen and the diamond must be out of the house before the cry was raised.”
“But before you could hand it over, I appeared,” I put in.
She smiled thinly. “I was not pleased to see you, Miss Speedwell.”
“Nor was I,” Lord Bhairav said in a fervent voice. “I tripped twice over those abominable robes trying to get away from you.”
Anjali picked up the thread of her narrative. “There was no time to think, so I shoved the jewel into the watering pot in the summerhouse and pretended to faint.”
“Why the watering pot?” Harry asked.
“Because if the Hall were searched and it were found there, it would implicate no one in particular,” Stoker guessed.
Anjali nodded. “It was an imperfect solution, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I had to stop Miss Speedwell from discovering Bhairav. Feigning unconsciousness would delay her pursuit of him and allow him time to get away, but there was no place to conceal the diamond on my person. If she found it, all would be lost.”
“The best of a bad situation,” Stoker agreed.
“How did the orb vanish?” I asked.
He grinned. “I shoved it into my robes to conceal the light until I was on the far side of a boulder. Then I hurried away, back to the safety of Nanny Burnham’s cottage. I dressed in my own clothes and was waiting for some message from Anjali. Nanny Burnham’s cat came in with a shrew, a messy thing,” he added with a moue of distaste. “I took it outside to throw it in the midden when I saw a figure in the moonlight, crossing the moor. It was the man calling himself Jonathan Hathaway,” he said with a gesture towards Harry. “I thought it curious he would be out so late, and I followed him. He went to the station and caught the first train to London. I did also, although I cannot say I was driven by anything other than instinct. He acted furtive, suspicious. And I wondered if he had something to do with the reason Anjali had not been able to hand over the jewel. I was prepared to follow him and see where he went, but no sooner had he alighted in London than he was taken, abducted really, by a tall man with very blond hair and a woman in a veil.”
“We are familiar,” Stoker said dryly.
“You saw them snatch me and did nothing to help?” Harry demanded. “I was kidnapped, you know. A rescue would not have gone amiss, my good fellow.”
Lord Bhairav gave him a lofty look. “It is not my purpose to involve myself in the domestic matters of Englishmen. Besides, they were suspicious and very watchful. I had to keep well back so they did not see me, and in my efforts to remain discreet, I lost them. I returned here and sent a telegram to Nanny Burnham for Anjali to collect. We used a sort of code, and through that Anjali was able to respond.”
His sister picked up the story. “It was Effie who hit upon the idea of how to get the diamond out of the house by secreting it in the orrery. I found your address on the letter in Charles Hathaway’s desk and cabled it here to Bhairav with instructions to retrieve it as soon as you had returned to London. Which he almost did,” she added, a touch of asperity spicing her words.
Her brother flared. “I would have managed it if it were not for the dogs,” he protested. “So many dogs.”
“There are rather a lot,” I consoled him.
“When he failed to retrieve it,” Anjali went on, “I decided to come myself. I thought I could pay a call upon you and perhaps manage to take it. I would have thought of something.”
I turned to the maharani again. “Did you know about the scheme to retrieve the diamond?”
She pressed her lips together in an expression of disapproval, but I had a sense she was not entirely displeased. “Not at first. Anjali was supposed to be staying at the Hall as the guest of her schoolfriend, and Bhairav was meant to join her for a visit. It was not until I announced my intention to come to London that Bhairav broke down and told me the truth.” She looked complacently from one grandchild to the next. “I am exasperated with their flair for melodrama, but a sense of theatricality is not the worst thing if one means to spend one’s life in politics.”
“What now?” I asked Anjali. “Will you give up your studies into galvanism?”
“One of the best ways for India to demonstrate her worth is to develop new technologies and means of production,” she said coolly. “There is nothing more political than the ability to take care of one’s own people.”
The maharani rose smoothly and the rest of us followed suit. She shook hands with Harry. “I believe your motives were not good, and I think your character is entirely defective, but that is not our affair. On behalf of my family, I apologize for any inconvenience you may have suffered.”
He gaped but recovered his composure swiftly. “Thank you, Your Excellency,” he murmured.
She extended her hand to Stoker. “Mr. Templeton-Vane.”
Stoker kissed her hand and she moved to me. “Miss Speedwell.” Her mouth twitched a little. “I recognize in you a similar spirit to my granddaughter. I think you might well have become friends under a different set of circumstances.”
“I hope, if it is not too presumptuous, she might consider me one now,” I said.
Anjali smiled and shook my hand. “Good-bye, Miss Speedwell.”
Anjali even shook hands with Harry, who had the grace to look abashed. “I am sorry if I distressed Effie. She is a nice girl, all things considered, and I hope she did not take it too hard.”
Anjali laughed. “Effie? She never believed you for a second. She is the only one who knew the moment you arrived that you could not be Jonathan.”
He stared at her in astonishment. “But how?”
“Ask her yourself,” she said, lifting her chin. “I am finished answering the questions of Englishmen.”
We left, collecting a wide-eyed J. J. from the foyer as we went. We hurtled down the stairs and she whisked us into the linen closet again. She scribbled notes on her cuff until Stoker gently plucked the pencil from her grasp.