Shadow of the Moon (65 page)

‘Well, Alex?' inquired Sir Henry after an appreciable interval of silence.

Alex turned from his contemplation of the white lawns and the tree shadows. ‘Far from it, sir. Will you forgive me if I omit the reasons for my visit here? I do not feel capable at present of discussing them in a rational manner.'

‘In fact,' said Sir Henry softly, ‘if anyone were now to offer you command of the Guides you would return a different answer to the one you gave me this morning.'

Alex gave a short laugh. ‘If anyone were to offer me any post whatsoever that would enable me to return to regimental duty, I should accept it!'

‘Oh, no, you would not,' said Sir Henry placidly. ‘If you think that, you know less about yourself than I do. I have been wanting to see you for some weeks past. I would have written, except that there has been so much to do. Colvin gave me news of you when I stayed with him in Agra on my way here. It seems you saw him in October.'

‘I did,' said Alex grimly. ‘I had a story to tell him which he was not prepared to believe.'

‘So I gathered,' said Sir Henry, settling himself comfortably in a long verandah chair. ‘Perhaps you will find me less hard to convince. Sit down and tell me about it.'

‘Thank you, sir, but I think I'll stand. I have had a long spell in the saddle, and there is another ahead of me in the morning.'

‘Can you not stay over tomorrow? We have the Nana of Bithaur in Luck-now on a visit, and I shall be seeing him tomorrow. I have my suspicions of the Nana Sahib, and I should be interested to hear what you make of him. Have you ever met him?'

‘No, sir. I missed meeting him once in Delhi, owing to - to unexpected circumstances. And I am afraid that I shall have to miss him again. I cannot delay.'

‘I am sorry for it. Tell me this story that you told Colvin. I imagine that your version differs somewhat from his.'

Alex propped his shoulders against the nearest pillar and told again the story he had told in the previous autumn to Mr Colvin, Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Provinces. He told it all, beginning with a moonlight night in Malta and ending with his second visit to the ruins near Khanwai with an escort of cavalry and three sceptical British officers, and Sir Henry listened calmly and without interruption and when he had finished asked only one question.

‘Who,' said Sir Henry, ‘was the man with the ruby earrings? Did you ever find out?'

‘No. I should recognize him again if I saw him, but that's the most I can say.'

‘A pity. It is a help to know for certain who one's enemies are. He sounds as though he were a man of some standing, and at this time it is more than useful to know whom we can trust and whom we cannot. Kishan Prasad I know. And the Maulvi too. The latter has been preaching here in the city and he has a very large following. A rabble-rouser and a born leader of men. They say too that he is a miracle worker. I presume he works the same sort of tricks with greek-fire that you saw him use, for the benefit of the credulous. The man's a charlatan, but he's a patriot and a fanatic and he uses his head. The same may be said of Kishan Prasad; though with less truth, since he might have been a stout ally if we had not done our imbecile best to alienate him, whereas the Maulvi would never have bent the knee. But they are in general birds of a very different feather, and it is disturbing to find them in the same nest. Have you come up against any signs of serious disaffection in your district?'

‘One. The building, under cover of providing a shoot for the garrison, of a
kutcha
road between Lunjore and Suthragunj—' Alex gave details, and Sir Henry listened and nodded.

‘Kishan Prasad again. Any trouble in the villages?'

‘Not as yet, sir. The chuppattis have been in circulation and there has been a bit of
taklief
(trouble) over the flour being suspected of containing bone dust; but the villages have been quiet enough. They are uneasy of course, what with the chuppattis and the bone-dust rumour, and a deal of talk about omens and portents - you know the sort of thing, sir. Signs in the sky, monstrous births, two-headed calves and the like. Not to mention the old centenary of Plassey prophecy that is being circulated so freely. But the regiments are a different matter. I rely on Niaz Mohammed for my information in that line. He has friends among the sepoys.'

‘He is still with you then?'

‘He is; and he hears things in the lines that I would not. Not much, as he is suspect. But enough. What do you think is going to happen, sir?'

‘
Khuda ke malum
!' (God knows) said Sir Henry. ‘Let us have your
views. I am on the bench tonight, and I should like to hear what you think.'

Alex frowned abstractedly at the contents of his glass, swirling the liquid slowly so that the moonlight that was beginning to encroach on the darkness of the verandah caught in it and sent pale, circling lights across the matting on the floor.

‘Well?' inquired Sir Henry after an interval of silence.

Alex looked at the face that was dim in the moon-thinned shadows and the eyes that burnt so brightly in the hollow sockets, and spoke with deliberation:

‘I think it is the Army that we have to fear, sir.'

‘A mutiny.' The word was a confirmation rather than a query.

‘Yes, sir. Not a spontaneous outbreak, but a planned one. Set to take place simultaneously in every cantonment in India on a given date. A few months ago I would not have believed such a thing possible, because to achieve it there would have to have been some exceedingly strong grievance that was common to both Mussulmans and Hindus - strong enough to unite them against us. We have, however, very thoughtfully provided that common bond in the greased cartridges. That was all that was needed. Having armed their hands, we have furnished the pretence.'

Sir Henry was silent for a moment or two, stroking his beard, and presently he said gently: ‘Any evidence, Alex?'

Alex flung the contents of his glass with a violent gesture over the roses below the verandah rail, and said bitterly: ‘None that is acceptable to the Commissioner or those purblind, pig-headed— I
beg
your pardon, sir!'

Sir Henry laughed and getting up from his chair put out a thin hand, gripping the younger man's shoulder in a hard grasp.

‘Hipped, Alex?'

‘Damnably,' admitted Alex, meeting his look.

‘I know. It's like banging one's head against a stone wall. What's the evidence?'

Alex told him; repeating the words that Kishan Prasad had spoken in the drawing-room of the Residency at Lunjore.

‘In the hot weather …' said Sir Henry thoughtfully. He had returned to his chair while Alex talked, and now he leant back in it, fingering his lip. ‘Why are you so sure that he was presenting you with the truth in this oblique manner?'

‘I saved his life once,' said Alex shortly. ‘It was possibly the greatest mistake I ever made, but he feels some sense of obligation towards me. And I also think he has a liking for Winter - Mrs Barton. Or else—'

Alex checked; wondering, as he had done once before, if it might not be that Kishan Prasad suspected Alex of liking Mrs Barton, and for that reason had warned him to send her to safety? He did not complete the sentence but
said instead: ‘There is another thing that seems to suggest he was speaking the truth. That road, if I am right about it, will have to be used before the monsoon breaks, because it will be useless afterwards. And that limits it to this side of mid-June. Something will happen before then.'

Sir Henry nodded and leaned forward in his chair, his clasped hands on his knees and his head silvered by the moonlight. He said slowly: ‘I am in agreement with you. Although I still cling to the hope that we may yet avoid the deluge that our blindness has earned.'

‘Then you do not think that I am “harbouring bees in my bonnet”, as my chief is pleased to term it?'

Sir Henry laughed. ‘Hardly! Unless I harbour the same bees. In fact I am so much in accord with your views that I will tell you something that few people are aware of. I have already begun to prepare the Residency to stand a siege.'

‘Then you think—?'

‘I hope!' interrupted Sir Henry. ‘And I will go on hoping until the last possible moment. But I am also doing what I can to prepare, in case that hope fails me. Perhaps it will not. I have a deal of faith in the Punjab. Nicholson and Edwards are there, and my brother John. They will hold the Punjab quiet. I believe that Nicholson could do it single-handed, and if there were three of him instead of only one I should have no fears for India. But I cannot feel any optimism on the score of the North-Western Provinces, and should Oudh revolt it will go hard with us all. Given time, I believe I may be able to hold Oudh quiet even if the rest of India rises; but it is
time
we need - time most of all: and that is a thing which God and the Government may not grant me. The sands are running out, Alex.'

Alex said slowly and after a brief pause: ‘How the devil do they get their information, sir? The telegraph doesn't account for it, for we aren't on the line at Lunjore and have to get our news by runner. We didn't get word of that Barrackpore business for a full week, but the city knew it all within two days.'

‘It's the same everywhere,' said Sir Henry. ‘I don't pretend to account for it, but if I were a superstitious man I'd say that in times like these the very wind carries bad news. I believe that it is done with drums in Africa, but here one would almost say that they are able to transfer their thoughts from one agitator to another.'

‘Talking of agitators,' said Alex, ‘Gregori Sparkov was expected in Delhi. Hodson told me that - he appears to have sources of information in Delhi. And there was a travelling theatrical company who came through Lunjore a month or so ago. They had spent several weeks in Lucknow, and before that they were in Cawnpore and Agra. I had reason to believe that one of them might be a friend of Sparkov's - or an agent. They were proceeding to Delhi, and I sent word to Mr Fraser. I heard lately that the man disappeared the day after the troupe arrived there. They think that he is in the Palace,
but as it cannot be searched he is safe enough. Intriguing with the King, I suppose.'

‘More likely to be the Queen,' said Sir Henry. ‘The old Padishah is too enfeebled and futile a personage to be of much danger except as a lay figure to prop up on a throne. But Zeenut Mahal is a very different matter. She has brains and drive and fury, and she is burnt up with hate and ambition. I imagine it is she who is the focus of this Russian–Persian intrigue.'

‘Do you suppose there is much in it, sir?'

‘A certain amount. Russia has always wanted India. She has always wanted the whole world! But particularly the East. She can't get it while we are here, and she knows it. But if she can help to get us out she can crawl in through a hundred cracks and crannies and rot it from top to bottom until it falls into her hand like an over-ripe pear. Naturally she's doing all she can to fan the flames. That was only to be expected.'

Alex turned instinctively to look towards the north, and he jerked his shoulders in an oddly uneasy gesture and said: ‘Is it true that the native press in Delhi has been printing a good deal of Russian propaganda?'

‘It is,' said Sir Henry serenely. ‘I believe there was something to the effect that the Tsar had placed an army of half a million at the disposal of the Shah of Persia for the purpose of ridding India of the British. On the other hand, there was also an article that said the Russians were the cause of our war with Persia, and were merely using the Persians to cloak their own intention of conquering Hindustan.'

‘From what I know of them, I should think that is more than probable,' said Alex grimly.

Sir Henry shrugged. ‘Possibly. But then India has believed for many years that the “Russ-
log
” would one day fight us for the mastery of India, and when we made the mistake of withdrawing troops from this country to fight in the Crimea it was immediately taken as proof that the Russians had so decimated our armies that we had no fighting men left save those out here. But Russia is not the villain of this present drama. We have relieved her of the responsibility by casting ourselves in that role.'

He looked up at Alex and smiled his tired, charming smile. ‘I am taking a dreary view of the future tonight, am I not? But though I can feel the wind and hear the thunder, I do not yet despair of avoiding the storm. And if it comes - it comes! and I shall look to you to hold the western road for me, so that if you should be right, and the regiments at Suthragunj mutiny and seize the arsenal, they will not reach Oudh by Kishan Prasad's road.'

‘I will do my best, sir. You know that.'

‘Even if you were offered command of the Guides tomorrow?'

Alex threw up his hand in the gesture of a swordsman acknowledging a hit, and laughed, but this time without bitterness. ‘You could offer me no greater inducement, sir, but I will content myself with trying to hold the western road for you.'

‘Let us hope it will not come to that,' said Sir Henry. ‘You mentioned Hodson just now. Have you seen anything of him of late?'

They talked of other things for a space, until at last Sir Henry rose and held out his hand. ‘If you are making an early start, I shall not be seeing you again before you go. Good luck to you, Alex. God bless you, and—' He hesitated for a moment and then said thoughtfully, and as though the word were not a light one, ‘Good-bye.'

His thin hand gripped Alex's for a brief moment and then he turned and walked away, and Alex had a last glimpse of his tall figure outlined against the lighted square of the open doorway as he passed through it and was gone.

‘I shall not see him again,' thought Alex with sudden conviction; and was startled by the unbidden thought. Why should he think such a thing? Was it only because he was tired and overworked that he had imagined something indefinably final in that last word of farewell? He found that he was staring at the lighted doorway as though he could drag back that spare tall figure by an effort of will, and that there was an uncomfortable constriction in his throat.