Danger at Dahlkari

by Jennifer Wilde

  I shook my head. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. I had rejoined the garden party and had several more glasses of champagne, and when Michael had finally come out of the palace I had been very charming and just a little tipsy. He had been amused and slightly alarmed at my condition, insisting I eat something, walking with me over the grounds until my delightful haze was gone and I was depressed and silent. Apparently no one had noticed me standing under the trees with Gordon, and I hadn’t told anyone about meeting him. Although there was to be a spectacular fireworks display as soon as the sun went down, an event eagerly anticipated by the guests, I told Michael I had a frightful headache, and he had driven me back to the garrison shortly after five. I had had a restless evening, a sleepless night, and Sally’s enthusiastic chatter about Robert Gordon wasn’t helping my present frame of mind one bit.

  “I told him I didn’t think you had,” Sally continued. “I told him you were in a wretched state last night after the party, wouldn’t eat anything and just mooned about in your room. For some reason, that seemed to amuse him. He asked if ‘the upstanding young lieutenant’ had come by this morning and I said no, he hadn’t, and you weren’t in any mood for riding anyway.”

  “You do talk a lot, don’t you?” I snapped.

  Sally paid no mind to my bad humor. She was so eager to talk about Robert Gordon that she probably didn’t even notice it.

  “Fancy, Miss Lauren, it was him all the time. All those things we said about him—he understood every word! I told him it served him right, pretending not to speak English like that.”

  “I think it was horrible of him.”

  “Not really, not when you stop and think about it. He explained why, and I must say it makes sense to me. If we had known he was English, we’d have been much less cautious. It’s rather funny, actually. Remember how you tried to explain things to him? ‘Dahl-kari. Mc-Al-lis-ter pay many rupees.’ I’ll bet he had a laugh over that.”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “Gordon said you and he had a nice long talk yesterday.”

  “Nice is hardly the word for it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d met him at the garden party? Letting me go off like that, knowing the shock I had in store.”

  “I don’t recall that you told me where you were going.”

  “I guess I didn’t, come to think of it. I didn’t want Reggie or anyone to overhear. Still, I should have thought you’d have told me about it last night. When I came into your room, eager to hear all about the party, you nearly snapped my head off, told me you were in no mood for chitchat. You weren’t yourself at all.”

  “I’m sorry, Sally.”

  “I guess it was the shock of seeing him like that,” she said thoughtfully, “and then all that champagne you drank. Oh, did I tell you he gave me my pistol back? He did. He told me to hold on to it, never leave the post without it. Between you and me, Miss Lauren, I think he’s on to something.”

  “Really?”

  “Reggie claims he hasn’t accomplished a blooming thing, but I have the feeling Gordon is just biding his time. I think he knows a great deal and is waiting to get the proper evidence. He asked me so many questions about the caravan and all, and now and then he would look fierce and give a sharp nod, as though he had known exactly what I was going to say. I think he’s much nearer flushing out these Thugs than anyone suspects.”

  “That well may be,” I said stiffly.

  “You don’t like him, do you, Miss Lauren?”

  “Not at all.”

  “He admires you. I could tell by the way he talked. He asked me a lot of questions about you, too, things that had nothing to do with India or the Thugs. He asked me about the school in Bath, how you got along with the other girls, what you did in your spare time. He asked me if you’d had any beaux, and I said no, not that I knew of. I told him you spent most of your time with your nose in a book. He seemed quite pleased.”

  “I’ll thank you not to ever discuss me with Robert Gordon again, Sally. I—I can’t abide the man!”

  Sally gave me a peculiar look. “I must say, Miss Lauren, I’ve never seen you react quite so strongly to anyone before. Hmmm. Makes you stop and wonder.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I demanded.

  “Noth-ing,” she said carefully. “Nothing at all. Well, since you’re in such a snappish mood and not at all friendly this morning, I think I’ll go up and start on my dress. I bought the most gorgeous bolt of silk in the bazaar yesterday. It’ll make a smashing gown. Bill and I had a great time yesterday, incidentally, but I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested. I’ll see you later.”

  She moved nimbly back into the house before I could stop her and apologize. I knew I was in a foul mood, and I knew why, but it wasn’t fair to take it out on Sally. I felt remorse now, on top of everything else, for I knew I had treated her shabbily. I strolled toward the line of gray banyan trees with their exposed, twisted roots. Tall purple hollyhocks grew in a bed in front of them, and a gorgeous white cockatoo perched on one of the limbs, surrounded by vivid green leaves. It ruffled its feathers, unperturbed by my approach. It was a dazzling morning, awash with streaming silver sunlight, but it might as well have been gray and gloomy for all the good it did me.

  He had been jesting. Of course he had been. He hadn’t meant a word he had said. He couldn’t have meant it. Upset by my experience with the rajah, I had fled the party, seeking a few moments of solitude, and then he had stepped around the tree and I had been startled, shaken to the core to see that harsh, familiar face. I had overreacted. I had been rude and haughty and, yes, horrible to him, and in order to get his own back he had said those incredible words, hoping to unsettle me even further. He had succeeded brilliantly, his reward the sight of me fleeing down the slope in a state of near panic. How he must have enjoyed that. How he must have laughed when I stumbled and almost fell.

  Disguised as a native, working undercover to track down the Thugs, Robert Gordon had rescued us when we were stranded in the middle of desert sand and dense belts of jungle, and later on he had risked his own life to defend us, killing two men in the process. Standing now in the shade of the banyan trees, I could see the curtain of vines parting, and I could see the Thug and the yellow rumal stretched tightly between his hands, and the whole scene played itself again in my mind: his murderous cry and that arm slung around his throat, cutting it off, his mad puppet dance as the arm tightened, the flash of knife in the moonlight, the body crumpling to the ground as the native released it. It had been horrible, but if Gordon hadn’t appeared when he did I wouldn’t be standing here now with the leaves rustling and sunlight striping the lawn and throwing long blue-gray shadows across the back veranda.

  Robert Gordon had saved my life, and instead of thanking him, instead of showing my gratitude, I had flown at him in a rage because he had maintained his cover and let us both think he was a native brigand. I had acted like an idiot, I fully realized that, and I probably owed him an apology. He wasn’t about to get one. I intended to make every effort to avoid the man, and if by chance I encountered him I would be civil out of necessity. I would be cool and polite and remote. I would maintain my dignity and let him see that I had quite forgotten that absurd speech about finally finding a chattle to pack his things and pay his bills and follow him across wild and dangerous uncharted territories.

  A woman would be insane to marry a man like that, I told myself. He would make her life an unmitigated hell. He would be much more interested in his explorations and his writings than in her, and if he didn’t openly abuse her, he would neglect her terribly, noticing her only when she failed to do something right, failed to be the meek, subservient slave he seemed to require. Granted there might be great adventure, great excitement. There might even be moments of shattering happiness when he decided to toss her a bone now and then, for, like those gypsies and highwaymen and ruthless vagabonds, he would be a superb lover, but the bliss would be short-lived and he would be off to discover s
ome lost city and she would be left to pay the bills, pack the provisions, hire the porters and follow after.

  “You’re in a very thoughtful mood.”

  Startled, I looked up. Michael smiled.

  “Michael. I—I didn’t hear you come out.”

  “So I noticed. I hope that dreamy expression means you were thinking about me.”

  He smiled a warm smile, and I was glad the question wasn’t one that really required an answer. Dreamy expression? Whatever could he mean? He was wearing his uniform and, as always, looked spectacularly handsome in the glossy black knee boots, the clinging white breeches and superbly tailored red jacket with gold epaulettes at the shoulders. Although the smile continued to play on his lips, he seemed preoccupied, as though there were something very important on his mind.

  “I didn’t expect to see you this morning, Michael.”

  “Nor did I expect to drop by, but—well, there’s been a new development, Lauren. I’m afraid I’ve come to say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye?”

  “I’m off on another expedition, leaving in a couple of hours as a matter of fact. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It could be two weeks, could be three.”

  “But—”

  “Gordon has reported strong Thuggee activity around one of the distant villages on the very outskirts of the district, up near the tiger country. He claims they have a camp hidden somewhere in the jungle, claims they’re in close contact with the villagers, most of whom are relatives of the assassins in the hidden camp. It has to be checked out thoroughly. I’m taking a full two dozen men with me.”

  “But, Michael, you’re Reggie’s aide. Your work is primarily diplomatic. Isn’t there someone else who could head the expedition? I don’t understand why you have to go.”

  Michael frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows. He looked very stern. “This damned diplomatic work—catering to the rajah, keeping relations smooth between the palace and the garrison—it’s frustrating to a man of action, a man who wants to do something.”

  “What you do is very important,” I protested.

  “It isn’t the same thing. I’m a soldier, not a civil servant. I was trained to fight.”

  “You’ve just recently returned from one expedition—”

  “And I botched that one up,” he interrupted. “I botched it up terribly. We didn’t find a single lead, and the mission went down on the books as a total failure. I need to make up for that. I need to prove that I can do something besides drink endless cups of tea in reception rooms and charm a dissolute native prince into tolerating our presence in his district. I intend to make this mission a complete success.”

  “Will it be dangerous?”

  “Quite likely,” he said. “If what Gordon says is true, it could be very dangerous. I’ve got to go, Lauren. Surely you can see why. Gordon himself recommended me for the job.”

  “Gordon recommended you?”

  “McAllister was against me going, particularly with this bloody tiger hunt coming up, but Gordon told him I should be given another chance, said I’d try twice as hard as anyone else simply because the other mission was such a failure. I resent the man, don’t like anything about him, but I have to be grateful to him. If he hadn’t put his word in your guardian wouldn’t have allowed me to head the mission.”

  “I wish you weren’t going, Michael.”

  I meant that sincerely, and Michael heard the sincerity in my voice. I could tell that it pleased him. He looked at me with those vivid blue eyes, and I could see the tenderness in them. Impulsively, I reached up and brushed a lock of dark blond hair from his forehead. I let my fingers rest for a moment on his lean cheek. Michael stepped closer, the corners of his mouth tightening. He wanted to take me into his arms. He was struggling with himself to keep from doing so.

  “You’ll miss me?” he asked.

  “You know I will. I’ll miss you, and I’ll worry.”

  “Will you?”

  “Every day,” I told him.

  “I’m very glad to hear that, Lauren.” His voice was low.

  “How could you have doubted it?”

  He was standing so close I could see the tiny pink scar on his cheek where he must have cut himself shaving. I saw the intense blue eyes and the high, flat cheekbones and the beautifully shaped mouth: firm, pinkish-tan, curving tensely now as he ached to kiss me. I had rebuffed him that afternoon by the stream, but I knew I wouldn’t rebuff him now. I wanted to be in love with him. I wanted him to kiss me with passionate abandon and drive everything else out of my mind. I wanted him to sweep me off my feet as he had teasingly promised to do.

  “I’m in love with you,” he said.

  “I—I know, Michael.”

  “I’ve never felt this way, never knew I could feel this way.”

  Michael frowned again. He stepped back, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. The fringe on his epaulets swayed and shimmered. He turned and stared at the back of the house, his face in profile. I didn’t know whether I was relieved or disappointed. I was fond of him, so very fond, but that wasn’t enough, and I wanted him to take the initiative and force me to feel those emotions locked up inside. He was handsome and virile and strong, decent and honest and stable, everything any woman could wish for in a man, and I felt certain he could set those emotions ablaze. I hadn’t given him a chance before. Now that I was willing to, he was understandably reluctant. It was my own fault.

  “I don’t want to rush you,” he said gruffly. “I did that once before, and I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. You said you wanted to be sure, Lauren.”

  “I—I know, Michael.”

  “When I get back, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to be prepared to answer it. I’m hoping the answer will be yes. I want you to think about that while I’m gone.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  He turned to face me, and his expression was severe, almost belligerent.

  “I know you don’t like the military life,” he said, his tone still gruff and severe. “I know you think it’s stuffy and dull and too confined, and perhaps it is, but I’m not going to be a soldier all my life. I have plans, big plans.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m not prepared to talk about them yet, but.…” The crease between his brow deepened into a tight line. “I believe I can make you happy, Lauren. I’m hoping you’ll give me the chance.”

  He was extremely uncomfortable. I could see that it had taken a great deal for him to declare himself like this. Scowling, he looked more like an angry little boy than a tender suitor, and I found this endearing. At that moment the white cockatoo began to squawk loudly, making a dreadful racket. Michael gave a start and then looked as though he wanted to throttle the bird. I laughed in spite of myself, and after a moment Michael laughed, too, and, taking my hand, led me toward the back veranda.

  “I have to get back at once,” he said. “There are still a great many things to do before we set off. I didn’t actually have the time to come by in the first place, but I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

  I opened the back door, and we walked toward the front hall. “I’m so glad you did,” I said. “I would have been crushed if you hadn’t.”

  “I’m hoping to be back for the tiger hunt.”

  “Tiger hunt?” This was the second time he had mentioned it.

  “Hasn’t anyone told you about it? The rajah’s going on one of his celebrated tiger hunts in two weeks, and he’s asked the commander and a party of twelve from the garrison to accompany him. The commander is to select the twelve, but the rajah especially asked for you and Dollie and ‘the other English miss’ to be included in the party.”

  “I—hadn’t heard.”

  “The commander doesn’t want to go, of course, but he realizes that a refusal would be a gross insult to the rajah, could cause a serious strain on relations between palace and garrison. The commander fussed and fumed, but in the end he saw there was no way o
ut.”

  “He accepted the invitation?”

  Michael nodded. “Most reluctantly, though. I imagine he’ll tell you all about it later on.”

  “I imagine he will.”

  We were standing in front of the door now. Michael hesitated for just a moment, more uncomfortable than ever, and then his mouth grew tight and his blue eyes were suddenly resolute. Roughly, abruptly, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me vigorously. I was startled, but I made no attempt to push him away. One arm wrapped around my waist, the other curled around the back of my neck, he made a sudden swerve, bending me at the waist and swinging me around until I was almost leaning over backwards, his mouth over mine all the while. When he finally released me, I was breathless, too stunned to speak.

  “Think about that, too,” he said brusquely.

  And then, before I could reply, he opened the front door and stepped out onto the veranda and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the hall. I was still dizzy, still out of breath, not knowing what to make of that sudden lunge or my own reactions to it, but I would definitely think about it.

  As I had been so uncivil to Dollie in the morning, I could hardly refuse to go to the village with her that afternoon. Laden with food and clothes and medical supplies, she made periodic visits to the needy families of Dahlkari, a bright, chatty Lady Bountiful who distributed her parcels with jolly good will and a merry smile, totally unlike the rigid, tight-lipped missionaries and other organized do-gooders determined to do their “duty” and leaving a wake of resentment behind. Although none of the other women on post would accompany her on her charitable missions, all of them contributed parcels, frequently under duress. It was one of the rare times when Dollie used her position as the commanding officer’s wife to bully the others into doing her will.

  The open carriage jolted uncomfortably. As we left the post and started down toward the village, the corporal who served as our driver tugged on the reins to slow the horses. The parcels heaped up on the seat opposite us slipped and slid about, one of them tumbling to the floor. I bent down to put it back in place. Dollie sighed, the girlish black ringlets on either side of her plump face jiggling comically. She wore a blue and maroon striped dress, her black kid boots peeking out beneath the voluminous skirts. A befringed blue shawl was wrapped around her arms, and she held a large blue parasol over one shoulder. I settled back beside her, my lilac skirt rustling. The carriage bounced on down the slope under a sun-drenched pearl-gray sky, yellow heat waves shimmering.