‘I was down the mines again today,’ Oliver said as we finished. ‘You were right, Laura. It is infinitely preferable to be shot at in the open air than to anticipate being shot at down there.’ He moved his stool so that he could lean his back against the wall and stretch out his long legs.
‘I still think you are foolish to go down, Oliver. You aren’t up to the strain, and you couldn’t move quickly enough if you had to get out in a hurry. You’re too big!’
‘I’m not as big as Kavanagh, and he spends so much time down there in the darkness, he’ll come up one day to find he’s grown claws like a badger. Curious fellow that Kavanagh. You know him, I suppose, Charles?’
‘Everyone knows Kavanagh. The biggest braggart and the most confounded bounder in the place!’
‘That so?’
‘Och, sure now, Charles,’ protested Kate. ‘The man’s had a rough time of it and he’s been doing his best for us all, in his way. There’s been no one like him at the mining since Captain Fulton was killed, and he’s lost a child, you know, and his wife’s been wounded too. And did you ever know an Irishman who didn’t talk too much?’
‘He’s very warlike in his attitudes now, but how did he start life?’ Oliver asked.
‘Oh, just a clerk,’ said Charles, ‘an uncovenanted civilian. If you ask me, this business has been a godsend to him. Always fawning around the generals and the staff officers and giving advice on the native character and so on. An insufferable bounder. I hear he has a large family and many debts.’
‘Well, that would explain his anxiety about money, I suppose. Never talks to me of anything else, and in the intervals spends his time totting up rows of figures on little scraps of paper he keeps in his helmet. I thought he was ill today. Restless as the devil; kept muttering to himself and once I swear he was blubbering about something down in that infernal smelly blackness. Couldn’t think what had got into him.’
‘Perhaps he has had too much of the mines. Is he becoming a little hysterical from the strain?’ I wondered.
‘Could be, I suppose. And I wouldn’t blame him. I might come up gibbering like a maniac myself one day. Don’t like it at all.’
‘I was watching the semaphore at work at midday,’ Kate said after a while. ‘Most ingenious, but a terribly exposed position and the firing was very heavy.’
‘The Baba-log are using it for target practice,’ Charles agreed. ‘It’s been down a few times now. A fellow from our battery volunteered to put it back together again this morning and was lucky to get down with his skin in one piece. He says the wind up there is enough to cut you in two, never mind the pandies’ bullets.’
‘There’s great interest in the fortunes of the thing down at the Ferret Box too,’ Oliver concurred. ‘I am told that a couple of excursions up the tower should be good for a Victoria Cross at least. Anxiety to find the courage to volunteer to repair the machine is outweighed only by the anxiety that it might not be shot down again.’
‘Still the old cynical Oliver,’ Kate observed without rancour.
‘Merely because I am entertained by my fellows’ careful weighing up of risk versus glory? But I assure you it is true.’
‘I’ve no doubt it is. I heard Captain Masterson discussing what the perks would be if he were to lead a sortie as far as the Tehri Kothi. It took no great eloquence to persuade him only a grave would be his reward, so he stayed within the entrenchment.’
‘And why may not a soldier anticipate or plan for decorations?’ asked Charles. ‘In any other profession, rewards of some sort are part of the inducement to taking it up, and God knows the pecuniary advantages in winning a medal for valour are insignificant enough!’ He was heated, and I recognized the look in Oliver’s eyes that meant he had achieved what he had set out to do.
‘No reason at all. No reason. But I cannot see why I should be considered cynical for merely observing—not decrying, mind you—what is surely a cynical practice.’
‘Yes,’ Kate said judiciously. ‘I suppose it is a little dubious, trying for a decoration in order to get the pension attached to it. But surely understandable; as Charles says, a soldier’s pay is scarcely princely and even the small annuity carried by these things can make a difference.’
Later, when the dark had fallen, I went to the verandah steps with Oliver, but he only pressed my hand as he said goodnight. Filled with a sense of incompletion in myself, I watched him walk away. Nothing had really been settled by our long, troubled talk on Germon’s roof. We had used many words, but when it came to the point, I felt that we had failed to say anything to each other. As on countless occasions in the last couple of days, I told myself that if he would only give me an opportunity to explain myself more coherently, more plainly, he must understand my point of view and accede to my wishes. It looked, however, as though he had decided not to give me that chance. I knew he loved me. I loved him in return, yet somehow we had not only failed to reach an understanding but had perverted the sense of each other’s words and allowed ourselves to be diverted from the main issue by his jealousy of Charles and my justifiable annoyance at that jealousy. We had ourselves erected the barrier that was now between us.
When I got home from the hospital a day or two after the tinned tongue supper I found the whole entrenchment buzzing with talk and the name of Kavanagh on every lip.
‘Major Bonner was there, my dear Mrs Barry, actually there with the General and members of the staff when it was all decided, and he never breathed a word to me of what was afoot. He’s so responsible, Major Bonner, but I really do think he could have dropped a hint to his own wife.’
Mrs Bonner, sipping toast-water in our kitchen, was not quite sure whether to be pleased or chagrined that her husband had been implicated in the latest drama without her knowledge or approval.
I asked what had happened.
‘Well, Mr Kavanagh last night volunteered to make his way to the Alum Bagh through the enemy lines to guide Sir Colin Campbell’s column into the city. This afternoon there was a signal flag on the Alum Bagh—and Henry Kavanagh is safe.
‘Well, really it gave them all quite a turn!’ Mrs Bonner continued. ‘You see, apparently General Outram had said that he could only permit the venture if Mr Kavanagh could persuade him, the General I mean, that he could pass as a native. With all that red-gold hair and those blue eyes, I suppose the General thought he was safe enough, and that he would hear no more of the matter from Kavanagh.
‘Major Bonner assures me, however, that the General was most intrigued by the idea and by Mr Kavanagh. Quite taken up he was, the General, by the enthusiasm and spirit with which Mr Kavanagh outlined his scheme. And then, of course, Major Bonner says that the General has been worried for some time about getting messages through to the Alum Bagh. He had given instructions that Sir Colin should approach us through the very outskirts of the city, from over the canal, but without a guide; why, you know what those little lanes and narrow roads are like? But Mr Kavanagh knows the place like the back of his hand, so he told the General, and would make an excellent guide.’
Mrs Bonner gently righted the muslin cap on her head and looked a threat at Minerva, who was on the point of bursting excitedly into her narrative.
‘Well then, last night after dinner, some of the officers of the staff were enjoying a cheroot when, to their complete amazement, a strange native entered the room—wearing shoes, mind you—and seated himself, actually seated himself, on a chair in the presence of all the gentlemen. Naturally, everyone was both astonished and horrified at this … this quite extraordinary lack of manners on the part of a native, and two or three of the gentlemen tried to throw him out of the room. Even General Outram did not recognize him at first, for he was wearing a turban, you see, and tight-fitting trousers and a muslin shirt, an orange silk jacket and a cummerbund.’ Mrs Bonner, in the best tradition of Anglo-Indian womanhood, who equates a deliberate mispronunciation of Indian words and phrases with social superiority, said ‘commerband’. ‘He carried a sw
ord and a dagger and had leaned a great embossed buffalo-hide shield against the chair.
‘Well, of course, Mrs Barry, when at last someone did see through his disguise, you can imagine the surprise! Major Bonner said he couldn’t, actually could not, believe his own ears when Mr Kavanagh began speaking English like an Englishman. And—oh yes!—his face, neck and hands had been coloured with lamp black and oil, so that really, the Major says, there was absolutely no telling him apart from a rowdy from the bazaars. Of course, everyone laughed and joked and the General himself wound the turban more correctly, but at last the time came for Mr Kavanagh and his native guide to leave. The most affecting moment it was, Major Bonner says, quite harrowing indeed. It suddenly struck them all that it might well be the last time they set eyes on the brave man. They shook hands and wished him luck and at the last Captain Sitwell prevailed on him to carry a loaded double-barrelled pistol—so that he could despatch himself, don’t you know, in case of capture and the sort of lingering death which would most certainly be his in such case.’
‘Oh, mama!’ Minerva covered her face with her hands and shuddered. Mrs Bonner’s many empty chins quivered with complacent pride in the effect she had produced on her daughter.
‘Quite, Minerva!’ said she. ‘Kavanagh was carrying the message and a letter of introduction to Sir Colin in his turban, and Major McIntyre was to raise a flag at midday to indicate that the hero had arrived safely in the Alum Bagh. I declare … the whole thing has truly been most romantic, wouldn’t you agree? The Major says it will constitute an epic for the example of all English young men in the future. And to think that my dear husband has had a part in it all!’
‘And he will get a decoration—and the pension that goes with it?’ I asked.
‘Certainly. And had he failed, I am sure that his grateful country would not have let his family starve.’
‘And what of the native spy? What do they say his name is?’ said Kate.
‘Kanauji Lal, I believe.’
‘I trust he has also got through safely?’
‘Oh, well, I really don’t know, but I expect he must have.’ Mrs Bonner had obviously never given the matter a thought, but I could not help wondering just how far Mr Kavanagh would have got without the help of his brown-skinned guide.
‘And will his bravery also, I wonder, constitute a shining example for our young men?’
Kate was being deliberately provocative and I loved her for it. While not wishing to denigrate the daring of Mr Kavanagh, it seemed to me that the exploits of men like Kanauji Lal, Ungud, and many others of the cossids or native messengers, were even more worthy of praise. Mr Kavanagh, after all, had obviously risked his life deliberately for the gain of himself and his family. The native spies had risked theirs, and repeatedly, in contradiction of all they held most dear on the natural plane, to defend an ancient and honourable but nebulous ideal—the ‘keeping of salt’.
I suppose Mrs Bonner made some reply to Kate’s acid comment, but I did not hear it, for my mind was once again on my own inner troubles. Here was I, trying to take an impartial view and coming out on the side of the Indian, more sympathetic, more truly appreciative of the Indian’s bravery than that of the white man. Would I have been capable of doing the same thing a year before? Before I had begun to know the mind and opinions of Oliver Erskine? Had he affected the direction and tenor of my inmost thoughts so radically? Or was it due more to a justice of mind that my father had always striven to inculcate in me in his eccentric and unorthodox fashion?
But, having thought once of Oliver, I continued to think of him, while our visitor, Kate and Jessie talked on, and young Minerva, sitting on her hands with inelegant eagerness, drank in every word that passed between her elders.
CHAPTER 4
That evening, for the first time since he had left the Gaol for his quarters in the Farhat Baksh Palace, Oliver failed to visit us. Instead, Toddy-Bob loitered in to tell us that his master had drawn a late duty in the new mine being driven under the garden wall of the Chathar Manzil Palace, designed to unmask two batteries of our guns when the time came for us to support the incoming force of Sir Colin Campbell.
My heart sank at this intelligence. I had made up my mind while Mrs Bonner was expatiating on the heroism of Mr Kavanagh to make one final attempt at explaining my mind to Oliver. Rather, that was what I thought I intended to do, but, more accurately, I hoped that a further conversation with him would help me to know my own mind with greater thoroughness and precision. I suppose I was beginning to waver in my conviction that not even for his sake would I consent to live in the mofussil of India again, but as usual I was finding it difficult to not only recognize but also admit error. Perhaps what I really wished was to be persuaded to live his life; not given an ultimatum to do so—or else. A justifiable enough sentiment, no doubt, but on the other hand was it not I who had introduced the acrimony into our discussion on Germon’s roof, and I, in fact, who had invited the ultimatum?
Toddy had found us, Kate, Charles and myself, sitting at the table writing our first letters home. Jessie, having put Pearl to bed, had settled down by the lantern to her knitting, and when I had finished my own letters, I would write hers at her dictation, for she had never been to school.
I found it uncommonly difficult to compose my thoughts, and not only because they were occupied with Oliver Erskine and my own problems. England, Mount Bellew, my relatives, had all receded so far into the background of my consciousness during these last months that I could not now make them real to my imagination. With so much to tell them, so much to explain, where could I begin, and what would they most want to know? I was relieved when, after looking at a blank sheet of paper for twenty minutes, Charles thrust it away from him and exclaimed, ‘Deuce take it, I cannot go on with this! I do not know how to put it, and they will never understand my decision.’
‘What decision?’ I enquired, in order to postpone the moment of putting pen to paper.
‘I have decided not to go home with you and the baby, Laura.’
‘But, Charles, whatever else can you do? Of course you are coming home. Everyone is coming home.’
‘No, they are not, you know. The women, of course, and the men who are sick or too old or in the Civils, but most of them will be staying on. They are needed here. I … I have been trying to tell you for the last couple of days, but—well, I have volunteered to remain on. With the Army. With the Volunteer Cavalry, in fact, Lousada Barrow’s lot. I cannot turn my back on everything that has happened here, and sail home to England as though I have had no part in it and no interest in the outcome. Naturally, if Emily had lived, there would have been no option for me, and no necessity either for me to feel as I do. I have been thinking of it for some time—ever since the relief. I had to face the fact of leaving then, so I began to wonder whether I could.’
‘But, Charles, you have obligations to the living too, to Pearl and your mother, even to Emily’s father. Have you not considered your position with the firm?’
‘I know, I know. I have given it a great deal of thought. As to the baby, she will be well enough with you and Jessie and her grandparents for a year or two. And as to Hewitt, Flood & Hewitt, I believe they will keep my place open for me when they know what I am doing out here. If they don’t, well, my own income will suffice for Pearl and myself until I can find something else at home, or perhaps out here, who knows? To tell the truth, Laura, I’d be relieved to know I need not go back to the City. Never was the life for me. I believe I told you so a long time ago.’
‘But you are not a soldier, Charles, and to choose to remain out here after all you have been through …’
‘I believe I might have made a better soldier than a businessman. It was what I always wished to be when I was young and, don’t you see, it is just because of all we have been through here that I feel I must stay?’
‘To avenge Emily? That is ridiculous, Charles. A heathen conception.’
‘I do not agree with you, and it’
s not only Emily … all the others too. I suppose you cannot agree with me, but I feel that the least I can do, having lost my own, is to try to make this country safe for the womenfolk that remain. And for those that will come after us, I suppose.’
‘It’s not your country, Charles. You are only a visitor. It’s not your quarrel.’
‘But the quarrel has become mine. How could it be otherwise?’
For a moment we were silent, as I thought over this new development and wondered at the extraordinary workings of the male mind. Jessie’s needles clicked comfortably on and Kate regarded Charles over the top of the steel-rimmed spectacles she wore for close work.
‘And how in the world will you ever find yourself settling down in England again, Charles, after the sort of life you’ll be living out here with the Army?’ Kate asked eventually.
‘I’ll face that when it comes. As I say, perhaps I won’t have to settle down in England again. Perhaps I’ll find something more congenial out here, in the Army—or in Calcutta with my own firm. That is a distinct possibility, after all.’
‘I see.’
Another pause; then Charles shifted on his stool and said, with his head bent, not looking at us, ‘The truth is, I cannot face going back to Mount Bellew and remembering things as they were when we left it … without Emily. And also, I’ll make no secret of it, I have found myself drawn to what is called a life of action. I’d never experienced it before, but I find I enjoy the company of likeminded men, the sensation one knows on completing a hard job well done … the companionship, I suppose. I’ve never had a real sense of purpose before, and I used to envy Oliver that when I accompanied him around his estate. It’s not something one finds behind a desk piling up money for other people’s benefit. In any event, however absurd it may seem to you or to the people at home, I have made up my mind. I’m staying here.’
Could he still be thinking of eventually becoming partner and heir to Oliver, as Emily had once wished? It seemed likely and, if so, Charles was taking a step more likely to ensure that outcome than going back to England would have done.
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