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Chapter Thirteen
A Carriage in the British District
2:20 PM
The meeting concluded at two and then the group dispersed, each one moving to his or
her assigned task. Tom returned to the club to investigate the wiring which had delivered the shock to
Amy Morrow and Jonathan Benson the previous evening. Seal and Morass bustled off to, in the
words of Morass, “scare up” the female servants of the Weaver household and Trevor suspected that
for once this was not a mere figure of speech. After sending a note to Miss Hoffman to alert her that
they would indeed be returning in the midday sun, Emma, Davy, and Gerry borrowed Mrs. Tucker’s
carriage and set off in the direction of the temple.
And Rayley and Trevor hired a cab to take them in the opposite direction, to the
gentleman’s rooming house where Jonathan Benson had been staying before he was killed.
Apparently Gerry’s airy claim that there were no hotels in Bombay was not entirely accurate. More
likely what she meant was that there were few which accepted both male and female travelers and
fewer yet which approached the levels of comfort to which she had spent a lifetime becoming
accustomed.
But there were boarding houses aplenty for the men of the Raj, the majority of them
probably just like the one now before Rayley and Trevor – a large but humbly appointed dwelling
with any number of small rooms for lease. This house is a charmless affair, Trevor thought, as the
landlord, with a glance at their paperwork, readily escorted them down the hall to Benson’s room.
And not so very different from my own bachelor’s quarters back in London. Buildings without
women always seemed to him strangely abandoned, no matter how many men might climb their stairs
or walk their halls.
“The poor chap is paid up full for the week,” the landlord said, before leaving them at
the door, a remark Trevor initially found irrelevant. But upon reflection he supposed the fellow was
suggesting that Benson – or more likely Michael Everlee – had rented the room for a set number of
days and thus that Benson’s things would remain there unmoved and unmolested throughout that
period of time. Which was fortunate indeed, for otherwise the man’s personal effects might have
been packed up in careless haste and stored somewhere, thus diminishing Trevor and Rayley’s chance
to get an impression of his personality.
“Just as one might expect to find it,” Rayley said, breaking into his thoughts.
“ Umm…” Trevor said noncommittally. What he assumed his friend meant was that
Benson’s room was absolutely neat, without any clothing scattered about or any remains of food or
drink. The small desk in the corner was well ordered and Rayley moved to it at once, leaving Trevor
to reflect that Rayley must keep his own room with the same sort of militaristic precision as this one.
Trevor’s own personal quarters looked more as if a handbomb had been recently deployed.
“See here,” said Rayley, handing Trevor a small framed daguerreotype. “It must be from
the fifties, before the mutiny, and thus is a bit unusual for its era, is it not?”
“Indeed,” said Trevor, accepting the photograph and sitting down on Benson’s unmussed
bed. Photography had not become in vogue for your average middle class family until the last few
years, but here in his hands was an early example of the art, showing two officers in uniform standing
side by side and staring straight ahead, as if into some uncertain future.