Danger at Dahlkari Read online

  “It does seem a bit unusual,” I agreed.

  “He has rooms here at the barracks, naturally, rooms filled with books and papers and outrageous native statues and a whole jumble of bizarre objects. When he’s not skulking around the countryside in disguise he’s making secret reports to Sleeman and telling him God knows what about us all!” Dolly paused, visibly fuming. “I never could abide spies!”

  “Sleeman must have a great deal of confidence in him.”

  “Oh, Gordon’s brilliant, I’ll have to hand him that. He speaks over ten languages and any number of dialects. The man’s not yet thirty, and he’s already had a number of books published—quite shocking anthropological studies about native tribes and some of their—well, more uncivilized practices. He’s done translations, too.” Dollie lowered her voice. “Ancient marriage manuals,” she said, “and even worse—the kind of books no Godfearing Englishman would allow in his home.”

  “How very unusual,” I remarked.

  “He simply doesn’t Fit In,” she continued, verbally capitalizing the last two words. “I suppose you’d have to say the man is fascinating—I’ve never encountered anyone quite like him—but, all the same, he gives me the shivers. That savage face, those eyes. Some women find that sort of thing attractive, of course. A number of the younger wives tried to shine up to him when he first arrived. Gordon wouldn’t give them the time of day and didn’t even try to hide how boring he found them. He doesn’t have time for women, I can tell you that much!”

  Despite Dollie’s vehement tirade against him, I thought Robert Gordon sounded like a rather romantic figure—unconventional, independent, going his own way against established patterns. A bit bizarre, perhaps, but his own man. Dollie was obviously rankled because Gordon had supplanted some of Reggie’s authority, and it was only natural she should resent him. I finished my lemonade and tinkled the ice idly against the side of the glass, wondering about the enigmatic Mr. Gordon. What sort of man would translate erotic Oriental classics and write studies of native tribes, disdain the attention of English ladies and disappear for long periods at a time on secret military missions? Certainly not the sort who would fit into the stuffy, ultraconventional English military establishment.

  A myna bird cried out suddenly, and a flock of tiny green parakeets scattered in the air and settled in the boughs of one of the banyan trees. It was so serene here, so peaceful with the untidy flowerbeds filled with carefully nourished English flowers, the large, sprawling house with its cool, shadowy verandah so very reassuring. Time seemed to melt away, and I saw another garden as cozy as this, another large house, this one with a screened-in porch, and I saw a little girl in black pumps and white silk stockings and a starched pink dress, her long brown curls bouncing as she played on the lawn under the supervision of her ayah, a serene native woman in blue and silver sari. A beautiful, vivacious woman in lilac stepped outside, followed by a tall, stalwart man in full uniform. The little girl raced over to them, laughing merrily, her arms raised, and the man scooped her up into his arms and held her tightly and the woman put her arms around them both, and for a moment the three of them were entwined, the child safe and secure between two beloved bodies. The image seemed to melt away, the colors blurring, and I saw the same little girl at twelve, wide-eyed, face pale and tearstained, both those beautiful, vital loved ones gone, taken from her by the dreaded cholera.

  “I know, dear,” Dollie said.

  “I—I’m sorry. I was …”

  “I know. You were thinking about your parents. I could tell. It still hurts, doesn’t it, dear? After all these years …”

  “I think of them often. Being back here like this—” I paused. “It seems to bring them closer.”

  “It’s what your parents would have wanted,” Dollie said quietly. “They would have wanted you to be with your Own Kind in the country they loved so well. You’ll meet some fine upstanding English officer here in India and do your part for the empire, just as they expected.”

  “I don’t know about that part. I’m really not interested in—”

  “But of course you are!” Dollie protested. “You’re young and you’re female and you’ve come to a veritable treasure trove of eligible men. It’s going to be ever so exciting! All those dreary years at school surrounded by books and chalk dust and ink-stained desks are behind you, and now it’s time to enjoy yourself. How I envy you! I’m ever so eager to get started. We’re going to have a dance at the mess hall, I’ve already arranged it, and the rajah is going to have a party in your honor and—”

  Dollie chattered merrily, telling me about all the plans she had made to launch me, and I listened with a half smile, trying to feel some of her enthusiasm. I knew myself, and I knew I could never be the bright, carefree social butterfly playing one man against the other as I searched for just the right husband, but, for Dollie’s sake, I would try to enjoy all the parties and fetes she had been anticipating ever since I had agreed to come to Dahlkari. She and the other army wives needed them far more than I did. I fully realized that.

  “And speaking of men,” she continued brightly, “Michael came by to inquire about you this morning. You were asleep, of course, but I told him you were eager to thank him for all he had done.”

  “Michael? You mean Lieutenant Stephens?”

  “He was disappointed at not being able to see you. He was getting ready to leave, you see, taking a group of men to try and track down those horrible Thugs who attacked your caravan. Reggie wanted to send another officer, but Michael made a special request to go himself.”

  “He seems—very efficient.”

  “Oh, he’s that, all right. A superb officer, one of the best. He’s quite the prize catch of the garrison, you know. Michael’s a bit formal, a bit too reserved, but don’t let that fool you. Some of the discontented wives have literally thrown themselves at him, shamelessly, and Michael—well, he’s a man, and when women.…” She hesitated.

  “I think I know what you’re trying to say,” I said dryly.

  “Take Valerie Simpson, for example—she and her husband came to Dahlkari three months ago, and she’s been making a spectacle of herself over Michael since they arrived. Strikingly attractive woman, exceedingly neurotic—her husband’s a sergeant-major, dull as ditch water. Valerie took an overdose of laudanum only two weeks ago. She claimed it was an accident, of course, but rumor has it Michael turned her out.”

  “I—I’m really not interested in Lieutenant Stephens, Dollie.”

  “No?” She arched a brow in disbelief. “Well, dear, he’s certainly interested in you. I could tell by his manner when he came by this morning. Quite concerned, he was, and quite disappointed you weren’t up, even though he tried to hide it. Michael Stephens is the most handsome male I’ve ever seen, no doubt about it. And you’re not interested? Well, dear, we’ll just have to wait and see.…”

  Five

  The dress was undeniably becoming, but I wondered if it might not be just a bit too sophisticated for the occasion. Pale, creamy white satin, it had off-the-shoulder sleeves, a rather low-cut neckline and formfitting bodice, the full skirt cascading in gleaming folds over bouffant petticoats. It was the kind of gown a rather worldly countess might wear, I thought, admiring myself in the mirror, but was it suitable for a dance in the mess hall of a military outpost in India? I really didn’t care, pleased that it made me look older. My hair was worn pulled severely back from my face with three long ringlets dangling in back, the cluster of tiny pink velvet roses fastened over my left temple my only ornament.

  Dollie had gone on ahead to supervise things at the mess hall. Reggie was waiting for us downstairs, no doubt already highly impatient. I took a final look at myself: a bare suggestion of rouge on my high cheekbones, a hint of coral on my lips, lids faintly brushed with blue-gray shadow. I needed no mascara to heighten my long lashes and dark brows. I knew that I had never looked better in my life, and I knew that it couldn’t have mattered less. The dance would be a tedious
affair, overexuberant, everyone working doubly hard to convince themselves they could have a good time even if they were stuck out here in a remote outpost. The women would be overly vivacious, the men too hearty. The music would be too loud, and the liquor would flow much too freely.

  The garrison was a tight, confined little world, inbred, clannish, a hotbed of jealousy and intrigue. I had discovered that during these past two weeks. Far, far away from England and certainly not a part of the country they occupied, the English here had nothing to fall back upon but themselves. It was easier for the men, for they had military matters to keep them occupied, but it was extremely hard on the women. Those without inner resources of their own found it a hard go. They thrived on gossip, on petty intrigues and rivalries, and none of them were in the least interested in India itself. They considered the natives rather simpleminded children who had to be disciplined with a firm hand—“They make wonderful servants, don’t you know, but, really, they must be kept in their place!” With the exception of occasional forays into the village to examine the exquisite silks and trinkets on display at the bazaars, they kept aloof and apart from anything un-English.

  Dollie and I had paid calls and taken tea in cozy, over-furnished parlors, Sally rarely accompanying us, for she had her own interests. I had met most of the women on post, had smiled and pretended to be interested in their shallow gossip, had politely answered question after question about England, Engish theater, English fashions, and never once had one of them mentioned anything about India. We had gone to the polo matches, sitting on tiers of benches to watch English gentlemen in their white suits and pith helmets riding their horses, hitting their ball across the grassy field to shouts of “Well done!” and “Fine show!” and “Carry on, chap!” and beyond the field, below the slope, I could see the river and the native women with their pitchers and the water buffalo, and it had all seemed a kind of madness, for we were in the heart of India, yet we weren’t, not really. These people lived in a world apart and India existed for them only as a source of constant irritation.

  I found it difficult to understand their narrow-mindedness, their self-conscious superiority. My parents had loved India, had found it a place of infinite variety and fascination, as, indeed, did Dollie and Reggie, which was probably one of the reasons he had achieved his prominent position. As a child I had been taken on wonderfully exciting outings and expeditions to see temples and ruins, to watch native dances, to view Indian art, and I had absorbed all the rich flavor, all the exotic color and detail abounding on every side. These people on post were totally disdainful of the natives and their native culture, unconcerned with the dreadful poverty and suffering that was the daily lot of the majority. No, they were interested only in England and English ways and their roles as English citizens in a barbaric, uncivilized country.

  Perhaps I was being too hard on them. Most of them had good intentions, and I knew there were any number of English men and women who were devoting their lives to alleviating the suffering around them and trying to help the natives with schools and hospitals and medicine. They were a small minority though, and none of them happened to be in Dahlkari.

  We had been here for two weeks, and Dollie had been wonderful and warm and amusing, Reggie a delightful if somewhat grumpy host, but already I was bored and preferred to spend my time alone in my room with one of the books I had brought along. I could never fit into this kind of life. It had taken me only two weeks to discover that. In many ways the atmosphere here was even more stifling than that at school back in Bath. Dollie assured me I would buck up as soon as Lieutenant Stephens returned, convinced there was nothing wrong with me a bit of romance wouldn’t cure. Lieutenant Stephens had returned this afternoon, Sally had informed me, and he would probably be at the dance. I was not the least bit interested, and that was certainly not the reason I had taken such care with my appearance tonight.

  Sally came bursting into my room, breaking into my reverie. She wore her red dotted swiss, and with her tarnished gold curls all atumble and her brown eyes alight with excitement she looked like a fetching young hoyden, far too vital and aglow to be mistaken for a lady. Sally was a sore point with a number of women on post. They considered her an outrageous creature much too bold to be acceptable in proper society, but as she was a guest in Dollie’s house none of them quite dared snub her openly. Sally found their attitude amusing and claimed she felt sorry for the “whole dull lot of ’em.” It wasn’t the women she was interested in, needless to say.

  “You look smashing, Miss Lauren!” she exclaimed. “That dress—it’s going to send a few eyebrows soaring, just you wait. How do I look? Do I look all right?”

  “You look enchanting, Sally.”

  “Red’s my color, I do believe. I’m ever so excited, Miss Lauren—” Sally had taken my place in front of the mirror and was adjusting the bodice of her dress, arranging it so that a fraction more bosom showed. “I intend to pay quite a lot of attention to that good-looking Sergeant Brown tonight, even if he is rather slow. That should show Bill Norman a thing or two.”

  “I thought you and Sergeant Norman were—”

  “Bill Norman and I aren’t anything! Promised to take me to a café in the village, he did, and I was looking forward to it. He stood me up good and proper. I don’t intend to take that kind of treatment from any man. No indeed.”

  “I understand he had guard duty that night.”

  “He could have switched out with someone easily enough,” she retorted. “I expect he’ll fume and fume. He and Sergeant Brown are great rivals, you know. Can’t abide each other. There might even be a fight!”

  Sally smiled her pixie smile, delighted with the idea. Poor Sergeant Norman was in for a tough time this evening, but I doubted he would take it lying down. The moment he had laid eyes on Sally he had marked her as his own, promptly and forcefully discouraging all rivals, and I suspected she had finally met her match. Good natured but stern, Norman was one of the few men she wasn’t able to boss around, one of the few she wasn’t able to treat in her customary cavalier manner. She candidly admitted that he was the most exciting man she had ever met, also the most infuriating.

  “I suppose I’ll do,” she said. “If this dress doesn’t do the trick nothing will.”

  “We’d better go on down now. Reggie will be champing at the bit.”

  “Probably so,” she agreed. “He usually is. Such an old phony. He’s not nearly as fierce as he pretends to be. Actually, he’s quite a dear, even if he does tease all the time.”

  “He’s very fond of you.”

  “We hit it off from the very first. I’m not afraid of him, you see, and he finds that refreshing.”

  Reggie was waiting in the front hall as we came downstairs. Lamps were glowing warmly, and there was a scent of beeswax and lemon. Wearing his full-dress uniform, our escort looked both impressive and formidable, his expression quite stern. Short-clipped brown hair fitting his skull like a cap, mustache freshly trimmed, he scowled, piercing gray eyes observing us as we moved down the final steps in a rustle of skirts. He deliberately took out his watch and scrutinized it.

  “Now don’t you dare scold,” Sally warned. “It takes time to make ourselves beautiful, and you should feel honored to be escorting the two most glamorous creatures on post.”

  “Hump!” he snorted.

  “I must say you look absolutely dashing in that uniform. It’s a shame I’m so fond of Dollie. If I weren’t, I just might forget myself, I admit it with no shame. I always did like a mature man.”

  “Go on!” Reggie said gruffly, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth and there was an undeniable twinkle in those severe gray eyes. “Saucy jade! Back in the old days you’d have been clapped in irons as a disturbing influence. Two of my best sergeants at each other’s throats, half the men on post dreamy-eyed, unable to do their jobs properly.”

  “I can’t help that,” Sally said coyly. “At any rate, you’re the lucky man tonight.”

  R
eggie chuckled, unable to maintain his rigid façade. Kulloo came in with his sword and cape, and Reggie fastened the sword to the side of his sash, muttering that the thing was a damned nuisance. He swung the cape around his shoulders with a dramatic flourish and then stepped over to the hall table and picked up his tall, beplumed hat. These embellishments made him look even more impressive, and I could tell by the way he examined himself in the mirror that he was proud to cut such a splendid figure. Kulloo held the door open for us and we moved out onto the front veranda. I took one of Reggie’s arms, Sally took the other, and the three of us went down the steps and started across the green.

  It was a warm, lovely night, the deep gray sky frosted with stars, the green spread with velvety blue-black shadows and patches of misty moonlight that brushed the ground with silver. Lights glowed in windows of all the houses around the green, making soft golden squares against the dark. Insects hummed, and there was the smell of newly mowed grass. I could hear a group of children playing in one of the back lawns, supervised, no doubt, by one of the faithful ayahs. As we strolled across the green I remembered just such nights as this when my parents had gone to dances and I had been one of the children left behind. It seemed such a very long time ago. Remembering that exuberant little girl made me feel rather pensive.

  “—fine fellow,” Reggie was saying, “and I don’t want you ruining him. Soldiers like Norman are rare indeed. One of the best men in the outfit, he is, rugged as they come, smart as a whip. Can’t let a mere bit of skirt mess up a lad like that.”