The Strangler Vine (4 page)

I suppressed a cough of surprise. No one travelled at those speeds on land except camel messengers; they might do fifty miles in one day, but not day after day. The average regiment would take two months to cover such a distance.

‘I will give you a couple of natives, like the old days. I have in mind a man we’ve used many times.’

‘I’m not taking the boy,’ said Blake. ‘You’re clearly planning to foist him upon me.’

‘You will do as you are told,’ said Buchanan.

It took me a moment to understand that Blake meant me. ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ I said.

Blake said, ‘He won’t do. He’s never left Calcutta, and he has no languages.’

Naturally I had wondered why I was in the room, and was discomfited by my presence there. It did not, however, seem possible that they might consider someone as inexperienced as I was for such an expedition. As I realized this was indeed the case, all that I could think – despite my admiration for Mountstuart – was that there was nothing in the world I wanted less to do.

‘Sir, I am sensible of the honour you do me,’ I burst out, ‘but really I cannot accompany Mr Blake. I am very soon to join my regiment. I can think of at least six other men who would suit far better than me in the circumstances.’

I would have protested further had not Buchanan waved me down.

‘Quiet, Ensign! This is a great opportunity for you and we will hear no more cavils.’ He turned abruptly back to Blake and began to talk about me as if I had not been in the room.

‘He was not our first choice, I grant you. But we intend to send a Company officer with you. Someone presentable, who can take the pace and will not be too much missed. The truth is, just now there is no one else. The more experienced subalterns have already left for the north in advance of the Governor General’s entourage. A quite extraordinary number are down with fever. The boy has a strong constitution. His senior officer says he’s well liked – even if he has not found favour with you. Let us be practical, you need an Englishman who can hold a gun, he sits a horse well and he’s said to be a good shot.’

So I was, it transpired, in the strictest sense, the Company’s last choice.

‘By the by, Blake,’ said Buchanan, ‘You may have your old captaincy back if you want it.’

Blake shook his head. ‘I’m done with all that, Buchanan.’

‘Well then, we must come up with a title for you which confers a little Company authority without too much compromising your precious independence. Special Envoy, perhaps?’

He mused for a moment. Blake snorted.

‘Yes, a little papist, perhaps. Special Investigator? Too inquisitorial. Now, they have a name for men like you in England. What is it? Oh yes, “Special Inquiry Agent”. Is that agreeable?’

Blake shrugged.

‘Then you may go,’ said the Colonel. ‘The Quartermaster General’s office is at your disposal. And Collinson sends his regards.’

Barely acknowledging these words, Blake rose heavily and began to walk – or rather hobble – towards the door. Then he turned.

‘You should know that in my opinion Xavier Mountstuart is either dead or does not wish to be found. In either case, I’d say I am as likely to find him as I am the philosopher’s stone.’ He shuffled out.

I hung back a little, dreading the thought of having to accompany him as we navigated our way back through the building, but he limped along so slowly I could not see how it could be avoided. Colonel Buchanan, however, resolved the problem by calling me back.

‘A word, Mr Avery.’ He stood up and walked around the table.

‘Sir?’

‘Shut the door behind you. Come here. That’s right. A remarkable day for you.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The words tumbled out on a great exhalation. I felt quite dizzy.

‘Sit down. Take a moment to gather yourself. This must have come as a great surprise.’

‘Yes, sir.’ I was grateful for the chair. I sank into it and tried to tame my thoughts.
This is a great chance
, I told myself, but another voice in my head was saying,
But I do not want it. Let me go back to the levee, I just want my posting
.

Colonel Buchanan placed his hand for a moment on my shoulder and looked down at me. I could see a drop of moisture between his nose and his moustache. ‘You know who I am?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then you know, Mr Avery, that I have the power to make and break careers in India. Now I can see that you are not best pleased with this arrangement. I am right, am I not?’

‘It is a rare opportunity,’ I said. ‘I can see that.’

‘Let me ask you something. Where would you like to be in one year’s time? Think carefully. Give me an honest answer.’ There was something unvarnished and direct about the Colonel’s gaze. It seemed to invite the truth.

‘At home. Back in England.’

The truth was, I longed to see Devon again, with a constant painful ache: summer heat that was never excessive, cold slow rain, snow on the moors, the soft grass of the hay meadows, red earth. I longed to see my sister and sit again in the nook of the fire sharing a cup of broth, our legs knotted around each other for warmth. I knew this was impossible. My memories were of a childhood long past and it would be years before I would be able to afford the passage back.

‘I see.’ He raised his eyebrows again. ‘India has not been quite to your taste then.’

I wished at once that I had not been so honest. ‘I would not exactly say that, sir,’ I faltered.

‘Mr Avery, let me be candid with you. This is not a great matter but it needs to be accomplished, it must be accomplished, and, to be blunt, your future rides on how you perform upon it. If you do well, I can make sure that in a year’s time you will be back wherever it is that you come from, regaling an audience of admiring females of your adventures, with a tidy pension in your pocket. If, however, Mountstuart is not found, I will see that you are sent to the most remote malarial hole in Bengal where, if you are not dead of cholera within two years, you will be half-mad with loneliness and boredom in ten and still neck-high in debt. You understand?’

The dizziness returned. ‘Yes, sir. Indeed, sir.’ But I thought,
Why are you saying this? Why am I here? I would rather be anywhere but here
.

‘Now, the enterprise may seem impossible to you, but believe me it is not. Mr Blake is a strange cove, but he gets results. And whatever he might say, we believe he can find Mr Mountstuart, and we expect you to do your utmost to aid him.’

‘Yes, sir.’ And I thought,
I would rather do anything but aid him
.

‘But I require you to take on another task in order to ensure that
the goal is achieved, one which we expect you to discharge with discretion. As I said, Mr Blake is – how shall I say? – an unusual man. He is not quite what they call here, pukka. Not quite a gentleman. He is excellent on the trail, a veritable bloodhound, and he knows Mr Mountstuart’s habits. He served many years in the Company, but he is now to all intents and purposes a civilian. He went native, took a native mistress. She died. He went astray. Insubordination. Radical views, all that. There are rumours that he is an atheist, even that he has converted to Hindooism.’

‘I see, sir,’ I said. And I thought,
Better and better
.

Buchanan walked back round the table. ‘To be entirely, entirely honest with you, we have a very small concern that Mr Blake may veer from his duty in searching for Mr Mountstuart, and that if he finds him, his first instinct may not be to bring him back. Not that we really doubt him, but we must confess to small misgivings.’

‘Really, sir.’ Now I was both alarmed and confused.

‘Ensign, your special task is to keep a weather eye on Mr Blake. Make sure he is doing his duty. Watch for any untoward behaviour.’

‘Yes, sir. I should say, sir, that – might I observe, sir – that Mr Blake appears to have taken against me. I may not be the best person to—’

‘Oh, do not concern yourself with that,’ Buchanan said dismissively. ‘That will all be resolved in time. I assure you.’

‘Yes, sir. And how should I respond to “untoward behaviour”?’

‘If you do believe Mr Blake is not performing his duties, do not do anything precipitate, but observe and remember, so you can make a full report later if necessary. You might also consider taking any problems to a senior officer such as Major Sleeman when you meet him. Of course, Mr Blake is heading this expedition and you must follow his orders, I simply wish to make you aware of some small reservations we have. And to let you know there will always be someone in authority you can talk to. You are a Company man. Remember where your loyalties lie.

‘Now, as a little fillip and taster of what could be in store if you are successful, may I congratulate you on your promotion.’

I blinked. ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ I said.

‘You are being promoted to Lieutenant, Mr Avery.’ Buchanan
smiled again. ‘The expedition needs a little more Company ballast. It will naturally be a temporary commission, and there will be for the moment no additional money, but if you do well, we can change that. Once the cholera has finished with the barracks no doubt there will be more than one permanent opening.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, taken aback by his levity.

‘And by the way, you may tell no one of the reason for this expedition – not even your little Scottish friend. We will come up with some story about you joining a regiment.’ With an elaborate flick of his wrist, he indicated that I was to leave.

By the time I reached the marble hall again, I had sufficiently gathered my thoughts to hope that I might still find either Frank or Miss Larkbridge there. The reception, however, was all but over: the last guests were quitting the building for suppers around town, and a mob of servants were carrying away trays and tables, moving plants and extinguishing candles. I could just see Mr Blake at the other end of the hall, hobbling slowly out into the night.

Five days later Frank was murdered.

On the day after the meeting with Buchanan a message arrived informing me that I could bring only a few packs of baggage. On Frank’s advice I gloomily set about selling my possessions to pay off my most pressing debts. I realized he had some notion of what I was leaving Calcutta for. It was he, after all, who had brought me to the attention of the Political Department and I wanted to put a good face on it. But in truth I felt an almost instinctive revulsion at the whole idea and a lingering anxiety that some mistake had been made.

Still, paying off some of my debts brought some relief: they had been another source of inescapable anxiety. Over-excited by my first few months’ income, I had spent more than I should have on what had seemed like necessities: a pair of good horses, a share in a buggy, camp equipment for the field, some fine furniture, punch ladles and a silver muffineer. Then there were the gambling debts – of which I could not bear to think – and the servants’ salaries. The two horses went, along with the pair of silver-inlaid duelling pistols, the furniture, the silver – all for much less than I had bought them. At least, I told myself, I would no longer be paying the servants’ salaries.

On the second day after the meeting I confessed to Frank – to my shame – both the details of the expedition and my grievances about it. I moaned that Colonel Buchanan had contrived things so as to place me entirely at the mercy of the hateful Mr Blake, who did not care if it were to end in failure; and that if we did not succeed I would find myself not merely demoted back to Ensign, but quite possibly without regiment or position at all. I railed against Miss Larkbridge’s chaperone, who had flatly refused me permission to see her – suspecting that I planned some intemperate declaration,
which of course I did. I spoke of my unease at the secrecy that shrouded our endeavour. My senior officers were informed that I was being sent to an irregular cavalry regiment in the north. Nor was I comfortable with the notion that I might have to spy on Mr Blake, however unpleasant he was. Perversely, though, it was the thought of leaving the loathed Calcutta – because it meant moving ever further from any hope of home – that made me most despondent.

‘You’re a fool, Avery!’ Frank said. ‘Can you not see this as the chance for adventure that you have always wished for? At the very least it gets you out of Calcutta, even if you do have to travel with the dreaded Blake. And at the end you may even meet the man you so admire.’ He sounded like a patient uncle.

For the next two days I arranged my affairs and Frank was much preoccupied with his new duties. But he seemed low, and I feared he had taken my complaints to heart and was worried he had done the wrong thing. On the fifth day, I returned to our lodgings to find him sitting in a chair, with a glass of claret, a plate of bread and butter, and a book – my copy of Scott’s
Ivanhoe
. He seemed tired and distracted, even melancholic. He said he was not in the mood for a night at the mess. I was sure my ingratitude was responsible for his unusual mood. I apologized for my boorishness, and told him I intended to embrace my chance.

He sighed heavily and said, ‘Oh, William, who am I to force you into things you never wished for?’

It was most unlike him. I gave him a pat on the back and said, ‘Chin up, Macpherson! Get yourself to bed with a hot toddy. You must be well enough to celebrate my departure.’ He smiled, looking more like his usual self, and I set off for the mess.

Three hours later I was summoned home. An officer, a captain I did not know, was waiting for me. Frank had been found lying in an alley near the bazaar, a knife wound in his chest, a cord pulled tight around his neck. His purse, coat and shoes had gone.

They had brought his body back and laid it upon his bed. I went and looked at my friend, stupidly unable to make sense of what I was seeing. The body was dirty and crumpled. Over his chest and
stomach his once white shirt was wetly red. Around his neck there was a biting red line. The
khansaman
said he had not realized Frank had gone out. No one knew what he had been doing. The officer told me there was little doubt that Frank had been murdered by a native, perhaps two. Such things happened very rarely – ‘Usually when a European becomes mired in some low business concerning money or native women or boys.’ He looked at me questioningly.

Frank had not been like that. He had had no vices. The officer said the city watchmen and the military police were scouring the bazaar to find out the cause, but I could tell he thought it unlikely we would discover the truth. It seemed a perfect illustration of all that I had come to hate about Calcutta.

I dismissed the servants from the house. For several hours I sat by Frank’s body amid the city’s night sounds – occasional fat drops of water hitting the roof, a pipe guttering, the howl of a pariah dog. Then I went to my cot. I lay awake until a lone muezzin began to call Mahommedans to prayer, ‘
Allah ho Akbar
,’ then sank briefly into uneasy, spinning darkness. When I woke, my sheets were tangled about me like a shroud.

We buried Frank the next day in the Park Street graveyard. It is the most orderly place in Calcutta: a perfect little city of well-swept paths and small palaces and temples to those gone. The day was overcast and damp. The grass was a vivid green, and one could hear the cries of the peacocks and crows that made their homes between the elaborate tombs and monuments. Frank’s former regiment had agreed to pay for a marble plaque and I arranged the inscription:

In Memory of Francis Stewart Macpherson, Ensign, 1816–1837.

Beloved and Honoured Brother and Friend,

His Light Shone but too Briefly.

We were not many mourners, a few officers from Frank’s regiment and members of our mess and Lieutenant Keay, my rival from the levee. He came to the wake as well, taking me aside to present his condolences and to congratulate me – he said he hoped it was not inappropriate – on my promotion.

‘Listen, Avery, it is a dreadful damned thing to lose a friend like this. Perhaps leaving Calcutta now will not be the worst thing. I heard you are going north – should you hit Benares, my old billet, look up my regiment. They are capital fellows, they run a good mess and will give you a good dinner. I have a particular friend, Jiggins. Just mention my name. Of course, you depart the field leaving Miss Larkbridge under siege by the rest of us. We shall keep a piece of the wedding cake for you – although I cannot swear at this moment that it will not be that milksop Moore who will end up the bridegroom.’ I got very drunk.

I do not recall much of the next two days. I walked about Calcutta, feeling very little, performing my final obligations, my eyes open but taking almost nothing in. I had intended to write home, but I could not bring myself to pen the missive my father would expect, nor the letter my sister deserved. I wrote briefly to Frank’s sisters. I gave the servants their notice. That was when the rumours began. I was told by a man from our mess that there was story abroad that Frank had gone to Blacktown because he had been in debt to a native moneylender, a man of the basest morals, engaged in some of the city’s most loathsome vices. I dismissed the story entirely, furious that such lies could be bruited. Frank had been the acme of moderation and virtue. I had never seen him gamble.

Helen Larkbridge sent a note with her condolences – naturally, she could not have been expected to attend the funeral. I tried to write back, but all that I had previously intended to set down now seemed hopelessly trivial and unsayable. It was as if the fuel which gave life to feelings and passion in my breast had been entirely extinguished. In the end I told her that I was leaving the city, could not tell her where I was going, but hoped to return before too many months to find her still as blooming as I would remember her. I signed the letter ‘Lieutenant Avery’, mildly ashamed as I did so. But I did not cross it out as I knew that, feeble as it was, my promotion was my only currency as a suitor. She sent no reply.

On my last day in Calcutta the captain who had come on the night of Frank’s death returned to the house. He said that they had failed to discover anything certain about the murder, but that Frank
had been disastrously in debt to a native moneylender who now had a promissory note against all Frank’s possessions. He did not look me in the eye. He said that the Political Department was concerned that Frank might have had papers in his possession that he should not have. Would I mind if he looked through Frank’s things before they were removed? I protested that none of this made sense, that this was not the man I had known. Where had he lost all this money? Not in my company. I demanded an explanation. He apologized with great embarrassment and said he could not give me one. I said I hoped the unproven accusations about Frank’s propriety would not be made public. Discomfited, he said he did not know. Later, two burly natives arrived with a cart and took everything of Frank’s away.

In the early evening I sat alone on the last chair in the drawing-room with my second glass of
brandy pawnee
. The room was empty save for a rat that washed itself in the middle of the floor. Since the rains a vast array of creatures – snakes, frogs, various rodents – had taken up residence inside the bungalow. I could not now summon the will to chase them out. My mind was assailed with thoughts of Frank. I did not know whether to be angry or bitterly sorry. Some part of me could not believe it. I could not recognize the man I had known – the kindest friend, the best man – in the captain’s descriptions. I knew that the vastness of his debts together with the insinuations about his honesty would destroy his reputation. I remembered how I had blundered on ungratefully about myself while he had never confided in me. I wondered if he had arranged for me to leave Calcutta so I would not be present for a disgrace he must have anticipated. I thought of all his promise and how he would never do any of the things he had planned and striven for. I remembered him with the hole in his chest and the mark around his neck, and I thought of the Thugs and how they strangled their victims.

I determined I would go to the mess and play a last few hands of cards. In the past, Frank had scolded me for playing. Now those exchanges had taken on a certain painful irony. I had lost a lot at cards, principally to a certain Lieutenant O’Keefe – but not, it now
appeared, as much as Frank. I woke every morning resolved not to play again, just as I resolved I would not get drunk, but by the evening I would come to feel that only the card table could restore my fortunes, and that only claret and brandy could provide true solace.

I rode to the mess. There were twenty of us at table, each waited on by his own servant. The dining-room had the obligatory long table of dark polished mahogany, a trio of threadbare battle flags, and a number of scenes of regimental triumphs, of blasting cannons and hilltops taken. We ate the usual succession of hefty courses: mulligatawny soup, potted beef, mutton chops, roast turkey, fried fish, then the pastries and sweetmeats. The mood was subdued to begin with. No one mentioned Frank’s name. After several glasses of loll
shrub
I began to unstiffen. I drank a few more. We toasted the regiment, then the King. There was a toast to my departure. Gradually we lapsed into the usual chivvying, teasing and cat-calling. A few chops and pastries were thrown. My nemesis O’Keefe was sitting at the other end of the table with a number of his cronies. He was not especially well liked – outside the mess he was a rather undistinguished officer – but he had some pull within it by virtue of his skill at the card table, and his energetic ragging of cadets, which we all took well enough.

I moved to the verandah for brandy and cheroots. A few men left for an evening ride and a visit to a nautch or to go and see their girls, and pressed me to come too. A few more retired inside for billiards. O’Keefe called for cards and a table.

‘Well, who is in tonight?’ He turned to me, his expression mocking. ‘Do you have anything left to lose, Avery, my dear young cub? Not carrying your friend’s debts too?’

‘I have enough for a couple of singles,’ I said.

The servants brought table and chairs. There were five of us. We played loo. I started well, winning the first hand as the dealer when everyone else passed, and the next trick too when I exchanged my cards for the Miss and the rest passed again. After that, there were a few mixed hands and I played cautiously, lost a couple of stakes, won a third of the pool a few times, then began to bleed, just a little each time, hand by hand. Before long, I was worse off than I had
been before I had come to the table. Eventually O’Keefe said, as he so often did, ‘Losing again, Avery. How about a hand of unlimited? I’ll give you a chance to win it all back from me, but you will have to put up a serious stake.’

I was drunk. ‘I am somewhat short of funds.’

‘That handsome silver pocket watch will do very well.’

I did not hesitate. I unhooked the chain from the front of my jacket and placed it on the table.

‘I will take an IOU,’ said O’Keefe, ‘but naturally with Avery leaving our midst for the Mofussil I must ask myself if I shall ever see my money.’

I bridled. ‘I am good for it.’ I pushed the pocket watch into the middle of the table.

I cannot describe the hand. I forgot it the moment I lost it. As I lost the next, in which I staked my father’s signet ring, the last thing of value I possessed. I forfeited also an IOU that left me deeper in debt than I had been before. I struggled up and clapped my hands for the
khitmatgur
. O’Keefe made me an exaggerated little bow as I passed.

‘Goodbye, Avery. I look forward to seeing you settle your debts. Unlike your friend.’

I woke bilious and sick, my temples pounding, my mouth dry, with a horrible sense of having made a terrible mistake. I was being shaken vigorously.

‘Mr Avery, sar, Mr Avery! You must come. Blake Sahib awaits. You are being one hour late as we speak.’

I had been told to meet Jeremiah Blake at 4 a.m. by the Royal Botanical Gardens in Howrah on the other side of the Hooghly River, where the road led out of Calcutta. I was sure that I had told the
khitmatgur
to wake me.