Rogue Officer (31 page)

‘Captain Deighnton, I have thoroughly investigated the claims you made in that missive to Mrs Crossman. While on the surface there have been some exchanges between the daughters of a corporal and this Lieutenant Crossman, deeper investigation revealed that they were in fact innocent exchanges. The officer concerned was actually plagued by the girls, whose father tells me they are difficult to handle.’ He glanced at the mantle. ‘I know what he’s talking about. I had girls of my own.’ The colonel then turned back to the captain. ‘This is malicious gossip. I am amazed that an officer of your experience should sink so low. Even had the rumours been true, it was not your place to inform to a wife on a brother officer. You are a disgrace to your regiment, sir, and I want nothing more to do with you.’ The colonel’s voice was now taut with emotion. ‘What have you to say for yourself, sir?’

Deighnton shrugged. ‘I had the devil’s own job to get him to fight. He kept shying off. This seemed a sure way.’

‘And that’s another thing.’ The colonel slammed down his glass, bringing his servant running into the room. ‘This damn duelling. It has to stop. Well, it
will
stop, because you, sir, are no longer welcome in my regiment. I would like you gone by tomorrow.’

The servant bowed out, very quickly.

‘Gone? Where shall I go to, sir?’ asked Deighnton mildly.

‘Go anywhere, and I would sell out, if I were you.’

The captain said, ‘You know of course that I have powerful friends back in England . . .’

‘Damn your friends!’ the colonel exploded, his eyes now steely with their own brand of contempt. ‘God damn them, and God damn
you
! I’m sure he has already. You have several deaths on your hands. You may have had some friends, but you have also made some powerful enemies now that you have robbed families of sons and brothers. You think
I
care for your friends, now that my own family are all gone? Get out of my sight, sir. If you are here tomorrow I shall announce your misdemeanours to the regiment on parade. See then if you still feel you have behaved with honour! Gather then the true opinion of your fellow officers!’

Deighnton stared for a while at the trembling colonel, then turned on his heel and marched out of the room, his anger now at white heat. He strode towards his own bungalow. The warm wind of the evening was in his face and the foetid blown atmosphere of distant cesspits did nothing to improve his temper. Once he was on his own veranda he took a riding crop that hung on the doorpost. With this he began savagely to slash at the bamboo furniture, venting his temper. In the middle of this tirade his servant came out to see what the noise was about. Deighnton turned on the man and struck him several times around the face, causing bloody welts to appear. The servant was used to abuse, but never so bad as this, and put his arms over his head to try to protect himself. He cried out, ‘Sahib, sahib, I have done no wrong. Please, sahib.’

But Deighnton was relentless. Someone had to pay. If he could not whip the man who was to blame for him being put in this position, he would whip this man just to hear him squeal. He laid about the servant’s shoulders and back. The man crouched and cried out for mercy. Finally Deighnton’s anger dissipated and he realized this was a silly occupation. Why whip a servant when one has to kill an enemy? First things first, though. He needed to find out who had given the colonel that letter.

The captain threw down the riding crop.

‘Pick that up. Oh, come on, man, you’re not badly hurt. Good God, I got worse from my schoolmasters for flunking Latin. Don’t whimper like a baby, it disgusts me. If anyone calls tell them I’m out seeking the adjutant – I’ll find out who carried that letter from England, if it takes me all night. And tell the cook I would like creamed chicken and sweet potatoes. Come on, man, leap to the task. That’s it! You’ll be done with me by tomorrow. I’m leaving this damn hell hole for better pastures. Hah! That’s brightened your eyes, hasn’t it? You’ll be out of a job tomorrow, but it pleases you. Human nature, it is a mystifying force . . .’

Later than evening Rupert Jarrard was in his room in one of the backstreet boarding houses when there was a rap on the door. Opening it he was confronted by a cavalry captain.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Captain Deighnton. Mr Jarrard?’

‘Yes.’

‘I understand, sir, that you are a postman.’

‘If that means a mailman, you understand correctly.’

‘Ah, you know the letter to which I refer then?’

‘Perfectly. Delivered by my own hand to your colonel.’

‘In that case after I’ve levelled your friend,’ said the captain, ‘I shall be obliged if you will give me the satisfaction of doing the same with you.’

Jarrard opened his coat to show the captain his Navy Colt.

‘Happy,’ he said.

‘Good. I was afraid that American gentlemen were not familiar with the European art of duelling.’

‘Oh, we’re familiar all right. A weekend sport with us.’

‘Really? Until then?’

Jarrard nodded coldly and the captain left.

Unruffled, the newspaperman went back to writing his column.

He chewed the top of his pencil.

‘Pervasive? Omnipresent?
Ubiquitous
– that’s the word I want. Ubiquitous. Much more sinister in tone . . .’

Jack had not been back in Gwalior one hour when he received another summons, this time to attend to the major who had arrested him at Bareilly, Major O’Hay. It appeared the major had arrived the previous day and wished to speak with him urgently. Jack suspected more trouble: the business over his supposed desertion had still not been settled to the satisfaction of the senior staff at Bareilly.

Wearily he left his quarters and went to meet the major at the local headquarters. When he entered the building Major O’Hay failed to recognize him until he had introduced himself, then the portly field officer nodded. ‘Ah, yes, Lieutenant Crossman, isn’t it? How d’ye do? Some refreshment?’ This did not sound like the prelude to a court martial for desertion. Jack began to feel more comfortable with the situation.

‘I was rather hoping to rest – I’ve had a long ride,’ said Jack.

The major frowned. ‘So have I, my boy. So have I.’

‘Yes, sir. Yes, of course. How can I help you?’

‘If I recall correctly you were the officer brought up in front of Colonel Boothroyde at Bareilly?’

So this
was
about the charge of desertion brought by Deighnton. Jack’s heart sank once again.

‘Look, Major, I still haven’t had the chance to contact my superior officers – I’m sure they’ll be able to clear up this misunderstanding once and for all . . .’

‘I expect they can. Colonel Boothroyde is convinced of it – but we could progress from there without the word of your own colonel. During the inquiry you mentioned a civilian – Dutchman by the name of Hilversum?’

‘Yes. I said he could verify that I had been abducted by rebel sepoys and taken over the borders of Chinese Tartary.’

‘Quite, but you will recall I said the fellow was an unmitigated rogue, who sold guns to badmashes and dacoits? Other crimes too, that’s a fact. Well, we have now located the fellow and want him arrested. You, sir, have been chosen as the arresting officer.’

Jack’s heart sank even further now. ‘Me? Why me?’

‘Logical, ain’t it? You’re known to him. Friends – or at least acquaintances, ain’t you? You can get close to him without being shot dead. Fellah’s a sharpshooter, so I hear. Knock the pip out of an ace card from twenty yards. Wouldn’t want to send an officer to his death just for the sake of arresting a blackguard. No, you’re the man for it. Bring him back alive or dead and we’ll forget the other thing.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Disobeying an order, old chap. Could be as serious as the charge of desertion.
Added
to it, no chance of getting off whatsoever.’

Jack knew he was being held to ransom. They wanted Hilversum for something more than a firearms charge, he was certain. They would not go to all this trouble just to get a man who sold the odd handgun to rich maharajahs and nawabs, for no one else could afford Hilversum ‘s silver-mounted pearl-butted pistols. He was equally certain that he would not find out what it was until he asked Hilversum himself.

‘Where will I find the Dutchman?’ he asked.

O’Hay unfolded a map and spread it out on a table.

‘Place here by the name of Narwar, further down the river Sinde. He’s visiting a talukdar by the name of Chandra. Know what a talukdar is?’

‘An Indian aristocrat, of sorts.’

‘Quite. Back home he’d be called “landed gentry”.’

‘And Rudi Hilversum is staying with this Chandra.’

‘Ah, Rudi. You know him by his Christian name, eh? Good. Knew we’d picked the right man. When we got orders from General Sir Matthew Martlesham to arrest the rogue, I recalled you knew him. Yes, guest of the talukdar. Selling him weapons, no doubt, with which to shoot the British. Never did trust the Dutch, not after that business with the nutmeg.’

The major was undoubtedly referring to the war over trading rights in the Spice Islands, an altercation that took place in the 1600s, centuries earlier.

Jack sighed. ‘It seems I have little choice, sir. I’ll do my best.’

‘Of course you will,’ cried the major jovially. ‘Didn’t expect any less, old chap. Now, will you have that noggin . . . ?’

Jack was given no time to see Rupert Jarrard before he was mounted yet again on Cadiz and riding for Narwar. He took none of his men with him this time. They were all still either sick or exhausted after their ordeal in the jungle. Wynter, the only man to avoid that long trek, was in no fit state after his flogging. Jack was having twinges of conscience about the punishment meted out to the private. There was growing doubt in his mind about the guilt of Wynter regarding the Captain Swing death threat. Still, he could not imagine who else would have written such a note and signed it with such a symbolic signature. In any case it would have been more than wearisome to drag Wynter with him; the man would be complaining every yard of the way.

As an arresting officer, Jack had reluctantly decided to wear his lieutenant’s uniform. It was still a little dangerous out in open country, past villages where there was no army presence, for a British officer to ride alone. But order was re-establishing itself throughout India and with that order came fear of reprisals. Before the mutiny a white man could travel anywhere in relative safety due to the firm action which followed any attack. That kind of law enforcement was swiftly returning and the rural communities were quick to adapt to the norm.

After a long hard ride during which Cadiz did not once falter or complain in any way, Jack arrived at Narwar. He found a place to stable his horse and there asked directions to the house of Chandra. The osier regarded this Hindi-speaking British soldier with some suspicion and at first showed reluctance to give Jack the information he needed. However, two silver coins later and Jack knew where to find the building.

Evening was coming on as Jack threaded his way along a narrow alleyway looking for a house with two lamps, one either side of a door studded with brass nails and bearing a knocker in the shape of a tiger’s head. Eventually he found the place he was looking for. He hammered on the door with the iron knocker and waited expectantly. Soon a little shutter opened in the middle of the door and someone peered out. Jack moved quickly up to the little window, so that only his face was visible and his uniform could not be seen. He put on an anxious expression and kept nervously looking over his shoulder.

‘Who is it?’ came a female voice speaking Hindi. ‘Who are you?’

‘A friend of the Dutchman, Hilversum,’ Jack replied in the same tongue. ‘Chandra knows I am here. Let me in, quickly – it is very urgent. Hurry, woman! A life depends upon it. Quick! Quick!’

He had two pistols in his waistband and he now surreptitiously armed himself with one of these.

There was a moment’s hesitation, then he heard bolts being withdrawn. He turned the handle, pushed the door and barged in, past a startled young woman carrying a lighted candle. She screamed something unintelligible, probably warning those in the back of the house. Jack swept on, past empty bedchambers that fronted a small courtyard. There was a light in a room at the end of a short corridor. He ran down and threw open the door, only to find he was in a kitchen with a startled cook. Jack withdrew and turned left, towards another lighted room. The entrance to this one only had a beaded curtain, on which he nearly strangled himself as he flung himself through the doorway.

The two occupants of the room were already on their feet. One of them, the European man, was armed with a pistol. Jack pointed his weapon at Hilversum, for it was he, and ordered him to disarm himself. Hilversum blinked and then his face clouded over with annoyance.

‘Lieutenant Crossman! How very uncivil, not to say impolite of you to threaten me with one of my own weapons.’

Jack glanced down and saw that he was indeed wielding the single-shot pistol which Hilversum had given to him as a gift.

‘I apologize for that,’ said Jack, ‘but you are under arrest. I have been ordered to take you to Gwalior,’

‘And there is a crime?’

‘Trading in arms without a licence.’

Hilversum laughed out loud. ‘Sir, do you honestly believe they would send a lieutenant to arrest me for that? Trading in pop-guns? I’m sorry, it doesn’t make any sense.’

‘No it doesn’t,’ agreed Jack, ‘but I’ve still got to take you in – orders, you see. If there’s a trial, I’ll speak up for you.’

‘You will? I understand you’re not in a great position of authority yourself at the moment. Perhaps
I
should speak for
you.
’

Jack stared at the Dutchman. ‘What do you know of my private affairs?’

‘Major Lovelace said he had heard you were in some bother or other.’

Jack was greatly surprised. ‘You know Major Lovelace?’

Hilversum was now smiling, as was the other occupant of the room, a slightly built Indian gentleman with dark-ringed eyes who twiddled a frangipani blossom between the fingers of one hand. The Indian was neatly dressed and had slicked his hair down with perfumed grease, the fragrance of which filled the whole room. This unlikely pair of criminals seemed to be enjoying some huge secret joke. Their attitude began to rankle with Jack, who believed he was on a serious business.