The Karma of Love (Bantam Series No. 14) (15 page)

Orissa had hesitated before she had asked the question, but she had known that she must try to find out the truth.

Her Uncle rose to his feet to stand with his back to the fire in the inevitable position of an Englishman when he is thinking before he said:

“What do you know about Myron Meredith?”

“I know very little about him,” Orissa replied. “Charles in fact warned me against him. He said he was always ‘snooping’ around, making trouble.”

Her Uncle smiled a little wryly.

“I think if Charles were honest,” he said, “he would admit that Meredith saved him from making a fool of himself. We both know Charles can be carried away very easily by a pretty face
!
”

Orissa laughed.

“That is true! Charles’s love affairs are
too numer
ous for anyone to keep count! But what have they to do with Major Meredith?”

Colonel Hobart did not answer.

He was frowning slightly and Orissa was well aware he was considering how much he should tell her and how much he should keep back.

“Charles told me,” she went on as her Uncle did not speak, “that Major Meredith was really responsible for Gerald Dewar’s shooting himself!”

“That is not true!” Colonel Hobart retorted sharply, “and Charles had no right to say such a thing.”

“He said he was quite certain that Gerald would never have taken his life ordinarily. He was not that sort of man.”

“No, he was not!” Colonel Hobart agreed. “But as you have heard so much, you had better hear the rest, although you must promise me, Orissa, that anything I tell you will not go beyond these four walls.”

“No, of course not, Uncle Henry.”

“Gerald Dewar became infatuated with a woman he met at Simba. He was so involved that he passed information to her that affected the security of our troops.”

“How could he have done such a thing?” Orissa asked.

‘To put it in plain English—she was a Russian spy!” the Colonel replied. “She got young Dewar into her clutches so that he was indiscrete to the point of being a traitor.”

“I cannot believe it!” Orissa exclaimed. “He was Charles’s friend!”

“Yes, I know that,” the Colonel answered, “and it worried me a great deal.”

“The only evidence you have of ... this came from ... Major Meredith?” Orissa asked.

“The evidence we had of Dewar’s indiscretions—to call it by a more polite name than treachery,” the Colonel replied, “was when a Company of our own men led by one of our best young officers was ambushed and annihilated on the way to the Frontier.”

“Oh, no!” Orissa’s exclamation seemed to ring out through the room.

“Unfortunately it is true,” the Colonel said. ‘It meant of course a Court Martial for Dewar, dishonour to the Regiment, and a scandal which could not help being extremely bad for the morale of the troops.”

Oris
s
a said nothing.

She could hardly believe what her Uncle was telling her and yet she knew it must be the truth.

“
There was nothing else that Dewar could do,” he said quietly, “but behave like a gentleman.”

Orissa awoke to find the sun streaming in through her window and to know with a lilt in her heart that even if she were in a besieged Fort, she was with someone who loved her, and she was in India!

She rang for the bearer who brought her early morning tea and she went downstairs to breakfast with her Uncle on eggs and bacon, toast and marmalade.

“I hope you will find something with which to occupy your time, Orissa,” the Colonel said, “but I am afraid I must restrict you to the house and garden. I do not wish you to be seen in the town. Your arrival has caused enough curiosity as it is.”

Orissa was disappointed, but when she glanced out of the window she saw on the verandah there were a number of vendors squatting down with their goods for sale and she turned to smile at her Uncle with a twinkle in her eyes.

“I will certainly do as you say, Uncle Henry,” she said, “if you will give me some money!”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” Colonel Hobart asked.

“I am afraid I am likely to prove a very expensive guest,” Orissa answered.

“But a very attractive one,” he said, “so my bank balance is at your disposal. Here for the moment are
enough rupees to enable some of those rascals outside to retire for life!”

Orissa took the rupees he gave her and reached up to lass his cheek.

“It will be so wonderful to have some pretty clothes again,” she said. “Step-Mama grudged every penny Papa gave me and I really have looked like a tattered Cinderella for years.”

“If we ever get out of this mess,
I
will buy you the most beautiful gowns that Lahore, Delhi, or Madras can provide,” her Uncle promised.

Then he hurried away to leave Orissa to her bargaining.

She spent an entrancing morning fingering the silks, embroidered gauzes and brilliantly coloured muslins that the vendors displayed for her.

She was astonished to find such beautiful materials in such a small, out-of-the-way place as Shuba, but she realised that to the Indians where there were soldiers there was always money.

A few questions elicited the fact that one man had brought his goods from Peshawar a month ago. And besides the things which came from that city there were exquisite products of Kashmir.

There were delicate chain-stitched carpets, walnut wood carved and polished to a satin finish. This, Orissa learnt, was done with sandal-wood powder rubbed in with an agate stone.

There was Kashmir wool—Paschmina, spun from goats-beard hair and silks which had more subtle colours than those from any other part of India.

“Look, Mem-Sahib,” the Indian said beguilingly, “Kashmiri-embroidered shawl, can pull through ring, so light, so delicate!”

Orissa smiled, but it was true. She had never seen such soft and delicate shawls or such beautiful little objects made of
papier-mâch
é
and painted with gold-leaf.

She tried to spend her Uncle’s money sparingly, but she found it hard to resist a bottle of pure Jasmin

oil, filigree ear-rings that she had seen the native craftsmen making when she had passed through Peshawar, and small semi-precious stones dug from the mountains, cornelians, amethysts and lapis-lazuli.

She was so intent on her purchases and so fascinated by the tales of the men who sold them to her that it was time for
“
tiffin
”
before she realised that the morning had passed, and she had not yet finally decided on all she would buy.

The vendors were quite happy to remain on the verandah and even to wait after luncheon when Orissa in traditional Indian fashion took a siesta.

She did not feel tired, having slept well the night before, but she knew that the household would expect it and she therefore went upstairs to lie on her bed.

It seemed impossible to believe that they were really besieged in the Fort, and yet just before dawn the firing had broken out again to awaken her with a start.

“They’re at it morning and night, regular as clockwork!” her Uncle’s Cockney soldier-servant told her cheerily.

“It is certainly very noisy,” Orissa admitted.

“That’s what they like,” the Soldier answered, “noise—and th’chance to cut some’un to pieces with their long knives.”

Orissa shuddered.

It was easy to forget temporarily the danger they were in, and then she told herself that her Uncle must be expecting reinforcements.

He did not come back to luncheon, but he arrived in the house at about four o’clock and Orissa saw the servants carrying in a very good imitation of an English tea.

There were fruit cake, sandwiches and small fairy
-
cakes such as she had enjoyed as a child, tea hot and strong, while only the milk was strange, having come from a goat not a cow.

“I expected you back to luncheon,” Orissa said.

“I should have sent a bearer to make my excuses,” her Uncle said. “We were having a Council of War.”

“Will you tell me what has been happening?” Orissa asked.

“I do not wish to depress you,” Colonel Hobart replied.

“I would much rather know the truth.”

“I can understand that! The real trouble is that the tribesmen have been clever enough to cut all our communications with Headquarters.”

“So you cannot get a message to Peshawar to say that you are besieged!” Orissa exclaimed.

“Exactly!” her Uncle agreed.

“
Would it not be possible to send a messenger?”

“We have already tried that,” her Uncle answered. “Two men set out—one three nights ago and the next the following night.”

He paused and Orissa looked at him expectantly. “Their heads were tossed over the wall the next morning.”

Orissa drew in her breath.

“We got through ... the Sergeant Major and I,” she said. “How did that happen?”

“Meredith believes,” her Uncle said, “that it was not just chance or luck, but because the tribesmen wished to lull us into a sense of false security. They hoped perhaps we might send out further messengers and, if one did get through, he would report that access to the Fort was not impossible because two people had arrived unscathed.”

Orissa looked at her Uncle wonderingly and then she said slowly:

“You mean that any Force coming to ... relieve you would ... imagine they could get through, and then...”

“They would be ambushed!” Colonel Hobart completed. “It is impossible to reach the Fort except by the road and for a troop of soldiers to come along the valley at this moment would be sheer murder!”

Orissa heard the pain in his voice and saw the anxiety in his eyes.

“Then what can you do?” she asked.

“That is what I am waiting to find out,” Colonel Hobart replied.

And Orissa knew, though he did not say so, that somehow the answer was connected with Major Meredith.

She found herself wondering late that night what possible solution Major Meredith could find to such a problem unless he could fly away from the Fort like a bird, or burrow underground like a mole.

He or anyone else leaving the Fort would be at the mercy of the enemy just as any relieving Force could be shot down from both sides of the road.

She fell asleep trying to solve the problem and although she spent part of the day with the vendors of the beautiful things on the verandah, and several hours starting to make a new gown, her thoughts would not keep away from Major Meredith.

She came down to dinner that evening scented with Jasmin but with the noise of rifle fire ringing in her ears, and walked into the Drawing-Room to find him alone with her Uncle.

“Here you are, Orissa!” Colonel Hobart exclaimed, “I was just about to send for you. I knew you would be glad to know that Major Meredith has returned safely.”

“Good-evening,” Orissa said coo
l
ly as if they were meeting in a London Drawing-Room.

The Major bowed and she had the feeling it was slightly ironic.

He was dressed for dinner not in the colourful
uniform
that was worn by the Bengal Lancers, but of the Royal Chilte
rn
s. Orissa thought it did not fit very well and wondered if he had borrowed it.

She also thought he was slightly thinner than when she had last seen him. The cheek-bones in his brown face seemed more pronounced and his sun-tan darker
than it had been before. Then she told herself
she
was just imagining things.

Anyway it was difficult to tell in the soft light of the oil-lamps.

They sat down three to dinner and she noticed that Major Meredith ate quickly and appeared to be very hungry.

Orissa on the contrary found lack of air and exercise had taken away her appetite—or could it be attributed to the fact that the man she had been thinking about and who was becoming more and more of a mystery was present?

She longed to ask him questions.

Where had he been in the Fort? Why had she not seen him since the night she arrived?

But she knew it was impossible to say anything while the servants were in the room.

Finally they retired to the Drawing-Room, but her Uncle did not bring a glass of Port with him, nor did Major Meredith.

Orissa noticed that the Major shut the door very firmly as he came last into the room. Then he walked towards the fireplace and Orissa knew before either he or her Uncle spoke that they were about to say something momentous.

There was something in their manner—something tense about them both—and she looked up at them from the sofa on which she was sitting, her eyes very large in her small face.