by Arjun Gaind
“Hera, Madam?” he observed, raising one brow.
The young lady in question brightened, letting out a delicate laugh that made her even more comely. “Oh no,” she replied. “Andromache, and my husband has come as Hector.”
Sikander tried not to groan, not just because of the aforementioned husband, but also because it was just so typical. The husband had to be a soldier, and a young one at that, for Hector was the choice they always made, those witless boys trying to play at being men, choosing heroes without ever realizing what they symbolized. Hector was a poor choice for any warrior, heroic enough certainly, but slain at the hand of Achilles, and a bad death at that. No, Odysseus would have been a better choice, and this delectable creature, what a Penelope she would have made, with no shortage of suitors trying to keep her bed warm.
“I am the Maharaja of Rajpore,” he said, “but you, my dear, can call me Sikander.”
With that cheeky introduction, he offered the memsahib a fine leg, taking the opportunity to try and glance down the front of her dress.
“Oh, I know who you are,” she croaked diffidently, and to his surprise, reciprocated with a perfect curtsey, so reminiscent of a schoolgirl that it made him break into a smile. Abruptly, it occurred to him that he had seen her before. Hadn’t she been at the Resident’s bungalow the previous morning, the pretty little thing who had caught his eye in passing?
“I regret to say, Madame, that puts me at a marked disadvantage. I thought I knew most of the people in Rajpore, but…Might I be so bold as to ask your name?”
It occurred to him that he was being impertinent, transgressing well past the boundaries of politeness by engaging her so overtly, but he found himself quite disarmed, not just by her obvious beauty but also by the air of innocence that emanated from her like a sweet perfume. She seemed the very epitome of purity, unsullied, untainted by the cynicism of life that had turned people like Sikander into old men before their time. But was it real, or was it just a façade? Too often inexperience and ignorance masqueraded as innocence, particularly in the youthful, but in this case, could this young lady be that rarest of creatures, a genuine ingénue, utterly unaccustomed to the ways of the world?
“Grace,” she blurted out, before realizing her mistake, that offering her Christian name to a stranger might be thought to be forward. A roseate blush spread across her cheeks with a delicacy that no amount of rouge could ever achieve. “I mean, Mrs. Bates. My husband is a Lieutenant in the Cavalry.”
At last, Sikander thought, delighted, a stroke of luck! Here she was, the very person he had come to see, the object of the Resident’s romantic attentions. And now that he had met her face to face, he could see what had drawn the Major to her, like a moth to a flame. Mrs. Bates was every bit as enticing as he had been told, truly a breathtaking specimen, not a Penelope after all, but rather a Helen, the sort of creature for whom men sank ships and started wars.
“How fortuitous, Madame! I was hoping our paths would cross. I have been quite eager to speak with you.”
In spite of his most charming smile, a flicker of alarm darted across her face, one flawless wrinkle marring that matchless brow. “I really should get back to my husband. He must be worried about me.”
“Please, Madam,” Sikander smiled, “can you not spare me just a few moments?”
This plea caused Mrs. Bates to hesitate. Like most women, she was weakened by the thought of having a powerful man in her debt. After taking a moment to make up her mind, she nodded, one curt shake of her head before she returned to the bench and sank back down, crossing her legs neatly and smoothing her robes. “What did you wish to speak about?”
Sikander realized he was staring at her again. Stop being such a dunce, he chastised himself. This behavior was most unlike him, to ogle at a woman as fervidly as a schoolboy. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk about Major Russell.”
She reacted exactly as he had expected, by turning white as a ghost. “Excuse me,” she said, leaping to her feet so hurriedly she almost toppled over, “I really ought to go.”
“Sit down!” Sikander hissed. The steel in his voice took her by surprise, and almost meekly, she obeyed, watching him as nervously as a mouse being cornered by a cat.
“I am afraid I cannot help you,” she groaned. “I barely knew the man.”
It was a lie, and a feeble one at that.
“It is useless to deny it, Madame. It is well known that you and the Resident were, to put it politely, involved.”
Of course, Sikander knew that she would deny this accusation, but this was only his opening gambit, and exactly as he had expected, Mrs. Bates countered by trying to bluster her way out.
“How dare you?” she said with an outraged gasp. “I will have you know, I am a happily married woman.”
“Are you, Madam?” He said, leaning forward. “That is not what I have heard.” Sikander fixed her with a level frown. “Let me be blunt, I believe you are involved in Major Russell’s death. All that remains is for me to find out exactly how, and to what extent.”
Faced with such a forthright accusation, Mrs. Bates recoiled. Her lips parted in a gasp, her mouth falling open into a rictus of pure indignation. Those scintillating eyes widened, filling with tears so distraught that Sikander was hard-pressed to believe that she was faking them, not unless she was as fine an actress as Sarah Bernhardt herself.
“How can you accuse me of such a heinous deed?” she whispered with a glare so accusatory that he almost felt a pang of remorse for suspecting her. “Why are you being so cruel?”
It was a breathtaking performance, right down to the perfect sob that escaped from those soft lips, touched by just the right amount of abject despair. For a moment, she seemed so vulnerable that Sikander was almost convinced. But then, he saw those eyes, watching him with a wary gleam, and he knew at once it was all a pretence. He had been correct to doubt her, he thought sadly, feeling somewhat betrayed. The innocence he had found so beguiling was just a veneer. And it was quickly becoming apparent to him that Mrs. Bates was most accomplished in using this distressed damsel act to manipulate men into getting her own way.
Now that he could see the truth of the woman, Sikander was relieved. No longer was her beauty quite as intoxicating as it had been just a few minutes ago. At last, he felt he had the measure of Mrs. Bates. She was a temptress, a siren. Like Mohini, she used her beauty to beguile and enslave men, charming them into doing exactly as she desired. But little did she realize that Sikander was no ordinary man. In his time, the Maharaja had known many women, some even more alluring than this young memsahib, and it would take more than carefully calculated histrionics and a coquettish smile to seduce him.
“Madam, spare me your hysterics,” he said unkindly. “Do you really intend to deny that the Major made advances towards you?”
Realizing that her indignation, however dramatic, was having little effect on the Maharaja, Mrs. Bates changed tack as effortlessly as a clipper. In an instant, the tears evaporated, and she gave Sikander a cold scowl, her features stiffening with such imperial disdain that he was tempted to break into applause.
“No,” she hissed, giving up any pretense to seem delicate, “he certainly made no secret of it, so why should I? It is true that Major Russell was besotted with me.”
“And it was entirely unrequited, this affection?”
“Oh, I assure you,” she said icily, “I had no interest in Major Russell whatsoever. It was he who was obsessed with me. I did nothing to encourage him, but still, the man pestered me relentlessly.” She shuddered. “It was dreadful. He would send me gifts, and make it a point to waylay me when I visited the bazaar and pretend it was accidental. Why, the man even turned up at our home, if you can believe it.”
“He visited you, at your residence?”
“Oh yes, once or twice a month in the beginning, but then every week, as regular as clockwork. A
t first, he would make up the most peculiar excuses, that he was looking in to see that we were settled or that he had come by to drop off some venison he had bagged, but then, a little over a month ago, he dropped all pretense.”
“Why didn’t your husband tell him off?”
“Oh, he was always careful to show up while Johnny was out on maneuvers, and frankly, I was afraid to tell him what was happening. I don’t like him to worry about me, you see. He has enough on his mind without thinking of some randy old bugger stamping after me.”
With that explanation, she leaned forward, coming so close to Sikander that he could smell the musk of her skin. “Do you have a cigarette?” she asked huskily.
Sikander reached into one pocket of his achkan, and extracted a slim-chased silver case, filled with his hand-rolled Sobranie Black Russians. He offered it to Mrs. Bates, and she took one of the cigarettes, licking her lips, waiting until he lit it before inhaling a cloud of dusky smoke with a groan that was almost sexual.
“Gosh, it’s been a lifetime since I had one of these.” She laughed, a throaty murmur that made his hair stand on end. “Johnny doesn’t even know I smoke.”
Giving him a friendly wink, she picked at a stray sliver of tobacco from the tip of her tongue, a marvelously sensuous gesture that sent an involuntary shiver down Sikander’s spine. A moment ago, she had been the naïve innocent, but now she was a Lorelei, with veiled eyes that hinted at a wellspring of hidden sensuality. Truly, Mrs. Bates was quite a handful, and he found himself wondering which she had been with the Major, the ingénue or the seductress.
“Tell me, Madame, why did you not simply refuse to see the Major? You could have turned him away when he came to call upon you.”
“How could I?” she replied without missing a blink. “He was Johnny’s commanding officer. The last thing I wanted to do was offend him.” She let out an unkind snigger. “What a foolish old goat he was! As if I would ever want someone as old and wrinkled as him! For God’s sake, the man was almost forty, if a day.”
The sheer contempt with which she enunciated the word forty made Sikander stifle a groan. He was nearing forty himself; the Major had been even older, but to someone as young as Mrs. Bates, it was all one and the same. Suddenly, he found himself disliking her intensely, not just because he envied her youth, but for her insouciance, which made him feel overwhelmingly decrepit.
“Is that normal, to have men chasing after you like dogs in heat?”
“Of course,” she said, as nonchalantly as if she were discussing the weather, “I am quite used to it. Men have always lost their minds around me, ever since I was a little thing.” She tossed her hair and gave him a cool look. “Mostly, I ignore it. They mean no harm, and just want to buy me presents, so I put up with it and never let it get too far. But the Major…” She grimaced, as if she had just swallowed something bitter. “The truth is I didn’t realize what kind of man he was. He was always very polite until this past week, when his attentions ceased to be merely cordial.”
Sikander sat up, sensing they had arrived at something important. “What happened, Madame? Did he make a pass at you?”
Mrs. Bates winced, taken aback by his bluntness. “Let us just say that he became somewhat amorous, but I was able to fend him off before anything too dreadful ensued.”
“Why did you not make a complaint?”
She let out a bitter little laugh, and offered Sikander a look that only a woman who has been put upon by unkind men innumerable times can master. “And to whom would I complain? The Major was the senior-most office in Rajpore, wasn’t he? Besides, I couldn’t take the risk. He had my husband’s career in his hands, and I certainly did not wish to jeopardize Johnny’s prospects.” She shuddered, and brought the cigarette back up to her lips, puffing at it with a restlessness that bordered on desperation.
“You could always have left Rajpore, Madame.”
“Oh, I dearly wanted to,” she said with an expansive sigh. “Truthfully, I never wanted to come here in the first place. I was hoping for Simla, but Johnny wanted to come up to the Punjab. He was hoping for frontier duty, but instead, he was bogged down here, little more than a glorified Quartermaster. We asked for a transfer many times, but the Major always turned down his requests, to keep me here, I suspect, firmly under his thumb.”
“Did you ever make it clear to him that his attentions were entirely unwelcome?”
“Yes, I did, more than once,” she said insistently. “Just last week, in fact, he turned up, quite inebriated, swearing his undying love, and then the silly bugger tried to kiss me. I was horrified, naturally, and told him in no uncertain terms that he had to stop bothering me. I told him he was being ridiculous, that I was happily married, and had no desire to engage in a dalliance with anyone else, and that if he continued to harass me, I would tell my husband about his behavior.”
“And how did the Major react to this ultimatum?”
Mrs. Bates’ pretty face suffused with consternation. “He laughed at me. He called me a silly little girl, and warned me that he always had his way. And then, he threatened Johnny.”
“What sort of threat?”
“He said that if I didn’t come away with him, he would make sure that my husband was posted to the border.” She shuddered even more violently. “Just the thought of my poor Johnny, out there with all those bloodthirsty ruffians trying to cut him to pieces, it was too much for me to bear.”
Once again, Mrs. Bates let Sikander have a full broadside. Her urgency was marvelously skillful, those fiery curls wafting in a well-timed breeze, her cheeks reddening with emotion, those startling eyes brimming with tears. If he hadn’t already recognized her for what she truly was, Sikander would undoubtedly have been seduced, but thankfully, he was now quite immune to her charms, ample though they were.
“Did you warn your husband about the Major’s ultimatum?”
“Good heavens, no!” She looked as if she were horrified by the very idea.
“Why not?”
“I told you, I just couldn’t risk it,” Mrs. Bates said with a visible shiver. “Johnny is very possessive, and I didn’t want him to run off and confront the Major and destroy his own career, not because of me.”
“Is your husband prone to violence? Would you say he is capable of murdering a man, say, in a jealous rage?”
She shook her head, and an amused little chuckle escaped her lips. “You obviously haven’t met my Johnny. He couldn’t hurt a fly. He’s just impulsive, that’s all, and hot-headed, but he has a good soul.”
“You seem to love him very much,” Sikander observed.
“I do, with all my heart,” Mrs. Bates replied shyly.
That might be the first truly genuine thing she has said, he thought wryly. Or was it just another lie? From what he had seen of the young memsahib so far, he found it difficult to imagine her loving anyone except herself. Beneath her comely exterior, she was a grasper, an opportunist, as relentless as Barbara Villiers herself. Did she indeed care for her husband as deeply as she professed, or had he been a convenient foil she had fixed upon like a limpet, the means to an end? Had she tethered her future to his because she believed in him, or because she was merely using him to forward her own ambitions, until she could find a more convenient man to entangle with her wiles? Sikander found he could not tell. His brain insisted she was a cold, heartless creature, but in his heart, he could not help but feel she was young and naïve enough to believe in something as hopelessly jejune as love.
“Do you love him enough to lie for him, Madame, perhaps enough to cover up a murder?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Sikander sat back, pursing his lips. “Do you think me a foolish man, Mrs. Bates, or a particularly gullible one?”
This question left the young memsahib quite befuddled. “No, of course not.”
“Then why do you insist on being de
ceptive with me?”
Mrs. Bates’ mouth gaped open. “I am not being deceptive. I have told you the unvarnished truth, I swear it.”
“Is that so? Then why, pray tell, were you seen engaged in a intimate embrace with the Major at the New Year’s Ball on the very night of his death?”
This question was what finally managed to make a chink in the armor of her hitherto imperturbable demeanor. Her pretty face turned a sallow shade of puce, the mask slipping momentarily to reveal a flicker of uncertainty.
“I fear I may not have been completely honest with you,” she said, offering Sikander a desperate smile. “You see, it was my husband who first came up with the notion of a border posting and approached the Major, requesting a transfer. Johnny was very eager to see action. He comes from a long line of soldiers, and sitting here in the Cantonment, twiddling his thumbs, it just doesn’t agree with him.” She let out a forlorn sigh. “He has his head full of these dreams of adventure, but I didn’t want to see him hurt. That is why I approached the Major and asked him to refuse his request.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, we came to an agreement of sorts. Each time Johnny would pester the Major for a transfer, the Resident agreed to refuse, and in exchange, I would let him play his little games.”
“You mean to say you kept stringing him along,” Sikander observed dryly.
Mrs. Bates shot him a withering look. “Don’t look at me like I am a whore! I was trying to keep my husband safe. And I was managing just fine, until the Major decided to betray me.”
Sikander tensed, sensing that she was at last coming to the truth. “How? How did he betray you?”
“A few weeks ago, he agreed to let Johnny have a transfer.”
