Sword of Fortune

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘I merely state the truth,’ he insisted. ‘Is this your first visit to the East?’

  ‘Well, of course it is.’ She moved away from him, back out on to the verandah. As she stepped through the door, with the sun beyond her, she might for an instant have been wearing nothing at all.

  Richard’s throat was quite dry, as he followed her. ‘Then I wonder if I might be granted the privilege of showing you something of the island?’

  She seated herself on one of the swinging settees, hands folded on her lap. ‘I am sure I would enjoy that very much.’

  His throat was dryer yet; he could hardly believe this magnificent creature was so willingly yielding herself to him. ‘Well, then,’ he said, standing beside her—he had not been invited to sit—‘it were best to undertake such an expedition either very early or just before dusk. Because of the heat, you understand.’

  ‘Oh, indeed, the heat.’

  ‘Perhaps I could call for you at dawn tomorrow.’

  ‘Dawn?’

  ‘The sun is high by eight-thirty of a morning.’

  ‘I do not think dawn would be a good idea,’ Barbara said.

  ‘Then this evening? At five?’

  ‘My uncle has mentioned some plans for this evening, Mr Bryant. And surely we must beware of travelling too fast, in this climate?’ She smiled at him. ‘Let me see, you work for my uncle?’

  ‘I work for the East India Company,’ Richard said carefully. He was still unsure whether or not he had been rebuffed.

  ‘Which, in Bombay, amounts to the same thing, as I understand it,’ she pointed out, still smiling. ‘You must allow me a few days to find my feet, Mr Bryant. I presume you attend church on Sunday morning?’

  ‘Ah…yes, of course.’ He was not in fact a very regular attender. But he would certainly be there this Sunday.

  ‘Speak with me then.’ She held out her hand. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

  He kissed the sweet-scented fingers.

  *

  Common sense, ever pessimistic, kept attempting to tell Richard that she undoubtedly intended to use the time between now and Sunday to learn what she could about him—and that she could learn nothing better than what she had already seen and already knew: he was a writer, and a very junior one, without money or prospects. Common sense also suggested that she might have made several similar assignments. But common sense had nothing to do with love, and he realised that for the first time in his life he had fallen hopelessly, romantically, and erotically in love. The thought of holding Barbara Smythe in his arms made him feel faint. The thought of holding her naked in his arms, something he had only done with an Indian woman, was all but suffocating. The thought of…he shook his head angrily.

  For he was angry. With every other unattached white male on the island. For clearly he was not the only one to have fallen for Miss Smythe at first sight. That evening she was taken for a promenade by her uncle and aunt, and the battery had never been so crowded. Even married couples turned out to gaze at this marvellous addition to Bombay society.

  Richard, wearing his only good suit, also attended the promenade, but returned home immediately. The private rapport between Barbara and himself was not something that could be shared with a crowd.

  Forsythe was late home, well fortified with port. ‘She is the most delectable creature,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, indeed.’

  ‘But one you intend to keep at arm’s length?’

  ‘I see no point in burdening her with yet more attention,’ Richard said severely.

  Albert made no reply to that, but after supper sat down with a fresh bottle of port and several sheets of paper, and tried to write poetry.

  Poor deluded fool, Richard thought. It is I who have the assignation.

  *

  It was a very public assignation. Church on Sunday was so crowded that anyone who arrived less than half an hour before the service was forced to stand, and there was quite a throng unable to gain admittance at all. The vicar was well pleased with his congregation, even if he understood they were not all there to worship God. He demonstrated this by choosing his text from the First Epistle General of Peter: All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.

  It was doubtful anyone actually listened to the words of warning; all eyes were fixed on the Smythe pew.

  Richard was not one of those who found a seat, and after a few minutes of being crushed in the doorway he withdrew into the fresh air, to find himself standing close to a group of red-jacketed army officers, looking as resplendent as ever.

  ‘Ah, Bryant,’ Berkely Ford remarked. ‘Come to gawk, eh?’

  ‘If that’s what you fellows are doing, I daresay I am,’ Richard conceded.

  ‘You know, one day someone is going to pin your ears back for you,’ Ford remarked.

  ‘Anything is possible, Mr Ford,’ Richard agreed, and moved away. He had no wish to quarrel with anyone today.

  ‘Insolent puppy,’ commented one of the other officers.

  ‘He’s not really important enough to worry about,’ Ford said.

  Richard grinned savagely to himself, some while later, as he listened to the congregation singing the final hymn. In a few minutes, they’d learn whether or not he was worth worrying about!

  People began to emerge from the church. This was always a time for a chat and a gossip, for most people; this morning everyone stayed behind. The Smythes were last out, accompanied by the vicar and by Brigadier-General Lake, commander of the garrison, and his wife. They stood on the steps, while the crowd surged at them, almost like a destructive mob. In spite of the noonday heat, Barbara looked fresh and unruffled in primrose silk and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

  Obviously this was no time to be discreet. Richard went forward, gently pushing people left and right, and reached the steps. Before him was a solid phalanx of red-clad backs. He tapped two on the shoulder, and two heads turned.

  Richard smiled. ‘Excuse me, won’t you?’ he said, and pushed between the pair of them.

  They scowled in annoyance at his effrontery, but could think of no way of stopping him save by force, which was not practical in front of the vicar and Jonathan Smythe, and a moment later he was past them, and raising his hat.

  ‘Mrs Smythe! Mr Smythe! Miss Smythe! A very good morning to you.’

  Jonathan Smythe stared at him as if he had never seen him before, but Barbara immediately smiled. ‘Why, Mr Bryant, how very nice to see you.’

  She extended her hand, and he kissed the glove.

  ‘You know Lieutenant Ford, of course,’ she said.

  Ford was standing at her shoulder. His face was redder than ever as he glared at the intruder.

  ‘I know young Bryant,’ he agreed.

  ‘I had to tell you, Miss Smythe,’ Richard said, ‘how elegant you look this morning.’

  ‘Why, Mr Bryant, you say the nicest things.’ She moved away from Ford’s side nonchalantly, and for a moment stood beside Richard. ‘Tomorrow morning?’ she whispered.

  For a moment he couldn’t speak. Then he said, ‘I’ll call…’

  ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I have taken your advice and ride every morning at seven. I have established this. We could meet by accident, could we not?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Oh, yes.’

  She smiled, and moved on. Richard couldn’t tell if Ford had heard any of their conversation nor not, but he certainly was aware that they had exchanged whispers, and was looking furious.

  Richard raised his hat again to the Smythes, who were also not looking very pleased, and slipped back into the throng. He was really chancing his luck, he supposed, in annoying the Factor. But he had the comforting thought that the Indiaman had now left, for Madras and then Calcutta, and that she would almost certainly be bearing the instructions Hastings sought. Therefore his commission was coming ever closer, and it would be in a new regiment: there was no risk of his having to serve under Ford.
While once he was commissioned, Smythe would lose all jurisdiction over him.

  At that moment, he realised, the world was his oyster…however briefly. And if the most beautiful girl in that world wanted to have a flirtation with him, he’d be a fool not to take her up.

  Forsythe was less happy. ‘Made a bit of a spectacle of yourself, didn’t you?’ he remarked. ‘Pushing up to Miss Smythe like that? And muttering at her. It didn’t go down very well with old Smythe.’

  ‘Old Smythe can go to the devil,’ Richard said.

  Tomorrow morning was only twelve hours away.

  *

  He was up at six, shaving with the greatest care and bathing as well, to the astonishment of Hanif, while Forsythe was still in bed and snoring.

  The mare he had hired the previous evening was saddled, and he walked her out of the compound, making for where the road from Malabar Point divided; the right hand fork continued into the city itself, the left hand followed the coast, and was well sheltered by trees. Here there was a Jain temple, and Richard dismounted and waited by the holy place; it was well before seven, and only just light. It was indeed the pleasantest part of any day, for while the sky was a clear and brilliant blue, it was quite cool as the dawn breeze swept in from the sea to raise a ripple of surf on the beach.

  It was a time of day to breathe deeply and dream of great things and forget about the stifling heat, the noises and the smells, and the no-less-stifling boredom of spending a day entering bills of lading in a ledger, that lay ahead.

  He was aware of a most pleasant feeling of excitement. He had no idea what a girl like Barbara Smythe might have in mind in making such an assignation. Indeed, he had no idea what he himself had in mind. But that she had chosen him, out of all the men in Bombay, for a tryst suggested the most delicious possibilities.

  He slapped the sandflies that had buzzed up from the beach with the first light, and watched the sun, huge and red and glowing, rising out of the mainland to the east, and was suddenly afflicted by a terrible fear that she wasn’t coming. But almost immediately he saw her, walking her horse down the road towards the temple. She was accompanied by two syces, but these remained a respectful distance behind her.

  As he had anticipated, she looked quite superb, in a green habit, beneath which the dawn breeze from time to time revealed a white petticoat. Her hat was of dark green felt, but her hair was loose, as he had seen it before, and tied by a green ribbon.

  He mounted, and moved towards her, raising his hat. ‘Why, Mr Bryant,’ she said loudly, sure that her voice would carry back to the grooms. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘For me also, Miss Smythe,’ he said. ‘But this is the best part of the day. May I accompany you?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure.’ She turned her horse to take the coast road, where there was little chance of their meeting anyone at this hour. ‘It is the best part of the day,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I am glad you gave me that advice.’

  ‘And I am overjoyed that you invited me to share your promenade.’

  She said nothing for a few minutes, as the horses walked together, the calm sea lapping at the beach only a few yards to their left, the city hidden behind the trees to their right. Then she said, ‘I think perhaps I have been somewhat forward.’

  ‘You need not fear that I will tell anyone of our tryst.’

  She turned her head to look at him. ‘Can I believe that, Mr Bryant?’

  ‘I have given you my word.’

  ‘I shall be grateful.’ She was silent again for some time, and at last he felt it necessary to say something.

  ‘What do you think of India?’

  ‘Of India? Oh, you mean Bombay. Bombay is rather overwhelming. I imagine India is even more so. Do you know much of it?’

  ‘Almost nothing. I have accompanied one tax-gathering expedition on the mainland, and that was an unpleasant experience.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Ford was telling me that you did not take to the jungle.’

  ‘Mr Ford? You have been discussing me with Mr Ford?’

  ‘Well, you are not the only gentleman I have conversed with since coming here. My uncle kindly gave a small supper party for me on Friday night.’

  ‘To which Berkeley Ford was invited,’ Richard said bitterly.

  ‘Well, they were mostly military men.’

  ‘Whom you prefer to junior clerks.’

  Barbara drew rein. ‘Do you suppose, if that were so, I should be here now, Mr Bryant?’

  He was instantly contrite. ‘I apologise. It so happens that I most heartily dislike Lieutenant Ford. As for the jungle, that bothered me not in the slightest. Ford’s methods of dealing with the natives were repulsive, however. I am sure he has not told you of them.’

  ‘Why, no, he has not. Will you?’

  ‘No, Miss Smythe. It would not be…polite.’

  They gazed at each other, then she moved her right knee from its pommel, disengaged her left boot from its stirrup, and slipped to the ground in a flurry of skirt and petticoat. Instantly Richard dismounted as well.

  The two grooms halted, maintaining their distance, and Barbara raised her whip for a moment—obviously warning them to keep that distance—before leaving the road and pushing through the bushes on to the beach, the sand crunching beneath her boots.

  ‘You have them well trained,’ Richard observed, following her.

  ‘They are anxious to please.’

  ‘I can believe that. I doubt not that the Indians are as confounded by your beauty as everyone else.’

  She turned to face him. ‘Confounded, sir?’

  ‘I can think of no other word. There cannot be a man on this island who is not dreaming of holding you in his arms.’

  Her chin tilted as she looked up at him. ‘And you are the only one with the slightest chance to do so, Mr Bryant.’

  He stared into her eyes, unsure he had heard correctly. All manner of vague fears began to course through his brain, that this was more than being forward, this was…? But he did not care to decide. He would despise himself forever if he allowed such an invitation to go by default.

  The grooms were hidden behind the trees. He rested his hands on her arms, then slipped them round her back and held her close. Her face was still turned up to his and he kissed her mouth. Her lips were as soft as he had anticipated, and they yielded to his. But her tongue was the bolder of the pair, the more certain of what it was about.

  Vaguely he became aware that her hat had fallen off, but she ignored it.

  His hands moved on her shoulders, slipped down to her waist, and then came up again. If he found it hard to believe what was happening, he still dared not press too far too fast.

  Her head was pulled back. There were pink spots in her cheeks and her breathing was quick.

  ‘Are you satisfied?’ she asked.

  ‘Satisfied? My dearest girl…’

  She turned away. His hands, still on her shoulders, dragged across her bodice, but she did not seem to notice; he wished he had had the courage to let them stay.

  ‘You have wished to kiss me since you first saw me. I have wished to be kissed by you since I first saw you. I am satisfied.’

  ‘Do you always achieve whatever you wish?’

  She began to lean backwards, and he hurriedly stepped forward, so that her back was against him. He put his arms round her waist again, then let them clasp on her stomach. His face was in her hair.

  ‘I endeavour to do so, certainly. In so far as I am able.’

  He had a terrible thought that she might also have permitted Berkeley Ford to kiss her. But that was impossible. Carefully he slipped his clasped hands upwards an inch, to touch the softness of the underside of her breasts.

  ‘Unfortunately, it is an ability I may not be able to practise much longer.’ She nestled her head on his chest as she gazed out to sea. ‘You are aware of my situation?’

  ‘Well, to a degree.’

  ‘It is not an unusual one. I am an orphan. My father le
ft me with only a modest portion. This would have limited my prospects in England, at least for a respectable relationship.’

  The calm way in which she discussed matters he had always supposed were never even considered by young women took his breath away; he changed his mind about allowing his hands to move higher.

  ‘Thus when my uncle summoned me to Bombay, I had no hesitation in obeying him,’ Barbara went on. ‘In Bombay I am indeed an heiress, because he is childless. But it follows that Uncle Jonathan considers himself to have a parental interest in where I may direct my affections.’

  ‘And he doesn’t think in terms of junior writers.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ She turned again, against him, and put her arms round his neck. ‘That is why we must be circumspect. But I have hardly been in Bombay a week. There is a deal of time before he can confront me with a proposal. Time we must use well. You must use well, dear Richard. My uncle is as susceptible to flattery as…’ she smiled, ‘any woman. And if he were to look kindly upon you, a great many things might happen. As you say, he would hardly permit me to marry a junior writer. But if he could be persuaded to allow us to marry, then surely you would have to cease being a junior writer.’

  He gazed into those splendid eyes. ‘And you would like to marry me?’

  ‘Well,’ she made a moue. ‘I would rather marry you than any gentleman I have so far met.’

  Shouldn’t she have said something about love? But then, she should not have said anything about the subject to him at all, having, as she had pointed out, been here less than a week. Why, this was only the third occasion on which they had spoken, and here she was in his arms, her body pressed against his...

  But as she was pressed against him, he kissed her again. Then what of him, he thought, as their tongues curled round each other? Did he love her? He was sure he did. Had he not fallen in love at first sight? Was it not possible that she had done the same?

  He kissed her some more.

  ‘You make me breathless,’ she gasped, and gently pushed him away, stooping to retrieve her hat.

  ‘There is so much more than mere kissing I would like to do with you,’ he said.

  She laid her gloved finger on his lips. ‘Hush. That is for the future. Now I must return. My grooms will be concerned.’