The Nizam's Daughters

by Mallinson, Allan

  Alter Fritz did not hesitate. ‘Hervey, I give you my opinion, but I am an old quartermaster only. You should have made these enquiries of Captain Steuben. He commanded a squadron against the French, you know.’

  They had not spoken of Steuben since the accident. On the subject of cold steel, that German had been as passionate as at other times he had been distant. But now he lay in the palace’s great marble crypt with the other honoured servants of Chintal. ‘It was a swift death, says everyone, for he must have broken his neck at once.’

  ‘Ja, a howdah is a fair height to fall from.’

  ‘Captain Bauer, do you know . . . did anyone see what happened at this time?’

  Alter Fritz shook his head. ‘I heard tell only the mahout and two attendants.’

  As drill ended, Private Johnson appeared. He had the sort of smile which Hervey knew portended awkward news. ‘That Miss Lucie is ’ere, Captain ’Ervey, sir,’ he announced.

  And before Hervey could begin anything by reply, Emma Lucie, beneath a straw hat of huge diameter, came striding towards the edge of the maidan. ‘Good morning, Captain Hervey,’ she said in a matter-of-fact way.

  Hervey and Bauer dismounted, the German’s heels clicking together in the prescribed manner, while Hervey took off his shako.

  ‘I heard that you were . . . how shall one say? – in trouble?’ she smiled.

  Hervey sighed. ‘News travels quickly along the Godavari, it seems, madam.’

  Emma Lucie sighed too. ‘News, perhaps, but alas, not the budgerow: progress upstream is very slow.’

  Hervey stood before her almost lost for further words. ‘Madam, I am not sure to what news exactly you refer, but I am dismayed to think that any cause of mine should be occasion for your discomfort.’

  Bauer gave a discreet cough.

  ‘Oh, forgive me, sir,’ said Hervey. ‘Miss Lucie, may I present Captain Bauer, quartermaster and acting commanding officer of the Rajah of Chintal’s lancers?’

  ‘Il me donne du grand plaisir de vous rencontrer, madame,’ replied Bauer, his accent clipped.

  ‘Captain Bauer: Miss Lucie,’ continued Hervey, in French. ‘Miss Lucie’s brother is in the Company’s service at Madras.’

  Emma Lucie made more of a bow than a curtsy. ‘Von welchen Staat des Deutschen Bund kommen Sie, Herr Rittmeister?’

  ‘Von Württemberg, gnädiges Fräulein.’

  But, happy though Bauer evidently was with the company of a lady who spoke his language, he had pressing duties to be about, and after a few pleasant exchanges he made his apologies and took his leave.

  Hervey handed his reins to Johnson and invited Emma Lucie to walk back with him to the palace.

  ‘Well,’ she began breezily; ‘it appears the reports of your perilous situation were but exaggeration!’

  Hervey smiled. ‘We have had our difficulties, Miss Lucie, but I believe them to be past.’

  ‘Captain Hervey,’ she smiled, ‘in my experience of this country, as one misfortune abates another follows quickly on its heels.’

  ‘A most depressing observation, madam.’

  She chose not to respond directly. ‘I was in Rajahmundry when I heard, and I thought what Henrietta would do in the circumstances. I had not seen Chintal – the river is very beautiful I heard tell – and had never met the rajah. Mr Somervile always speaks so well of him. And my brother would not too, I think, wish to hear of your lying untended in Chintalpore. So thus I am come.’

  Hervey admired her spirit if not her judgement. ‘I hazard a guess, madam, your brother will be greatly more alarmed at learning of your being here!’

  ‘He will be greatly cheered when he learns of your dash at the mutineers. You recaptured the cantonments single-handed, I learn!’

  ‘Hardly that, madam!’ he laughed: ‘that is far in excess of the truth. But may I enquire how you have learned of it?’

  ‘From the rajah – to whom, of course, I first presented myself on arriving here. He is most happy to receive visitors from Madras.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ he groaned.

  ‘Why do you make that noise?’ she asked.

  ‘Because the rajah’s daughter, the raj kumari, is suspicious that I intend bringing Chintal under the Company’s domination.’

  ‘And what can I be to such a scheme,’ she smiled, ‘a mere woman?’

  ‘The raj kumari is a “mere woman”, madam, and I do not underestimate her power and influence!’

  ‘But it cannot be supposed that I – travelling by budgerow up the Godavari with two servants – am in some way party to intrigue?’

  ‘Miss Lucie,’ said Hervey resolutely, ‘I warrant there is more intrigue here than in Rome. There isn’t a khitmagar who is not party to it. The sister of an official of the Honourable Company must be immediately suspect.’

  ‘Ah,’ she replied simply, though without concern.

  ‘Do not trouble yourself, madam,’ he laughed. ‘I do not believe it will amount to much. I must tell you, however, that I shall in all probability be leaving Chintalpore within the week, and I would advise that you be escorted to Guntoor at that time, if not before.’

  In the shade of the palace’s great walls they were now walking more briskly, and as they passed through the gates a thought seemed to occur to her. ‘You have, I suppose, heard of the latest depredations by the Pindarees?’

  ‘The latest, as I understand, Miss Lucie, are those of which I had intimate acquaintance with Mr Somervile. I believe we were within half a day’s ride of them as they fled into Nagpore.’

  Emma Lucie seemed surprised. ‘Why no, Captain Hervey: there have been more incursions into the Circars since then. There was terrible murder and rapine. They came within the civil station at Guntoor, even, and almost as far as Rajahmundry. There was great alarm.’

  ‘Post hoc ergo propter hoc?’

  ‘In what connection?’

  ‘Earlier you said something about one misfortune following another. I have been at pains to understand events here. I was wondering if there might be some connection between what happened at Jhansikote and the Pindaree depredations.’

  Emma Lucie nodded. ‘Another thing I have observed in this country,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘is that everything is perceived to be a consequence of human intrigue or the malevolence of the gods, no matter how apparent to us might its accidental nature be. If there is no connection between the events to which you refer, there will indeed be a connection in the minds of those who contemplate them, and there will therefore, in time, become a real connection in practice.’

  ‘In that case, Miss Lucie,’ said Hervey, with some foreboding, ‘the situation here may be graver than I feared. But that cannot be a concern of mine – or, I venture, yours.’

  ‘And there is not a frigate of the Royal Navy at hand,’ she replied opaquely.

  He did not catch her meaning. ‘Madam?’

  ‘Captain Peto and the Nisus are at present stationed at the mouth of the Godavari.’

  ‘Then I am pleased for Mr Somervile. I trust that Captain Peto has been able to effect all the repairs he wished for?’

  ‘I know not,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘Nisus was just come one morning – in some show of force, I believe. She was a most welcome sight.’

  ‘A fathom of water,’ smiled Hervey.

  ‘I do not understand you, sir.’

  ‘Something Bonaparte once lamented: wherever you find a fathom of water, there you will find the Royal Navy.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Johnson, can’t you stop that horse from doing that?’

  ‘No, it’s ’ad ginger up its arse since I first took it out!’

  ‘I had hoped for an easy ride this afternoon, and Jessye’s in a muck sweat already.’

  ‘D’ye remember that big geldin’ that Captain Jessope ’ad afore Waterloo? I reckon that ’ad been figged right ’n proper when ’e bought it!’

  ‘Enough about figging, Johnson. If you kept your backside a little stiller you might have mor
e success.’

  ‘Does tha want to change ’orses, sir?’

  Hervey laughed. ‘No!’

  ‘Then we’ll ’ave to make t’best of it. Like life.’

  This was one of the rare deeper revelations of Johnson’s philosophy, a unique distillation of barrackroom wisdom and the residual scripture of his poorhouse upbringing. Johnson saw little point in contemplation. Once, in Spain at the height of the campaign, he had modified the chaplain’s rendering of the Gospel, and ‘sufficient unto the parade is the evil thereof’ had become for a time the axiom of the grooms. Johnson saw no difference in a parade in peace or in war, for each required strenuous preparation, each required him to follow precisely the commands given by word of mouth or the trumpet, and each ended when an officer decided that it should. The interim – whether bloody or not – scarcely mattered. Indeed, Johnson believed that he was alive because there was war, not in spite of it: it would otherwise have been the pit or the foundry for him had not the recruiting party happened his way ten years before (few orphans who found their way into those nether worlds saw more than a quarter of what scripture promised was their span of life).

  ‘Johnson, are you content here?’ asked Hervey, trying once more to urge Jessye onto the bit to stop the jog-trotting to which she had recently become inclined.

  Private Johnson, whose Arab mare had done nothing but jog-trot since they had left the stables a half-hour before, was taken aback by the solicitude.

  ‘Me? Ay, I’m content enough.’

  Hervey knew this to be an expression of considerable satisfaction. ‘You are not overly vexed that we might have been killed at Jhansikote?’ he smiled.

  ‘If it’s all right by thee . . .’ was all that came by reply.

  ‘Johnson, do you ever think that it might be more prudent to follow some other line, perhaps a—’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you are not ill-disposed to the country?’ he pressed.

  Johnson would have sighed had even he not thought it disrespectful. ‘Captain ’Ervey, sir, I’ve ’ad more square meals ’ere than I can remember, and they cost next to nowt. Why is tha concerned abaht me all of a sudden?’

  Now it was Hervey’s turn to feel offended. ‘I have never knowingly been unconcerned! It’s just that you’re far from home, and there’s no knowing when you’ll see it again.’

  ‘Captain ’Ervey, ’ow many times ’ave I told thee I don’t ’ave a ’ome as I calls one!’

  ‘No, forgive me. Perhaps what I meant is being among your own people – being with the regiment, even.’

  ‘Ah well, that’s another matter, but there’s nowt I can do about it so . . . an’ I tell thee, I’ve never eaten as well as ’ere.’

  Hervey smiled again. For an enlisted man food was usually the criterion. ‘And I have observed that you are popular with the rajah’s establishment.’

  ‘If tha means that lass whose father’s one of t’rajah’s fart-catchers – ay.’

  Hervey was now smiling broadly.

  ‘They must ’ave seen Englishmen afore, since they know a few words. But I can’t make ’em understand much.’

  Hervey shook his head, still smiling. ‘Private Johnson, I am of the opinion that you lay on your diabolical Yorkshire speech deliberately to confuse!’

  ‘It doesn’t take much to confuse some officers!’

  Hervey laughed outright. ‘And how much of this lady do you see?’

  ‘Tha means ’ow often?’ he replied, with a wry smile.

  ‘Johnson!’

  ‘I eat with ’em most nights.’

  ‘And native fare is to your liking?’

  ‘I ’ad the shits all last week, but it weren’t so bad.’

  ‘There’s good food enough,’ Hervey conceded, ‘though I confess to a pining for beef!’

  ‘An’ the women is friendly. Even Mr Locke seems to ’ave ’is feet under t’table with one of them naught girls.’

  ‘Nautch girls, Johnson, nautch: there is nothing naught about them. They’re respectable dancers. Their dance is a very ancient one.’

  ‘Oh ay, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I bet Miss Lindsay wouldn’t approve.’

  Hervey felt chastened, even though he did not fancy it true.

  ‘I reckon one of them girls would do Mr Selden a power of good, though,’ he added mischievously.

  ‘Now that’s enough! There’s to be no talk of those matters concerning Mr Selden – anywhere.’

  ‘Well, my lass’s family seem to know about it.’

  ‘I thought you said they couldn’t understand English?’

  ‘We get along with signs and things,’ said Johnson, matter-of-fact.

  Hervey was at once diverted by the picture of their signing Selden’s predilections. ‘What Mr Selden needs more than anything is a good physician. The fever has laid him low again; he could barely raise his head this morning.’

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of talk about ’im ’n them eunuchs. My lass’s folk reckon there’s somethin gooin’ on – fiddles ’n the like.’

  Having become tired with the struggle to keep in a walk, Hervey decided they should trot slowly, even though both mares were in a lather. After a minute or so they were settled to a good rhythm, and Johnson felt ready to resume their conversation. ‘’As anybody found out yet about that ’Indoo as was fished out of t’water?’

  ‘No, not a thing,’ replied Hervey. ‘He was the rajah’s dewan, one of his ministers, that’s all I know.’

  ‘My lass’s folk say that ’e must ’ave been on the take with them that was fleecing t’sepoys.’

  ‘Yes, I had heard something of that too. But it’s all speculation. The rajah is loath to speak of it.’

  ‘What about Mr Selden: doesn’t ’e know owt? Isn’t ’e supposed to know everything that’s gooin’ on?’

  ‘I’ve not had much opportunity to speak with him on the matter. It’s not our concern, in any case. I want to move on to Haidarabad as soon as we can. There’s a lot about this place that I wouldn’t wish to know.’

  ‘’As tha got them papers yet for t’duke, sir?’

  ‘No, not yet. I had hoped by the end of the week, but since Mr Selden is bedded down I fear it will be longer. And those papers, frankly, are part of what I mean by not wanting to know certain things.’

  Johnson said nothing, leaving Hervey to his thoughts. Not wanting to know was perhaps the best policy – for both of them. Little was as it appeared. The tryst at the pagoda, for instance: what did that portend? And did Selden know everything? Was it likely that he did, a horse surgeon periodically racked by fever? Selden himself protested he did not, but . . .

  They rode up to a bluff overlooking the approaches to the palace. Hervey liked to dismount here to take in the view. The horses were glad of the rest, too, picking at the dhak for a stem or two that was worth the effort of pulling, while their riders sat on the ground holding the reins – not, however, before Johnson had thrashed about the ground with his whip, as if he were flaying corn.

  ‘Johnson, I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary to pound with quite so much vigour. The thud of the hooves will have been enough to drive anything away.’

  ‘Tha mustn’t ’ave been close to a snake ’ere yet then. I don’t want one within a ’undred yards of me!’

  Hervey blanched at the recollection of the hamadryads. ‘Let us not talk about snakes.’

  ‘They give me the cold creeps just thinking about ’em.’

  ‘Enough!’

  They sat a full quarter of an hour without a word, taking in the distant views, the horses as content. At length Johnson voiced his thoughts. ‘Can we talk about what we’re gooin’ to do next, sir? It’s not for me to say owt, but . . .’

  Hervey sighed. ‘I’m glad you do say something. I’m glad to have someone who I might speak freely to, for I can’t with any other.’

  ‘Not with Mr Locke?’

  ‘Oh, indeed: I should be very happy to share everyth
ing with Mr Locke, but I am bound to secrecy in this matter, and I have already had to tell you and the frigate’s captain.’

  ‘But you could trust Mr Locke. You saw how he fought at them barracks!’

  Hervey agreed that there was no-one better to have in a fight: ‘But he drinks so much at times – I could not wholly trust his discretion.’

  ‘You might booze it, too, if you ’ad ‘is looks.’

  ‘I’m not making any judgement, Johnson; I am merely observing on his reliability.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted his groom suddenly, springing to his feet and drawing his sabre. He sliced powerfully in one motion straight from the draw to the ground a few yards ahead.

  Hervey was up a fraction of a second behind him, catching the Arab’s loose reins. ‘What the devil—’

  ‘Bastard snake! Bastard, bastard cobra creeping up on us! It could’ve ’ad us both!’

  The headless reptile writhed in the short scrub. Johnson sliced it into a further three parts for good measure. ‘They can grow new ’eads, tha knows! Bastard cobras!’

  Hervey was not inclined to question him on the regenerative properties of Indian snakes, but he looked as close as he dared – which was not very – before coming to the conclusion that they had been in no real danger. ‘Not a cobra but a rat snake.’

  ‘Is tha sure?’

  ‘Moderately. Mr Somervile told me of the difference.’

  ‘It sounds just as evil as a cobra. Why’s it called a rat snake?’