Rogue Officer (20 page)

Now here was the honourable Jack Crossman, going to war against women. He wondered if he could kill a female in hand-to-hand combat. He supposed he would have to, but the thought made him sick to his stomach. Battling with a fanatical Ghazi warrior in the dust was one thing, but to have to do the same to a female? Could he really plunge a blade into one of the Rani’s girls, even if she was trying to kill him? Could he really shoot out a pair of liquid brown eyes set in the face of a beautiful woman? He felt nothing but disgust with this war now, with all its unforgivable atrocities.

‘Dollar for those thoughts, Jack?’

Jack Crossman whirled round at the sound of this voice and he felt nothing but delight on seeing his old friend Rupert Jarrard.

‘Rupert! You devil. Where have you been? I heard you were here in India.’

They shook hands warmly, smiling into each other’s faces.

Jarrard was a tall, handsome, evenly sized man, neither too lean nor too heavy. He was one of those men who look good in any sort of clothing, be it smart or casual wear. In a uniform he would have caused women to swoon away, but as he often told Jack, he would be sooner dead than join the military. He liked danger, but he liked it on his own terms. Like his British counterpart, William Russell, he was a war correspondent. His paper was the
New York Banner
and he and Jack had become fast friends when both realized the other was enthusiastic about new machines. New inventions quickened their pulses.

Jack led his friend to a space away from the hubbub of the Bombay Native Infantry, where he had been having a peaceful pipe. If he could not escape noise he preferred the chatter of Hindi and Urdu to that of his native tongue. It appeared to be less intrusive on his thoughts, since he understood it less well.

‘Well, Rupert? Still carrying that Colt?’

Jarrard smiled. ‘You bet.’ He patted his jacket just in front of his left armpit. ‘Had to use it once or twice over here, too. How are you faring, Jack? Hand giving you any trouble?’

Jack waved his stump. ‘No, not really. I had a couple of false hands – one of them mechanical. You should have seen it, Rupert. I could crush rocks with it.’ He sighed, flapping the empty cuff of his left sleeve. ‘But it’s gone. Ripped off in a battle – there’s been so many I’ve forgotten which. Had a nice wooden one as well – the one I hit Hadrow with – but that’s gone too.’ He paused, realizing he had not answered Jarrard’s main question. ‘Otherwise, I’m fine.’

‘You don’t look fine – you’re ragged and worn out. Been through the wringer lately, eh?’

Jack smiled wryly. ‘One way or another.’ He looked down at himself, past his black beard to the filthy cottons. When he had last looked in a mirror his face had been tanned the colour of his boots and his skin had looked dried and lined. He had lost weight too, so that his cotton shirt hung on him like a limp rag. ‘I wouldn’t get into White’s, that’s for certain,’ he said, speaking of the London gentlemen’s club. ‘They’d throw me out with the rubbish, I’m sure.’

‘Who the hell is Hadrow?’ Rupert asked, lighting up one of his cheroots.

‘Oh, a chap I had some personal business with.’

‘He’s not the fellah who jilted Jane?’

Jack’s head went back with a snap. Even close and respected friends like Rupert Jarrard were not supposed to be privy to that sort of information.

Rupert had obviously noticed Jack’s astonished reaction to his words and felt he ought to explain. ‘I met with Jane when I was in London, before embarking for India. She’s had a letter from a man called Deighnton, telling her you’ve been unfaithful. Didn’t believe it, of course. She wondered if it had something to do with you flooring the man who – in her words – shamed her family name. Now, Jack, what the hell did you do a thing like that for? You know men like that aren’t worth the dirt under your boots. As I told Jane, he’s shamed his own name, not hers.’

‘I know what Deighnton’s trying to do,’ snarled Jack. He almost bit through the stem of his chibouque in his anger. ‘He’s trying to force this damn duel.’ Something then suddenly struck Jack. The time element. He looked at Rupert with wide eyes. ‘But he must have written that letter months ago! We’ve fought since then. Is he so base he’s trying to turn my own wife against me? I can’t believe this has all come from my striking Hadrow in London over a year ago. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Jack, the man is clearly mad. The only way to treat madmen is to let them burn themselves out. You are best to ignore him.’

Jack Crossman was aghast at these developments. ‘To write to a man’s wife? Good God! It’s difficult to believe.’

‘Mad, completely crazy. The letter spoke of two Eurasian girls – not long out of the schoolroom.’

‘Silvia and Delia,’ murmured Jack.

It was Jarrard’s turn to open his eyes wide.

‘You know these girls?’

Jack sighed. ‘Deighnton is too clever for words. There is a grain of truth in what he’s written, but he’s turned it into a mountain. Silvia and Delia are the daughters of a corporal. These two young ladies have nothing better to do but daydream while this war drags on and they follow their father here, there and everywhere. Their heads are full of romantic nonsense. It’s their age and circumstances I suppose. They’ve decided they have formed an attachment to me. It’s all of a piece. They’re a blasted nuisance – Gwilliams will tell you. I chase them away, but they keep coming back and . . .’

‘They’re besotted with you.’ Jarrard puffed on his cheroot.

‘They’re besotted with the
idea
that they’re in love with me. As you say, it’s all schoolgirl stuff. A pair of hoydens, both of them. The younger one simply follows the older girl in everything she does. Oh, good God, what will Jane think? There’s no smoke without a fire?’

Jarrard shook his head. ‘You should give your wife more credit for good sense than that. What she thinks is that there’s a maniac here who’s doing his best to destroy your reputation.’

Jack said, ‘I don’t deserve her.’

‘Well, as to that,’ said the American, ‘you’re the best judge. Take my advice, Jack, and steer clear of this Deighnton. If he persists, then shoot the damn cur.’

‘I will have to do that in the end.’ Jack did not add that Deighnton was a crack-shot, who had already killed three men in duels, and would likely shoot Jack first. ‘If his sole intention in writing to my wife was to ensure I fight this damn duel with him, then he’s been successful.’

Outwardly, Jack was calm, as a gentleman should be when discussing his wife. Inwardly he was boiling over with rage. How
dare
this excuse for an officer of Her Majesty’s Army be so crass as to write to the wife of another man accusing him of infidelity? It was beyond credulity. Jack wanted to stamp the man’s face into the dust, there and then. If Deighnton had been around he would certainly have gone to him this instant and fought with him.

‘Let’s talk of better things,’ Jarrard said, crushing his cheroot butt under the heel of his boot. ‘How is this mess faring?’

Somehow Jack managed to snap himself back to the attention of his friend, whom he had not seen in a long age. Seething with hatred though his brain was, he knew there was nothing he could do about it for the moment. The very next time he saw Deighnton though, there would have to be a reckoning.

‘Oh, this? Damn East India Company. There were some good men amongst ’em, but they were few and far between, Rupert. Lazy officers, rotten decisions. Men in high places trying to force through policies using John Company’s Army that were clearly going to inflame the locals.’

‘You mean the greased bullets?’

‘No, not that so much. That was just a little fuel on the flames – the fire was already burning. It was – oh, I don’t know – forcing the Indian troops to travel overseas, appearing to interfere with their religious beliefs and giving the impression that we were trying to convert them to Christianity – all that sort of thing. The pot was simmering by the time the greasy bullets came along. And European company officers had got out of touch with their men and failed to notice that it was boiling over. You must have heard all this – the incompetence?’

Rupert nodded. ‘Sure. There’s talk in your parliament of abolishing the East India Company’s Army. Your Queen’s Army will take over their duties.’

‘Sounds like a sensible plan to me.’

‘All this trouble,’ Rupert said with a sigh. ‘It comes of living under a monarchy, you know – you Brits should think about changing to a republic.’

Jack smiled wryly. ‘Like you Americans, I suppose?’

‘Us and . . . well, look at the French.’

‘Yes,’ replied Jack, ‘just look at them. They can’t decide whether they want to be a republic or a monarchy. They chop off the heads of royals and nobles, then along comes a dwarf who calls himself an Emperor and what do they do? They listen to him, go through a few wars with him, and once he’s been dealt with by us, they bring back their monarchy, on and off, until only ten years ago.’

‘Well, yes – they should have followed our example,’ said Jarrard. ‘Get rid of kings once and for all. Decisive, that’s us.’

‘Not so decisive as all that,’ argued Jack. ‘A good half of your countrymen remained loyal to King George when you made the break. You always make it sound as if it were a unanimous decision to break with the United Kingdom. A lot of those loyalists fled to Canada after your independence, heavily assisted by those dithering Frenchies I might add, and are still waiting for the day when we march back in and take Washington.’

‘Just damn well try it, that’s all,’ said Jarrard with a mock snarl. ‘We’ll kick your asses back across the Atlantic again.’

The pair then got on to their favourite subject: new inventions. Although in the back of Jack’s mind was the smouldering feud he was engaged in with Captain Deighnton, he had been through too much blood and terror to allow it to obsess him. Outwardly he chattered happily about the latest agricultural invention to come along, the advances in medicine, the newest advances in transport. There was a friendly rivalry between him and Jarrard regarding which nation had the best inventors, the most innovative scientists, the most imaginative builders of machines.

Jarrard was unusually generous in telling Jack of an Englishman who was making great strides in a certain field.

‘You remember the analytical engine, your guy Babbage built at – where was it? – Oxford University?’

‘Cambridge,’ replied Jack. ‘A machine enabling arithmetical operations with decisions based on its own calculations. I believe Countess Lovelace, my superior’s aunt, wrote some tables to enable the machine to perform?’

‘Major Lovelace’s aunt, eh? Well, hell – we ought to have a word with him. Anyway, I’m not sure the machine ever did what it was supposed to be able to do, but there’s another fellah’s come along – George Boole. He reckons he’s invented a whole new way of mathematics, called
binary logic
, based on using the numbers nought and one, which would make it possible to really mechanize logic.’

Jack frowned. ‘Nought and one? That doesn’t make sense. How can you have mathematics with just two numbers – and one of them zero?’

‘Search me, Jack,’ said Jarrard laughing. ‘They threw me out of the Royal Society when they found I was as dumb as a mule.’

Jack laughed too, at the idea that either of them should ever have pretensions to the Royal Society.

As Jack refilled his chibouque, Jarrard looked around him and asked, ‘Talking of mules, where is that jackass, Gwilliams, anyway?’

Jarrard and Gwilliams were the only two North Americans Jack knew and he was bemused by the fact that they seemed to dislike each other intensely.

‘Oh, he’s found some fellow Canadians – the 109th Foot. He’s busy boring them with tales of his prowess.’

‘Huh! Prowess . . .’ However Jarrard was unable to finish what he was saying due to a bugle call cutting him short. Drums began beating in various parts of the camp. ‘I’ll see you later, Jack,’ yelled the correspondent. ‘If we’re both still alive.’

Jack and his men were ordered to ride out to meet another British column heading to join General Rose. They stayed with this force, which came out of Rajputana and met the rebels at Kotah-ki-Serai, intending to drive them towards Gwalior. Their ranks had been swelled by the young Maharajah Sindhia’s army, who had been induced to join the cause. The maharajah himself had fled with his personal bodyguard to Agra, unwilling to sacrifice himself, convinced that the British would never be defeated.

This time Jack and his men fought on foot, having offered themselves as skirmishers. When the battle was at its height he saw the Rani herself, tulwar in both hands, reins in her white teeth, slashing her way through her enemies. Then later, a shout went up in Hindi, ‘The Rani is down! The Rani is down!’ and to Jack’s astonishment the rebel infantry began to attack their own cavalry, screaming curses at them for allowing the Rani to be killed.

The Rani was indeed dead: shot and then run through by the sabre of a trooper of the 8th Hussars. She had flung her jewellery amongst her troops and then was taken to a mango grove where she expired, along with one of her two maids of honour, who had also been mortally wounded. A truly magnificent woman, Jack was not alone in admiring her. With her death, it seemed, the real heart of the rebellion died too. There was much work for the British to do, but it was piecemeal work: the elimination of armed guerrilla bands, badmashes and dacoits.

With an exhausted army General Rose took the fortress at Gwalior which was high up on a ridge and surrounded on three sides by steep cliffs. Jack was again in the thick of the fighting, the stink of battle-smoke in his nostrils.

When it was all over, the only casualty amongst Jack’s men was Raktambar, who had lost a finger to a stray ball. Overall British casualties were very light and the rebels had been defeated yet again. Many fled the field, escaping on foot and horseback. Their commanders, Tantia Tope and Rao Sahib, also ran: it was believed they had crossed the Chambal River into Raktambar’s home of Rajputana.

Later, Jack was thanked personally by one of General Rose’s aides for his part in the battles. He and his men had distinguished themselves. Even Wynter had flung himself into the fighting without too much whining and grumbling. Jack asked if anything had been heard of either Major Lovelace or Colonel Hawke. He received a shake of the head in reply.