She dressed again in garments that would attract no attention and this time she covered them all with a shapeless, voluminous burqa. It covered her from head to foot, with only a pair of eyelets to reveal any part of her. Under it she also wore a veil and could dispose all her jewellery and much of her money. The rest of her money she put into a small valise with various garments and other necessities. She wore Muslim pantaloons. When she had made her way to the street once more, across the rooftops but descending this time from the opposite end of the street, she would first buy more Muslim clothes. Then she would hire a horse-drawn parda ratha to take her as fast as possible towards the western frontier. The Nawab would know that she would not venture towards the north. The southern and eastern frontiers were closer than the western and in those directions also lay the richest cities. Her best chance of tricking them lay to the west.
She was familiar with the whole of Zafarala. In the days of her apprenticeship as a dancer she had travelled all over it with her teacher’s troupe. She knew where to find a safe refuge near the frontier where she could hide until the hunt died down. When her pursuers failed to find her they would assume that she had already left Zafarala. Then would be the time for her really to do so.
In the meanwhile, in the guise of a Muslim, she could safely camp out in her parda ratha in the compound of the haunted bungalow at Mirgaganj, where the tomb of the Muslim pir was. Nobody would molest her there. The Hindus were too frightened to venture near it. The Muslims had too much respect for it to disturb it. She was a Hindu, anyway, and everyone would assume that she also was too frightened to go there.
She was frightened. Very frightened. But she was more frightened of falling into the clutches of the Nawab.
By mid-afternoon she was well on her way to Mirgaganj.
In the early evening a messenger came from the palace to summon her and her girls to dance for the Nawab. “And tell Shakuntala to bring all her personal possessions with her,” the messenger told the girl who received him.
Shakuntala could not be found and the girls went in trepidation to the palace.
When they were conducted to the Chamberlain he turned sallow with fright.
“You should have searched the house,” he screeched at the eunuch whom he had sent, with a coachman, to fetch the girls in a parda ratha.
“I did, Chamberlain-ji. I searched high and low. She had fled.”
“Go back and bring me those useless, idle, blind guards I set to watch the house. Bring them here at once.” The Chamberlain sped him on his way with a heavy blow across the back with his silver-knobbed staff of office. The man stumbled and fell. The furious Chamberlain rained blows on him while he struggled to his feet.
Then he went, trembling, to tell the Nawab.
The Nawab had worked himself up into a high pitch of anticipation. He listened to the Chamberlain’s halting, mumbled tale with blood mounting to his face, making his head reel. He leaped from the couch on which he was sitting cross-legged with the Dewan, and dragged his sword from its sheath.
“You fool, you are not fit to hold any office in my household... you could not even do a sweeper’s work properly.”
The Chamberlain backed away, holding his staff defensively across his body with both hands.
“Forgive me, Your Highness... it was not my fault... the guards failed to do their duty...”
“You failed me...” The Nawab swung his sword at the Chamberlain’s legs. The Chamberlain automatically crouched and dropped his guard. The blade whistled on the back stroke. The Chamberlain’s severed head fell to the carpet. A torrent of blood gushed from the stump of his neck. His legs continued to work for a moment, carrying a headless body back a pace before it sagged to the ground.
The Nawab gestured to the Dewan.
“Fetch someone to clean up this mess before the girls come in to dance for me.”
He cursed because he could not delay his departure to Girbad beyond the following morning. But he gave orders that Shakuntala was to be found before his return.
*
There had been no fight. When Ramsey and Sher Mahommed Khan arrived at Ghulam Kasim’s house they were told that he had left the previous day on shikar with his fine new guns and was not expected back for another two or three days.
“They lie,” Sher Mahommed Khan growled. “They insult our brave miss-sahib by denying it was their master who...”
“Quiet, brother.”
The men standing around had their hands on the hilts of their swords or knives and the butts of their pistols, or held muskets at the ready. Ramsey had not, anyway, come here to fight. Fruitless sacrifice of two lives had no place in his plan. He had come to confront Ghulam Kasim and ask him what he had expected to gain by abducting Ruth and by his threat in the name of Anwar Ali. It would be useless to challenge him: Indians did not fight duels.
He had gone there in a fury and was not at all sure that he would have been able to restrain himself from a physical attack on Ghulam Kasim. He rode away with his rage only a little abated, but aware that it was as well that he had not encountered him.
Ghulam Kasim’s threat against the small white community was valid. They were all vulnerable; easy targets for murder. A co-ordinated stroke could annihilate them all within the same hour. That would bring the Sepoy Army or British troops thundering down on Zafarala. The murder of the Nawab and the Nawabzada would undoubtedly be carried out at the same time: Ghulam Kasim must surely have sympathisers within the palace. With the blame laid on Anwar Ali’s family and retainers, Ghulam Kasim would emerge as innocent. And, no doubt, the hero of the hour, for he would certainly have led a punitive raid on Anwar Ali’s fortress before the avenging British arrived. He would be the favourite contender for the rulership and, standing high as he did in British opinion, would be made Nawab. Particularly if he had spared the family of the Resident, who thought so well of him.
Ramsey had two calls to make: on the Whittakers and then the Resident.
*
Tired, travel-stained yet freshly shaved, his uniform dusty and eyes bloodshot, Thorn cantered up to the Residency to report to the Resident.
“The Sixty-Ninth is on its way to the Karampur frontier already, sir.”
“You have made excellent time, Thorn. I pray God Colonel Howell will be in time to avert a great disaster. There have been strange events here. The Nawabzada returned from Girbad on the excuse of sickness. Dr. Bond was called but found nothing wrong with him physically. Mentally and nervously, he told me, the boy was close to collapse. There is no explanation of why. The Nawab was reportedly in a fury.”
“The Nawabzada is a plain coward, sir. He must have feigned sickness in order to get away from danger. What about Owthwaite?”
“He is due to return here tomorrow. I shall inform him that the Sixty-Ninth are on their way to the Girbad area.”
Hoof beats drew their attention to the window. A chaprasi entered to announce that Ramsey requested an urgent interview.
Carter frowned.
“With respect, sir, I think it would be worth hearing what he has to say without delay. He is not a man to waste your time or to bring false alarms.”
“Very well.” Carter told the chaprasi to show Ramsey in.
“It is good of you to see me, sir.” The Resident nodded in agreement. Ramsey recounted how Ruth had been abducted and rescued.
“I congratulate you. You did very well: as one would expect of you. Are you sure beyond doubt that Miss Whittaker was not mistaken?”
“Absolutely, sir. Even had she made a mistake in thinking her abductor was Ghulam Kasim — on reflection, she says she recognised his horse as well as his speech — it would still put the entire European community — in which I include the Whittakers — at risk. Anwar Ali’s followers could as easily wipe us all out as could Ghulam Kasim’s.”
“That is so. But I am not inclined to ask the Nawab for protection.”
“Indeed not, sir.”
“I shall inform him of
what occurred, nevertheless. He has the right to know the extent of Ghulam Kasim’s enmity.” The Resident paused. “I am disappointed in Ghulam Kasim. At the risk of indiscretion, I might say I hoped he would rule one day.”
“That was certainly my father’s view.”
“Yes, well, these are dangerous waters. Now, in return for the intelligence you have brought me, I shall confide in you that Thorn had just this moment returned from Ajibnagar. Colonel Howell and your old regiment are on their way to the Girbad area.”
“Wonderful news, sir.”
“The families are on their way here.”
“To Nekshahr?”
“Yes. I sent an invitation with Thorn for Mrs. Howell to come and stay at the Residency.”
“My company commander, Arthur Verity, will be glad to know that his wife and son have a comfortable roof over their heads. I shall ride out to meet the family train and invite Eleanor Verity and young Thomas to be my guests.”
“I shall send a messenger now to the Nawab, asking for an audience in one hour’s time. He will probably keep me waiting another hour and try to fob me off with the Dewan, but I shall stay until I see him in person.”
Thorn said “Let me ride with you, sir, in case there is any substance in the threat to kill us all.”
The Resident smiled. “I hardly think the moment has yet come for Ghulam Kasim to make his bid.”
*
The Nawab was still in a frenzy of anger and frustration over the disappearance of Shakuntala. Even decapitating the man whom he held responsible had not assuaged his wrath. He was drinking and complaining to the Dewan about his chicken-gutted Heir Apparent and about Shakuntala’s trickery.
“You have not yet told why it is essential for you or the Nawabzada to be at the Girbad fort at this particular time, Your Highness.”
“That is my secret. Do not think that you will wheedle it out of me while I am consoling myself for my disappointment with this.” He brandished a golden goblet and wine slopped over its edge. “I have my wits about me, you old fox. I have made a plan... a clever plan... I sent my son to carry it out... he failed me... so I must go myself. I shall tell you no more.”
When the Resident’s request for an audience came, followed in due time by the Resident himself, the Nawab welcomed the interruption. He knew the Dewan’s many subtleties and feared that he would let slip the truth about his going on the morrow to Girbad.
He listened patiently and without interruption to the Resident’s account.
“So you see, Your Highness, the Governor General, of whom I am a humble servant, and the British Government which the Governor General, in his turn, serves, have only your best interests at heart.”
“Resident Sahib, you have my eternal gratitude and respect. So indeed has Rumgee Sahib. I applaud him the more because this perfidious... this snake... Ghulam Kasim is his childhood friend and because he risked his life in going to accuse him. Do not fear, Resident Sahib, all of you are under my protection and no harm shall come to you.”
“I am grateful to Your Highness, but I did not come to ask for protection. I came to inform and to warn you.”
“I shall, nonetheless, give orders for your protection. In my absence the Dewan will be responsible.”
“Your absence, Your Highness?”
“Tomorrow I go to Girbad to show my people that I am not afraid of the Raja of Karampur. Indeed, I go to prevent war. Karampur will not dare to attack, knowing I am at the frontier.”
“But, Your Highness, that might provoke war. It could incite Karampur to attack in the hope of capturing or killing you.”
“False reasoning, Resident Sahib.”
When the Resident had gone, the Dewan saw his chance to insinuate himself into the Nawab’s favour and perhaps in return extract some hint of what was really afoot at Girbad.
“Nawab Sahib, here is a perfect opportunity to trick Shakuntala into giving herself up.”
“What opportunity?”
“Nobody knows that Ooitker Miss-Sahib was abducted and rescued, except a handful of villagers. We will spread the word that the young woman has been abducted and is being held to ransom until Shakuntala surrenders herself to the palace. There is nobody to deny it except a few Europeans: and they have no means of propagating any denial. We, on the other hand, can spread rumour like wildfire. The villagers, of course, must be told not to deny it.”
“Tell them that if they utter one word, their basti will be burned to the ground and every man, woman and child locked in their houses to be burned with their homes and cattle and all they possess.”
“Exactly so, Your Highness.” Such a threat, the Dewan thought, would be well in keeping with the Nawab’s character and nobody would doubt that he meant it.
“What makes you think that Shakuntala will sacrifice her freedom for the sake of this white girl?”
“The young white woman and Rumgee love each other. Shakuntala will make any sacrifice, even her own life, for Rumgee’s sake. She owes her life to him: he saved her from the Thag. She is also — forgive me for reminding you of it — greatly enamoured of him.”
“Go,” the Nawab shouted. “Go and do it now.” He shook with anger at the reminder that Ramsey had been Shakuntala’s lover. Then, as quickly, his temper cooled. He laughed. “By Allah, it gives me great satisfaction to steal her from him. Yes, that is an excellent jest, Dewan Sahib. Go, set the rumour afoot. Warn the villagers what will befall them if they so much as whisper a word of what happened. Let the world think that it is my bodyguard who have abducted the white girl in order to obtain Shakuntala for me. No blame need attach to me personally. Good, Dewan Sahib, I feel better already. I am ready to be pleasured now by Shakuntala’s three dancers. Send them to me before you go to attend to the other matter.”
*
“It’s a race against time, that’s what it is.” Major Owthwaite clumped about the Resident’s office in his enormous thigh boots. The Resident and Thorn were enjoying his discomfiture. “Gawd knows what that ’eathen Nawab is up to. I’ll try to get to the frontier before him, of course. But he’ll know I’m on my way. Word will go ahead of me: you know what it’s like. News goes up and down the pike like the wind. I’m glad to know the Sixty-Ninth are on their way. I must try to beat them to it, too.”
“I am sending Thorn to meet them up there.”
“Then, Captain, you can give Colonel ’Owell a reassurance from me. I don’t suppose ’e knows which way I’ll jump, in this business. He has no need to worry. I am the King’s man, first and foremost, not the Nawab’s. When it comes to British interests, my duty is to King George. I shall defend Zafarala, not attack Karampur. I’ll take a regiment of cavalry. My new light infantry can follow at best speed. They are the fellows equipped with the firearms the Nawab bought from Ramsey. I’ve got a battery of guns on the frontier already. The rest will make forced marches. I’ll be there first, with the cavalry.”
Owthwaite left to give his orders.
The Resident watched him with a cynical expression. He turned to speak to Thorn when the door closed.
“A fine show of loyalty to the Crown. But naturally he wants to get there before Howell and make sure the Nawab does not launch an attack with the troops he already has on the frontier: because he wants to demonstrate that there is no need for a Sepoy Army garrison in this state.”
*
The rumour spread across Zafarala with the swiftness of a gale, as rumours always swept across India. A young white woman from a country called Umrika had been abducted and her life was forfeit. She would be spared only if Shakuntala the dancer, who had been the King of Oudh’s favourite, granted her favours to the Nawab.
It reached Shakuntala in the compound of the haunted bungalow at Mirgaganj. She heard it in the bazaars when she went about in her burqa. It brought an insupportable sickness to her spirit and for many hours she wept quietly and brooded. Her thoughts ranged widely, encompassing her whole life. By the time she fell asleep she had given her ins
tructions to the driver of the parda ratha. She told him that she had concluded her business with the relatives she had come to see. They would set out on their return journey to Nekshahr at dawn.
In the overgrown compound she found what she sought. They were common plants. She carefully picked several of the black, cherry-like berries of the mako, the deadly nightshade, and put them in a small canvas bag with a drawstring to close its neck. Then she washed her hands, although she had taken care not to break any of the skins and stain her fingers with the poisonous juice.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Nawabzada watched his father drive away in a four-horse coach surrounded by an armed retinue.
Every day since leaving Girbad he had spent hours in debate with himself. To disobey a parent was heinous and he was guilty of that. To betray his father’s secret would not make amends or justify his defiance, it would compound the sin. He could not confide in his mother. She was a dutiful wife who condoned all her husband’s misdeeds and never swerved in her loyalty to him. He dared not take the Imam into his confidence, for the Imam would ridicule him for being concerned about the lives of a few score infidels and deliver one of his roaring, spitting lectures about filial piety. He would have liked to take the Dewan into his confidence; but the Dewan kept aloof and, when his father was not present, treated him with disdain. If he spoke to the Dewan now it would invite scorn again for the same reason: in addition, it would give the Dewan an advantage over the Nawab and the wretched Murtaza loved his father.
During a wakeful night preceding the Nawab’s departure for Girbad he had come to a decision he had been trying to justify for days. He watched his father go. If he sent for Ramsey at once, the Dewan would know and be suspicious: it would be obvious that he had been waiting until his father’s back was turned to do something of which he would disapprove.
A Good Soldier Page 36
