By Eastern windows (6 page)

Colonel Balfour greeted him with his usual effusiveness. ‘Ah, Lieutenant Macquarie, how are you, dear boy?’

‘Back in good health, sir.’

‘Oh, I
do
hope so.’ Balfour smiled and spoke gently. ‘But now, let us get straight to the reason why I have sent for you. You did very well out there, Macquarie. We are all very pleased with you.’

Lachlan responded with the usual answer in return for praise.
 
‘Just doing my duty, sir.’

‘Of course, but you did your duty very well, Lieutenant. It must have been a tough old sweat building the roads and hauling those guns up and down the slopes, eh, what?’

‘The men are to be congratulated, sir. They worked exceptionally well.’

Balfour eyed him shrewdly. ‘Tell me, did any of the men under your command make complaints about going under harness in replacement for the bullocks hauling the guns? Or at any time, in any other circumstances, refuse to obey any of your orders?’

‘No, sir.
 
Every man pulled his weight as best he could. And if I may say so, each and every one was a credit to the 77th.’

‘Good, good!’ Balfour smiled in genuine happiness. ‘Always good to hear our lads are not bad lads! In fact, General Abercromby and myself were discussing your work with the men only last evening...’ Balfour's voice tailed off as he looked at a paper on the table before him. Lachlan glanced up at the ceiling in weary resignation. Here it came, the sting in the tail, another of their damned rewards.

When it came, Lachlan could only stare at Balfour in astonishment. The Command had rewarded him with a Captaincy.

*

Private McKenzie was sitting on a wooden bench outside his lieutenant’s quarters, his head back and eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face.

‘McKenzie.’

‘Sir!’

McKenzie jumped up as Lachlan approached and gave him the good news. ‘Lord Cornwallis has been pleased to announce that from the money paid by Tipu Sultan, he intends to pay the Army a handsome gratuity in lieu of prize money, as well as pay and allowances.’

McKenzie was astounded into incoherence. He stood staring blankly, his mouth open and his body hunched like a huge bear. Finally his senses returned and he endeavoured to speak sense. ‘Eh, wha' sir? What for, what way, what did ye say?’

Lachlan repeated the news that the army was to receive a gratuity amounting to six months extra pay.

‘Six months extra pay!’ McKenzie exclaimed. ‘Even the men?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or just the officers?’

The officers were getting an even larger gratuity, but Lachlan did not tell McKenzie that. ‘Every man in the army is to be rewarded. Even you, McKenzie, even you.’

‘Ye're no' jesting me now, sir?’ McKenzie expostulated. ‘Pay and allowances and six months extra batta on top for every man?’

‘And two week's extra pay for you, McKenzie, as a personal gratuity from myself to my head servant.’

McKenzie looked around him in a searching motion, then again stared at his lieutenant uncomprehending. ‘Head servant? But I'm your one and
only
servant, Lieutenant Macquarie!’

‘That is true.’ Lachlan nodded agreeably. ‘And that is why I can afford to give you an extra
two
weeks pay, whereas poor Major Jones can only afford to give his eight servants a mere one weeks extra pay in return for being such good and faithful servants throughout this campaign.’

‘Thank ye, sir. It's verra kind o' you,’ McKenzie purred, his eyes dilating with exultation. ‘I'm grateful to ye. I'm beholden. I'm indebted. And losh – I'm rich!’ He could contain himself no longer. ‘Heck, sir, for the first time in ma life – I'll be
rich!
’

‘Don't get carried away, McKenzie. A private's pay, even with six month's extra on top, can hardly be described as riches. And by the way, it’s no longer lieutenant, but
Captain
Macquarie.’

‘Wha’? Ye mean … ye’re getting’ pay an’ allowances an’ six months extra of a
captain's
batta?
 
Och! Sweet Jesus!
 
Ye’ll be richer than me, sir!
 
Rich as a rajah!’

‘Oh I doubt that,’ Lachlan smiled. ‘Now get your senses and head in order and go and give the good news to your comrades.’

‘Aye, I will, sir.’

‘And tell them the 77
^th
are shipping out first thing in the morning.’

*

At daybreak the 77th started out for home. Home being Bombay. All were relieved to breathe the sea air again as they set sail on board the
Hercules
.
 
All were older, all were somewhat richer, and six days later all were very glad to view once more the sight of Bombay harbour, its water shimmering under the saffron glow of a sunset, just as it had done on that first day of their arrival in the East.

It seemed as if the entire British community had travelled out to greet the returning Army and welcome it home after its long absence in the field. A band played thumping military tunes and the harbour was all bustle with coming and goings from small boats.

Lachlan stood by the ship's rail gazing at the crowd. A soldier's voice rose up from the back of the deck, declaring a wish that it was the people of Glasgow welcoming them home, not those of Bombay.

For a moment Lachlan found himself thinking of the stark and eerie beauty of the western islands of Scotland: of green mountains and blue lochs and silent, tranquil glens. He saw again red deer on the crags, and an occasional golden eagle on sail above the hills. He heard the whistles of the shepherds as they brought the sheep home to pen, the calls of the drovers as they herded the longhaired Highland cattle.

But it was just a moment, one of a thousand homesick moments all soldiers knew, and minutes later he was preparing to disembark and continue his life in India.

TWO

The town of Bombay contained rows upon rows of high brown houses but few European residents, the houses being hot, closely built, with projecting upper stories over narrow streets.

The British civilian population had established their own settlement in a garden suburb two miles away, a peaceful and tranquil place dotted with pretty bungalows and handsome houses built in the European style of architecture, with the addition of a veranda or covered piazza to shade the rooms from the sun.

In the cantonments of Colaba the soldiers of the 77
^th
sweated through exercises forced upon them by their drill-sergeant, whilst their officers relaxed in their quarters or sipped drinks on the shaded veranda of the San Souci Club.

General Sir Robert Abercromby had been promoted to the post of Governor-General of Bombay. To celebrate, he decided to hold a ‘Grand Ball’ at Government House.

‘
You,
Captain
Macquarie
,
have been chosen as manager of the event,’ Colonel Balfour told Lachlan in a proud voice.

No,
you
have been chosen to manage it, Lachlan thought wearily, but
you
can’t be bothered, so you are delegating it down to me.

‘You will, of course, have the assistance of a platoon of duty aides,’ Balfour added. ‘And we shall want a good show. Plenty of dancing and feasting and no expense spared. Something to delight the women and give them something to write home about, eh?’

Balfour paused. ‘But also … General Abercromby has also asked me to come up with some form of entertainment, yet I’m damned if I can think of anything. Any ideas, Captain? A young man like you should be able to come up with something exciting.’

Lachlan thought, and shook his head. ‘No, sir, I can’t think of anything.’

‘Nothing at all? Nothing that would delight and entertain our civilian guests?’ Balfour pursed his lips in disappointment, and then began to fume. ‘Why is it that none of my officers are capable of coming up with a single idea of any kind?’

Because they are soldiers, not entertainers, Lachlan thought wryly. The battlefield was hardly instructive in the ways of civilian socialising. The battlefield was a place … Lachlan’s eyes became fixed and distant for a moment as a sudden idea came to him.

‘How about a fireworks display, sir?’

‘A fireworks display?’

‘It would be very easy to arrange. And it would give our civilian guests some idea of the rocket flares and cannon explosions on the battlefield.’

‘A fireworks display! Why, that’s an excellent idea!’ Colonel Balfour beamed. ‘We are the military after all, and I’m sure General Abercrombie will approve.’
 

Balfour rubbed his hands together in anticipated pleasure. ‘Well, I shall leave all the arrangements in your hands, Captain, while I attend to the business of choosing plenty of good claret – wonderful stuff for making an evening jolly!' He gave a chuckle of approval. ‘And it will do us all good to have some time in the company of women. Too long since we have had any time to spare for women, dear boy.’

‘Yes, sir, too long.’

‘Oh, damned if I forgot – ‘ Balfour swatted an invisible fly, ‘but being on duty on the night, Macquarie, you won't be able to dance with any of the young ladies, will you?’

‘No I bloody will not, you bastard,’ Lachlan thought, but his face showed only a slight smile.
 
‘Regrettably not, sir.’

‘Such a pity!’ Balfour exclaimed. ‘Still, duty first.’

*

The arrangements and organisation for the ball at Government House were carried out with all the precision and efficiency of a battle campaign. On the night, a guard of sepoys stood to attention around the lawns of the house while inside a battalion of uniformed native servants waited in readiness to serve.

At precisely seven o'clock the guests began to arrive in streams: officers resplendent in scarlet coats with gold loops and chains, others in the pale blue and gold of the Light Cavalry or the green of the Rifle regiments; all every bit as colourful as the ladies in their shimmering gowns of every shade and hue.

By half past seven the ball was in full swing with guests still arriving. Lachlan moved around the outskirts of the ballroom conferring with other duty-aides, occasionally pausing to speak and joke with some of his fellow officers.

As the night progressed the room became unbearably noisy with hysterically happy laughter, ladies shrieking greetings across the room and men bowing graciously in response. On every female neck and hand, Indian jewels blazed garishly. Some of the civilian gentlemen of the East India Company were almost as bejewelled as the ladies, ruby and diamond rings dazzling on both hands. Lachlan considered it all to be excessively vulgar. The room quickly became like a hothouse, the exuding odour of perfume and powder sickened him.

All in a moment, as if he was alone, the silent peace of the Scottish hills descended upon him. He had a sudden yearning to walk alone amongst trees and sit by the still waters of a silent loch again … and just as quickly his senses cleared and the brouhaha all about him came back ... more guests were arriving, more colours and silks and feathers and jewels.

An elegant couple were being announced, ‘Mr and Mrs Morley,’ but it was the girl who accompanied them who caught Lachlan’s attention. A tall, graceful girl, with beautiful long dark chestnut hair which was undressed and without jewels or peacock feathers. She was no more than twenty and wore a gown of watery green silk, exquisite but simple. No frills or flounces, no emerald halter round her neck or diamond tiara on her head. She looked as refreshing as a walk through the trees.

Her arms were bare and her skin golden. That surprised him, for most of the wives and daughters of the East India Company prided themselves on their milky-white skin and took every precaution to protect it.

He watched as the threesome moved down the side aisle to one of the tables, his eyes fixed on the slender figure of the girl as she sat down beside her two companions. She sat with her back straight, and she was beautiful with a dark serene beauty that was rare in the English.

‘Lachlan...?’

He turned to see John Forbes, a personal friend from the civilian population of Bombay.

‘Man, John, it’s you! He shook his friend’s hand vigorously, confused by his own sudden excitement. ‘I am very glad you decided to come tonight.’

‘Oh? Why so?’

‘Because you might be able to do me a personal favour.’

John Forbes, an elegant man in his early forties, and a well-established banker, prided himself on knowing everything about everyone in Bombay. So Lachlan asked him:
 
‘Do you see that girl, John?
 
Long chestnut hair, a green dress … sitting with an older couple.’

‘Where? … Oh, yes.’ John had now picked her out in the line of tables.
 
‘Miss Jane Jarvis. She arrived in India just a few days ago, from the West Indies. Comes from a very wealthy family on one of the islands there, but I can't remember which one.’

‘The West Indies?’ That explained the sunburned tan of her skin. `Go on,’ Lachlan urged.

‘Well, whichever island it was, her father was Chief Justice there. He died recently and left her a very acceptable fortune.’