Unknowingly, without conscious volition, Marriott had entered the pitiless realms of high political judgement where nothing, least of all friendship, must hinder the greatest good. He crossed a border line, and left loyalty behind.
He plunged into preparations for the company he expected: furnished the rooms in his bungalow, erected huts for the dragoons and stables for their horses. On a scorching October noonday he stood on Hurrondah’s ramparts, spyglass searching the horizon. ‘They will follow the direct road from Moolvaunee to Hurrondah, avoiding Gopalpore - an easier route, and passable for wheels.’
Todd surveyed the plain below, the sepoy ranks like scarlet threads that fringed the Collector’s house. ‘The guard of honour is ready.’ He looked doubtfully at a six-pounder flanking the guard, a motley-uniformed crew at trail and wheels. ‘I trust Hugo’s scoundrels won’t bungle the salute!’
‘Damnable ceremony! Is this the Parade at Fort St George?’ Marriott focused the glass, saw a faraway sparkle and lacings of dust. ‘Here they come. We had better descend to receive them. If Wrangham is not in the column your parading is wasted!’
General Wrangham was. Wearing dusted regimentals and riding a spirited thoroughbred he headed a procession of bullocks, horses, camels, palankeens, ox-carts, elephants, a multitude of pariah dogs and natives by the hundred. A troop of light dragoons jingled in the lead - blue, tail-collared jackets, yellow bullion-braided facings, glittering crested helmets and scarlet English faces. Sepoys presented arms, Todd flourished his sword, the cannon banged and belched out smoke. Birds swept shrieking from the trees, an elephant panicked and lumbered off, the general’s charger shied. He soothed the animal, and lifted his silk cocked hat.
‘Good day to you, Mr Marriott. My felicitations, Mr Todd, on a well-appointed guard. You had notice of our coming, hey?’
Marriott conducted him to the house, where waiters served hock and biscuits. He muttered a quick apology, hastened out, saw among the crowd Beddoes’ mahogany face, powdered wig cascading from a felt three-cornered hat, barrel legs encased in heavy dragoon jackboots formidably spurred. He rode a fat bay cob, and talked with the occupant of a palankeen alongside. Marriott parted the curtains. Amelia leaned from the cushions, prettily flushed, eyes sparkling, golden ringlets wantoning from the cowl of a dimity bonnet. He carried her hands to his lips.
‘After all this time, Amelia! I vow I have never been so happy in my life! You look vastly enchanting! I trust the journey’s rigours have not excessively fatigued you?’
‘I am very well, Charles.’ She lowered her lashes. ‘Mr Beddoes has taken pains to afford me every comfort.’
Beddoes watched them moodily, a frown on the rutted face. Marriott said, ‘Pray allow me to conduct you to your quarters, my dear, where you may refresh yourself directly.’ He handed her from the palankeen, and addressed Beddoes. ‘Accommodation awaits you, sir, in my house. Later, at your convenience, we have business to discuss.’
‘Aye, that we have.’ Beddoes cleared his throat. ‘But I warn ye, Mr Marriott, I am not a man for namby-pamby prattle! Ye know me terms. Seemingly ye’re not of a mind - so why waste words? The thing may be instantly determined, one way or t’other, if ye will but name y’r second!’
‘Sirs, I beseech you!’ Amelia fluttered her hands. ‘This is not the place--! Will you qua Tel publicly, and put me so to shame? All may be amicably agreed, if you will only--’
‘Charles, you wicked dog! How goes the world?’ The dragoon reined a fretting charger, touched fingers to his helmet. The visor shaded a long-nosed, sallow face. ‘Have you wine in this confounded place to moisten a thirsty throat?’
‘Anstruther, by heavens! What do you here?’
‘Cornet of the 19th Light Dragoons, sir, at your service! I come to repel the Moormen hordes you have smoked from their nests like hornets!’ He grinned impishly. ‘And here’s another surprise for you, Charles. Permit me to present...’
He beckoned a willowy rider clad in a knee-length velvet coat, tight buckskin breeches, silver-laced tricorne hat adorning auburn hair elegantly clubbed and tied in a silken ribbon. Marriott instantly recognized the grey Arabian mare, lifted a disbelieving gaze to mischievous emerald eyes, high cheekbones, curved red lips that smiled.
‘How do you do, Mr Marriott?’ said Caroline Wrangham.
‘God save me!’ murmured Marriott.
‘Will ye take wine with me. Sir John?’
‘Willingly, Mr Beddoes, willingly! Your health, sir!’
Marriott stared fuzzily down the corridor of foam-white demask, gleaming silver and sparkling crystal. His banian, mustering servants and ransacking the buzars, had organized a dinner not unworthy of Moubray’s Gardens. A frenzied spurt by the builders had finished the house in time - a waft of sawdust, paint and plaster lingered in the aroma of candle-wax and wine. The wall lights, as yet unshaded - Marriott’s China porcelain shades were taken from a camel-pack in splinters - glowed on low-necked gowns, on scarlet regimentals, on Beddoes’ flowered waistcoat and splendid maroon coat.
Marriott, glooming, considered Amelia, who was vivaciously engaging Ensign Todd. She had been unwilling to attend the dinner, insisting it improper for a Cyprian in keeping to appear in public company with a maiden like Miss Wrangham. No arguments of Marriott’s could move her. At length, exasperated - but appreciating the proprieties which rule polite society - he broached the question delicately to Caroline, and asked if she objected. ‘Why should I?’ she answered. ‘I am perfectly acquainted with Mrs Bradly’s circumstance. Her breeding is unobjectionable, her manners superior; only trials beyond her governance have reduced her to adversity. A misfortune, Charles,’ she added maliciously, ‘I am satisfied you make every effort to alleviate!’
Marriott, flushing, ignored the thrust. ‘She is quite adamant. May I enlist your aid in persuading--’
‘By all means. I endeavoured, during the journey from Moolvaunee, to make her better acquaintance, but always she stood me off. I shall try to convince the silly goose!’
What Caroline said Marriott never knew; he encountered the pair later, strolling the veranda arms about each other’s waist, Amelia weepy-eyed and sniffing, Caroline talking gaily. He wiped his brow, went to supervise the dinner preparations, and covered the fibre matting with a Turkey carpet filched from Fane’s belongings. That individual, offered quarters in the Collector’s house, had shamefacedly refused, insisting on more distant lodgings in Vedvyas’s palace. Marriott eyed the palankeens in Fane’s entourage, espied brown feminine features peeping from the curtains, chuckled and told his dubash to escort the sahib to the palace.
Caroline, typically, had offered no explanation for her astounding presence in the general’s retinue - which was, after all, a warlike expedition. During dinner her father, between mouthfuls of mutton pelaw washed down by claret bumpers, expounded the reasons to Marriott in somewhat embarrassed undertones. ‘ ‘Twas become infinitely tedious in Madras, nothing but drill parades, inspections and paperwork. The Governor-General, Wellesley - damme, he’s Mornington now; must learn to name him right! - plans another campaign, I surmise against the Marathas, and musters troops and stores in Fort St George. The Bengal and Bombay armies likewise prepare for war. I had hoped for a command, at least the Madras contingent.’ Anger sparkled frost in the pale blue eyes. ‘I was wrong. Baird, I am told, leads the army from Madras, and Mornington’s brother Arthur - there’s nepotism rampant! - directs the whole campaign.’ Sir John unclenched his hands, gulped wine. ‘A very tolerable claret you contrive, sir, in this outlandish spot!’
Marriott signalled a servant, and saw the general’s glass refilled. ‘How did Miss Wrangham - ah - persuade you to let her visit a territory so unstable as Bahrampal?’
Sir John examined the plate a waiter slid under his nose. ‘What’s this? Roast venison, as I live! You do yourself well here, upon my soul! Caroline? Well, sir, ’twas this way. My presence being superfluous in Madras, when Harley persuaded the Council to send you cavalry I
decided on leave of absence. A chance to see the country, extend my explorations beyond the Presidency’s confines. Caroline - damn her eyes! - niggled and nagged to accompany me until I was near insane. A determined wench,’ the general added fondly. ‘She is very hard to refuse. After reading your advices to the Council I foresaw little serious risk in Bahrampal. So I yielded, her mother threw a fit of the vapours - and here she is!’
‘Will you take wine with me, Mr Marriott?’ Anstruther called. Marriott absently drank the toast and contemplated Caroline ogling Beddoes. Benevolence and perspiration sheened the old Collector’s teak-like features. The general followed his glance, leaned conspiratorially closer. ‘I suspect a hidden motive, Mr Marriott, Lady Wrangham mentioned, some months ago, she suspected Caroline entertained a partiality towards you. The lodestone attracting a meteor, hey? What do you say?’
Marriott, thunderstruck, swallowed claret thirstily to cover his confusion. ‘But I believe, sir, you will not for a moment contemplate--’
‘Ah! You were then an impoverished Writer; now you’re a Collector drawing - what is it? - five hundred pounds a year. Moreover Harley assures me your future holds great promise. Caroline could do much worse, sir - she could do much worse!’
Marriott twirled his goblet, and let the implications sink into his mind. Marriage to General Wrangham’s daughter - whom he loved; no doubt of that! - a girl of distinguished family, wealthy enough to provide a generous dowry. Sir John’s interest could advance his preferment in the service; Sir John’s pagodas, bestowed through his daughter, would help support the position his new ambitions craved - Member of the Council, perhaps; maybe Governor of Madras, why not?
He looked abstractedly at Amelia. Candlelight bewitched her hair to molten gold and planted radiant sapphires in her eyes. A lovely creature, a possession he was proud to own. Was she become an encumbrance? He had resolved firmly to dissuade her from marrying Beddoes and, if that failed, to call him out. Honour demanded nothing less - how could he submit tamely to a lecherous rake’s abduction of his mistress? Now he was not so sure. Beddoes could conveniently remove an obstacle on the path to fame and riches.
The general endured a tedious anecdote the hicupping chaplain told - a paunchy, dough-faced cleric busy punishing the wine - turned to Marriott and said in lowered tones, ‘I must inform you, sir, I shall by no means consider your suit unless you put an end to a - hr’m - most indelicate connection.’ He glanced significantly down the table. ‘An accomplished and elegant person - at one time, I believe, the toast of Madras’s bucks. But it would be exceedingly improper... you understand?’
Marriott assented unhappily. Wrangham merely confirmed a conclusion already reached. Caroline’s voice jolted him from his thoughts.
‘Where, Mr Marriott, is Captain Amaury hiding?’
The inquiry sounded nonchalant, a fribble in table talk. Nobody could see the hands clasped tightly in her lap. The general frowned: the question struck him as tactless, one he himself had carefully refrained from asking.
‘That I cannot tell you,’ Marriott said. ‘He went suddenly, and left no directions--’
Spurs clinked on the veranda, a dining-room door swung wide. A tall scarlet-coated figure blinked in the sudden light. Dust floured the regimentals, mottled boots and breeches; the ruddy face was tanned a walnut-brown. Amaury swept the helmet from his head, and bowed. ‘Your servant, sirs - and yours, my ladies!’ Anstruther lurched to his feet, extended a welcoming hand. ‘Hugo, by God! Where have you sprung from? Miss Wrangham was this moment asking--’
Caroline rose. Her lovely face was pale, and she swayed slightly on her feet - possibly a passing faintness caused by the heat and wine. She caught Amelia’s eye. ‘I collect, Mrs Bradly, ’tis time we retired, and left the gentlemen to their wine. By your leave, sirs...’
Amelia followed grudgingly. She had been enjoying herself, and wanted to hear about Amaury’s doings. But she had glimpsed an odd appeal in Caroline’s glance, an urgency, a hint of desperation. What ailed the girl, she wondered, watching her restlessly pacing the drawing-room carpet. Amelia poured coffee, handed her a cup and saw, bewildered, a panic-stricken look in the gold- green eyes.
Amaury sank gratefully into a chair, stretched his legs, patted his regimentals and lifted a dusty cloud. ‘Pray forgive my state; I have this moment quitted stables after quartering the squadron.’ He raised a brimming goblet - ‘Your health, Sir John, and yours, gentlemen’ - and drained it to the lees. ‘I am happy to inform you, Charles, the Pindaris took a beating.’
‘Famously done, sir,’ Beddoes said. ‘Where did ye catch em?’
Amaury gestured vaguely. ‘Somewhere over the border - in Berar, I believe.’
Marriott said pleasantly, ‘Hugo, ’tis entirely forbid by Governor-General’s edict that the Company’s military should trespass in native territory.’
‘Fudge, sir - odious fudge!’ Beddoes roared. ‘Damn all rules and regulations! I’d have done the same meself - indeed, have done so years agone! I remember...’
‘Hardly the Company’s military.’ Amaury smiled, and tilted a decanter. ‘Uncommonly good port, this. Your cellar, Mr Beddoes, I presume? Irregular cavalry, Charles - which you insistently refused to muster on Company rolls.’
‘You split hairs, Hugo. They belong to Bahrampal - for whose governance, let me remind you, I am solely responsible - led by an officer holding a Directory commission.’
‘Not for very much longer. My swan song, Charles, as a Company soldier. ‘ ‘Tis done, so let it rest.’
General Wrangham pinched his crimson beak; his eyes were kind beneath the shaggy brows. ‘Hr’rm. In that affair, Captain Amaury, I have wrote again to Leadenhall Street, urging very strongly your retention in the service. I am persuaded that my words will carry weight.’
Amaury lifted his glass, stared through the roseate glow at a candle’s wavering flame. ‘I am sensible of your interest, sir. But I fear it is far too late.’
‘Upon my conscience, Charles, I have no slightest inkling of the reason for this challenge, though Beddoes positively asserted you would perfectly recall the. provocation. He asked me to act for him, and request you name your second. I could not in honour refuse!’ Anstruther, in resplendent regimentals, stood rigidly to attention; but embarrassment thawed formality, and he looked distressed.
Marriott finished his coffee, pushed away the breakfast litter, lighted a cheroot. He hooked a chair with his foot and drew it to the table. ‘Sit down, Richard. Let us not be pompous. A weed? I know the reason very well - and shall not divulge it. So Beddoes wants a meeting, as he threatened,’ he mused aloud. ‘And if I kill him, or he me, what will it solve? That aged nabob is a relic from the past, when swords or pistols settled every problem and gentlemen, their asinine honour intact, went happily to the grave and left the problems unresolved. We live in more considerate times.’ He saw Anstruther’s puzzled expression. ‘No, Richard - you do not understand: another is concerned in this dispute, whose wellbeing must be respected.’
Marriott stood, and stubbed his cheroot. ‘Before we arrange a duel,’ he went on, ‘which might cause irreparable harm it were best I talked to Beddoes.’
‘A challenge has been delivered,’ Anstruther mumbled. ‘ ‘T - would be most improper for the principals to meet before the fight!’
‘To hell with the proprieties! Pour yourself coffee, Richard, or do you prefer brandy? No? I shall see Beddoes immediately; then send Todd to wait on you or else inform you that the quarrel is amicably settled.’
He strolled along the veranda, knocked on a door. Beddoes sprawled in a lounging chair, attired in a puce-coloured bedgown, hairy chest exposed, paunch bulging like a pudding over cotton Musulman trousers. A barber lathered his face, a servant swished a fan above the bristly head. He cradled on his stomach a tumbler of brandy-pawnee; and heaved himself erect on Marriott’s entry. ‘Zounds, Mr Marriott! Has Anstruther not called on ye?’
‘Indeed, sir. I have this moment left him.�
�
‘Then, by God, ye’ve nothing to say to me!’ Beddoes flicked soap-suds from quivering jowls, and flourished the servants away. ‘ ‘Tis abominable ye should be here at all! I’ll see ye on the field, sir-not before!’
‘Mr Beddoes,’ Marriott said tightly, ‘I have no intention of fighting you. Mrs Bradly’s interests entirely forbid it!’
Hooded violet eyes examined Marriott keenly. ‘Egad, in course they do! But if ye won’t release her from y’r keeping, what other road remains? I tell ye, sir, I mean to marry Amelia - unless y’r bullet stops me!’
‘There will be no bullets. I shall speak to her, plead my case, leave to her the choice and abide by what she says. You have my word!’
A sardonic grin creased the oak-brown face. ‘I don’t doubt ye’ll keep a rein on y’r persuasions! D’ye think I’m blind, Mr Marriott? Ye’re angling after a bigger fish, and Amelia’s like a log that snags y’r line!’
Marriott bridled his temper. ‘If that be your surmise, sir, why are you determined on a duel?’
‘Some men,’ said Beddoes grimly, ‘are the better for a shooting.’ He reclined on his chair, and bellowed for the barber. ‘Whatever humbug blandishments ye may dangle afore Amelia, I think ye waste y’r time. Good day to ye, sir - and in future keep out of me way!’
Marriott stamped to the veranda, leaned against a pillar and fought to control his fury. Confounded old quiz! Damned impertinent scoundrel! He walked quickly to Amelia’s room and tapped. She sat in front of a chest of drawers, shawl round shoulders; a Portuguese maid brushed waistlong rippling hair. Marriott jerked his head, dismissing the woman, and came at once to the point.
‘Amelia, I have had a horridly vexatious tattle with that old blackguard Beddoes - he seems obstinately mad on carrying you off! Your future must be settled one way or the other. I insist you plainly declare your mind - and I will not have it gossiped that I heartlessly cast you away!’
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