Shadow of the Moon (64 page)

‘I trust the brute was hanged as an example?' said Mr Barton, his face crimsoning with affront.

The grey eyes under the beetling brows regarded him with dislike. ‘I do not punish men for telling me the truth,' said Sir Henry coldly. ‘It has always been a wise policy - I am sure you will have found it so yourself - to allow men to speak their minds, since to prevent them from doing so is only to remain in ignorance oneself. Your district lies at so little distance from my own that disaffection here is bound to affect you in Lunjore, and I will not disguise from you that I am not without forebodings and apprehension as to the future. You have no Queen's troops in Lunjore, I believe?'

‘No. There are three Regiments of Native Infantry. The 93rd and the 105th, a Regiment of Lunjore Irregulars and a contingent of Military Police. But I can assure you, Sir Henry, that we have had no reason for alarm or anxiety. Neither do I anticipate any. My district has never been quieter, and the Regiments are loyal to a man. I have every confidence in them.'

‘I envy you,' said Sir Henry quietly. ‘I wish I could say the same. You have of course a very able assistant. How is Randall? I had hoped to be able to see him. He has the makings of a very promising administrator.'

Mr Barton shrugged. ‘Tolerable. Very tolerable. I won't deny that he is a hard worker, but he takes too much upon himself. Does a thing and asks afterwards.'

Sir Henry smiled. ‘I fear that is a trait that I am responsible for. All my most promising pupils have suffered for it in consequence. But you know, Barton, it is, within limits, no bad thing. We suffer too much from the dead hand of officialdom in this country. Too many people are not prepared to take a risk or to do what they feel to be right, without first obtaining sanction in writing from a superior. And that wastes everyone's time. I used to tell 'em to act on their own judgement and do what they thought was right. There are only three golden rules for an administrator. Settle the country. Make the people happy. Take care there are no rows!'

‘If Randall had his way,' said Mr Barton sourly, ‘we'd have plenty of rows. He's losing his usefulness and that's a fact. Beginning to see a burglar under every bed, just like some pesky old maid!'

‘Indeed? That does not sound like Alex Randall. What particular burglars has he been envisaging?'

Mr Barton appeared slightly discomforted, for it had just occurred to him that there was a certain similarity between Captain Randall's views and the ones expressed by his host. He said uncomfortably: ‘Oh, nothing much. Nothing much. Some nonsense about a plot for an organized rebellion. He got hold of some tale of chuppattis being circulated locally among the villages in my district, and would have it that this was a signal - a “fiery cross” he called it.'

Sir Henry surveyed him thoughtfully. ‘Not locally, Mr Barton,' he said gently, ‘those chuppattis have been distributed through a large part of India, and I too am inclined to take them as something in the nature of … I cannot better Randall's phrase, “a fiery cross”.'

Mr Barton's countenance became dangerously empurpled, but he swallowed his annoyance and managed a shrug of the shoulders. ‘I had not heard that they had been observed in other districts,' he admitted. ‘But I can assure you that as far as Lunjore is concerned, Captain Randall's fears are entirely groundless. I cannot of course speak for the rest of India, but I am happy to say that
my
district is completely free from any taint of disaffection. And I know that in saying so I can speak for the regiments stationed there, for their commanding officers have severally and together assured me of their entire confidence in their men.'

‘Nevertheless,' said Sir Henry, rising, ‘I hope you may not think me impertinent if I suggest that the closest possible watch should be kept on the activities of the sepoys, and that an examination of the letters they receive or write might be rewarding. The times are troublous, Mr Barton, and it behoves us all to be on our guard, while at the same time giving of our best. Let us join the ladies.'

‘What did I tell you?' demanded Mr Barton, relating this conversation with strong indignation to his wife as they drove homeward in the warm darkness to the Casa de Ballesteros. ‘He's a sick man, and no fit person for the post. Listening to every bazaar rumour and allowing it to prey on his nerves! The iron hand, that's all these natives understand. They respect force and despise weakness. “
I do not punish men for telling me the truth
” - Bah!
I'd
have known how to treat any damned nigger who had the impertinence to talk to me like that! To listen to that sort of inflammatory stuff is just to encourage them.'

Mr Barton would have found himself in agreement with Honoria Lawrence, though not in the same spirit, when she had written of her husband almost five years previously: ‘
If the new doctrine holds that sympathy with a people unfits a man to rule them, then indeed Sir Henry shows himself
unfit for his position
.' In Mr Barton's opinion, Sir Henry was entirely unfit, but as he had no desire to offend so notable a person, he had kept a guard upon his tongue excepting before his wife.

They had both attended several other functions at the Residency, and though Mr Barton had had no further private conversation with the Chief Commissioner of Oudh, Winter had struck up a friendship with a Mrs Daly who had been acting as hostess and housekeeper for Sir Henry.

Mrs Daly, her little son, and her husband Captain Harry Daly, who had just been appointed to command of the Corps of Guides, were staying as guests at the Residency, and Mrs Daly had temporarily taken on the management of the vast, scantily furnished house. She had taken a great fancy to young Mrs Barton, and a few days before her departure with her husband and child to Hoti Mardan on the North-West Frontier, where the Guides were stationed, she had asked if she might invite Winter to spend a few nights at the Residency.

Conway had offered no objection, since it had occurred to him that his wife's absence would provide an excellent opportunity to arrange a few entertainments of his own at the Casa de Ballesteros. He had therefore given the scheme his cordial approval, and having seen Winter off to the Residency, had settled down with a large glass of brandy to plan a week of pleasurable and unrestricted amusement.

33

The Lucknow Residency was a large, three-storeyed building whose deep verandahs and pillared porticos looked out over the beautiful city and the winding river. It stood on high ground, among green lawns and gardens full of roses and flowering trees that held at bay an area of crowding, crowded buildings that surrounded and pressed about it, and which housed a numberless horde of unemployed musicians, entertainers and other humble hangers-on of the vanished court of Wajid Ali Shah, last King of Oudh.

‘Sir Henry does what he can for them,' Mrs Daly told Winter, walking with her guest in the gardens in the cool of the evening, ‘though I do not think it can be easy. He cannot give them
all
employment. But he is always so ready to listen to anyone who asks for help, and to give any aid he can. I think a good deal of it comes from his own pocket, and I do not believe that there can be a kinder or more truly charitable man to be met with anywhere. Harry - my husband - says that already he has done more than anyone thought possible towards tranquillizing the province, for he is seeing that the promised pensions are paid, and has done much towards pacifying the bad feeling among the shopkeepers and tradesmen in Lucknow. But I believe it to be the ex-King's army that is providing the main source of anxiety. Harry says that Sir Henry had hoped to enlist them in the Military Police or the local corps, but they say that they have eaten the King's salt and will eat no other's. But he does not despair. He has been holding a great many Durbars, you know, where the nobles and landowners may state their complaints freely so that he may do what he can to remedy them. I do not believe he ever sleeps!'

Winter had been happier during these past few days than she had been for months past. The relief of being free of Conway's society was itself immeasurable, and she had been charmed by the atmosphere that prevailed at the Residency, and the casualness and complete lack of ceremony shown by its host.

‘Harry and I had to procure a great deal of furniture and fittings for the house,' confided Mrs Daly, ‘for Sir Henry declared that he had no more than a single knife and fork to his name. He cannot be bothered with such minor details and leaves them to anyone who will attend to them for him. And I never know how many guests to expect. He will ask me to send out cards for a party of fifteen, and an hour before dinner George Lawrence will come in and tell me that his uncle has invited another twenty, and clean forgotten to mention it! And then there are always the unexpected visitors.'

One of these unexpected visitors walked in on a breakfast-party on the last day but one of Winter's stay.

Breakfast at the Residency was a long-drawn-out and pleasant meal, lasting from ten o'clock until twelve, and attended on this occasion (in addition to Sir Henry and his nephew George, the Dalys and Winter) by a Colonel Edwards, a Mr Christian, Commissioner of Sitapur, and a Dr Ogilvie. They had been animatedly discussing the rival merits of Buddha and Confucius as religious teachers, when a caller had been announced, and Captain Daly had looked up and jumped to his feet:

‘Alex - by all that's wonderful!'

Winter had been peeling an orange and her hands were suddenly still. As still as her heart. Alex's voice spoke behind her:

‘Hello, Harry; I hadn't heard you were here. I hope you may forgive me for walking in on you like this, Sir Henry? I arrived an hour or so ago, but Mr Barton cannot see me until later, so I thought—'

‘You know that you need no apology for walking in on me at any hour, Alex,' said Sir Henry, and smiled.

Winter laid the orange down very carefully on her plate and turned slowly, but Alex was not looking at her. He was not even aware that she was present. He was looking at his old chief, and Winter was seized by a helpless, foolish pang of pure jealousy. A resentment, as keen as it was ridiculous, because neither she nor any woman would ever be able to bring that look to Alex's face - or to any man's face.

Sir Henry pushed away his plate and stood up to grip Alex's hand, and Captain Daly beckoned to a
khidmatgar
to bring another chair.

‘Had any breakfast?' inquired Sir Henry.

‘At about five o'clock this morning, sir.'

‘Then you can do with another one now.
Hazri lao Sahib kirwasti
, Ahmed Ali. What are you doing in Lucknow, Alex?'

‘The Commissioner sent for me, sir.'

Alex's voice was entirely expressionless, but Sir Henry regarded him with a twinkling eye in which there was a good deal of comprehension: ‘Called up to explain yourself, eh? What high-handed action have you been taking this time without consulting the higher authorities?'

Alex laughed. ‘Something like that. You are too acute, sir.'

‘And entirely mannerless, for I have not yet made you known to my guests. But then I think you know all of them except Dr Ogilvie. Mrs Barton is staying with us for a few days to keep Mrs Daly company.'

Alex looked round with a sudden startled frown in his eyes. ‘I'm sorry, Mrs Barton; I did not see you were here. Hullo, Mrs Daly. It's good to see you again. How do you do, sir - no, I do not think we have met.'

‘How long will you be staying?' inquired Sir Henry.

‘Not above a day, I imagine, sir. It depends on the Commissioner, but I hope to start back before dawn tomorrow. This is no time to be—'

He bit back the sentence, and his mouth shut hard as though he were annoyed with himself for being betrayed into an unguarded statement. But the thought was entirely clear. This was no time to be dragged away from Lunjore to explain some official peccadillo in person to its absent Commissioner.

Sir Henry said: ‘Only one night? That is not long. You'll stay here, of course.'

‘I would like to, sir, if you are sure—'

‘Oh, Mrs Daly will arrange it. You need not worry. She is in charge just now. I cannot think what I am to do when she leaves me, but her husband is selfishly removing her on the thirteenth. Daly is off to take over command of the Guides.'

Alex turned quickly: ‘Is that true? Congratulations, Harry, I had not heard. You always were a lucky devil. Pleased?'

‘Who wouldn't be! But I could wish it had come at any other time. It is hard to have to leave Lucknow just as Sir Henry arrives.'

Sir Henry smiled. ‘My dear Harry, don't think that I do not appreciate the compliment, but as I told you before, you could not dream of refusing the finest appointment open to a soldier.'

Alex said: ‘You couldn't try pulling a few strings, sir, so that he can stay on here and I can go instead?'

Sir Henry looked at him reflectively. ‘I might try, though it would not have a particle of effect. But would you really go if it did?'

Alex returned the look, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘No, sir.' There was an odd note of bitterness in his voice and Sir Henry nodded understandingly: ‘I did not think so. Not at this time.' He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Well, if you will all excuse me, I must go. I'll see you later, Alex. When you have had your wigging!'

The conversation had become general after his departure, but although Alex had borne a part in it he had appeared
distrait
, and Winter found that he did not even glance in her direction. Looking at him across the wide table she was filled with despair. Nothing had changed. She might just as well have never come to Lucknow - have never left Lunjore. She had found no solution to her problems or her unhappiness or her love for Alex. Perhaps there was no solution. And no answer except fortitude.

Alex had left at the conclusion of the meal, and she did not see him again until he entered the crowded drawing-room just before dinner that night. She thought that he looked tired and cross, and she would have given much to have been able to go to him and run her fingers over his forehead to smooth away the frown lines as he had once done to her at Hazrat Bagh. She wondered what he had done that had annoyed Conway sufficiently to send for him to Lucknow at a time like this, and what the interview had been like? The fact that her husband had been unable to see him at eleven o'clock in the morning had not been lost upon her: Conway must either have given or
attended a late party last night. She hoped the latter, for the picture of a motley crowd composed of the least reputable members of the British community carousing in the cool stately rooms of the Casa de los Pavos Reales was a singularly unpleasant one.

Winter had not seen her husband since her arrival at the Residency. He had announced his intention of driving over, but he had not done so, and she could only be thankful for it. This was the first time since the day of her wedding that she had not been under the same roof as Conway, and she found the relief it occasioned her more than a little frightening. Was it really going to be possible to spend the rest of her life in the company of a man whose absence brought her such infinite and blessed relief? Could marriage really be regarded as a sacred and binding sacrament under such conditions?

‘Perhaps it is my fault,' thought Winter. ‘Perhaps if I tried very hard I could make him care for me, which might turn him from the sort of life he likes to lead. If I tried—' But then to Conway, love meant only lust. It would be easy enough to make him lust after her, but when he had satisfied that lust he would care no more for her than he had in the past. Mr Barton regarded women with a single mind. They were either physically attractive, or not. It was as simple as that. Eastern opinion held that women have no souls and are put into the world solely for the use of men; to pleasure them, serve them, bear their children, and (on behalf of the devil) to tempt them from the paths of duty and righteousness. Conway Barton would have been found to be in complete agreement with these views, and he loved only one person: himself.

Winter had come to see this quite clearly, but nevertheless she had thought again and again during those few peaceful days at the Lucknow Residency that perhaps if she tried hard - if she forced herself to swallow her disgust of him and fought against the shrinking of her flesh at the very thought of his touch - she might gradually wean him from the vices that were rotting his mind and body. Yet now, looking at Alex Randall across the candle-lit table at the Residency, she knew with a helpless and despairing certainty that she could not do it. Not while she could not even look at Alex without a contraction of the heart.

There had been a large dinner-party that night, and from his seat at the head of the long table Sir Henry's bright, tired gaze had wandered from one to another of his guests: noting the lack of interest or means of communication between many of his British guests and their Indian neighbours, and the animated three-sided conversation between young Mrs Barton and two Oudh nobles, one of whom sat on either side of her. She at least would not lack friends if the need arose. But of how many others could this be said? As for her husband, Sir Henry could only be thankful that there were few officials of his stamp in India, but it embittered him to think that the harm one such man could do easily outweighed all the good performed by twenty able ones.

His gaze moved on to Alex Randall and rested there with affection and
approval. These were the proper men to govern the country. Men who would keep the peace by mixing freely with the people and doing prompt justice in their shirt-sleeves, and who did not consider
jaghirdars
and pensioners as nuisances and enemies, but felt themselves doubly bound to treat ex-foes with kindness because they were down … and because they still retained influence among their own people. Once, nearly nine years ago, Alex had said hotly in the course of an argument: ‘No, I don't believe in a divine right to govern! But I do believe that now we've got this country it is up to us to govern it to the best of our ability.' He was probably still of the same mind, mused Sir Henry, and he possessed the right kind of ability. He must find an opportunity to talk with Alex after the guests had gone.

But it was not until the last carriage had driven away shortly after eleven o'clock, and the house-party had dispersed to their own rooms, that he found himself alone with Captain Randall in the cool darkness of the high verandah whose tall, supporting pillars stood black against the moon-flooded garden.