He told them that Winters’s was one of the richest merchant-houses in Calcutta, and that the late Sidney Winters’s estate must be worth near a quarter of a million; so his son, Gideon, would still be a very lucky young man if he came into the greater part of that sum. He then went on to reason that, in the normal course of events, had the elder Winters married again it would have been to a middle-aged woman who, on his death, would have been unlikely to find another husband, so would certainly have claimed her legal due; therefore why should not Clarissa do so? He was also firmly of the opinion that to claim less than the full sum would show a lack of conviction in the justice of the claim and, moreover, by demanding the full hundred thousand they would protect themselves against a disappointing final settlement should the judges decide to cut down the award to Clarissa.
‘Let us get the maximum award we can,’ said Mr. Hickey. ‘Then, afterwards, if Mrs. Brook cares to overlook young Gideon’s rash and offensive behaviour towards you both, and forgo a moiety of the money, that will be her affair.’
Clarissa shook her head. ‘Please, Mr. Hickey, I’d much prefer to have naught to do with it. I wish you to draw up a deed, upon the signing of which I will have made over to Mr. Brook my entire interest in the settlement; then it will be for him to decide how much we should return of whatever sum you succeed in obtaining for us.’
Roger at once saw the way her mind was working. Her one desire was to make him this gift, and by the deed she would have given him whatever the court awarded her. If he chose to return part or all of it to Winters, or give the money to charity for that matter, she could still feel that she had brought him a handsome dowry.
Hickey, however, demurred on the grounds that life in Bengal was a most uncertain asset. Young people as well as old, he told them, were quite frequently taken off overnight by a bloody flux, or a galloping consumption. Tactfully he intimated that should Roger be stricken down and Clarissa find herself unable to produce her marriage lines, apart from the money he could raise for her on this claim she might find herself destitute.
However, after some discussion, Roger suggested a way out. Mr. Hickey should draw up for Clarissa the deed of gift in accordance with her wishes, and for him a will by which he left half his estate to her and the other half to his daughter, Susan; and that was agreed upon.
They found the lawyer a most genial man, and he soon became a close friend of theirs. He was an Irishman, although born in a street off Pall Mall, and the son of a lawyer of the first standing, who had many rich connections. It was, no doubt, mixing with youngsters much better supplied with money than himself that had got him early into trouble, as he was the type of man who could not resist the lure of good company, yet would rather have died than not pay his way. Over their wine one night he confided to Roger that in his youth he had been ‘a rare pickle’.
While still a schoolboy, sleeping with his sister’s pretty nursemaid had given him a taste for women, and equally early he had developed a liking for strong liquor. These drains upon a slender purse, freely indulged in during many a hectic night out with dissolute young companions, had got him so deeply into debt that no sooner was he apprenticed to the law than he had given way to the temptation to embezzle his master’s funds.
His kindly father had paid up for him again and again, and at last sent him with good introductions to the West Indies. But he had failed to make good there and returned to London, where he had again plunged into every sort of excess. Having made the capital too hot for him, he had decided to try India and, although almost without funds, had carried off a rich man’s beautiful mistress, who had later lived with him in Calcutta as Mrs. Hickey. To his life-long distress, this beautiful creature soon met her death from being stricken with a sudden chill; but in other matters her lover had proved more fortunate.
In spite of his heavy drinking, he was shrewd and capable, and his conviviality had proved an asset in the raffish society of Calcutta. Within a few years he had built up a practice that brought him many thousands, and he continued to spend them almost as quickly as he made them; for, although he was now within a year or two of fifty, he was still ‘a rare pickle’.
He now had two houses, one in the city and another, which he had had built for himself, farther up the river at the old Dutch settlement of Chinsurah. His cellars were said to contain the finest champagnes, hock and claret in Bengal; he maintained over sixty servants and two pretty concubines. The death of a third, named Jemdanee, in the previous summer was still causing him great sadness. She had been his favourite, and all who had known her spoke of her as quite an exceptional girl, as she spoke English fluently and had been greatly liked by his friends. But her loss did not prevent him continuing to entertain with his accustomed lavishness.
Before moving into their own house, Roger and Clarissa spent a week-end with him at Chinsurah, and they were amazed to find it another ‘Grosvenor Square mansion’ set down in the middle of the country. But it was equipped with every facility for enjoyment, among them a great gilded barge with a crew of uniformed oarsmen and a private band of instrumentalists. It was through Hickey’s having sent them out alone in this luxurious water-carriage that Clarissa, in great excitement somewhat tinged with awe, suddenly recognised a stretch of the river and realised that she was now actually living the vision she had seen while under Rinaldo Malderini’s hypnotic influence.
Hickey engaged for them a head bearer named Chudda Gya, a trustworthy man who spoke quite good English, and it was he who hired most of the other servants. What with jemadar, durwan, chubdars, consumahs, hurcarrahs, peons, a kitchen staff, and women to serve Clarissa, they seemed a positive horde, and Roger became considerably alarmed at the thought of what their keep and wages would run him into. But Chudda Gya explained a trifle stiffly that it was not enough for a gentleman to have six men carrying him in his palanquin, he must have at least three more to run ahead shouting aloud his name and quality, and so on, throughout the establishment. The duties of many of them seemed to overlap and often they appeared idle, but the house seemed to run itself with smooth efficiency, the sort of food they ate cost very little and, as Chudda Gya allowed no one except himself to rob his master, Roger found that, after all, his expenses were not unduly excessive.
They soon acquired a small farmyard at a ridiculously low outlay—hens a penny apiece, sheep for one and eight pence, cows for about six shillings, and ducks, geese, calves and deer in proportion—but the natives who reared the poor creatures fed them so ill that they all had to be fattened up before they were fit to serve at a European table.
As it was still the cool season, they were not greatly troubled by the heat, although for the hottest hours of the day they always undressed and lay down to doze in the gentle twilight provided by roller blinds made from hundreds of thin green bamboos. Every morning early they went for a long ride, and later in the day they often went shooting. The country outside the city abounded in game, and the usual practice was to shoot it from the back of an elephant. Clarissa greatly enjoyed accompanying Roger on these expeditions but, when he now and again joined a party to hunt wild boar on horse-back, he would not let her come with him, as he counted her too precious to expose her to the slightest danger. In the evenings there was always some party at which they were welcome, a subscription dance or a play put on by the amateur dramatic society, and Clarissa was wise enough never to seek to restrain Roger when, at times, he felt like accepting an invitation to one of the bachelor evenings at which everyone drank deep and roared out bawdy songs at the tops of their voices.
In mid-January there came one ripple to mar the surface of this delectable existence, which for them had become an indefinitely prolonged honeymoon. Colonel George Gunston of the Dragoons, having been transferred from Madras, arrived in Calcutta. Gunston, a heavily handsome, florid redheaded man a few years older than Roger, had been at Sherborne with him and, as the bully of the school, had made his life a misery.
Since then they had come into collision
on several occasions. Each had wounded the other in a duel with pistols. Roger, who was by far the finer swordsman, had humiliated Gunston in a fencing display held before a number of ladies, for the favour of one of whom they had been rivals. More recently, they had met in Martinique, and after a violent quarrel Roger, who was Governor, had ordered Gunston, who was the Garrison Commander, to leave the island.
They were, therefore, like oil and water. But in the restricted society of Calcutta, they could not avoid meeting frequently as guests under the same roof; so they resigned themselves to exchanging chilly civilities, while Gunston, who had hotly pursued Clarissa during the short time that he had been with her in Martinique, blandly ignored Roger’s scowls and renewed his attentions to her as Mrs. Brook.
Although Gunston was a typical product of the fox-hunting, cock-fighting landed-gentry of the day, he was by no means a fool. He had, too, a healthy zest for life which made him good company with either men or women, and this, together with his high-coloured good looks, soon made him much sought after by the belles of Calcutta. In consequence, Clarissa would not have been human had she not shown her appreciation of his obvious preference for herself. At the receptions and dances where they met, Roger would have made himself a laughing stock if he had played the part of a jealous husband by remaining beside her the whole evening, and he naturally resented his old enemy’s seizing on any opportunity to carry her off for a tête-à-tête; so after a while he asked her to discourage Gunston’s attentions.
But Clarissa only laughed and shrugged her slim shoulders, declaring that she was quite capable of keeping George in his place, that he was an amusing fellow and really not at all a bad sort, and that she thought it foolish of Roger not to patch up their old quarrel.
Being fully convinced that he had no real grounds for jealousy Roger said no more; but the situation continued to irritate him until, early in February, he was unexpectedly relieved of it by Gunston’s sudden disappearance from the scene. In due course he learned that his enemy had been temporarily lent to the Company, and had been sent up country with a detachment of troops to remonstrate with the young Rajah of Bahna, who had the previous year succeeded his father and was making difficulties about the payment of twelve lakhs of rupees which were due to the Company.
Half-way through February another Colonel appeared in Calcutta and one to flutter the hearts of its belles. This was the Honourable Arthur Wesley, commanding the Thirty-third Foot. He arrived with his regiment, having caught it up at Cape Town, but he had sailed from England several months later than his men, and his elder brother, Lord Mornington, being a junior member of the Government, had given him a number of official letters for delivery in Bengal. One of these was for Roger, and the Colonel naturally called to hand it over in person.
Colonel Wesley was a very different type from Gunston. He was tall and spare, thin faced, blue eyed, with a thin mouth that suggested an ironical sense of humour, and an aggressively conky nose. Seeing that the letter bore the cypher of 10 Downing Street, Roger waved the Colonel to a chair and asked leave to read it at once. It was from Mr. Pitt, and ran:
My dear Mr. Brook,
I learn from Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel that your dudgeon carried you off to India, and I trust this will find you in Calcutta. Even your annoyance with me scarcely justifies your having gone so far afield when you know very well that you are better fitted than any other man to render your country and myself certain particular services.
Lord Grenville failed to reach an understanding with Signor R.M., but that was in no way due to your unfortunate rencontre with him, and he has now left this country. His departure relieves those concerned of the necessity of taking steps against you; so I am in hopes that your friends here may have the pleasure of welcoming you home before many months are past.
May I add that, despite our occasional differences of opinion, I have long regarded myself as among them and, trusting the same sentiments may animate yourself, I shall be happy to find you fresh employment whenever you have a mind to it.
There was a postscript to the letter which read:
Henry Dundas is at my elbow as I write. He asks to be remembered cordially to you, and says that, from your past appreciations of affairs in foreign lands, he judges that no one could give him a shrewder report of conditions in India than yourself; so he also awaits your return with some impatience.
From a man so cold and unbending by nature as William Pitt, the missive could be regarded as both warm and as near to an apology as he would ever get. Seeing Roger’s smile of gratification, Colonel Wesley said:
‘It seems, Sir, that I have brought you good news.’
Roger’s smile deepened. ‘Indeed you have, Sir. I came to India because, on account of a duel, I was forced to leave England, and this is my permit to return home.’
‘Then you are lucky, Sir,’ came the prompt reply. ‘My period of exile has but just begun, and God alone knows when it will end.’
Having clapped his hands, and sent his consumah for wine, Roger remarked, ‘If I am right in supposing you to be a brother of the Earl of Mornington, and you were averse to serving in India, I wonder that his Lordship, now being Junior Lord of the Treasury, was unable to secure for you an appointment more to your liking.’
The Colonel gave a wry smile. ‘It would ill-become me to complain of my brother. He has, I am sure, done his best for me, but Dublin Castle remained deaf to his appeals. I should explain, perhaps, that as an Anglo-Irish family it is to the Castle that we look for patronage, and on and off I have been kicking my heels as an A.D.C. there for years; but the Viceroy could never be got up to scratch to do anything substantial for me. He even refused me a seat on the Revenue Board and, meanwhile, as a younger son without fortune, my debts became so plaguey worrying that there was nothing for it but to escape my creditors by seeking service abroad.’
‘You even thought of leaving the army, then?’
‘Only from desperation and because I saw small prospect of advancement in it. As I am considered the fool of the family, it is probably best that I should continue to make soldiering my career.’
Roger laughed. ‘You are mighty frank, Sir. But permit me to say that you do not strike me at all as the type of pin-head that I have met with only too often among army men.’
‘Thanks for your good opinion, Mr. Brook; but I must confess that my education leaves much to be desired. I never could abide Latin or Greek, so my brother removed me early from Eton. In fairness to him, I should say that lack of money was the main cause. As you may, perhaps, have heard, my father, the first Earl, was a musician of considerable talent. He was, indeed, Professor of Music at Trinity College, Dublin; but he expended so great a sum on supporting amateur societies that he dissipated his fortune, and we have since been driven even to selling our family seat. As I took so ill to the classics my brother decided to spend what he could afford on sending one of my younger brothers to Eton in my place.’
‘You interest me greatly. What happened to you, then, after you left Eton?’
‘To economise, my mother went to live abroad, and I spent a year with her in Brussels. My tutoring there was most sketchy and, as far as learning was concerned, I benefited hardly more from a year at the Academy of M. de Pignerolle in Angers. Though there, at least, I acquired a good seat on a horse and some little polish. At eighteen I was gazetted an Ensign in the Seventy-third. As the regiment was here in India, at the time, I was under no necessity to join it. Two exchanges in the following year got me two steps in promotion without my even setting foot on a barrack square. I then became an A.D.C. at the Castle and sat for our family borough in the Irish Parliament. In the summer of ‘94, as a Lt. Colonel, I took the Thirty-third to Ostend, where we acted as rearguard in the evacuation of that town. With the disastrous winter campaign in the Low Countries that followed, I’ll not trouble you. It was bloody, Sir, positively bloody; and I lost more men from frost-bite than from bullets. Only a remnant of us got back to Ireland in the Spring
of ‘95. Since then I have done little but dance futile attendance on the Viceroy and avoid the duns; and there, Mr. Brook, you have my undistinguished story.’
Pouring him another glass of wine, Roger said: ‘You will find society here most mixed, but extraordinarily hospitable. Admittedly there is no war being waged at the moment by which you might advance your career; but if you enjoy dancing, music and good company, you might be stationed in far worse places than Calcutta.’
‘That’s true enough,’ agreed the Colonel. ‘When I first made up my mind that I must take to serving with my regiment it had just been ordered to the West Indies. Two starts were made. The first met with complete disaster: seven transports wrecked on Chesil Beach and the rest only getting back to English ports in tatters. The second met another gale so severe that the whole convoy was dispersed and thirty ships, mine among them, after weeks of desperate hazard were at length driven back into the Solent. Soon after there was a change of plan and we were ordered to India. But for that, I’d now be in the Caribbean, and like as not dead from Yellow Fever.’
Roger nodded. ‘The toll it has taken of our troops out there is utterly appalling. I found two ways, though, of checking the scourge considerably. On the recommendation of a learned friend, I had the men drink a tizane made from chinquona bark each morning, and as frequently as possible sent batches of them to cruise off shore for a few days in local ships; so that they might get some good sea air into their lungs.’
‘Mr. Brook, you interest me mightily,’ the Colonel exclaimed. ‘I have ever maintained that the health of his men should be the first concern of every commander. Good food, and plenty of it, warm clothing, frequent baths and compulsory attention to feet, will do more to win a campaign than knowing the contents of all the text books on tactics and strategy ever written. But I had no idea that you had been a soldier.’
The Rape of Venice Page 25
