The Rape of Venice (48 page)

After a little pause she went on. ‘No woman ever knew greater happiness. The Isle of Spices. It was paradise on earth. Then our long voyage to Calcutta … and there … the joy of living as your wife. Five … five months, darling. Five months of heaven.'

She closed her blue eyes and fell silent for several minutes. Then she spoke again. ‘But it couldn't have lasted. Such things never do. I always knew it couldn't. I made up my mind that … that sooner or later I'd have to … to lose you to some other woman.'

‘No, no, Clarissa!' he protested, miserably. ‘You're wrong in that. Since we set out from England, I've never given a thought to any woman but yourself.'

‘I know,' she murmured. ‘That's what's so lovely. You've been all mine. Now I'll never have to face the agony of watching you change. You were my paladin from the beginning. You are my paladin still. You faced death twice to come here for me. What other woman in the world has had her lover take a city for her with … with the aid of only a few score men?'

Again she paused, then suddenly she half sat up and cried: ‘I die happy! Oh, Roger, be happy for me, and happy too. Bless you… bless you for your love.'

She choked, fell back, twisted violently, then went still.

He bowed his head on her shoulder and wept.

Roger was twenty-eight. During the past thirteen years he had loved half-a-dozen women. Had their lovely faces been represented in an arch, Georgina's would have formed its keystone. With her, he shared an affinity that went to the depths of both their beings; in her single person, she combined for him the rôles of sister, mistress, mother and friend, filling each part according to his need, as he, in turn, played that of brother, lover, father and friend to her. It was she who had made a man of him while still a boy and he had no doubt that his last thought would be of her when his time came to die.

Then all through his later 'teens, he had suffered the agonies that only the young can feel when stricken with a hopeless passion; for it had never seemed remotely possible that Athénais de Rochambeau could be his. Yet, years later, after she had married, had children, and was in peril of the guillotine, they had, for a few brief months, known great happiness.

To his wife, Natalia Andreovna, he had been attracted by a brief violent passion. She had made no secret of her habitual immorality, and had delighted to gratify her desires with all the abandon of her fierce Russian nature. But he had soon learnt that she was vicious, treacherous and incapable of any decent emotion. The cynical old Empress Catherine had forced him to marry her as the alternative to losing his life; and at her death he had felt only relief.

His affaire with the dark-browed Isabella d'Aranda had begun only as a flirtation and grown with propinquity, during their long journey together through France and Italy. Her education and intelligence had been much superior to those of most women, so added greatly to the attraction of her typically
Spanish beauty. But she was by nature a prude, and it was cumulative frustration, more than anything else, which had led to his becoming obsessed with desire for her. In the end, as in the case of Athénais, it was after she was married that she had given him, as a wife, what she had refused him as a maid.

For his second wife, Amanda, he had never been subject to any desperate craving. It had amused him to take her away from George Gunston and, after a while, he had become slightly bewitched by her delightful vagueness, happy, generous disposition and merry laughter. It was Georgina who had insisted that the time had come for him to settle down and that Amanda would make the perfect wife for him. He had allowed himself to be persuaded, and never regretted it. They had, at times, had tiffs, and one serious breach, but their marriage had been a much happier one than most. There had grown up between them that serene companionship, and very deep affection, which are the better parts of love, and it had taken him a long time to get over her loss.

But Clarissa had given him something that none of the others could. He had first met her at his marriage to Amanda. She had then been an awkward, gawky, schoolroom miss. He had watched her grow up into a slim-limbed young goddess; then, under the magic of his own caresses, she had flowered into a divinely beautiful woman. She had thought with love of no man before she met him; cared for no other, even for a brief period, of the many who had pursued her while he was still married to Amanda; faced the hardships of a stowaway in the hope of becoming his mistress, been undaunted by his refusals and even entered on a distasteful mockery of a marriage that she might bind him to his promise to become her lover afterwards. She had given her whole life to her love for him.

She had kept secret her forebodings that, in time, she was certain to lose him to another woman, and such a thought had never crossed his mind. On the contrary, it had been full of plans for their future. He had been waiting only for the Court case with Winters over the marriage settlement to be decided before taking her back to England. The money from that, with which she had insisted on dowering him, together with his own now comfortable fortune, would have made them richer than many people who had quite large estates. He had travelled enough to last him a lifetime, so had meant to settle down in earnest. Instead of appearing to little Susan as an occasional
visitor, who always brought presents, he could have become a real father to her. And Clarissa had been determined to give him a son. He would have liked a son. A son of theirs could not have been other than strong-limbed, handsome, blue-eyed, gay and courageous. He had already begun to make half-formed mental pictures of the boy. But now, although barely twenty, the warm loveliness that was to have formed the beating heart round which this new life of contentment was to centre lay cold, rigid, dead.

The Begum, Angus McCloud, Rai-ul-daula, Philip Laker and his officers, all did their utmost to comfort him. But after a few hours he asked them, to spare him further marks of their sympathy, and it became clear that his mind was set on one thought—to pursue and be revenged upon Malderini.

As a first move, late that afternoon, he discussed the matter with Rai-ul-daula and Philip Laker. The former told him that the Venetian had already extracted his wife's inheritance from Jawahir-ul-daula, so his purpose in coming to India had been fulfilled. Therefore, as he had disclosed to Clarissa his ambition to become Doge of Vehice, it was a hundred to one that he was on his way back there.

He would certainly not have gone down to Calcutta, as the risk of being caught and brought to book there, before he could get a ship, would have been far too great. Besides, as Rai-ul-daula pointed out, it was only the people who lived on the borders of the great ocean—English, Portuguese, Dutch and French—who habitually used the long sea route to India. Arab, Greek, Levantine, Venetian and Genoese merchants had for centuries accomplished a great part of the journey overland, always entering India by her western ports, or by way of Persia. In some parts, such travellers had to risk attack by brigands; but, in the main, they could count on the protection of the native Princes, and were welcomed at their courts. It was known that Malderini had arrived at Bahna from the interior, and there could be little doubt that he was now on his way back through it.

Roger felt that there should be no great difficulty in tracing the Venetian and that, though he had a week's start, by hard riding there would be a good chance of catching him up about a fortnight hence. Laker promptly offered a troop of his hussars to participate in this man-hunt; but the cross-eyed Rajah shook his head.

He said that to rely on horses at all would be a great mistake,
as the stages between towns with good inns were often more than one day's journey, and to be benighted on horseback meant having nowhere to sleep; whereas a palanquin served also as a bedroom. Moreover, in many places it was impossible to get remounts, but relays of
ryots
could be hired at every village to carry palanquins at a trot to the next; so, if one was prepared to put up with the jolting by night as well as by day, one could cover great distances each twenty-four hours. He added that, to make the most of his start and get well clear of the British, Malderini would probably have travelled at top speed like that for the first few days; so that even on horseback, without remounts, it would now prove impossible to catch up with him.

Much disappointed, Roger had to resign himself to the thought of a long chase across India and perhaps right back to Europe; so he refused Laker's offer of a troop, but gladly accepted Rai-ul daula's offer to take Mahmud Ali as his guide. There remained only the question of money for the journey, and Roger asked the Rajah if he would change some of his bills on London for gold. The last thing he had meant to do was to invite a further gift, but Rai-ul-daula said at once that he should have all the gold he needed, and that, if he was so lacking in delicacy as to produce paper in payment, it should be burnt before his eyes.

That Saturday night he wrote a long letter to Hickey, telling him of all that had happened and stating that he did not intend to return to Calcutta. He had always been averse to trading on Clarissa's marriage to extract money from Winters but, as that unpleasant young man had accused Clarissa and himself of being a pair of incestuous crooks, he felt that, having come into a fortune, Winters should at least be made to disgorge a moderate sum, somewhat larger than the contemplated costs of the case. Accordingly he made over his rights to Hickey, suggesting that he should settle the matter out of court while Winters was still unaware that neither Clarissa nor himself would now appear at the hearing. Winters, he felt sure, would jump at the chance of settling for a few thousand pounds, a portion of which could be used to pay off the servants and other liabilities of the Brook household, while the greater part would both cover legal expenses and provide a handsome acknowledgement to Hickey of his many friendly services.

This missive Roger sent off by fast messenger the following day. Another, his report to Sir John Shore, he held over to be
taken by the officer whose troop was to escort the belated payment of the twelve lakhs of rupees down to Calcutta. In it he informed the Governor that urgent personal affairs necessitated his return to Europe; so he was handing over his responsibilities as the Company's agent to Captain Philip Laker.

Having despatched his letter to Hickey, Roger went to make his last farewells to Clarissa, as her funeral was to take place that morning. Her bandaged face was peaceful and, although now very thin, the ravages of the disease had passed from it. After kneeling by her silently for a while, he left the pavilion. Outside, in its garden, he found the Begum waiting for him; holding out a large handsome casket, she said:

‘I was told you were here; so I came to give you this. It is your lady's hair. She wished you to have it.'

Thanking the Begum gravely, Roger took the casket and opened it. Inside, there was a thick two-foot-long coil of pale gold tresses, still shimmering with life. He guessed that Clarissa had intended only a lock to be cut off and given him to put in a locket, or wear in a mourning ring, as was the fashion of the times; but, evidently, she had been misunderstood, so they had shaved her head. Many Indians wore beautifully plaited, gold-adorned, bracelets of human hair, and that gave him an idea.

‘I should like,' he said, ‘to wear it. Could Your Highness have it made up into a rope for me?'

She looked a little surprised, but nodded. ‘If you wish. But there is a lot of it. Unless it is to be very thick, such a rope would be nearly as long as you are tall.'

‘That is as I would like it. I leave tomorrow morning, though. Could it be done by then?'

‘Yes; I will summon my jewellers at once, and set them to work on it.'

Having handed her back the casket and thanked her, he walked through the palace to Laker's quarters to settle final arrangements about the funeral. He had naturally intended to have Clarissa buried in the normal way, but that could be done only outside the city, and Surgeon Pomfrett had persuaded him against it on the grounds that the grave would almost certainly be violated by robbers hoping to find jewels; so he had agreed that, like those of a Hindu lady of high caste, Clarissa's remains should be burnt.

With Laker, he went out to inspect the funeral pyre that had been built in one of the courtyards, and soon afterwards the squadron began to form up in it. All the nobles of the court
collected there; then Rai-ul-daula arrived in stately procession with his guards. To the beating of muffled drums, Clarissa's body, draped in gorgeous silks, was borne into the court on a litter carried by sixteen bearers and placed reverently on the incense-scattered pyre. Surgeon Pomfrett read the Church of England service for the burial of the dead, the fire was lit, and so, with all the pomp appropriate to a Princess, the loveliness that had been Clarissa Marsham ascended in perfumed smoke towards the eternal gods.

That night her hair was brought to Roger, now as a plaited cord, half-an-inch thick and secured at its ends in jewelled tassels. Undoing his cravat, he put it loosely twice round his neck, then tucked the ends in under his shirt, so that the whole of it was next to his skin.

Next morning he went to take leave of the Begum, then of his good friends, Rai-ul-daula. Philip Laker and Angus McCloud. Then the other officers of the squadron, and many of the Rajah's people assembled to see him off. On March 25th he had been brought into Bahna as a prisoner; now, on April 12th, he left it with every mark of honour that its ruler could pay him, but with a heart of lead.

Rai-ul-daula had provided him with two palanquins; in one he was to travel with Mahmud Ali, the other was to carry a cook, paraphernalia for camping and stores. At night he would sleep in one and the two natives in the other. As there was virtually no hope of catching Malderini in the early stages of the journey, he had decided not to martyr himself by nightly joltings but to camp each evening; and this made it possible to trail two chargers on long leads behind the rear palanquin, so that he and Mahmud Ali could break the monotony of the daily trek by riding part of the time.