The Maharajah's General (4 page)

‘How was your journey, Captain Danbury? It is such a long way from Calcutta.’ Dutton’s wife smiled as she spoke, but there was no hiding the salacious appraisal she gave or the sparkle in her eyes as she savoured what she saw.

‘Enough of your mothering, my dear.’ Dutton interrupted his wife, saving Jack from a meaningless reply about heat, bullock carts and interminable delays. He took an immediate liking to the blunt officer. ‘The man will have had his fill of damned travelling, is that not so, Danbury?’

‘Indeed,’ Jack replied politely, doing his best to smile reassuringly at Mrs Dutton as she shrank away from the conversation, her husband’s authority clear.

‘Ready for some real soldiering, I expect.’ Dutton smiled wolfishly at the notion, revealing an array of discoloured teeth. ‘All this shilly-shallying around takes its toll on a man, what?’

‘Quite true.’

Dutton leant forward to speak in a confiding whisper. ‘I could see you were a man of action as soon as I clapped eyes on you. How was the Crimea? Did you see much action?’

‘A little.’

‘Say no more. I can see it in your eyes. I have not had the occasion myself. Not been that lucky.’ Dutton failed to hide his obvious disappointment at having been denied the opportunity to hear the guns roar in anger on a battlefield.

Jack did not know how to reply. Was the major unlucky not to have fought a battle, or simply fortunate? The horror he himself had experienced at the Alma should have made that an easy question to answer. Yet he could well remember his own desire to fight, to experience the hardest challenge a soldier could face. He might wish with all his soul that the battle had not happened, but he could not deny the pride he felt at having taken part.

Dutton watched him closely, nodding as if in approval at the distant look that came over the new captain. ‘There is unlikely to be any fighting here, more’s the damn pity.’

Jack forced his mind away from his memories. ‘Truly? What of this maharajah?’

‘The Maharajah is a fool. He surrounds himself with his fancy lancers and thinks of himself as a great warrior chief. But I tell you this, Danbury. If he were ever to be foolish enough to challenge us, we would tear his ragtag little army to pieces in a heartbeat. No, there will be no battles here. At least none that Mr Russell of
The Times
would find of note.’

Jack nodded in agreement. He had read Russell’s accounts of the fighting in the Crimea. The papers he had been able to find on the journey were always long out of date, but he believed Russell was giving a fair account of the campaign. The reporter was certainly no fool or lickspittle, offering his share of criticism of General Raglan and the army’s leadership, much of which Jack fully agreed with. It was hard to imagine anything happening in the forgotten kingdom of Sawadh that would catch any journalist’s attention. However, he was intrigued to hear the major write off the Maharajah’s army with such certainty. ‘I was led to understand we were heavily outnumbered here,’ he said. ‘Surely that would count for something?’

‘Outnumbered we are, that is true. And it is enough to keep all these damn peacocks pissing in their breeches at the very thought.’ Dutton could not hide his look of distaste as he used his drink to gesture around the room. Of all the officers present, only he and Jack were in their regimental uniforms, the rest preferring an array of vibrantly coloured costumes, as if there was a silent competition to wear the most garish or the most outlandish garb. ‘But I would back my three hundred against three thousand of the Maharajah’s,’ he continued, fixing Jack with a hard stare as he dared the Queen’s officer to gainsay him.

Jack kept his expression neutral, even if there was something concerning in the major’s blind confidence. He was saved from any further reply as Proudfoot reappeared at his elbow.

‘Come, Danbury. More people to meet.’ He was keen to steer Jack onwards, towards the next stop on his tour of introductions.

‘Come and visit us when you are settled, Danbury. I would like you to run your eyes over my men,’ Dutton proposed as Proudfoot led Jack away. ‘They are good boys. They would give a solid account of themselves if ever the need arose. They would fight hard. Damned hard.’

Jack heard the longing in Dutton’s voice. The man was clearly desperate for a fight. With Proudfoot so keen to annex the Maharajah’s lands, it made for a dangerous combination. If the Maharajah didn’t back down, then a fight was inevitable. Political machinations would give way to violence and men like Dutton would be handed the authority to force home the Queen’s will.

‘Reverend, our new captain.’

Proudfoot’s introductions had got shorter as he promenaded his new subordinate around the room, his sentences eroding as rapidly as his enthusiasm. For Jack, the procession of introductions had passed by in a blur of names, firm handshakes and meaningless nothings. The station at Bhundapur was small, little more than an outpost of the British Empire, yet it still boasted half a dozen commissioned officers from the Honourable East India Company, with at least that number again of civil appointees, along with their associated wives and relations.

Jack had now gained some knowledge of the people with whom he would live in the coming months. It would take much longer to understand and follow the complex web of power that would govern life in the cantonment. His short time in India had taught him that social standing was guarded as jealously as a maharajah’s treasure. To commit a social faux pas, however unintentional, was to court disgrace. Not for the first time he wondered at the sanity of his decision to force himself into a world in which he did not belong.

‘I am delighted to meet you, Captain. Now tell me. Are you bass, baritone or has the good Lord finally delivered me a tenor?’

‘Don’t start bothering Danbury with your choir already, Reverend. The poor fellow has only just arrived.’ Proudfoot’s disdain for the portly chaplain was painfully obvious in his icy manner. ‘Now, Danbury. I’ll leave you with Reverend Youngsummers.’ The major was keen to be away and Jack was glad to see him go. Being paraded around the room like a prize heifer had been uncomfortable enough, and he did not think he would have been able to stand Proudfoot’s tugging on his elbow for another minute without his temper snapping.

Reverend Youngsummers gently patted his ample stomach as Proudfoot made his excuses, a soft belch escaping a wide, fleshy mouth that gave him an unfavourable comparison with a toad. The clergyman’s aged black jacket strained at the buttons as it struggled to encompass his bulk, its thick shoulders and wide collar liberally covered with flakes of fallen scurf.

‘You’ve no drink.’ Youngsummers’ disapproval was clear. ‘Let me remedy that tragedy.’

He lifted his left hand, clicking his fingers towards one of the many serving staff standing like statues against the walls, then pointed to his own empty glass and raised two fingers. In the time it took him to turn back to face Jack, two fresh glasses of brandy and soda arrived in the hands of the servant charged with supplying this corner of the room with a ready supply of alcohol.

‘There you go, a quick peg before dinner. Proudfoot may lack taste, but he keeps a good table and a tolerable cellar. You will find, Danbury, that one needs a good diet in this infernal heat. It is the only way to survive.’ Youngsummers’ eyes narrowed in anticipation at the thought of food. From his sizeable girth it was clear that the chaplain enthusiastically followed his own advice.

‘I shall do my best,’ Jack replied, trying not to smile at the odd creature in front of him.

Youngsummers raised his glass to his mouth and drained it in two huge gulps. ‘I should introduce you to my daughter.’ He turned to bring a slight, blonde-haired girl into the conversation, careless of the trickle of brandy that crept from the corner of his mouth to stain the once white dog collar that was fighting to remain fixed round his bulbous neck.

‘Isabel, this is Danbury, the 24th’s new captain.’

The girl who had caught Jack’s eye when he first entered the room now stood in front of him, offering a brief curtsy before fixing him with the same mocking, mischievous green eyes. Jack’s weariness left him in a heartbeat.

‘Captain Danbury.’ Isabel had to lift her chin high to maintain eye contact. She was slimmer than Jack had imaged from his single glimpse of her. The simple green dress she wore shimmered in the candlelight, matching both the colour and the sparkle in her eyes. She was captivating.

‘Isabel has come to visit me before going to live with her aunt in Truro. I selfishly wanted her all to myself one last time.’ Reverend Youngsummers looked at his daughter fondly, reaching out to pat her gloved hand with affection.

‘Now, Papa. You know full well that we have not yet fixed my plans.’

Jack watched as he saw the full weight of Isabel’s charm brought to bear on her father. If Reverend Youngsummers had the willpower to send his daughter back to England, then he was a better man than Jack was.

‘We shall see, my dear. We shall see. Do you have family, Danbury?’

‘No, sir. I am quite alone in the world.’ Jack was doing his best not to stare. Isabel was beautiful. He could see now that her hair was redder than he had first thought, a touch of ginger amidst the blonde curls that were artfully styled in what he supposed was the latest fashion.

‘Then you cannot know a father’s pain.’ Youngsummers frowned as he saw that the new captain was clearly charmed by his daughter. ‘You desire nothing more than for your precious child to remain with you always, yet you know you must let them go if they are to live the life you desire for them.’ He spoke wistfully, careless of revealing his emotions to a stranger.

‘Perhaps Captain Danbury will know that one day, Papa.’ Isabel ignored her father, focusing all her charm on the new officer, who blushed at her attention. ‘He is much too young to be thinking of making a family.’ She gave Jack a teasing smile, making the most oblique reference to procreation sound like an invitation to dive into the nearest bedroom.

‘I am not so young.’ Isabel was so vibrant that Jack could not resist studying her face as he addressed her. It was a delight, her features slim and elegant, yet it was her hair that charmed him the most, with its unruly curls that fanned around her face. She had tried to tame the wildest sections with narrow metal clips, each decorated with a single glass bead that encompassed every hue in the rainbow. In the gentle light of the room they flickered as her head moved, a vivid kaleidoscope of vibrant colour.

‘Nonsense. Why, you cannot be more than two and twenty,’ Isabel mocked, her eyes narrowing provocatively as she estimated his age.

Isabel’s beauty had transported Jack into his past, his mind returning to the memory of another young woman. It had been many months, but the pain of her death was still fresh.

Isabel pouted at his lack of reaction. ‘There, I have offended you by speaking of age.’

‘Now, my dear. I very much doubt if Captain Danbury would be so easily put out. Is that not so, Danbury?’

Jack had to force his mind back to the present. ‘Indeed.’ He heard the coldness in his own voice and saw Isabel purse her lips as though considering something.

‘Perhaps Captain Danbury would like to join us on our expedition the day after tomorrow, Papa. It would allow us to get to know him better, before Major Proudfoot buries him in work.’

‘A capital notion.’ Youngsummers signalled for another drink as he approved his daughter’s suggestion. ‘Danbury, we have a long-awaited opportunity to visit a local wonder. Isabel likes nothing better than a chance to explore some of the crumbling, dusty edifices that seem to appeal to the local peasants. She has a rum idea of it being a fitting occupation for a young woman. I expect she gets that from her mother, my late wife.’ His mouth turned down at the corners, as if he tasted something sour. He gulped at his fresh drink, which had been brought by the willing servant, using the brandy and soda to scour the bitterness from his mouth.

‘I believe I noticed the tower you speak of on my way here.’ Jack tried to sound gracious as he attempted to make good his escape. As pleasing as it would be to have a day out with the delightful Isabel, he would rather rub his arse with a brick before he spent time with her father. ‘I would dearly like the chance to explore it, but I am not sure that will be possible for the moment. I must attend to my new command.’

‘I’m sure Proudfoot would see the benefit.’ Youngsummers used his hand to stifle another deep belch. ‘And as you will discover, Danbury, my daughter tends to get what she desires. I doubt even Proudfoot has the wherewithal to gainsay her.’

Isabel’s eyes flushed with triumph. ‘There. It is settled. You shall come.’

‘Who will go where?’ Their conversation was interrupted by the urbane tones of an English officer. ‘Am I missing out on the social outing of the season?’

‘Arthur! We are merely inviting Captain Danbury to join us on our excursion to the mysterious tower of silence that I have told you about countless times.’

‘Lucky fellow.’ The officer turned so that he was face to face with Jack. ‘So you’re Danbury. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Arthur Fenris.’

Jack looked into the face of his subordinate, taking in the cool, mocking stare. Fenris was far too comfortable for a lieutenant meeting his captain for the first time, and Jack wondered what licence the man had been given as he awaited his new commander.

Believing his introduction to be complete, Fenris turned his charisma back on Isabel. ‘So when was I to be invited?’ His playful tone made it clear there was no censure intended by the rebuke. As he spoke, Fenris angled his body, subtly but effectively pushing Jack to the fringe of the conversation.

‘Don’t be a ninny, Arthur. Of course you’re invited.’

‘Well I’m not certain I wish to accompany you now,’ Fenris teased. ‘You will have no need of two heroes to guard you.’

‘A lady can never have enough heroes,’ Isabel lifted her chin in what Jack believed was a gesture of defiance. It was clear the Reverend’s daughter was used to getting her own way.

Isolated on the periphery of the conversation, Jack had a moment to study his new subaltern. Lieutenant Fenris had the build and stature of a hunter. He was taller than Jack, with the broad shoulders and narrow waist of someone who valued their appearance and took measures to maintain it. With an unruly mop of black hair and a pair of thick mutton-chop whiskers, it was easy to understand why Isabel was so clearly entranced.

If his physique were not enough, then Fenris’ choice of dress would turn many a maiden’s head. He wore a long jacket of cream linen that hung to his thighs, coupled with a pair of tight-cut trousers in the same fabric. The plainness of the suit contrasted with his bright blue waistcoat, decorated with fabulous swirls and stitching picked out in bronze thread. Around the neck of his white linen shirt he wore a cravat of plain gold, held in place with a single pin topped with a fat pearl. Every cantonment had its dandy, and it was clear that Jack’s subaltern relished the role at Bhundapur.

‘So what of it, Danbury? Shall we both squire Miss Youngsummers?’ Fenris spoke in jocular tones, yet it did not endear him to Jack. He was not alone in finding the presence of the young lieutenant grating, and Reverend Youngsummers politely excused himself from the conversation as he continued his pursuit of exhausting Proudfoot’s supply of brandy.

‘I shall go but you shall stay here,’ said Jack, irritated by Fenris’ peremptory manner. ‘I would not want to leave the men without either of their officers.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ There was a flash of anger in the younger officer’s eyes as his new captain pulled rank.

‘If we are to get along, I suggest you see the surgeon and get your ears cleaned out. Tomorrow I plan to inspect the men before we conduct a morning of drill followed by an afternoon at musket practice. I want to see how well they can shoot. I would be grateful if you could make the necessary arrangements.’

Fenris looked as if he had swallowed a turd. ‘Are those your orders, sir?’ He appeared to gag on the title, as if speaking the word caused him physical pain. Isabel inched closer, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment at the tension between the two men.

‘They are. What is the name of the senior sergeant?’

‘That would be Colour Sergeant Hughes, sir,’ Fenris replied with a healthy dollop of sarcasm.

‘Please let him know I shall want to see him first thing in the morning.’

‘Have you cleared this with Major Proudfoot?’ Fenris sneered as he spoke, his anger at being so openly treated as a subordinate obvious.

Jack felt his own anger flare. ‘I do not need the permission of the major to run my command as I see fit. Do not presume to question me again, is that clear?’

Fenris opened his mouth as if to argue further. He controlled himself with some difficulty. ‘Abundantly clear, sir.’

Jack felt the need for fresh air. Despite Proudfoot’s thermantidotes the room felt stuffy, and the perfume-rich air caught in his throat. With the briefest of nods, he excused himself and made for the door.

The smirk he glimpsed on Isabel’s face did nothing to improve his mood. He had not given Fenris a dressing-down for her benefit. Jack would get his command into shape, and if that required upsetting his callow prig of a lieutenant, then that was a small price to pay.

Jack jogged down the steps of the bungalow, sucking in a huge lungful of the clean night air. It was a relief to be free. The long evening spent standing in the confines of Proudfoot’s drawing room had awakened the recurring pain in his back, and he needed to find somewhere to sit in peace so that he could try to knead the ache away.

‘Danbury!’

His spine stiffened as he recognised the drawled tones calling for his attention.