The Maharajah's General (13 page)

‘How?’ Isabel smiled for the first time. ‘It’s easy. You carry your sorrow in your eyes.’ She reached out her hand, placing it gently on top of Jack’s. ‘I think you have suffered enough.’

‘I don’t think Fenris would agree.’

‘Arthur acts like a spoiled child. You dared to offend his precious dignity and so he hates you.’

‘But he likes you.’ Jack felt a sudden rush of jealousy at the notion. Isabel would have to have been made of stone not to find the dashing young officer attractive. Fenris must have turned her head. He most certainly would have tried.

‘I know.’ She acknowledged Jack’s observation.

‘He could be a fine man.’

She smiled at his choice of words. ‘He could be. But he is not. He is not for me.’

‘I cannot say I’m not pleased.’ Jack matched her smile, turning his hand to squeeze her own.

‘You saved my life. I shall not forget that, Jack. No matter what happens.’

Jack slowly shook his head. ‘No.’ He spoke firmly, letting go of her hand. ‘You owe me nothing. Consider it my final gallant act, my parting gift to the world.’

‘Isabel! Come here this instant.’ Reverend Youngsummers shouted across to his errant daughter as if he had spotted her conversing with the devil himself.

Isabel’s head turned as her father shouted for her; the anger in his voice was clear. She sighed, and Jack felt her breath kiss against his cheek. Then she uncrossed her legs and got to her feet, her hands brushing her dress flat and knocking off any bits of dirt that had stuck to it as she sat on the ground.

She looked down at Jack. ‘I will not forget what you did, Jack. Whatever you say.’

Without another word she turned and walked away, her head bowed as she obediently returned to her father’s side. She did not want him to see the desire on her face, or the spark of excitement in her eyes as she dared to consider doing something that would scandalise the tight-knit society in which she was forced to live. If only she could summon the courage.

Jack lay on his back, looking up at the stars. He had never paid them much heed before. Indeed, he did not think he had truly noticed them until he left his mother’s gin palace in Whitechapel to join the redcoats. There was little sky to be seen in the stinking rookery in which he had been brought up. In the enclosed confines of the city, it was hard to even make out the sky in the narrow gaps between the tops of the buildings, or through the near-impenetrable smog that filled the air no matter what the season. In the rookeries, staring up at the heavens was asking for trouble. Letting your guard down, even for a single heartbeat, was a quick route to an early grave, a final trip down to the Thames, the last resting place for so many of the denizens of the foul places where no one sane or sober chose to go.

Now he gazed at a sky with more stars than he could count. He liked their serenity. Whatever happened, they continued to look down, unperturbed by sorrow or by war. They did not care if someone lived, or if they died. If someone stole a scarlet coat or dreamt of a future far removed from the one allotted to them. The stars were always the same.

He heard a noise, a scrabble of feet not far from where he lay. He closed his eyes, shutting off his view of the heavens as he concentrated his hearing on the sound. It could have been an animal; a whole menagerie of beasts stirred when the darkness arrived, to scuttle and hurry about their business through the cold night hours before the sun rose. Yet he could hear breathing, the subtle sound of someone trying very carefully to be completely quiet.

‘Jack?’

The icy whisper still took him by surprise. His body jolted at the sudden call, a rush of blood surging through his veins to hammer noisily in his ears. Gingerly he eased himself into a sitting position, scanning the darkness. As he did so, his manacles and fetters clattered noisily.

‘Hush.’ The voice urged him to silence.

Jack did his best to obey, moving with infinite slowness as he manoeuvred round so that he could face the soft voice that had murmured from the darkness. He could just make out a thin silhouette bending towards him.

‘Hush yourself.’ He spoke quietly. He knew who had come to disturb his peace. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘Be quiet.’ The voice delivered the rebuke with a little more force, its owner clearly annoyed that Jack was treating the situation in such a glib manner. ‘I’ve come to rescue you.’

Jack did his best not to laugh aloud at the bold announcement. ‘And how do you propose to do that, Isabel?’

Isabel Youngsummers crept forward and gently slid to her knees beside him. Even in the dim light Jack could see her flushed cheeks, the exhilaration at her escapade clear. She had bound her hair into a dark blue headscarf and swathed her body in a thick brown cloak, both for warmth and to deaden the brightness of her dress.

‘If you are going to speak to me in that tone, then perhaps I’ll not bother.’

‘You shouldn’t be here, Isabel. Your father will have a fit if he finds out.’

‘He won’t know.’ Isabel spoke quickly and quietly.

She was right to be confident. It was unlikely anyone would hear her. The bivouac was never completely quiet, the sounds of men snoring, farting and fidgeting loud enough to cover any whispered conversation. The real danger came from a sentry spotting the extra silhouette near where Jack should have been sitting in isolation. Yet the sentries’ job was to face outwards, scanning the ominous shadows for danger, so the risk of discovery was small. But that did not stop Jack fretting. Isabel would be severely rebuked for her exploits if she were discovered, and he did not want her to be punished for his sake.

‘You should go back.’

‘Never,’ Isabel replied firmly. ‘I shall never go back.’

‘Never?’

‘He wants to send me home.’ There was real pain in her voice. ‘He has vowed to book me on the next available steamship. He will send to me my aunt’s, where I will sit and do nothing until I am married off. I would rather die.’

‘He’ll likely kill you himself if he discovers you talking to me.’

‘I’m not here to talk to you, you ninny. I said I have come to rescue you, and so I shall.’

Jack lifted his arms, showing her the heavy manacles that bound his hands, grimacing at the pain the gesture provoked. The skin around the clasps had been rubbed raw, chafed by the unyielding metal so that it was bloody and weeping. ‘And what about these?’

Isabel smiled with devilment, her eyes alive with her own daring. ‘Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. Why, if only I had the key.’

Her hand fished beneath her cloak and she produced a pair of heavy iron keys with all the panache of a music hall magician.

Jack looked at her in admiration. ‘Blow me. How did you get those?’

Isabel chuckled at the look of surprise on his face. ‘Oh, now you’re interested. You still want me to go back?’

Jack grinned. ‘I do. But give me the damn keys first.’

Isabel pulled back her hand, removing the keys from his reach. ‘Oh no you don’t. If I give you these, you must promise to take me with you.’

‘Take you with me? Take you where, exactly? If I make a run for it, I will be hunted like a damn fox. You would not want that.’

‘You’re right. I don’t. But we won’t be on the run.’

‘Really? Perhaps you are an angel then, using your godly powers to spirit us away. For there is nowhere to hide here.’

Isabel looked nervously over her shoulder as Jack took the Lord’s name in vain. It would take a long time for her father’s shadow to leave her side.

‘There is.’ She spoke firmly and with obvious confidence. ‘I’ve thought it all through. I know exactly where we shall go. And once we are there, no one will be able to reach us.’

‘My God, Isabel, are you corned? Did you steal some of your father’s brandy?’

Isabel flickered her free hand forward, deftly delivering a gentle slap to his arm. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then what’s your plan? Where is this wonderful sanctuary? Where can we hide where no one will find us?’ Jack fired the questions at her, a trace of annoyance in his voice. He would be happy to risk an escape, for he truly had nothing left to lose. But he did not have high hopes of success; the local people would certainly not be willing to offer shelter to a white-faced stranger. But it was worth a try, if only to irk Lieutenant Fenris.

‘We shall go to the Maharajah. He’ll save us. We will join his court.’ She smiled the sweet smile of victory, for she was quite correct. She had thought of the one place where they would be safe.

Only the Maharajah could save them now.

Jack took Isabel’s hand as they crept through the bivouac. He could see the sentries at their posts, the two pairs of redcoats staring dutifully into the darkness as they willed away the long hours of their sentry duty. He kept a close eye on them as he led Isabel through the sleeping camp, hoping that no one could hear the pounding of his heart, which seemed loud enough to wake the dead.

He kept well away from the slumbering redcoats, guiding Isabel in a wide circle as he aimed for the small group of horses that had been tethered together a short distance from where the officers had chosen to rest for the night. The camp was still in the dead hours after midnight, the last wakeful redcoats settling down for some rest before the next day’s march, which would begin before the daylight crept back to scour the darkness away.

Isabel let out a gasp of distaste as they moved out of the last light of the fires. ‘What on earth is that?’ She raised a hand to her face, trying to protect her mouth and nose from the foul aroma.

Jack turned and saw the look on her face. He grinned. ‘The latrine. Try not to step in anything.’

‘That’s horrid.’

Isabel’s disgust was evident, but he had chosen the route with care. Anyone seeing movement heading towards the temporary latrine would think nothing of it; many of the redcoats stumbled into the darkness to relieve themselves during the night. Once past the reeking pits they would be able to move rapidly towards the horses that offered their best chance of escape.

Jack risked a glimpse back over his shoulder as he led Isabel into the night. He had used her cloak to improvise the slumped shape of a sleeping figure, arranging it so that anyone checking on him would see what looked like a slumbering form. It would not fool his captors for long when the company prepared to march, but by then he hoped he and Isabel would be far away.

He rubbed at the sores on his wrists, relishing the freedom of movement. He had learnt from bitter experience that even the worst pain did not last for ever, even the most vicious of wounds healing with time. At least, that was true for wounds to the body. Wounds to the soul were different, only ever scabbing over, the tears and fissures left to fester beneath. But he had learnt not to pick at those, letting them rot in the depths of his mind, the pain dulled by familiarity yet never completely going away.

It did not take long to reach the horses. He let Isabel go first; she was more experienced with the animals then he was. She moved forward quickly, murmuring sweet nothings as she approached the horse she had ridden that day. It gave a quiet whinny of recognition and blew loudly through its nostrils as it smelt the open hand Isabel held to its nose.

Jack looked around, anxiously scanning the slumbering bivouac for signs of alarm. All was still, the redcoats blissfully unaware that the impostor they had been sent to arrest was making off. He saw the sleeping form of Lieutenant Fenris, the young officer enjoying the peaceful rest of the victorious. Jack only wished he could be there when Fenris realised that his prisoner had escaped.

He smiled at the notion. He knew there was unfinished business between the two of them. The kind of business that could only be settled sword in hand. As Isabel deftly saddled two of the horses, he wondered when that encounter would come. For he knew Fenris would not rest until he had been brought low, the lieutenant’s hatred sure to be fanned by his disappearance with Isabel. He relished the idea. He would not shirk from the fight, whenever it came.

‘Isabel. It’s time to get up.’

Jack gingerly nudged the sleeping form with the toe of his boot. He could make little sense of where her body lay under the thick wrappings of blanket, and he hoped he had not inadvertently poked a sensitive area with his unsubtle alarm call.

‘Isabel.’ He spoke again, raising his voice to make sure it penetrated the cloth that swaddled her head. To his satisfaction he saw her start to stir, and almost certain that she would heed his call to rise, he returned to the fire that he had tended during the long, lonely hours of the night.

They had ridden through the dawn, then on throughout the long, hot day until after night had fallen. He had seen Isabel swaying in the saddle, her exhaustion obvious. As much as he would have liked to keep going, he had sensed that she was at the end of her strength. They had unsaddled the horses, and created a meagre sanctuary on a lonely, windswept hillside, sheltering as best they could amongst a group of large boulders.

He picked up a stick and stabbed the fire back into life. It had been a tedious night. He had chosen to sit and keep watch despite his tiredness, nervous that they would be discovered despite the distance they had covered. The anxiety had gnawed at him but he did his best to keep it contained, forcing himself to sit still whilst Isabel slept. She would need her full strength should they be forced to avoid any persistent pursuit during the coming day.

He kept his eyes low, concentrating on the flickering flames that danced into life in front of him. He craved a decent drink, sorely missing the reviving effects of some tart green coffee or the thick, tarry soldiers’ tea that was made wherever British redcoats rose to face the day. He wondered if there would be tea at the Maharajah’s court, and he walked over to search through the saddlebags on Lieutenant Fenris’ horse to see if the British officer had possessed enough sense to carry some with him.

The image of Lieutenant Fenris rising the previous morning to see that his prisoner had not only escaped but had also taken the young officer’s horse with him crept into Jack’s mind. It was a notion to savour, and he found himself chuckling softly as he pictured the rage that must have surely followed.

‘And what is amusing you this morning?’ Isabel tiptoed across to sit in front of the fire, still swaddled in the thick army blanket that had kept her warm through the chill hours of the night.

‘Fenris. I was imagining how he must have reacted when he discovered I had stolen his horse.’ Jack gave up his search, muttering a curse under his breath at the lieutenant’s feckless decision not to carry any of the precious leaves. He walked back to the warmth of the fire, contemplating a day without tea.

‘Poor Arthur.’ Isabel looked wistful as she carefully took a seat next to Jack.

‘Poor Arthur, my eye.’ He felt not a single ounce of sympathy for his former lieutenant. ‘It’s no more than he deserves.’

Isabel grinned mischievously. ‘And Father will be furious.’ She relished the statement, her satisfaction at her father’s distress obvious.

Jack looked hard at the young girl sitting opposite him. He could only marvel at her spirit. She had left her family behind, gambling her future and potentially her life on a wild adventure with only a proven criminal for a companion. Yet she did not seem the least bit perturbed at her actions; even a night spent with only rocks for a bed had done nothing to dampen her ardour for the escapade.

‘Will they still come after us?’ she asked, wrapping the blanket tightly around herself to ward off the morning’s chill.

‘They might. They’ll want to, that’s for certain. But I reckon they’ll have no choice but to go back to Bhundapur and report what has happened. Proudfoot will have to be told, so I imagine we are safe for the moment.’

‘Proudfoot will be cross.’

Jack shook his head at the childish turn of phrase. ‘He won’t be cross. He will be apoplectic. I almost wish I was there to see him give those bastards a tongue-lashing.’

‘Poor Arthur, and poor Captain Kingsley. He has only just arrived, and now he will be in trouble with his commander.’

‘Save your pity for us.’ Jack poked the fire with force, causing it to flare up. ‘We still don’t know where we are bloody going.’

Isabel pouted at Jack’s obvious irritation. ‘There’s no need to look like you are sucking on a lemon. I didn’t hear you mention that when I rescued you.’

‘I had other things on my mind.’

‘Well more fool you. I cannot be expected to think of everything. I got you free, didn’t I?’

Jack reached out and pressed his hand on to Isabel’s. ‘I am grateful. Truly. I just wish I knew which way to go. It is up to me to keep you safe.’

Isabel looked down at his hand but made no move to remove it from her own. It was the first intimate contact they had shared since they had ridden off into the night, and it promised much.

‘Will you tell me your name?’ She asked the question quietly.

‘Does it matter?’ Jack matched her tone. He could feel the warmth of her hand underneath his. He concentrated on how it felt as his fingertips moved gently to tease out a pattern on her skin.

‘I would like to know who you are.’

‘You will not find that in my name.’ He smiled at his own pomposity. ‘It’s Lark. Jack Lark.’

She did not speak again, satisfied by the revelation. They sat together, staring out into the wild, barren landscape, sharing the moment.

‘I suppose I had better get ready.’ Isabel sighed as she broke the spell between them. ‘I expect you will want me to ride all day again?’

Jack took his hand back, immediately missing the feeling of Isabel’s warm skin. ‘I expect so. But we need to find out where to go.’

‘Perhaps we can ask?’

Jack chuckled at the notion. ‘I’m not sure I speak enough of the local language to ask for directions. Do you?’

‘No.’ Isabel smiled at her own foolishness. ‘The servants all spoke English. I do speak French, though. And a little Latin.’

Jack laughed aloud. ‘Well, that should prove useful.’ He enjoyed watching the expression on Isabel’s face, savouring the sight of her fresh beauty. ‘I knew a fellow who spoke Latin once. He went quite mad.’

Isabel laughed along with him. They continued to sit together, enjoying each other’s company, comfortable in the silence.

‘Jack,’ Isabel was serious when she spoke again, ‘are we in danger?’

He opened his mouth, his first thought to scotch the idea immediately. But he had spent too long living with lies to begin this new life with more of the same.

‘Yes.’ He watched her closely, looking for a flicker of fear in her emerald eyes. ‘Our best hope is to come across some of the Maharajah’s men. Then at least we have a chance, though I suspect they will do nothing more than escort us back to Bhundapur. If we encounter anyone else, then there is not a lot I can do. I don’t even have a weapon.’ He smiled ruefully at the admission. ‘If it comes to that, we will have to ride for it. At least you will. I suspect I will simply fall off.’ He tried to make light of the situation, yet there was little he could do to disguise the peril into which they had plunged so willingly.

‘I know you will keep me safe, Jack. I’ve seen you fight, remember. I know how vicious you are.’ Isabel shook off her fear, choosing instead to copy Jack and do her best to lighten the mood.

Jack laughed at her choice of words. ‘Vicious? I thought I was rather heroic.’

He was pleased to see her smile back. ‘My hero!’ She fluttered her eyelids in a theatrical gesture of adoration before quickly rising to her feet. ‘Now I must ask you to turn your back so I can get ready.’

‘Yes, milady.’ Jack knuckled his forehead in a gesture of obedience. ‘Unless I can be of some assistance? I was once an officer’s orderly, you know.’

‘No thank you,’ Isabel said firmly. ‘I shall manage quite well on my own. You must promise not to peek.’

‘I promise.’ He made a show of inching round so that he faced the opposite direction. ‘I shall not dare to watch. Who knows what I would see.’

‘You’d better not. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.’ Isabel wagged her finger at Jack’s back. She had thought she would feel awkward in his company; after all, she had never been left alone with a man before. She walked back to where she had abandoned her few belongings, all that she now possessed in the world. She tried to feel concern for her future, summoning up the image of her father to elicit some feelings of sorrow or of guilt. But she felt nothing save excitement. They might not know where they were going, but she would not turn back. Not now. Not ever.

Jack and Isabel rode on to the higher ground. Mountains rose around them like battlemented towers, their soaring pinnacles and spires reaching far up into the dark blue vastness of the sky. They saw little sign of life. Nothing but the birds of prey that soared on the eddies of hot air swirling far above. They had hoped to find a village, or at least some form of habitation, but few of the locals were foolish enough to try to eke out an existence in this barren region, and they saw no evidence of settlement other than some abandoned forts perched high on distant hilltops.

Yet not all was bare and lifeless. Occasional folds or dips in the ground supported lush patches of vibrant growth, a rare treat for eyes that otherwise saw nothing but the dusty grey of the scree slopes around them. These pools of life boasted vivid colours, the bright reds, blues, purples and oranges of the mountain flowers offering a stark contrast to their dull surroundings.

Occasionally the sound of moving water interrupted the lonely quiet, the gentle trickle of a mountain stream or the subtler noise of a thin smear of water sliding across the rocks. Otherwise it was silent, the only noise their horses’ hooves as their iron-shod feet clattered heavily on the rocky soil.

They rode on, surrounded by the vastness of the highlands, the far-reaching views of ravines, sharp peaks, towering mountains, leaping waterfalls and never-ending sloping hillsides only adding to the feeling of isolation.

They spied the dust cloud long before the horsemen came into view. The open ground gave them no place to hide, the barren slope they were on bereft of all living things save for a scattering of thorny bushes and scrubby plants. It was tempting to immediately gouge their spurs into the sides of their tired horses, forcing them into a reluctant gallop in a bid to be far away before the unknown riders came close. But the long morning in the saddle had dampened the desire for more time spent meandering around the bare hills with no clear idea of where they were headed. So instead of flight, they stopped and waited to see who else was journeying through the high ground far to the east of Bhundapur.

‘Be ready to gallop.’ Jack pulled his horse to a halt as he prepared Isabel to flee. His lack of skill on horseback left him standing impotently a good yard and a half behind Isabel, who shook her head in mock despair as she saw what he had been trying to do. With a deft flick of her reins she edged her own horse backwards and to the side so that she could stand next to him, her skills instinctive.

‘You really do need some lessons in how to ride, don’t you, Jack?’ she teased.

‘It was never high on my list of priorities.’ Jack squinted hard, trying to identify the approaching riders. ‘We didn’t have an awful lot of horses where I grew up.’ He thought of the area around his mother’s gin palace. The only animals he had ever seen were the many mangy dogs that managed to exist on the rubbish and noxious offal that littered the streets. His former self could never have imagined even being close to a horse, let alone riding one.

‘How remiss.’ Isabel seemed genuinely baffled at the notion of not being able to ride. ‘I cannot imagine my childhood without my ponies. What is life without a good ride?’

Jack smiled at the innocent naïvety of her remark but kept his eyes fixed on the party of horsemen that was now making directly for them. It was clear they had been spotted and were now firmly in the other riders’ sights.

‘There are four of them,’ Isabel announced suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over them as they both squinted into the bright light.

‘Your eyes are better than mine.’ Jack relaxed his face, giving up the effort of trying to identify the approaching horsemen. ‘Are they in uniform?’

It was hard to sit and wait for Isabel to answer the question. His worst fear was that they were being approached by a group of bandits. He had tried to convince himself that it was unlikely the local dacoits paraded around on horseback, but he knew he would have little chance of fighting off even an unarmed schoolboy. Isabel was right to chide him for his incompetence; at anything other than a gentle walk, it was all he could do to stay in the saddle. Quite how anyone could fight and ride at the same time was beyond him.

‘They are dressed all in blue.’

Jack tensed as Isabel gave him the vital information he needed. ‘Lancers.’ There was little comfort in knowing who they faced; the vivid memory of nearly being run through by the Maharajah’s lance was still fresh.

‘What shall we do?’ Isabel turned to face Jack as she posed the question. They had discussed the chances of meeting some of the Maharajah’s forces. At the time it had seemed the best thing that could happen to them, but now that four of the Maharajah’s elite lancers were bearing down on them, the idea that they could meekly request safe passage to their leader’s citadel suddenly seemed incredibly naïve.