Shadow of the Moon

by M. M. Kaye

  Winter had had an astonishing success, and Julia was both angry and bewildered. She could not understand why the girl received so much attention from men whom she had confidently expected to have eyes for no one but Sybella. It was not that Winter had outshone her cousin; she could not do that. Sybella had attracted the lion’s share of attention, but Julia was not slow to note how the older and more eligible men turned to look again and yet again at Sabrina’s daughter. Lord Carlyon, handsome, wealthy, bored, thirty-five and still a bachelor, had inquired of Sybella who the beautiful creature in white might be. Sybella had not recognized her cousin by this description, and Lord Carlyon had been more specific.

  ‘You mean Winter?’ demanded Sybella, astounded.

  ‘Winter?’

  ‘ My cousin Winter. Such a peculiar name, is it not?’

  ‘Winter!’ He repeated the word almost with awe. ‘But how perfect.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sybella’s fluting voice had a sudden sharp edge to it.

  ‘I mean that it suits so admirably. She is like snow and black shadows: cool and mysterious and yet—’ He laughed on an odd note. ‘So this is the plain cousin from the East. I have heard of her. The ugly duckling in person. Pray introduce me, Lady Sybella.’

  Arthur Carlyon was no impressionable youth but a coldly handsome rake with a considerable experience of women. Match-making mamas, attracted by his fortune and undeterred by his reputation, had cast hopeful eyes in his direction for well over a dozen seasons past, but Carlyon had remained languidly aloof and more interested in mistresses than marriage. He had attended Lady Julia’s ball expecting to be bored, but with a mild feeling of curiosity as to the appearance of the heiress of Ware whom report had rumoured to be outstandingly beautiful. He had been bored. Surveying Sybella with an indolent and experienced eye, he had summed her up as spoilt and insipid. Blondes, though fashionable, were not in his line; he considered that they lacked fire. In the role of eligible bachelor he had had occasion to meet most of the other young ladies present, and had found nothing to interest him, and he was considering an early retreat from the festivities when his eye had alighted on Winter de Ballesteros.

  Carlyon’s confident approach and suavely experienced manner had, however, made no impression on Sybella’s young cousin: Winter had not been in the least sensible of the honour implied by his interest, and Carlyon, who had imagined that such a youthful creature would be easy game, found himself being put in his place and dismissed with a cool grace that would have done credit to an experienced London hostess. He was unwise enough to treat her dismissal of him as a piece of girlish coquetry, and Winter had been driven to administer a snub that left no room for doubt as to her opinion of him. It was an entirely new and salutary experience to Lord Carlyon, and an unpleasant one.

  But he had by no means been the only one to comment on Winter’s unusual style of looks. ‘Striking gel,’ cackled old Lady Grantham, who was playing chaperon to her grand-daughter Camilla. ‘I don’t recollect seeing her before. Who is she, Julia? What? What? Who? Dear me - you don’t say so! Sabrina’s daughter. Well, well! Yes, of course I have seen her before. Hideous little thing she was. Skinny. Like an owlet - all eyes. And look at her now. Well, her mother was a beauty too. The girl is really quite remarkable. Such a welcome change from all these insipid die-away creatures. And presumably inherits her mother’s fortune … I must see that Harry meets her.’

  No, the evening could not be considered an unqualified success from Julia’s point of view, and she did not repeat her mistake. Winter attended no more balls, but it was surprising how many young men, calling at Ware ostensibly to see Sybella, contrived at the same time to see her cousin Winter. Even Lord Carlyon had called; though he had made no pretence of wishing to see Sybella and inquired after the Condesa; only to be frostily informed by Lady Glynde that Winter was still in the schoolroom and too young to receive visitors: her appearance at Sybella’s party, explained the Viscountess, had been only in the nature of a special treat for the child. Carlyon had not been sufficiently interested to pursue the matter further, but others had.

  Sybella had admirers in plenty, but Julia was quick to notice that these were for the most part the younger and less eligible men. The select few whom she had considered as possible husbands for her peerless daughter showed more interest in the young Condesa - who did not conform to the prevailing fashion in looks and was not in the least interested in any of these excessively eligible gentlemen. A combination that had the merit of novelty, which has always had its own attraction. But the girl possessed something more: that indefinable something that for lack of a better word is known as ‘allure’, and when several titled heirs to great estates who had initially been intrigued by novelty fell victims to it, Sybella was at first astounded and then outraged, and her mother coldly furious.

  There was only one thing to be done. Conway Barton must come home and marry the girl as soon as possible. She would be seventeen in the following spring and quite old enough to be married.

  ‘I have already written,’ said the old Earl.

  He had not meant to write. He had not wished Winter to marry until she was eighteen or nineteen - or even twenty. He had celebrated his ninetieth birthday the previous year and felt unusually well … better than he had felt for a long time. He would see a hundred yet! There was no hurry …

  But the snow had lain late into the year, and spring had been tardy and wet. The damp cold to which he had been impervious for so long seemed to seep into the old man’s very bones and he could not keep warm. He felt the tide of his life running out and drawing away from him, driven by that driving rain, and he had written to Conway Barton.

  It was, all at once, not enough for old Lord Ware to know that when he was dead Winter would be taken care of by the husband he had chosen for her. He wanted to see her married before he went, and to know that she was safe, so that he would be able to face Johnny again, and Sabrina, and tell them that all was well with the child. The Earl would not have considered himself in any way a religious man, and his beliefs - or lack of them - had frequently shocked his chaplain. But he believed profoundly in an after-life. When he died he would meet again, instantly and in the earthly form in which he remembered them, those few people whom he had loved: Selina, his wife. Johnny, his pride. Sabrina, his darling …

  With the coming of the warm summer weather the Earl’s health improved and he almost regretted his letter to Conway Barton, but he began to make plans for the wedding. The letter would have reached Conway before the end of June, and it would of course take some little time for him to arrange for his resignation and replacement (it was no part of the Earl’s plan that Winter should return to India, Conway must of course retire to England and devote himself to the care of his wife and the management of her fortune), but even allowing for every contingency the groom should be able to reach England not too late in the New Year. Time enough to announce the betrothal then and to arrange for the wedding to take place at the end of May, when Winter would be seventeen. The doctors must patch him up so that he would last until then.

  In the early autumn a letter arrived from India. Mr Barton had received Lord Ware’s communication and was deeply grieved to hear of his failing health. He could only hope that Lord Ware was by now fully recovered. Naturally it was the dearest wish of his heart to marry the Earl’s ward, but various unforeseen difficulties had arisen which necessitated his remaining at his post for the present. However, he had a suggestion to make that he hoped might meet with the Earl’s approval: he had written at some length on the matter, and was sending that letter by the hand of a trusted subordinate, Captain Alex Randall, who should reach England some time in the autumn. Owing to the unreliability of the mails he had thought it better to make Captain Randall his courier, despite the fact that this would cause some delay, and the Captain, being in his confidence, was empowered by him to discuss the matter with Lord Ware.

  But Captain Randall, as it happened, was considerably delay
ed. He had met with friends at Alexandria, and instead of continuing on his way had turned aside with them and gone instead to the Crimea, where he had managed, entirely illegally, to get himself attached to General Windham’s Staff, had fought at the taking of Sebastopol and been wounded in the bloody battle for the Redan. He had not reached England until late in February, and it was not until the second week of March that he arrived at Ware.

  BOOK TWO

  KISHAN PRASAD

  7

  The majority of the guests who had stayed at Ware for the funeral left the same afternoon, and those few who remained kept to their rooms. Towards dusk on that cold and windy day the sixth Earl sent a footman to find Captain Randall, and once again Alex was led through the corridors and galleries of the west wing. But this time he was not taken to Lady Ware’s drawing-room, but ushered instead into a small panelled room where a fire crackled in the hearth and the new Earl sat warming himself at the blaze.

  Huntly, Lord Ware, was a stout and undistinguished man who disguised his lack of character behind an impassive and somewhat pompous manner. He greeted Captain Randall graciously enough, regretting his inability to see him earlier and hoping that he had not been put to too much trouble in coming to Ware. After which he spoke at some length on the subject of Mr Barton and his young cousin’s approaching marriage, and concluded by saying that he understood that the Captain was returning to the East in June, and that he would make arrangements for the Condesa to travel on the same packet.

  Alex’s hard grey eyes ran over him in a comprehensive glance and summed him up dispassionately as a nonentity. The last of the Wares! The old man whose funeral he had attended that morning must have had more hot blood in him than this, if all accounts were true.

  ‘I have heard of you, Captain Randall,’ said Huntly graciously. ‘I understand that you obtained a brevet for conspicuous gallantry at Chillianwallah, and a similar promotion only a few years later. Quite a remarkable achievement.’

  A faint tinge of red deepened the dark sun-tan of Alex’s face and he said expressionlessly: ‘There are many opportunities for such advancement in India, sir. It was kind of Mr Barton to speak well of me.’

  ‘Oh, it was not Barton. A gentleman I met at the Granchesters’, who was lately from the Punjab. We have always, as a family, been greatly interested in India on account of our connection with the East India Company. I regret that I have had no opportunity for discussion with you on a subject of such interest, but my time is lamentably occupied. You will be leaving in the morning? I hope I may see you again before you go.’

  It was evidently a dismissal but Alex disregarded it. He had been unable to speak plainly to the Countess but no such scruples need weigh with him now. This plump, pallid man with his air of consequence had presumably inherited the guardianship of the young Condesa and should therefore be apprised of the truth. But there was a faint chance that he might be dissuaded from sending the girl to India without being informed of the facts about Mr Conway Barton. It was at least worth trying and Alex tried it:

  ‘Might I suggest, sir, that it would be advisable to postpone the Condesa’s departure for - for a few years? Until the country is in a less unsettled condition? You cannot, I think, fully appreciate the present state of unrest that prevails in India. I am aware that I hold what is perhaps a minority view, but it is one that is also held by such men as Sir Henry Lawrence and General Jacob. There have been disturbing signs of late, and Sir Henry and many others have warned of the possibility of grave troubles arising out of the policy of annexation of sovereign states, in particular if it is pressed over the matter of Oudh. India and the Bengal Army are far from being in the condition of tranquillity that some would have us suppose, and I would urge on you most strongly, sir, that this is no time to send any woman to that country - let alone a young girl.’

  Huntly raised his eyebrows and observed coldly that Captain Randall was mistaken in supposing that he had no knowledge of the situation prevailing in India. He had had occasion to attend, only the previous August, the banquet given at the London Tavern by the East India Company in honour of Lord Canning the Governor-General designate, where he had been assured, through the medium of public speeches and private discussions, that our Indian dependency had never before been so peaceful or so prosperous. He ventured to think that the speakers on that occasion had at least as much knowledge of the conditions pertaining to that country as had Captain Randall.

  Alex said, ‘If I cannot speak with their authority, sir, I can at least speak from experience, since I have of necessity come into far closer contact with the natives of the country than many senior officials, whose very seniority debars them from a too intimate approach. But Lord Dalhousie’s policy of Annexation and Lapse, though it has added immeasurably to our territories, has aroused the bitterest enmity among those nobles whom we have dispossessed. They, or their agents, are engaging in active intrigue against us, and their numbers increase yearly. It is known that Lord Dalhousie and the Directors of Leadenhall Street favour the annexation of Oudh, but if Oudh too passes into the Company’s possession, the danger will become gravely aggravated.’

  ‘I think that you exaggerate,’ said Huntly, bored. ‘Several of the Directors are well known to me, and my cousin Grantham has informed me that a gratifying number of sons and relatives of the princely houses have gone so far as to enlist in the ranks of the Bengal Army.’

  ‘That is true,’ said Alex grimly. ‘But what your cousin Grantham and others like him fail to see is that many of these men have a particular reason for accepting such employment. It gives them unparalleled opportunities for spreading sedition and disaffection in a quarter where it can do us the most harm: among the sepoys - the Indian soldiers. A large-scale revolt on the part of the Bengal Army would be a difficult thing to deal with, and it may yet come to that.’

  ‘I should be sorry to think that you are serious, Captain Randall,’ said Huntly frigidly. ‘Such faint-hearted and alarmist views are hardly what I should have expected from one of your reputation, and I can only suppose that overwork and the rigours of the climate have affected your spirits.’

  Alex smiled. It was an unpleasant smile, but his voice remained level, though the faint drawl in it was suddenly more pronounced:

  ‘Possibly, sir. But not my wits. There is such a thing as overplaying one’s hand, and the arbitrary acquisition of Oudh would mean, once again, a province almost the size of England awash with disbanded soldiery and embittered nobles to whom annexation will have meant the loss of power and privilege and, in many cases, of even the bare means of existence. In addition to which, Oudh - although its people are largely Hindu - is one of the last remaining Mohammedan states, so that its annexation would not only antagonize all Mohammedans, but give rise to the fear that we intend to swallow the rest of India, and that no state is safe from us. Besides, since at present we have not sufficient British troops at our disposal with which to garrison newly acquired territory, it would have to be done, if at all, by native regiments who are bound in the nature of things to resent such an annexation.’

  Huntly said pompously: ‘All these aspects of the situation must have occurred to those in authority. And you forget, I think, that the bulk of the population cannot but look upon us as their deliverers from the long reign of oppression, torture and extortion inflicted upon them by their native rulers. We are not only giving them better government, but bestowing upon them the blessings of progress and civilization, for which they are bound to be grateful.’

  ‘That is a view only too commonly held by our race,’ said Alex drily. ‘It is a comforting one with which to justify conquest, but unhappily, entirely untrue. The blessings of civilization are seldom appreciated by the conquered; especially when rammed down their gullets with a musket. I would assure you, sir, that I am no alarmist. And neither has my nerve failed me. We shall hold India. But all that I have heard and seen and felt during the past few years has served to convince me that we are moving blindly t
owards disaster. I am entirely sure of that. No less sure than I am that we shall survive it. But this is no time to cumber ourselves with women, or to send out a young girl who knows nothing of the East.’

  Huntly drew himself to his full height and looked haughtily down his somewhat fleshy nose. ‘My dear Captain Randall,’ he observed in chilling tones, ‘had there been any risk attached to sending my cousin to India, you may be assured that Mr Barton would never have suggested such a thing. As your superior officer his knowledge as to the true state of affairs is bound to exceed yours. In the circumstances I cannot but feel that you are needlessly alarmed.’

  Alex said ruefully: ‘I can see that I shall have to speak plainly, sir. I am well aware that in doing so I am open to a charge of disloyalty to my superior officer, but the occasion appears to me serious enough to warrant plain speaking. What I have to say is naturally in confidence, but as the Condesa’s relative and guardian it is a thing that you should know.’ And he spoke clearly and dispassionately on the subject of Mr Barton …

  Lord Ware’s prominent eyes bulged palely in the firelight and he remarked a little nervously that of course he had no idea … What Captain Randall had divulged was most disturbing … Surely he exaggerated? He could not bring himself to believe—

  Captain Randall cut him short: ‘I must ask you to believe, sir, that what I have told you of the Commissioner is less than the truth. I could not reconcile it with my conscience to escort your young cousin to India without first acquainting you with these unpleasant facts, but having done so I have no further obligation in the matter, since it will now be for you to decide whether she goes or not. Your servant, sir.’ He bowed curtly and withdrew.