Free Keeping Bad Company by Caro Peacock Page B

flash of anger went over Tom’s face, then he hung his head again.
    â€˜If only I could have seen Griffiths over the weekend. I might have persuaded him that things weren’t as bad as they seemed.’
    â€˜Why are you so sure he killed himself?’
    â€˜Libby, haven’t you been listening?’
    â€˜Just tell me.’
    â€˜The old Roman way. If a Roman was facing defeat or dishonour, killing himself was the proper thing to do. Very often, he’d have his servants prepare a warm bath, then slit his wrists and calmly bleed to death.’
    â€˜And was the water warm when you found him?’
    â€˜Of course not. It was stone cold. It would have gone cold.’
    â€˜Those hot water cans in the bathroom, did they look as if they’d been used?’
    â€˜For heaven’s sake, do you think I was worrying about hot water cans?’
    The porter would know, I thought.
    â€˜But he wasn’t facing death or dishonour,’ I said.
    â€˜He’d have been in front of that damned committee this afternoon.’
    â€˜He didn’t seem in the least worried about the committee. I had the impression he was even looking forward to it.’
    Tom shook his head.
    â€˜That was before what happened on Friday, when McPherson humiliated him in public.’
    â€˜But he didn’t. I told you what happened.’
    â€˜That’s not the way the Calcutta men have been putting it around. In their account, all Griffiths could do was splutter threats and they all laughed at him.’
    â€˜He didn’t splutter and McPherson seemed quite put out when he was teasing him about things he might say.’
    â€˜What things, do you think?’
    â€˜His pamphlet, I assumed.’
    â€˜The Calcutta men don’t say anything about that. In their account, he got the worst of it and slunk away with his tail between his legs.’
    â€˜He certainly didn’t slink. I thought he seemed quite pleased with himself.’
    â€˜He must have been keeping up a front. Then he was alone all the weekend, thinking about it.’
    â€˜Not alone all the time, if he had a visitor on Saturday afternoon. Who was it, do you think?’
    Tom groaned.
    â€˜I don’t know. I just don’t know. But I must go back.’
    â€˜What happened to the pamphlet?’
    â€˜It’s with his things, I suppose.’
    â€˜But we unpacked his things for him. The pamphlet wasn’t with them. It was quite a big bundle of manuscript. We wouldn’t have missed it.’
    â€˜Then he must have kept it with him. It will be in his rooms somewhere.’
    â€˜And the servant boy, Anil? Where was he in all this?’
    â€˜Nowhere to be seen. The men thought he must have found Griffiths’s body, got scared and run off.’
    â€˜In a city he doesn’t know?’
    â€˜It surprised me, I admit. Anil had been in Griffiths’s household all his life.’
    â€˜But he’s only fourteen or so from the look of him.’
    â€˜Yes, but his father had been Griffiths’s
khitmutgar
. That’s how these things go. He was devoted to Griffiths.’
    â€˜So he finds him dead and just runs away?’
    â€˜Indians see things differently.’
    I wasn’t so sure about that, but there was no point in arguing. Tom stood up.
    â€˜I must go. There’ll be so much to see to. Nobody seems to know even who his next of kin is.’
    â€˜I’m sure the Calcutta men will see to all that,’ I said.
    Tom picked up the sarcasm in my voice and nodded.
    â€˜Yes, they will if they can. They’ll be putting the word round already: “Mad Griffiths couldn’t face the committee and killed himself”. That’s why I want to be back at East India House, to protect his reputation as best I can. I don’t want to fail him all over again.’
    â€˜Tom, you did not fail him.’
    â€˜Didn’t I? I give evidence against him, and two days later he