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“That seems a rather broad statement,” Trevor said.
“But accurate,” said Seal. “To start, there is a code of honor among Indian servants
which demands the guarding of the master’s secrets. Secondly, Inspector Morass is quite right about
the degree of mistrust which lies between the natives and the Raj. The local people are not eager to
share their thoughts with any white man in uniform, I assure you.”
“Which shall make our interviews all the more difficult,” Trevor conceded.
“Nonetheless, we shall give it a fresh crack. Where are these servants, anyway? Please do not tell
me they remain in the house.”
“Of course not,” said Seal, bristling slightly. “The house is shut tight and preserved as a
crime scene. The servants have returned to their own people. A type of holiday, I suppose, made all
the sweeter for them by the fact that Secretary-General Weaver has declared he shall continue to pay
their full wages until this matter is resolved.”
There was a pause in which Trevor and Rayley exchanged a glance. A small fact, but
possibly pertinent. Weaver could simply be showing a sense of responsibility toward his employees,
making sure they were housed and fed during his time awaiting trial. Or he could just as easily be
buying their loyalty – and continued silence - from his prison cell.
“We shall interview the Secretary-General of course,” said Trevor. “And sooner rather
than later. You can reconvene these servants, I should hope? You took their addresses?”
Morass gave a low bark of laughter. “These people don’t have addresses,” he said. “If
you could see the local district, you’d know soon enough –“ But here Trevor’s expression barricaded
this line of thought and he hesitated. “We can reconvene them if need be,” he finished meekly.
“Good,” Trevor said. “See that you do. One can hardly blame the locals for avoiding
the Raj police. But none of us are in uniform, so perhaps we shall fare better in persuading them to
talk.”
“Unlikely,” Morass said. “All whites look dead alike to them.”
Gad, what an unpleasant man, Rayley thought. As coarse as a feedbag and the other
one, the one who works for the Viceroy… Well, he has a better suit, and better teeth, and better
manners, but I wager that at the core Seal is no more enlightened than Morass. Rayley could only
imagine the delicacy with which these two had conducted their initial interviews. They reminded him
of a man he had met on the Fortitude, a merchant of some sort who’d been sharing a nearby lounge as
they had all congregated on the sporting deck, watching young Davy triumph in shuffleboard. What
was it that man had said?
We haven’t come to India to make friends. We are here to rule.
And this was the attitude, no doubt, of the vast majority of the people they would have to
deal with in the course of this investigation. Be they military officers, civil servants, or
businessmen…all the British on the ship had seemed to have the same self-satisfied air. The
assurance that might was right, that India was a barbaric land and should be grateful that England had
stooped to save her from herself. Perhaps it was not surprising that the Raj had bred a brotherhood of
such bullies, for judging from the handful Rayley had met so far, it seemed that men who would have
only risen to a modest rank in London could ascend to far greater heights here. Even those with
limited intelligence, education, or family connection could stride the streets of Bombay like little
white kings.
Similar thoughts seemed to be occurring to Trevor, who was visibly struggling to control
his temper, and most likely to Tom and Davy as well, although the younger men had remained tactfully
silent for the whole of the conversation.