A Far Horizon (14 page)

*

‘The Hatmen and the
badmash
lawyers are all together in this,’ Jaya sobbed as she described the experience in the Cutcherry to Mr Dumbleton.

‘It will need to be sorted out,’ Dumbleton comforted. Something seemed certainly amiss and he felt sorry for the ignorant woman before him. It was known that both Holwell and Demonteguy had business in diamonds.

‘Hatman Holwell says it was no will, only a legal making-over of my ornaments to Sati. Can this be possible?’ Jaya wiped her eyes.

‘If you were not clear upon the matter yourself, and also cannot read what has been written down, then anything is possible. And there are such documents as you have described, to make over things before a death. How this should have come into Mr Demonteguy’s possession without your knowing, is hard to understand.’

‘He has bribed the
badmash
lawyer, what else? It is easy to cheat an old woman out of her only possessions,’ Jaya replied.

‘If it is a will you have made, then they can do nothing to you. If
not, and you have gifted these items to your granddaughter as her inheritance in your lifetime, then your position is weak, for the law will not be upon you side,’ the Nortary explained.

‘They are all
choors
, thieves.’ Once agin Jaya began to sob.

The violence of the day before, when the Chief Magistrate’s
goondas
had come bursting into her hut, still flooded vividly through her. The men ware paid ruffians, and had woken her from sleep. They had abused her verbally with terrible
ghalees
, then thrown her into a corner while they tore up her home. They told her the Chief Magistrate wanted her jewels in his safe keeping for Mr
Demonteguy’s
stepdaughter. They kicked her water jar to smithereens. The sleeping pallet they ripped to a mound of white fluff that reminded her of the Chief Magistrate’s wig. Her cooking utensils were thrown into the street and rolled about with a clatter. At once beggars had grabbed them and run off before they could be caught. Her big trunk was opened and the remaining clothes from her Murshidabad days had been strewn about the hut. The more they searched and found nothing, and angrier the
goondas
became. One held a knife to her throat. And then, just as they prepared to give up, they had seen the unevenness of the wall. They had struck the place repeatedly with a stick until the mud gave way and the bag of diamonds fell out of the wall.

She had since heard from Govindram through a paid spy that the jewels were in Mr Holwell’s safe keeping. They had not even been given to Demonteguy. Mr Dumbleton’s face, as Jaya recounted her tale, grew visibly sterner, especially at her last revelation.

‘This is abominable.’ Dumbleton frowned. ‘What is the worth of this legacy?’

‘How do I know about such things? Some of the diamonds are bigger than my thumbnail,’ Jaya answered.

‘It will be necessary for me to confer with my colleagues about the legality of this. There appear to be irregularities. I will also need to see a copy of the document you made. If it was a will then you can easily make another, reversing the first,’ the Notary suggested.

‘How many times can a woman make a will?’ Jaya enquired.

‘Any number,’ Dumbleton replied.

‘But each time I can only say the same thing. I want my Sati to have my ornaments,’ Jaya insisted.

‘Let me see the document first,’ Mr Dumbleton answered, sitting back in his chair. The events were not without interest. In the Mayor’s Court they had waited some time for just such a situation with which to clip the Chief Magistrate’s wings.

‘What about payment?’ Jaya prepared herself for the worst.

‘With irregularities like this it is possible you yourself might be paid some compensation in time. This could be a complaint against the Company Courts, not a legal suit. Let us leave it at that for the moment. An inquiry will need to be held.’

‘No money needed?’ Jaya was not sure she understood Mr Dumbleton’s words.

‘No money needed,’ he confirmed, motioning to the
peon
to show her out.

‘The paper I will send you tomorrow. My cousin Govindram has it in his safe keeping,’ Jaya promised as she left the room.

*

The Notary wasted no time, once the day’s procedures were finished, in summoning the Clerk of the Mayor’s Court, Bartholomew Plaisted. He explained in detail the strange affair of Jaya Kapur.

‘I was there myself that evening of the ridiculous seance. My wife insisted we go. I can certainly verify all the old lady has said. Holwell turned up that evening to see Demonteguy. It is yet another proof, Plaisted, that our Chief Magistrate’s unlimited power has reached scandalous proportions. Now this naive old woman has been robbed by our Chief Magistrate and that low-class interloper Demonteguy. It is something I think the Board in London will be interested to hear,’ Dumbleton explained.

‘It will not be easy to break the Chief Magistrate’s hold on things; he has accrued too much power,’ Plaisted argued.

‘He has taxed even prostitution. Any way he can tax the Indian, he
taxes them. There is much discontent. The nawab’s halls are filled with his people’s complaints. Now I hear Holwell prepares to bring every half-caste Portuguese, Armenian and others who are Christian but not born of European parents under his
zamindary.
They will be forced to use the Cutcherry and taxed there as all Indians are taxed. The Mayor’s Court has always upheld the rights of those who are Christian, whatever their birth or denomination. Now he seeks to exclude these people from recourse to our courts. He abuses his power. He seeks only revenues with which to dazzle our masters in Leadenhall. I believe, Plaisted, our Chief Magistrate lays the foundation not only for his own private fortune but for the Governorship itself. All at Calcutta’s expense. He must be stopped.’ Dumbleton’s voice rose heatedly.

‘We can try. Perhaps this old woman and her diamonds have given us a way,’ Plaisted observed, but without conviction.

T
he Council Chamber of Fort William was located in the Governor’s House. It was a lofty room running the breadth of the building. Windows on both sides opened to the
alternative
views of the Hoogly and White Town. Outside, the blistering sun drained everything of colour. The silhouettes of trees were
diminished
as heat shimmered, distorting images. Shadows disappeared. Incandescent in their pearly plaster, only the houses of White Town competed with the sun.

In spite of the heat, a smell of mildew pervaded the Council Chamber. A library of leather-bound books ran the length of the room and gave off the odour of old paper. Upon the walls hung portraits of past Governors. After long battles with humidity, many of these eminent gentlemen now appeared afflicted by leprosy. The main feature of the room was the long polished table around which sat the Fort William Council.

It had been Drake’s idea to call a Council of War, and Holwell had readily agreed. Siraj Uddaulah had not sat as expected in Kasimbazar but was pushing straight on to Calcutta.

‘A Council of War will allow us to assess the strength of our defences,’ Drake reasoned. It was more the bolstering effect of such a gathering that appealed to him at this moment.

‘It will also give the impression of firm action on our part and avoid panic in both the Black and White Towns,’ the Chief Magistrate pointed out.

Council meetings were a correct affair. Whatever the time of year, formal coats and wigs were worn. Dress swords had been dispensed with, for these were unwieldy when seated. No warning had been given for the calling of a Council of War and the sudden summons took everyone by surprise. The meeting had further been called at an hour when Calcutta sought to escape the heat in sleep, heightening the sense of emergency. The hasty arrangement allowed some men to arrive in light cotton clothes with skullcaps instead of wigs. Drake himself, realising the importance of the occasion, had chosen to wear a coat of the finest broadcloth, with elaborate silver facings. Already he was sweating profusely in this heavy attire.

Because of the hour the tatties were down, enclosing the Council Chamber in gloom. Servants revolved in a constant stream, dousing the blinds with water in an effort to cool the air. The wet matting gave off a mouldy smell and mixed with the scent of beeswax from the table. Hot winds blew against the shutters, rattling like rain in the louvres. There had also recently been a plague of red ants and the legs of tables and chairs now stood in cups of water to avert a further invasion. Beneath each chair was a low footstool, protected in the same way. The Council of War took their seats with difficulty. Some cups of water were overturned and immediately refilled by servants.

The Council of Fort William by law consisted of eleven members. No more than seven were ever present, for the four members who lived in outlying stations were invariably absent. Holwell sat to the right of Drake and looking about the table saw that William Mackett, the Paymaster, was in his seat. Opposite him sat Charles Manningham, the Export Warehouse Keeper, and William Frankland, the Import Warehouse Keeper. There was also Paul Pearkes, the Accountant, and Edward Eyre, the Storekeeper. Grouped about the further end of the table were an invited group whose opinions had been solicited for this occasion. Amongst them was the Chief Engineer, O’Hara,
and Captain Minchin, the Garrison Commander. As Drake took his place an expectant hush fell upon the chamber.

The Governor cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, this is a hypothetical meeting.’ Even as he said the words, Drake realised his mistake.

‘What kind of a meeting is that?’ Minchin attacked, his pointed black beard giving him a satyric look.

‘It is a meeting to determine what actions we have the option of taking in the event of a situation arising that has not yet arisen, and might not even arise,’ Drake’s voice dipped up and down like a bird trying to fly with an injured wing. He fixed Minchin with a belligerent stare. He had argued against including the commander in the Council of War, pointing out that the garrison had no knowledge of battle. Holwell had dismissed his remarks, saying they at least knew what to do with a cannon.

‘Our Governor speaks in riddles.’ Minchin gave a dismissive laugh. His scarlet military tunic was a blatant splash in the dim room. He had once had a tavern brawl with Drake, and animosity still remained between them.

There was a murmur of agreement about the table at Minchin’s remark. Drake turned in distress to Holwell. The Chief Magistrate looked up, cleared his throat and reached for two packets of parchment. He was not averse to running the meeting if that was what Drake wanted. The Governor leaned back in his chair in relief. Everyone turned towards Holwell.

‘As you know, Siraj Uddaulah has already captured Kasimbazar and our Factory there and is now making his way to Calcutta. The French have given us a most detailed account of the army as it passed through Chandernagore.’ The Chief Magistrate cleared his throat and proceeded to read aloud from the letter that had arrived that morning from the French settlement.

The French informed Fort William that the nawab’s army was of such immense proportions that it had taken more than half a day to pass. The nawab himself led his cavalry, eighteen thousand strong. Sometimes he rode at their head on horseback, sometimes he was
carried in an ornate palanquin studded with silver. The artillery, announced the French, was unfortunately under the command of one of their own, which should make it a force to be reckoned with. The Marquis St Jacques was a renegade Frenchman who had been expelled from the garrison at Chandernagore. The number of cannon that had passed could not even be counted. Each was pulled by up to thirty yoke of oxen, while four hundred elephants lumbered behind. At a rough estimate there appeared to be thirty thousand foot soldiers with assorted weapons. Two thousand camels had also gone by, loaded with tents and stores. The rear of the cavalcade had yet to completely pass. This consisted of servants and cooks, workmen and concubines, besides seven thousand professional plunderers whose duty it was to strip each village lying in their path.

As he passed through Chandernagore, the nawab had demanded the surrender of the French garrison. The French had acted politically, pleading they were merchants with no thought in their head but trade. They had also offered financial atonement for any offence they might have given. The matter had been quickly settled at three hundred and fifty thousand rupees. Immediately, Siraj
Uddaulah
had lost all interest in Chandernagore and marched on towards Calcutta. The French begged the English in Fort William to act as they had done and not dwell on principle.

As the Chief Magistrate finished reading there was silence about the table. ‘This army is little different from the armies of any other Oriental potentate,’ Holwell attempted to comfort.

‘It is coming for us, that’s all,’ Drake replied in a low voice. The sweat now ran in rivulets down his back, and beneath his thick coat, his shirt was uncomfortably wet.

‘Let us pay then as the French have done,’ Minchin announced.

Return the treasure and the nobleman, Kishindas. Order
Omichard
to send him back from where he came. That is all the nawab wants. Already all the digging of the Ditch has stopped. Our very lives are endangered by sticking our necks out in this way.’ O’Hara’s voice broke hoarsely.

‘We are not in the same position as the French. We have much to lose by capitulating to the nawab’s demands. If Rai Durlabh can rid us of Siraj Uddaulah, Calcutta will have improved security and trading agreements. It will mean greater wealth for us all,’ said Manningham. He had no wish to give up his share of the treasure, but the invitees at the end of the table knew nothing of the conspiracy between Fort William and the Young Begum’s faction in Murshidabad. They knew only that intrigue was afoot at the Murshidabad court to get rid of Siraj Uddaulah and that Kishindas and his treasure were part of this intrigue.

‘But what if he cannot get rid of him?’ Mackett reasoned.

‘You have put us in a difficult situation by giving protection to this Kishindas.’ Minchin scowled at Drake.

‘The nawab was not expected to set off for a battle. This is an uncalculated turn of events,’ Drake turned red in the face. Beside him the Chief Magistrate cleared his throat in warning.

‘We can relinquish Kishindas and his treasure even at the last moment if attack appears likely. The nawab will perhaps bargain a larger sum from us than from the French for our defiance of him, but that is all. We should not panic but wait and see the way events are shaping. I have confidence in Rai Durlabh. He has as much to gain by the execution of his plan as have we in the Settlement.’ As the Chief Magistrate finished speaking, new arguments began around the table.

‘Perhaps it would be best if we were to have a small dose of Madeira,’ Holwell suggested, sensing the tension in the room.

Usually, during a break in meetings, men wandered about, glass in hand, chatting of this or that. Now, the Council of War took their refreshment where they sat. It was not easy to manoeuvre back the chairs, positioned as they were in bowls of water, but more than this, the letter from Chandernagore had had the effect of rooting people. Everyone now realised the enormous risk Rai Durlabh must take playing traitor to the nawab. Perhaps, as Mackett suggested, the commander would not be able to turn a sword upon Siraj Uddaulah.
The nawab was astute and must surround himself closely with guards, spies and tasters for poisoned food.

During the break the Governor sipped his Madeira glumly. He stared at the portrait of Job Charnock, founding father of Calcutta. Charnock’s long nose and rippling curls, his loose mouth and Puritan collar confronted Drake in a critical way. He had been of a slippery, swashbuckling nature, flourishing like a weed in any water that reeked of corruption. He had survived thirty-eight years in India and his fame rested upon this longevity; he had had more years to get things done for posterity to hear about. He had been famous for his resourcefulness in tight situations.

A new anxiety overwhelmed the Chief Magistrate as he sipped his glass of wine. He turned to Minchin. ‘How many men have we to defend Fort William should we be required, for any reason, to make a token stand?’

‘It is difficult to give a precise number. We cannot match the armies of nawabs.’ Minchin laughed unpleasantly.

‘We must have a count,’ Holwell insisted. Minchin shrugged.

‘There is a constant fluctuation. Many die; they are always dying. The native ranks desert when and as they see fit and the hospital lays its claim upon large numbers,’ he argued.

‘This is preposterous,’ the Chief Magistrate replied. His own orderly mind would have been able to account for every man. ‘Find out how many men the garrison commands. Bring an exact report,’ he roared at Minchin’s second-in-command, Captain Clayton, who was also present in the room.

With Clayton gone, talk turned next to the physical condition of the fort. Everyone looked at the Chief Engineer, O’Hara.

‘I gave a detailed report upon this matter some months ago,’ O’Hara replied. The Chief Engineer was new to Calcutta and had been shocked upon his arrival at the condition of the fort. His report had received little notice from the Council and even less finance.

‘If Council members wish, they can accompany me on a tour of
the fort. They can then ascertain for themselves the true state of the defences,’ O’Hara suggested.

‘A good idea,’ Drake agreed with alacrity. He had a great desire to vacate the tension of the Council Chamber, which, with each sentence spoken, only brought their precarious situation clearer into focus. Even if no battle were to occur, all this talk of defence was making him nervous.

Before the Council of War could accompany O’Hara, Captain Clayton returned to confirm that seventy European soldiers were confined to the hospital and twenty-five more had been sent to stations up-country.

‘There are, of course, our black Portuguese and native troops,’ Clayton reminded them, turning to the Governor. ‘That leaves us, sir, with an available garrison of one hundred and eighty men, of which forty-five are Europeans.’

‘Is that all?’ Drake frowned. In his mind the nawab’s thirty thousand marched towards him in a swirling cloud of dust. He looked again at the portrait of Charnock and remembered
something
.

‘Once, a nawab surrounded Charnock on an island with an army of two thousand. Charnock had only a hundred men. Seventy reinforcements arrived and were dropped off where the enemy could not see them. Charnock had them march up to his fort cheering loudly. Then the process was repeated, the same seventy men marching round and round so that the enemy thought continuous reinforcements were arriving. They called the battle off.’ Drake looked about the table.

‘Times are different now,’ said Mackett.

‘Then, Charnock himself lived in a mud hut,’ Manningham remembered.

‘Let us proceed to view the defences of Fort William,’ the Chief Magistrate suggested, his face set in lines of new sternness as he rose from his chair to follow O’Hara.

*

Although the afternoon was already well upon them, the heat still shimmered. Emerging from the darkness of Governor’s House, the men gasped in the fiery air. The adjutant birds sat unmoving upon every convenient perch, like carved heraldic emblems. So great was the population of these birds, and so densely at times were they ranged upon the bastions, that at night their massed bodies gave Fort William a Mephistophelean appearance. Those near the entrance of Governor’s House turned their heads sleepily as the Council of War emerged.

O’Hara strode ahead. The men trooped behind him reluctantly, some in full broadcloth and wigs and some in light muslin and curled Indian shoes. Upon the south-west bastion they stopped before the gun carriages. Numerous monsoons had eroded the metal, that now crumbled like biscuit. The group examined the beams upon which these decrepit guns must be mounted. With the help of a pocket knife, O’Hara tore away chunks of wood as if he sampled fruit cake.