Sword of Fortune

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Then you’d best show the lady up, Mortimore.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Mortimore withdrew.

  ‘I think you’d better leave for a while, Bootil,’ Richard said.

  ‘Yes, sahib.’ Bootil lit the candle, and then followed Mortimore.

  Richard wrapped the sheet round his waist, and put away the pistol.

  The silly girl must have quite lost her head. So what was he going to do about it? Lay her again, and then ride out of her life forever?

  If that was what she wanted, he would.

  Barbara came in, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it.

  ‘You must be as mad as Amy Holder,’ he remarked. She even looked like Amy Holder, wrapped as she was in a similar cloak with a capuchin hood.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Richard…the news that you are back is all over Bombay.’

  ‘I expect you’re right.’

  She left the door. ‘Lamont knows it.’

  Richard sat on the bed. ‘Is that important?’

  She sat beside him, threw the hood back from her hair; she looked as lovely, and as desirable, as ever. ‘He means to seek you out and challenge you, tomorrow.’

  ‘Would I be presumptuous in asking if he has a reason? Or is he merely taking advantage of Wright’s tale?’

  ‘Oh, that, certainly. Richard…is it true you refused a challenge?’

  ‘It is true.’

  ‘But…you?’

  ‘It is not something I propose to discuss. Anyway, your husband will not find me tomorrow. I leave Bombay at dawn.’

  ‘Thank God! For Hariana?’

  ‘Yes. Hariana is my home now.’

  ‘Take me with you.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You must. You cannot abandon me, as you did Amy Holder.’

  ‘I shall not tie you naked to my bed, if that is what you mean. You have been most indiscreet in coming here at all. I suggest you now hurry home as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Lamont is out, at the Officers’ Club.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Barbara, this is Bombay. Haven’t you discovered that yet? By tomorrow everyone will know that you came here tonight.’

  ‘That is exactly why you must take me with you. That is why I came, to elope with you. Richard…Lamont knows I met you that morning.’

  ‘You were a fool to tell him.’

  ‘I didn’t. Not directly. He knows about me…about my peccadilloes. He never takes offence, as a rule. Well, he beats me from time to time, but not seriously. That morning, as you knew, I broke an engagement to meet you. Alistair found out about it, and immediately guessed what had happened, whom I had met instead. When he confronted me with it, I defied him. Lord, how he beat me! That is the real reason he means to kill you.’

  Richard nodded. ‘Well, I have no intention of killing anyone else over you, Barbara. So your husband will have to grin and bear it. And beat you some more.’

  She caught his hands. ‘He won’t. This time he’ll send me home. Or the Governor-General will. I’ll be sent off in disgrace. Richard, take me with you. Please.’

  ‘You know that would be ridiculous.’

  ‘Because you do not love me?’

  ‘I do not love anyone, right this minute.’

  ‘But I love you, Richard.’ Her grip tightened. ‘I have never loved anyone but you. I swear it. When first we met, I was a silly young girl, concerned only with making a suitable marriage, aware only that you were totally unsuitable. But now…now I am a woman, Richard. I know myself. I know what a fool I was, how miserable I have been. I know that I love you and no one else. Please, Richard.’ She slipped from the bed and knelt at his feet. ‘Please take me with you.’

  He remembered Caty kneeling at his feet, just like this. Only she had been begging for the life of her lover, not to be his.

  How on earth could a woman like Barbara Smythe survive the jungle? Once he had thought it might be amusing to watch her try, but the reality of it appalled him.

  ‘Do you have any idea what the journey to Hariana will be like?’ he asked. ‘It will be unlike anything you have ever experienced before.’

  ‘I can stand it. I will stand it, if you are there, Richard.’

  She sounded utterly desperate. She looked utterly desperate. He half hated her, yet could not bring himself to be unfair to her.

  ‘Barbara, suppose you did survive to reach Hariana, you would find that I have a wife there already.’

  She tossed her head. ‘Some native girl.’

  ‘Nevertheless, a wife. I have two, as a matter of fact, both still living. But one is…apart from me.’

  ‘Were you married in a church?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘But neither will you and I be married in a church. There are no such things in Hariana.’

  ‘I will be your wife before God. Please, Richard. You cannot leave me here. I shall die.’

  An elopement, with the woman he had always dreamed of carrying off! What did it matter that she was just running, blindly, away from a life she found insupportable? Obviously if Lamont knew of their meeting on the beach, then most of Bombay knew of it.

  Did it matter that he did not love her, could never love her? That at this moment he was close to hating her? That his heart was lost to the woman who had rejected him for another? Here at least was a woman, perhaps the most desirable woman he had ever known, eager to offer him her love, her whole life.

  It would be a splendid way to cock a snook at Bombay, as Amy Holder had wished to do. It was something that, at that moment, he dearly longed to do as well.

  It would be a hard life for the pampered Barbara, but she had volunteered to accept it. He made his decision.

  ‘Did you bring a change of clothing?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. My bag is outside. Richard...’ she pressed his hands to her breast. Will you not love me, once, before we leave?’

  ‘Let’s keep love-making until we get to Hariana, if we ever do.’ He kissed her, got up and opened the door. ‘Bootil,’ he called. ‘We will leave immediately.’

  *

  They walked their horses down towards the causeway. It was just past midnight, and the city was quiet; the rain teemed down, blotting out sound, soaking them to the skin within minutes.

  ‘What time does Lamont return from the club?’ Richard asked.

  ‘About two in the morning.’

  ‘And what will he do when he discovers you are not there?’

  ‘I don’t know. Try to find me, certainly. He may suspect I have gone to you.’

  ‘And when Mortimore tells him we left together, he will raise the alarm,’ Richard said.

  So, once again he was leaving Bombay like a thief in the night. But this time he would surely never return.

  *

  The tide was half in, and they swam their horses across. ‘There were sentries nowadays, on the landward side. Richard showed them, by the light of their lanterns, the Governor-General’s safe conduct, and they let him through with no more than a glance at his two companions; a man of General Bryant’s standing was expected to travel with at least two servants. Barbara kept her cowl across her face and besides, it was too wet for them to care.

  Richard followed the well-known track leading north-east through the forest. Lamont would certainly know this was the way they must have come, but there was no other route he could take, mounted.

  ‘Oh, Richard,’ Barbara said. ‘I am so happy.’

  She was less so three hours later, just before dawn, when he made them dismount and walk their horses for two hours, by which time she was exhausted.

  ‘Surely we can rest now,’ she begged.

  ‘Not until mid-day,’ he told her, remembering how he and Hanif had managed their own escape. How he wished he had Hanif with him now; he had no proof of Bootil’s quality.

  At least the rain stopped with the daylight, and within an hour everything seemed to be steaming; their clothes dried
very quickly. Richard allowed them to mount again, and they rode along the narrow forest trail, Barbara casting anxious glances at the huge trees to either side, the trailing branches which snatched at her hat, the undergrowth through which the horses picked their way. Soon it was so hot she had to remove her cloak and fold it across the saddle in front of her; beneath she wore the light riding habit from that day on the beach.

  ‘Is it like this the whole way?’ she asked.

  ‘Only for the first couple of weeks.’

  She was silent for a few minutes. Then she asked. ‘How far away is this place, Hariana?’

  ‘A month’s journey, if all goes well.’

  She relapsed into silence. Her elopement was clearly proving more of a challenge than she had expected.

  *

  Richard called a halt at noon, as he had promised. Bootil prepared some food, while Barbara sat against a tree, legs widespread and the collar of her habit pulled open to expose her throat, regardless of the servant’s presence.

  Richard gave her a mug of wine and some water.

  ‘Have we enough food to last a month?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how shall we survive?’

  ‘We will have to rely on Bootil’s skill as a hunter. Failing that, we shall have to buy, beg or steal.’

  ‘My God,’ she muttered.

  He let her sleep after the meal, while he and Bootil took turns at watching. He listened for the booming of a cannon, but heard none. No doubt Cornwallis had determined that Mrs Lamont had hardly been kidnapped, and had left it to her outraged husband to reclaim her.

  They went on again at four, and soon Barbara was drooping over her horse’s neck. But Richard kept them moving until dusk, when they bivouacked.

  Once again Barbara lay on the ground in exhaustion.

  ‘Richard,’ she asked. ‘Can you send your man into the trees for a while, so that I may relieve myself, and change my clothes?’

  ‘You may step behind that bush and relieve yourself,’ he said. ‘Bootil will not mind in the least. As for changing your clothes, I would not do that.’

  ‘These stink. And look, they are torn.’

  ‘Everything you wear is going to get torn,’ he pointed out. ‘So unless you wish to arrive in Hariana wearing nothing at all, it would be best to wear your habit until it falls off you.’

  She glared at him, then got up and went behind the bush.

  ‘You are being deliberately cruel,’ she said through the leaves.

  ‘I am going home, and you are coming along of your own free will,’ he answered. ‘You will simply have to travel as I do. Now come and have dinner, and let’s get to sleep.’

  ‘How do we sleep?’ she asked.

  ‘On the ground, wrapped in our cloaks.’

  ‘Ugh.’ She returned to kneel beside him. ‘There are ants, and all manner of bugs.’

  ‘They won’t trouble you if you don’t trouble them.’

  ‘You could at least make love to me.’ she smiled coyly.

  ‘My dear, I am just too tired,’ he said. ‘And I should think you are too.’

  Indeed, she was fast asleep within minutes of finishing their frugal supper.

  *

  Over the next week Richard watched the disintegration of a lady of fashion and the birth of a woman he had scarcely suspected. The next morning Barbara carefully brushed her hair, and exclaimed in horror when a bush tick fell out. Richard squashed it between his thumb and finger nails, and she gazed in disgust at the spurting blood.

  ‘Your blood,’ he reminded her.

  On the third morning she did not use her brush at all, and her hair hung in mahogany-coloured tendrils around her face.

  On the fourth morning a branch whipped off her hat. She would have continued without it, but Richard went back for it and insisted she wear it.

  Then a thorn slashed open her sleeve from shoulder to elbow, and the skin underneath as well. Richard licked the blood dry and then tore off the rest of the sleeve to bind the scratch.

  ‘Do you know, that is the first time you have touched me since Bombay?’ she asked.

  ‘We are not exactly on honeymoon,’ he pointed out.

  Bootil proved to be neither so quick nor so accurate with a slingshot as Hanif had been, but he was a superb fisherman. Whenever they contrived to camp beside a stream he sat down with a length of stick broken from the nearest tree and a line, and invariably had several fish frying within minutes.

  Barbara was not very keen on fish.

  ‘Oh, to have a real beefsteak,’ she sighed.

  But when Richard used his pistol to bring down an over-inquisitive monkey, she was nearly sick because of its resemblance to a human baby, and refused to eat a bite.

  There was no sign of any pursuit. Richard knew they were making good time, but even so he had expected to hear gunshots behind them. Perhaps Lamont had decided to cut his losses and wash his hands of his errant wife.

  Every evening, when they bivouacked, she wrote in a little book. She carried it in a waterproof bag inside her haversack, and guarded it as if her life depended on it. From time to time Richard wondered what it was she wrote.

  The trails brought them fairly regularly to villages. Then Barbara would make a desperate attempt to smooth her hair and invariably put on her cloak, no matter how hot it was, to cover her torn clothes.

  The villagers provided them with food, since Richard was well supplied with money, and when he showed them the Governor-General’s letter, even if they could not read, they recognised the Company seal.

  Certainly they also eyed the travellers speculatively, but Bootil rode with the stock of his musket resting on his thigh, and Richard always wore his pistols in his belt and his claymore at his side. Clearly they would be a difficult proposition unless taken by surprise, but Richard also made sure that they never camped close to any human habitation, refusing all invitations to spend a night with any of their hosts.

  *

  By the end of the first week, Barbara’s habit was in ribbons, and even her petticoat was torn. As it was her only undergarment, save for her drawers, she was greatly embarrassed. But Richard continued to refuse her permission to change into one of her spare gowns.

  Her magnificent complexion had reddened in the sun, and now began to blister.

  She wept, and wished she had never left Bombay.

  ‘Well,’ Richard said. ‘You are welcome to return, if you wish.’

  ‘I hate you!’ she wailed at him. ‘My God, what a fool I have been.’

  At least she no longer wanted him to make love to her; she was as filthy as he. He had by now stripped off his uniform tunic and wore only breeches, and these were torn and streaked with sweat and dirt.

  Yet he could not help but admire her determination, and her courage. She had chosen a path, and she was pursuing it, and she would do so as long as she had breath in her body.

  The next day, having travelled much faster on horseback than Richard and Hanif had been able to on foot, they came to the Narmada.

  *

  Barbara gazed at the broad, swift-running river in dismay. ‘Where is the bridge?’ she asked.

  ‘There isn’t one.’

  ‘Will the horses swim it?’

  ‘I should think so. But not with us on their backs.’

  ‘Oh, Richard…what are we to do?’

  He remembered that she could not swim. ‘You will have to stay mounted, then. Keep a tight hold on the horse’s mane.’

  He and Bootil drove their own animals into the water. Barbara hung her reticule round her neck. She gave a shrill shriek of fear as her mount plunged into the brown torrent, and she clutched the mane with both hands.

  The other horses struck out strongly, and Richard and Bootil followed, swimming. The horses were the stronger swimmers however, and gained the other bank ahead of them, and higher up; the two men were swept some way downstream.

  ‘Richard!’ Barbara shouted, alarmed, turning in the saddl
e and letting go of the horse’s mane before her horse had actually gained the bank.

  Her shout changed to a scream of terror as she slipped off the saddle and into the water. Richard did not suppose it was more than a few feet deep, but Barbara lost her head completely, forgot to put her feet down, and was swept away out into the current.

  ‘Richard!’ she shrieked, as the water sent her tumbling downstream.

  Richard had just reached the bank, although the current still tugged at him. He turned immediately to plunge back into the stream to catch her, but Bootil had anticipated him. Out of his depth, the Indian had realised that the woman was being swept straight at him, and struggled to grab her.

  Striking out desperately with arms and legs, Barbara was hurled into the slight figure. Bootil tried to catch her, and was struck on the side of the face. He fell away, and Barbara continued on her way.

  Richard needed to make an instantaneous decision, as the two bodies had drifted apart. But Bootil could at least swim.

  Richard grabbed Barbara, and when she flailed at him in her frenzy he avoided the blow and struck her sharply on the chin with his closed fist. Her head jerked, and she slumped in his arms. He grasped her armpits and towed her to the bank, dragging her up through the bushes.

  She moaned, coughing and spitting.

  He held her in a sitting position and slapped her back until her breathing was clear.

  Bootil had disappeared.

  He looked for the horses. They had all come ashore some distance upriver, and were waiting to be reclaimed with total docility.

  But the undergrowth on the bank was too thick for a horse to clamber through.

  He started to force his way along the bank.

  ‘Don’t leave me!’ Barbara begged.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he promised.

  He followed the river for nearly a quarter of a mile, regardless of the thorns which tore at his flesh, of the number of times he slipped and nearly plunged back into the river.

  But of Bootil there was no sign.

  Breathless, he paused in despair, where the river rounded a bend, and gazed at the brown water. Still there was no sign of the servant.

  Much as he hated to make a noise, he cupped his hands and shouted, hoping that the little man might have come ashore.