Danger at Dahlkari Page 9

  “Oh, I shan’t hurt him,” Sally promised.

  “Good-looking rascal, too. Sober, levelheaded, or was until you came along. You behave yourself now, hear? I say, this damned sword is awkward. Never could abide ’em. All this fuss and bother! I’d much rather be home with my manuals.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” Sally teased. “You’re really a show-off at heart, and just think of the impression you’re going to make when you step in with two beautiful women. Your men will be green with envy.”

  Reggie chuckled again, delighted with Sally, delighted with himself. We had left the green now and were passing along rows of barracks. Through the opened windows I could see spartan bunks, a few desolate-looking men in undershirts polishing boots and shining brass. We passed a sentry. He gave Reggie a smart salute, and as we passed I saw him looking at Sally and me with a lonely, heartsick expression. He was extremely young, as were most of the enlisted men out here. I wondered if he had a girl back in England who wrote to him. Touched by that longing look in his eyes, I hoped so.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Reggie said, squeezing my arm. “Looking forward to the dance?”

  “I—I suppose so.”

  “You look lovely tonight. Did I tell you that earlier? Meant to, at any rate. Dollie and I are ever so proud to have you here, you know. You’re like the daughter we never had.”

  “Thank you for saying that, Reggie.”

  “Oh, I bluster and boom a lot, but I have an occasional moment or two every now and then when I’m as human as the next chap. Not often, though. Can’t afford it! Have to keep the whole show running smoothly. Mustn’t let ’em catch me off guard.”

  “I’m sure you do a magnificent job.”

  “I don’t know about that. It’s been pretty sticky of late—”

  Reggie cut himself short, and I could tell that he was thinking about the Thuggee situation, too tactful to mention it under the circumstances. Shaded by tall trees, surrounded by neat gardens, the mess hall loomed up ahead, sounds of merry festivity pouring out into the night. Tall French windows opened onto the shadowy veranda, golden light streaming out, and through them I could see men in uniform and elegantly begowned women moving about. Selected members of the military band were tuning up their instruments, awaiting our arrival. The dance couldn’t begin, of course, until the commanding officer arrived. As we stepped onto the veranda, I braced myself mentally for the ordeal ahead, determined to put on a good front for Dollie’s sake.

  Our entrance was undeniably spectacular. As soon as we stepped through the door someone yelled “Attention!” and all the men snapped to, all noise and activity ceased. All eyes were upon us. Reggie seemed to swell with pride, not merely because of his position but because he had an attractive young woman on either arm, one in red, one in creamy white. He nodded a bit grandly and said “As you were,” then removed cape and hat and gave them to the young subaltern who rushed over to take charge of them. People began to talk and laugh and move about again, the frozen tableau melting into a kaleidoscope of color.

  Dollie had done herself proud. The mess hall had been cleared, wooden floor polished to a high sheen, armchairs and small sofas and potted ferns situated around it. The rafters were hung with streamers of colored paper and balloons that bobbed in the breeze coming through the opened French windows. The band was half concealed by banks of fern at the far end of the room, and there was a “social area” at the other end, long, linen-covered tables laden with a lavish buffet, with crystal punch bowl abrim with ruby red punch afloat with orange slices, crystal cups surrounding it. There was a long bar as well, row upon row of bottles, turbaned native servants to wait upon the guests.

  “At last!” Dollie cried, rushing over to us. “I was beginning to think you’d decided not to come! Lauren, dear, your gown is stunning. So simple, so stylish! Hello, Sally. Hmmm, that dress is certainly red, isn’t it? Reggie, you have no idea how frantic I’ve been.”

  Dollie threw up her hands, flushed, excited, all abustle with energy and vitality. She wore a jade green silk dress festooned with rows of fine black lace, a spray of green and black plumes fastened to her hair. Her girlish ebony ringlets were already slightly frayed, her forehead slightly moist, but her vivacious brown eyes were all asparkle and there was a smile on her cherry red mouth as she took my hands and squeezed them. Impulsively, I gave her a hug.

  “Everything looks marvelous,” I told her. “You’ve done a fine job. It’s all so festive.”

  “I’ve worked my fingers to the bone! I’m already exhausted, and the evening hasn’t even begun. Do you really think it looks nice? The punch is rather flat, but it’s just for teetotalers. There’s a case of champagne on ice. Reggie, you’ll start the dance with Lauren, of course. Oh, I see you’re wearing your sword! I hope it won’t interfere.”

  “I imagine I can manage,” he said patiently.

  “There’re several people you haven’t met yet, Lauren, but you can meet them later. I hope there’s enough food. I had my heart set on pâté, but I had to settle on cheese spread. There’re glazed hams and a side of beef and turkey and ever so many cakes. The liquor, now, there’s plenty of that. I just hope—”

  “It’s all going to be fine,” Reggie told her. “Lauren, my dear, shall we get this thing started.”

  He took my hand and led me toward the dance floor, people parting to make way for us. There was a moment of silence and then the music began and smoothly, with great dignity, Reggie slipped his arm around my waist and we began to dance, all alone on the vast polished floor. Streamers and balloons swayed overhead, and people stood all around in small groups watching us. The band was even worse than I had expected it to be, and I was exceedingly nervous, uncomfortable under all those stares, but Reggie was superb, ever so calm, ever so poised, an expert dancer. Sensing my nervousness, he looked into my eyes and gave me a jaunty little wink, his mustache twitching as he grinned. I smiled, and I relaxed, and soon other couples joined us and the dance floor was filled with dancers: men in polished black boots and tight white trousers and neat red jackets, gold braid asparkle, women in colored gowns with skirts that swung and swelled, billowing like petals in the breeze.

  Reggie danced the second dance with Dollie, and I danced with a dark, talkative captain who held me too tightly and stumbled every now and then. I danced with a lieutenant with sandy hair and soulful eyes, with a sergeant who was as stiff and rigid as a marionette, with another lieutenant, this one sober and severe and silent. Though the band was deplorably bad, it was highly enthusiastic, and the music was loud and brassy. I smiled. I made polite comments. My feet began to hurt. I felt flushed. I felt as though I couldn’t endure another waltz, another polka, but I did, and it was almost an hour before I finally begged off and, unescorted, went to fetch a glass of champagne.

  Everyone was merry. Everyone was having a good time, determinedly so, as though it were their duty. They might be exiled in the wilds of a barbaric country, but they could still carry on in grand style. As I moved toward the tables I saw the pale, too tall Prunella Dobson talking with one of the matrons. Her gown was a severe gray, her spectacles gold-rimmed, her dull brown hair worn in a tight bun at the back of her head. Prunella disapproved of dancing. She disapproved of almost everything, I had discovered, and I felt rather sorry for her, giving her a warm smile when she happened to look up and see me. Taking a glass of champagne from the native servant, I moved over to stand near one of the windows. The cool night air breezing in was ever so welcome, and I prayed no one would ask me to dance, at least for a while.

  I sipped the champagne, watching the dancers. With her tarnished gold curls flying, her vivid red skirt swirling, Sally was easy to spot, dancing a vigorous polka with a good-looking sergeant. He had lively blue eyes and short-clipped brown hair, and he was obviously enchanted with the bubbling vixen who danced so gaily, smiled so brightly. I didn’t know who he was, but he definitely wasn’t Sergeant Norman. Probably Sergeant Brown, I reasoned, the ch
ap she planned to use to make Norman jealous. Sally was in her element, had been having a glorious time ever since we arrived, and I almost envied her. She and the sergeant swept around the floor, now visible, now hidden behind other couples, now bouncing into sight again. Both of them were totally immersed in the dance and in each other.

  “Disgusting sight,” Sergeant Norman said grumpily.

  I turned, startled. Sergeant Bill Norman was standing beside me, resplendent in his uniform, his expression extremely stern. Tall and powerfully built on lean, muscular lines, he had strong, clean-cut features and dark, reddish-bronze hair that tended to be unruly. His eyes were a deep, intense blue, honest eyes that reflected his mood. Sergeant Norman wasn’t really handsome in the traditional sense, but he was a healthy, virile specimen, and there was a certain boyish quality and a raffish charm I found most engaging. Good-natured and ordinarily easygoing, he looked quite put out at the moment with his lower lip thrust out, those blue eyes smoldering with anger. A lock of bronze hair had fallen across his forehead. He brushed it back impatiently.

  “Hasn’t danced with me once,” he said, “not once. Been avoiding me all evening. She’s danced with Jenkins, with Anderson, with Taylor, and she’s danced with that scoundrel Brown five times. I counted. If she thinks I’m going to stand back and—” He shook his head, the last part of the sentence an inaudible mutter.

  “You mustn’t let it bother you,” I said, smiling. “She’s only teasing, you know.”

  “Oh, I’m onto her games. Tryin’ to make me jealous, she is. I’m well aware of that. Thing is, Miss Lauren, I am jealous. I wanna grab that cocky Brown by the throat and squeeze till he croaks. I just might do it, too!”

  He looked down at his large, capable hands. I could well imagine them performing the deed. Sergeant Norman muttered something else, and that errant bronze lock tumbled down on his forehead again, emphasizing the boyish quality I found so engaging. He might be stern and stalwart, he might be fearless on the field, but he was quite vulnerable in matters of the heart. He sighed, exasperated.

  “She wants a spanking, that one,” he told me. “In all my twenty-seven years I’ve never encountered such an exasperating female, and I’ve known a few of ’em in my day, Miss Lauren, I may as well confess it. I thought I knew how to handle women, but this one—she wants a good, hard spanking. A man can take just so much.”

  Blue eyes grim now, he stared across the dance floor at Sally and his rival. The music stopped. Everyone applauded. Some of the couples left the floor, moving toward the tables. Sally and Sergeant Brown waited for the next set to begin, chatting pleasantly. Sally brushed a speck of lint from his jacket, letting her fingers rest against his arm for a moment, and he bent down to whisper something in her ear. She laughed, glancing over at Sergeant Norman and me. Sergeant Norman stiffened as she waved at us. The band swung into a lilting waltz, and Sally and her partner were off again. Sergeant Norman clenched his fists.

  “The ladies like me,” he said. “no need my pretendin’ they don’t. I reckon I don’t need her. I say, uh, you wouldn’t like to dance, would you, Miss Lauren?”

  I hadn’t the heart to refuse. I handed him my empty champagne glass. He set it down and led me onto the floor with a murderous look. He slung an arm around my waist and squeezed my hand tightly and propelled me into the midst of the dancers. Propelled is the only word. Sergeant Norman danced as other men might play Rugby football, and I might have been the football. It was most invigorating, to say the least. As we spun around the floor he kept looking over his shoulder, trying to locate Sally and Brown, and when the music stopped at last we were quite near the offending couple.

  “Thank you, Miss Lauren,” Norman said curtly.

  “It was—my pleasure,” I replied, breathless.

  He gave me a terse nod and moved briskly over to Sally and Brown. She smiled at him, but Norman ignored her, turning to Brown and muttering something I couldn’t hear. Brown drew himself up, his handsome face hardening, lively blue eyes suddenly dark and menacing. Sergeant Norman placed a hand on Brown’s shoulder and gave him a forceful push. Brown stumbled backwards, almost falling, and before he could recover himself Norman had seized Sally’s wrist and was marching briskly toward one of the French windows, Sally tottering along behind him. They disappeared onto the veranda, and after a moment Brown went after them with fists clenched, his face fierce and determined. A young lieutenant stepped up and asked me to dance. I smiled at him and nodded, rather amused by the little drama that had taken place, wishing I were able to see the sequel out in the gardens.

  When the dance ended the lieutenant asked me if I would care to have a plate of food, and I said that would be lovely. He was a pleasant young man, and I enjoyed chatting with him as we ate. We had just finished when Dollie hurried over, looking flushed and elated. The lieutenant excused himself. Dollie took a glass of champagne and drank it thirstily. Her dress was rather crumpled, the plumes in her hair beginning to droop. She hadn’t missed a single dance, and I could tell that she was enjoying herself immensely.

  “It’s a raging success,” she confided. “Everyone says so! Even Reggie’s enjoying himself, dancing with all the ladies, cutting quite a dashing figure. This is doing him good. He’s been so tense lately. I’m going to have another glass of champagne—there! It’s delicious. Will you just look at Prunella Dobson! That dress must have been her grandmother’s. She hasn’t danced once, has done nothing but drink that hideous punch and look disapproving. That girl’s so pious!”

  “She’s probably very sweet once you get to know her.”

  “Sweet, my foot! She has the disposition of a lemon. I declare, look at Sergeant Brown. He’s just stepped in from outside. I wonder what could have happened. He looks positively dusty, and isn’t that a cut on his jaw? He keeps rubbing it.”

  “I imagine Sergeant Norman is responsible,” I said.

  “Oh dear, are those two at it again? They had a fight last week, you know. There they were in the middle of the polo field, trying to choke the life out of each other. These boys! They’re so playful.”

  Brown brushed off his jacket and marched over to the bar. He downed a bourbon in two gulps, then asked for another. Most of the men had been making regular trips to the bar, and some of them were beginning to show it. A number of the ladies had been drinking the champagne steadily and with considerable enthusiasm. No one but Dollie and I seemed to notice the somewhat battered Sergeant Brown.

  “Look, there’s Sally,” Dollie said. “Over there, beside the ferns. She’s with Sergeant Norman, and they’ve just come in, too. Oh my, he seems to be giving her what for! Regular lecture, it looks like, and she’s as meek as a lamb. I rather fancy Bill Norman’s just the man to straighten her out.”

  “He seems a nice fellow,” I remarked.

  “A bit of a devil with the ladies when he was stationed in Delhi, I understand, but he doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke those dreadful cheroots, either. He’s hard as nails with his men, and they all look up to him. There aren’t many like him. He’s ever so stern, yet there’s a certain shy charm.”

  “A boyish quality,” I said.

  “Exactly! Sally seems to have cast a spell over him—they were fighting over her on the polo field, you know. I do hope she has the good sense to hold on to him.”

  “The courtship’s likely to be rough and tumble, but I imagine she’ll let him win her in the end. Sally’s as smitten with the sergeant as he is with her, although she’d never admit it.”

  “Romance,” Dollie sighed. “It’s wonderful. Oh, to be a girl again! I led them all a merry dance myself, dear. Until Reggie came along. I took one look at him and it was all over—he never knew what hit him! I must say, I’ve never regretted it. Neither of us will see fifty again, but we’re as happy together as we were twenty years ago.”

  Dollie finished her champagne, a thoughtful smile on her lips, brown eyes pensive. I felt a great rush of affection for her. She had been like a sister to my mother
, and she had been like a mother to me. I considered myself fortunate to have Dollie in my life. Reggie, too. Dollie toyed with one of the black lace ruffles on her jade silk skirt, glancing around the room. Her eyes came to rest on a woman standing in front of one of the windows across the room, and she tugged my arm.

  “Valerie Simpson,” she said in a hushed voice. “The one I was telling you about.”

  I looked at the woman in question. Valerie Simpson was an exceedingly attractive brunette with a sulky pink mouth and a petulant look in her languorous gray eyes. Her rather dark complexion and the abundant raven locks falling carelessly about her shoulders gave her an exotic look. Her dark blue velvet gown was much too low at the neckline, too tight at the waist. Half a dozen thin gold bangle bracelets dangled on one wrist, and she wore earrings of beaten gold. I thought she looked like a moody gypsy, a lovely creature who was undeniably sensual and preoccupied with men. She would wear musky perfume, I knew, and she would be totally indifferent to any other woman.

  “She’s—quite stunning,” I said.

  “Do you really think so? Much too flashy, I’d say. There’s always at least one woman like Valerie Simpson on any military post. She’s caused ever so much talk. She won’t take part in any of the social affairs unless there are men about, never pays a call, keeps to herself. I can’t imagine Michael getting involved with her. I don’t know that he was, mind you, I just know that she set her cap for him, and when a woman like that makes up her mind to have a man she usually has him. After a while Michael started deliberately avoiding her, and that’s when she took the overdose of laudanum.”

  “You don’t believe it was accidental?”

  “I doubt it, dear. Women like her thrive on melodrama. They’re always acting out scenes, living on nerves and emotion. The men always find it tiresome after a while, particularly men as levelheaded as Michael.”

  “I understand that Lieutenant Stephens and his men arrived back at the garrison this afternoon,” I remarked casually.