Abounding Might

by Melissa McShane

  The shadow woman waved a dismissive hand. “Not here. Not ever. Danger, there is.”

  “Someone killed Vaachaspati last night, we believe because of the questions we asked. There is danger for you as well.”

  “We are protected. But do not find us again. We not here.”

  “I understand.” She was not entirely certain that she did, but she certainly understood that drawing attention to these women by retracing their steps to this tent might be fatal for them. “Do you know what we intended to ask Gopika?”

  A shifting of weight, a rustle of cloth. “You seek to know of the prince.”

  “Yes, we have heard the old prince might have—there was a third child, was there not?”

  Silence. The creaky voice spoke at length. “We do not give our words free,” the woman said.

  Daphne fumbled with her purse, hesitated, then withdrew a single coin. “We do not pay for nothing,” she said. “This is to show we respect you. More if your information is valuable to us.”

  The woman plucked the coin from her hand and made it disappear into the shadows. “This is my mother, nurse to the prince’s second wife,” she said. “She went with her to her father’s house, after the death.” She spoke quietly to her companion, who responded with a lengthy stream of syllables. “She says the prince’s wife was with child. She gave birth in her father’s house and died soon after.”

  “What of the child?” Daphne asked.

  The woman spoke again in Hindoostani, and the old woman responded. “The child, no… inheritance. The father, his mother’s father, raised him as his own.”

  “But he should have been prince of Madhyapatnam, correct? Had his father not died?”

  “Sahibs took the land. Mother’s father believed they would kill the boy if they knew.”

  “They would not have killed him,” Daphne said.

  The woman shrugged and spoke to her mother. The old woman hesitated, then said something short and curt. “She says the past will not be the past. But the heir knows it not. And he has allies who care nothing for Madhyapatnam. He will take his heritage and see us destroyed.”

  “I don’t understand.” She wished with all her heart Bess could read this woman’s mind—but her thoughts would likely be in Hindoostani, and mind-reading was impossible.

  The woman spat out a harsh syllable Daphne thought might be profanity. “The heir wishes to bring back the past. We are all in danger.”

  “Danger, from the heir?”

  The woman nodded. Daphne jerked in surprise as the old woman grabbed her hands the way Gopika had and squeezed them. “The sahibs’ house will be empty, the redcoats bloodied.”

  Bess said, “But forcing those of us at the Residence to leave—even if that were possible, the Company has tremendous resources. They would send more regiments to defend Madhyapatnam.”

  The woman shrugged again. “The heir strikes from hiding. He has men and guns. He will not stop until he has what is his, no matter what it does to his people.”

  “Where? Where is he hiding?” Daphne said.

  Again, the two women conferred. “We know not. Not in Madhyapatnam. Ghost. You go now.”

  Daphne took out a few more coins, choosing them by feel. “Thank you. Will you be safe?”

  “Go your way, kūdne vālā, and do not return. This place not be here.”

  Daphne stood and helped Bess to her feet, then lifted her friend and Bounded back to the Residence drawing room. “Please tell the others where we are, and ask them to return,” she said. “I hope what we have just purchased will make a difference.”

  “It will not matter,” Ainsworth said. “It’s not as if the Company is going to return Madhyapatnam to the Hindoos. The revenues alone—not to mention setting a poor precedent—”

  “I doubt this missing heir is much moved by what the Company policy is,” Fletcher said. “He is likely to strike at us until we retreat or are destroyed.”

  “But we have no idea what kind of resources he has,” Daphne said, “aside from how he can start riots and have a man murdered. Would he not need an army to face ours?”

  “The Residence troops are not much of an army, and he might have his forces concealed in plain sight, among the people of Madhyapatnam,” Fletcher said. “If the unrest persists, he might turn a low-grade feeling of dissatisfaction into full-blown revolution. That is not something we can stand against.”

  “Should we perhaps discuss this with Sir Rodney present?” Bess said. “It is his Residence, after all, and he is responsible for the defense of the territory.”

  “Madhyapatnam is his province, true, but the investigation is ours,” Fletcher said, “and it is I who will ultimately bear the responsibility for ending this unrest. We must find this missing heir before he can cause greater violence. If those women are correct, and the man cares nothing for the people of Madhyapatnam, thousands of innocents will suffer. That is unacceptable to me.”

  “The women said he does not care what happens to the people, so long as he has what is his,” Bess said. “Surely the people of Madhyapatnam will not heed him, if they know he cares nothing for them?”

  “If he can fool them into believing his claim is legitimate, and that they will benefit more from his rule than from that of the Company, they may believe him just long enough to restore him to his place,” Daphne said. “What can we do to prevent it?”

  “We know there’s a prince—an heir, anyway,” Wright said. “We know he intends to drive the Europeans, us, from Madhyapatnam. But we don’t know where he is, except that he isn’t in the city.”

  “Nicely summed up, but it gets us nowhere,” Ainsworth said. “We have to find the sprog before anything else goes wrong, and we have no idea where to start.”

  “We will get nowhere if we continue with such pessimism as the two of you display,” Daphne said. “Surely there is some way to track the young man down.”

  “If his goal is to encourage us to leave, or to kill us,” Fletcher said, “we must search out rumors centered on destruction of the Residence. Not everyone in Madhyapatnam will support the young man’s bid for power, believing rightly that his plans will throw the entire district into turmoil and cause many deaths. They may be persuaded to, if not come to our aid, at least not permit us to suffer from his plans.”

  Daphne sighed. “You are about to tell me I must remain behind.”

  A muted laugh ran round the room. “Lady Daphne,” Fletcher began.

  “Oh, I understand, I simply dislike the prospect. But as Miss Hanley and I have provided key information today, I am not resentful.”

  “You have both contributed marvelously. Those women would never have spoken to a man,” Fletcher said.

  “It’s unfortunate we did not see where you went,” Wright said. “More information about those women might have given us some idea of where else to look.”

  “Their safety was more important.” Daphne resisted the urge to tuck her feet comfortably under her bottom. “Suppose our man, or his assassin, followed us? I could not bear the thought of that child being killed simply for what she might have told us. Which was nothing, as she did not speak our language.”

  “There is yet time to search the neighborhood for rumors,” Phillips said. “I believe we should do so before night falls.”

  “I agree,” said Fletcher. “And tonight I will confer with Sir Rodney. I hope to be able to give him good news.”

  Daphne turned to address Bess, who had her head tilted back. Everyone waited politely for her to finish her communication, even Wright, who had his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” Bess said after a moment. “Government House requests Lady Daphne’s presence to bring Lady Loudoun to India.”

  “It seems we will all have some occupation this afternoon, save Miss Hanley,” Daphne said, rising from her seat. “Good luck, gentlemen, I shall return shortly.”

  It took her only half an hour to convey Lady Loudoun and her belongings, as the children were remaining behin
d that night. To her surprise, the countess took Daphne by the arm and drew her along after her toward her apartment in Government House. “There is to be a gala tonight, and I wish you and Miss Hanley to attend,” she said. “You must be so bored in Madhyapatnam.”

  “Oh, my lady, we are not—that is, sometimes we are bored, but you must not believe—it really is quite exciting, when it is not dull.”

  Lady Loudoun laughed and patted Daphne’s arm. “Nevertheless, you must not isolate yourselves. I insist on your being present. There are so many pleasant young men I intend to introduce to you. Though I regret Captain Fletcher is on assignment. You seemed to enjoy one another’s company, when you met…?” Her tone was one of inquiry blended with gentle suggestiveness.

  Daphne successfully kept from blushing. “Captain Fletcher is… very agreeable, and I have enjoyed spending time in his company in Madhyapatnam.”

  “Well, he will simply have to do without you for an evening. Eight o’clock, and be prepared to dance!”

  Daphne left her at the entrance to the Governor-General’s wing of the palace and trudged back down the stairs, looking for a private room she might Bound from. A gala would be pleasant, true, but she found the thought of dancing with strangers enervating, as if Lady Loudoun had asked her to Skip around the world instead. No doubt it was merely that Fletcher had not been invited; dancing with him was truly pleasurable.

  She Bounded back to the drawing room and found it empty. Likely Bess had retired to their room for a nap before supper. Well, it was not as if she had anything better to do. Bess might be even more bored than she was—no, Bess could never be bored so long as she had her reticulum to communicate with. In fact, Bess frequently forwent conversation with other Speakers in favor of keeping Daphne amused. Daphne felt slightly guilty about monopolizing her friend’s time like that.

  She Bounded to her bedroom and dropped heavily onto the bed. Bess lay still on her own bed, fully clothed, her spectacles neatly folded and set on a nearby windowsill. “Lady Loudoun has invited us to a gala tonight. Well, I say ‘invited,’ but it was more—”

  “Daphne,” Bess said, “John is dead.”

  In which an interrogation ends badly

  he could not at first remember who John was. Then it struck her. “Oh, Bess, no,” she exclaimed, crossing the room to take Bess’s hand in hers. “Did you just learn—when was it?”

  “He was shot,” Bess said. “It was a battle somewhere in Spain. They told me, but I was not listening at that point.” Her eyes were open, staring at something Daphne could not see, and her fingers gripping Daphne’s were unnaturally cold and dry. “Daphne, he is dead.”

  Daphne wished she dared put her arms around Bess, but her friend was wandering in a distant land, and she did not know how to bring her back. “Do you need me to take you somewhere? I can return you to Portugal, or… I know places in Spain, except you said you did not know—Bess, tell me how I can help you!”

  “There is nothing you can do.” She blinked, slowly, as if her body had forgotten how and she had to will each eyelid to move. “Daphne, why did I not marry him? Then I would have some right—he died three days ago, and they buried him today, but no one thought to tell me sooner than this. I should have—” She closed her eyes. Tears leaked down the sides of her face.

  “You did not know you loved him until now?”

  Bess shook her head. “I feel no more fondness for him than ever I did, and yet—if I had loved him better, he might not have been in Spain, he might have been in India with me and safe from that rifleman’s bullet. Daphne, what have I done?”

  Daphne pushed her to one side so she could lie curled up next to her friend. “You are not to blame,” she whispered fiercely. “Should you have married him despite your feelings, and been unequally yoked? This is the fault of whoever shot him, and not yours at all. Bess, you must not think this way.”

  “But perhaps love would have grown between us—”

  “Bess. You cannot dwell on what might have been. Mourn John, yes, but stop making things worse. You cannot bring him back.”

  Bess shook her head, and a tear struck Daphne’s cheek. She put her arms around Bess and held her while she cried, and wept a few tears in sympathy. When Bess’s tears ran dry, Bess wiped her face and said, “Thank you.”

  “I cannot imagine how you must feel right now. Shall I give your excuses at the dinner table and have them send up a tray? And of course Lady Loudoun will understand.”

  “Yes, please. I cannot face company right now.” She hugged Daphne hard, and said, “I still have a letter, half-finished—that is what I cannot bear, all the things I will never be able to say. His poor parents. Oh, Daphne, what a nightmare war is.”

  “I pray it will be over soon,” Daphne said, and slipped downstairs.

  Bess was never far from her thoughts that evening as Daphne danced and drank punch and even managed to laugh. The officers and Government House officials Lady Loudoun introduced to her blurred into one long stream of red- or black-coated men, interrupted once by Major Schofeld. Daphne could not understand how he could continue to be pleasant to her after all the set-downs she had given him. He was so pleasant and polite that if not for her knowledge of how he had treated Fletcher, she might have been willing to forgive him what he had said about her. But she was fiercer in her defense of her friend than she was of herself, and spoke politely but without warmth to Schofeld during their two dances.

  Just after one o’clock, weary and with aching feet, she bade farewell to the countess and found a quiet room she might Bound from. Her exertions had left her feeling hungry, so rather than Bound directly to her bedchamber, she went to the central hallway of the Residence. It was quiet and dark and still smelled faintly of supper, which had been a delicious pork roast, among other things; Sir Rodney never had fewer than two removes no matter who was dining with him.

  Daphne waited a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then made her way through the dining room and down the hall to the kitchen. The fires had been banked for the night, the ovens were cool to the touch, and a warm red glow from the embers brightened the dark room. Daphne fumbled her way to the cabinet where the cold meats were kept, and helped herself to slices from the roast, which she ate with her hands. She was too weary to provide cutlery and a plate for herself and too hungry to care what a spectacle she must look.

  A shadow passed the window that looked out over the small kitchen garden, and Daphne went still, irrationally fearing being seen. A second shadow went past. They had been large, man-sized, and Daphne set her meal aside and walked noiselessly to the kitchen door. A murmur of voices drifted to her ear, unintelligible. She pressed herself against the window frame and peered out. No one tiptoeing around the Residence at this hour could have legitimate business there.

  At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then one of the shadows shifted, became recognizable as human. Daphne held her breath. One—no, two men, creeping around the Residence. Without considering that she was wearing her best ball gown, she Skipped just to the other side of the window and held still again. Whatever they had in mind, she intended to stop them.

  The scent of smoke reached her nose. Red light flared, went orange and then gold, lighting the men’s faces. She recognized neither of them, but they were Hindoo, if unusually large for Hindoos. The flames caught, blossomed, and the two men stepped back. They had lit a fire, one that was growing rapidly—

  They were trying to burn the Residence down.

  Daphne Skipped forward and shoved one of the men hard, hooking his ankle with her foot to make him fall screaming into the fire. She Skipped sideways out of his partner’s grasp to a position behind him, grabbed the man around the waist and lifted him off the ground. In an instant she was high above Madhyapatnam, struggling to maintain her hold on the now panicked would-be arsonist. She Skipped repeatedly, as rapidly as she dared, until the man stopped struggling, then dropped him on the roof of the Residence and left him clinging
to it, screaming in fear or fury, she could not tell which.

  The first man, the one she had burned, had staggered out of the fire and fled. Daphne began hauling the fire apart, pulling the unburned ends of sticks away from the Residence and stomping on them. Her gown caught fire, and she Skipped to the banks of the Hooghly to douse it, then returned. Finally it dawned on her that she need not fight this alone. “Help!” she screamed, Skipping upward and pounding on the nearest window before she fell. “Help! Fire!”

  A dark figure came racing around the far end of the Residence. “Lady Daphne!” Wright exclaimed. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Fighting the fire—what are you—there is a man on the roof, Captain Fletcher will want to interrogate him—”

  “A man on the roof?” Wright dismissed this as lunatic talk and said, “They set fires all around the outside—who knows how they managed to pass the perimeter guards. I have extinguished another. Good luck for us we were both sleepless tonight, eh?”

  “Indeed, Lieutenant.” More dark shapes rushed past, presumably the perimeter guards. Some brought water from the cistern, others had shovels with which they poured dirt over the flames. Daphne watched, feeling drained, until the last fires were doused. Wright stood beside her, as still as if he were hunting prey. It was an odd image, and one she could not determine why it had occurred to her. “Lieutenant, are you quite well? You have seemed out of sorts since your head injury, and so serious.”

  Wright jerked. “Am I… yes, Lady Daphne, it is simply that I feel… frivolity has no place in an investigation such as this. The attempted arson only proves my point, I believe.”

  “I understand. I hope this does not mean you have lost your native good cheer permanently?”

  Wright laughed, his voice once again husky, as if he had inhaled the smoke of the aborted fire. “We shall see.”

  A tall figure came around the corner of the Residence. “Lady Daphne, are you hurt?” Fletcher said, approaching her and Wright at a run.