“O my sister,” he gasped forth, “it is our uncle, sorely wounded. He and his troop were attacked by the accursed one, the usurper.”
“And our brother—Ashraf Ali?” shrieked Wazira Begum.
“They said nothing of him, but they are bringing the Sheikh in a litter, and those that have returned with him are relieving the men on guard, that they may gather in the great hall and receive his commands. I must go back.”
“Won’t you send the servants to light the hall with torches?” asked Lady Haigh of Wazira Begum, as the boy ran away; but she shook her head.
“Nay, no woman must be present when the Sheikh gives his commands to the brotherhood. They will bring their own torches. We should not even be here; but I cannot go back into the zenana without knowing what has befallen my brother. It is forbidden, but I cannot.”
The women were all gathered at the curtain now, peering through holes which long experience had shown them where to find, and Lady Haigh laid an encouraging hand on Wazira Begum’s shoulder. To her surprise, it was not shaken off. The girl was trembling with anxiety, and her breath came in sharp gasps. Outside the curtain Murtiza Khan stood rigid, partially concealed by the recess in which it hung. With admirable good-breeding, he feigned to be absolutely unconscious of the crowd of women who were pressing and whispering so close to him.
At last the sound of feet was heard, and the gleam of white and scarlet was revealed by the light of a smoky torch at the doorway of the hall. Eight men in the dress of the brotherhood carried in a rude litter, and were followed by others, all bearing marks of fighting. Behind them came the men who had been guarding the walls, and with them Maadat Ali; but a sob broke from Wazira Begum as she realised that her elder brother was not there. The litter, still covered with the mantles of the men who had carried it, was placed in the middle of the hall, and the members of the brotherhood proceeded to arrange themselves in their proper ranks; but there was some confusion, as if all did not know their places. Lady Haigh’s hand gripped Penelope’s, and she directed her attention to the back of the hall. Behind the men in scarlet and white crept a silent crowd of figures in ordinary native dress, and these were dividing in the semi-darkness so as to line both sides of the hall. Almost at the same moment two cries broke the stillness. Wazira Begum sprang up from her crouching position, and shrieked with all her strength, “Treachery! treachery! sons of the Mountains!” and Maadat Ali, who had contrived to make his way unobserved to the side of the litter and lift the covering, dropped it in amazement, and cried shrilly, “It is not the Sheikh-ul-Jabal at all!”
Ina moment all was confusion. Behind the curtain, Zulika and Hafiza threw themselves upon Wazira Begum, and carried her off by main force, regardless of her struggles, locking her into a small room where jewels and best clothes were kept. They had seen the man in the litter raise himself and deal Maadat Ali a blow that stretched him senseless on the floor, and their sudden action had only just prevented the girl from rushing unveiled into the turmoil of armed men. The hall was ringing with battle-cries: “Jabal! Jabal!” from the brotherhood, “Dīn! Dīn!” from the men who had carried the litter and those who had dogged their steps. Swords were flashing; but such was the confusion that the garrison of Sheikhgarh did not know who was friend or who foe. The dark-clothed strangers, who had almost succeeded in surrounding them, were obviously enemies; but mingled among themselves were the litter-bearers in their own distinctive dress, headed by the man who had been carried in the litter, and who had now sprung to his feet and unsheathed a sword. Beset and outnumbered, the men of the Mountains turned furiously upon the nearest foe each could distinguish, and a wild turmoil raged, which swayed for a moment towards the entrance of the hall, leaving clear the remains of the litter and the form of Maadat Ali lying beside it. Lady Haigh put a hand round the curtain and gripped the arm of Murtiza Khan, who still stood motionless in his niche. These bewildering changes were nothing to him; his duty began and ended with the defence of his Memsahibs.
“Fetch in the boy, Murtiza Khan!” said Lady Haigh sharply. The trooper hesitated for a moment, then assured himself that the archway was not threatened, and dashed across the hall, returning with the motionless body of the boy.
“Bring him inside—quick!” said Lady Haigh authoritatively, moving the curtain aside; and with horrible reluctance Murtiza Khan obeyed, to the accompaniment of a chorus of shrieks from the old women within, who improvised hastily makeshifts for veils. He looked anxiously round for a bed on which to lay the boy, preparatory to an immediate retreat.
“Hold him! You are not to go outside again,” cried Lady Haigh, stamping her foot. “Unlock that door!” she commanded the two old women, pointing to the room where Wazira Begum could be heard beating the woodwork with her fists and demanding furiously to be let out. Hafiza seemed inclined to remonstrate, but Zulika obeyed promptly, and the girl dashed out, with dishevelled hair and bleeding knuckles, bestowing a furious blow on the old nurse as she passed, and nearly knocking her down. Catching sight of her brother, she tore him from the trooper’s arms and pressed him to her breast, crouching in a corner and moaning over him. Lady Haigh laid a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Listen to me, Wazira Begum. Is there any door or gate at the back by which you can let a messenger out?”
“Take thy hand away!” shrieked the girl. “How dost thou dare touch me? It is thou who hast brought all this evil upon us. O my brother, my little brother, do I behold thee dead in my arms?”
“Answer me,” said Lady Haigh, giving her a slight shake. “You can do your brother no good by crying over him.”
“There is a secret door, but the Sheikh alone can enter or depart by it,” was the unwilling reply. “Now leave me to bewail my dead.”
“Then we must let Murtiza Khan down over the wall. Wazira Begum, you must come and show us the best place, and give orders to your women. Your brother is not dead. I saw him move just now.”
“I will not leave him, O accursed Farangi! Why should I desire to save the life of thy servant, who has profaned the very zenana?”
“To save your own life and your brother’s, to say nothing of ours. Murtiza Khan must bear the news of this treachery to Alibad, and bring help, if it can be managed. Come! leave the boy with Hafiza.”
Sullenly and reluctantly Wazira Begum obeyed, and wrapping herself in the veil which Zulika brought her, led the way through the passage. Lady Haigh paused to speak to the old woman—
“Stay at the curtain, and parley with any who may desire to enter. Keep them back at any cost until we return.”
Hurrying after the rest she caught up Murtiza Khan, who was following the women in intense misery, with his eyes on the ground.
“Do you understand, Murtiza Khan? You are to get through to Alibad at any cost, and tell Keeling Sahib that the enemy have surprised Sheikhgarh.”
“How is this?” asked Murtiza Khan. “Does not the Presence know that I was charged to protect her and the Miss Sahib, and how dare I leave them defenceless to the enemy?”
“What could one man do? You could only fight till you were killed.”
“Nay, I could slay both the Presences before the enemy broke in.”
“Thanks, we can do that for ourselves if necessary. There are knives here, at any rate, whatever there may not be. But if the Sahibs are not warned, they will come to Sheikhgarh thinking it is in friendly hands, and will be ambushed in the mountains. That must be prevented.”
“It is the will of the Presence,” said Murtiza Khan, with a resignation as sulky in its way as Wazira Begum’s. The girl had led the way up to the roofs of the buildings surrounding the zenana courtyard, which formed a terrace from which the defence of the place could be carried on. She sprang up on the parapet, and looked over the wall.
“Here is the place,” she said. “My brother Ashraf Ali once dropped a jewel from his turban over the wall, and we let him down to recover it. Bring ropes, O women.”
The servants ran wildly in all directions, and produced a heterogeneous collection of cords, which were knotted together and pieced out with strips torn from sheets. The trooper tested them carefully, and expressed himself as satisfied, only entreating that Lady Haigh would herself hold the cord and give the orders. Then he let himself down over the parapet, hung for a moment to the edge by his fingers, and loosed his hold. Lady Haigh restrained the eagerness of the women who held the rope, insisting that they should pay it out slowly and steadily; and after what seemed an age, the trooper’s voice was heard, telling them to slacken it a little, that he might unfasten it. Then the rope came up again free, and not daring to wait on the wall, Lady Haigh and Wazira Begum left the servants to untie and hide the separate parts, and fled back into the house. Wazira Begum was madly anxious about her brother, and Lady Haigh now remembered that Penelope had not accompanied them to the wall. They both caught sight of her at the same moment, and Wazira Begum sprang forward with a cry of rage, for Penelope was kneeling by the charpoy on which Maadat Ali lay, and binding up his head. The fierce jealousy which made the native girl rush to drive her away did not even occur to her, and she looked up at her with a smile.
“He is only stunned, and he is beginning to come round. Take my place, so that he may see you when he opens his eyes, but don’t startle him. I’m sure he ought to be kept very quiet.”
Her anger disarmed by Penelope’s unsuspiciousness, Wazira Begum obeyed meekly, and kneeling down by the charpoy, murmured endearing epithets as she pressed her lips passionately to her brother’s hands. But Lady Haigh had moved to the curtain, beyond which Zulika had just been summoned by an imperious voice which demanded that some one from the zenana should come forth and speak. The contest in the hall had ended in the triumph of the invaders. The bodies of the dead and dying which cumbered the floor showed that the men of the Mountains had fought hard for their stronghold; but they were much outnumbered, and utterly taken by surprise. Their assailants were evidently kept well in hand by their leader, the man who had been carried in the litter, for instead of dispersing through the fortress in search of loot, they were methodically removing the dead and caring for their own wounded. The wounded among the defenders were promptly despatched. It was the leader who now stood before the curtain, and before whom Zulika grovelled abjectly, her forehead on the ground.
“Who is within?” asked the leader.
“My lord’s servants the daughter and the young son of my master, the Sheikh-ul-Jabal, and the women of the household.”
“No one else? What of the two Farangi ladies who took shelter here last night, and their servant?”
“Truly the wisdom of my lord is as that of Solomon the son of David! The Farangi ladies are indeed within, the guests of my master’s house.”
“And their servant—is he also within?”
“Nay, my lord! A man behind the curtain! Truly the fellow was in this hall before the entrance of my lord, but seeing that there was fighting on foot, doubtless he stole away to hide himself, or it may be he is even among the slain,” lied Zulika glibly.
“I will have search made and a watch kept, and if I find thou hast deceived me——” he laid his sheathed sword lightly across Zulika’s neck, so that she cowered nearer to the floor. “Thou and the children of the impostor may remain here for the present, until the will of his Highness be known; only see to it that ye make no attempt to escape or to send warning to those who are away. But the Farangi women bid to be ready to start on a journey an hour before dawn, for they must go elsewhere.”
“My lord would not slay the women?” ventured the trembling Zulika, with unexpected courage.
“What is that to thee? Enough that they must be kept in safety until it may be seen of what use they are.”
“My lord’s handmaid will carry his commands,” responded Zulika, and returned with her alarming message behind the curtain, where the other servants filled the air with wailing on hearing it. Lady Haigh bade them peremptorily to be still, and turned to Wazira Begum, who was still kneeling beside her brother, assiduously keeping the cloths on his forehead wet, in the way Penelope had shown her.
“Let us talk this over as friends,” she said, “for we are in much the same position. We are to be kept as hostages in order to extract concessions from Major Keeling, and you and your brother, Wazira Begum, as a means of bringing pressure upon the Sheikh-ul-Jabal. At least that shows that he has not been killed or defeated, but I suppose he might return here and be lured into an ambush at any moment. Now think; Murtiza Khan cannot possibly reach Alibad before daylight to-morrow, even if he is not seen and wounded or captured. Major Keeling would never attack a place like this by daylight, so that even if he sent a force to our help at once, we could not be relieved until to-morrow night. Is there any chance of barricading ourselves in the zenana, and holding out for all those hours?”
“Nay,” said Wazira Begum wearily; “we might block up the door with charpoys, and ye might refuse to go out; but they would only need to set fire to the barricade, and then they would break in and slay us all. Do as thou wilt. Who am I to give commands, when thou art present? It shall be done as thou sayest, and my brother and I, and these women, can but die in the hope of saving thee and thy sister.”
“Nonsense!” said Lady Haigh. “If there’s no chance of defending ourselves successfully, of course we won’t attempt it. You know that perfectly well, Wazira Begum, or you wouldn’t have put your lives into my hands in that despairingly confiding way.”
The girl looked slightly ashamed. “Thou art better to me than I deserve, better than I thought thee,” she said. “Were it not for my brother, I would refuse to give you up; but how can I bring death upon him? I will send my handmaid Hafiza with you, to wait upon you and to be your interpreter with the men sent to guard you, for ye are great ladies, and must not speak with them face to face. Also ye shall have bedding, and such other things as this place can supply and ye may desire. And forgive me that I can do no more, for truly woe is come upon this house, and the shadow of death.”
She broke into loud wailing again, in which the other women followed her, and Lady Haigh grew angry.
“Penelope, lie down here and try and get some rest. Wazira Begum, as you are good enough to lend us bedding, please let Hafiza get it out and have it ready to strap on the horses. And tell me, had we better wear veils like yours instead of our hats?”
“Nay, ye would be known everywhere as Farangis by your tight garments, and your manner of sitting on one side of your horses,” said Wazira Begum. “But this is what ye must do.” She unfastened the gauze veil from Lady Haigh’s hat and doubled it. “Now no man can see clearly what manner of woman is beneath.”
This settled, Lady Haigh sat down on the floor, and leaning against the wall, prepared to get a few hours’ uncomfortable and more or less broken sleep, while Hafiza was assisted in her preparations by the other women, who were all much relieved that they had not been chosen to attend the visitors, and were anxious to administer the kind of comfort which is easier to give than to receive. The disturbed night seemed extraordinarily long, but at last the summons came from behind the curtain. Wazira Begum bade farewell to her guests with something of compunction, and pressed upon them a string of pearls, which might serve as currency in case of need. The old women carried out the bundles of bedding, which were tied on a horse in such a way that Hafiza could perch herself on the summit of the load. Then Lady Haigh and Penelope, disguised in their double veils, walked down the hall, and found, to their delight, their own ponies awaiting them. Lady Haigh looked over the harness critically before mounting from the steps, and ordered one or two straps to be tightened—orders which were obeyed, apparently with some amusement, by the men who stood by. The leader of the enemy, who stood on the steps watching the start, gave his final instructions to a man named Nizam-ul-Mulk, who was, it seemed, to escort the ladies with ten men under him, and the gate was opened. Lady Haigh, who was looking about for any chance of escape, saw that every precaution was to be taken for the safe-keeping of the prisoners. On the narrow mountain paths, where it was necessary to ride in single file, there was always one of the guards between herself and Penelope, and when the valley widened, the whole of the escort closed up at once. Several small encampments were passed, from which startled Nalapuris looked out as they heard the horses’ feet to ask if Sinjāj Kīlin was coming; and it was clear that though the enemy might be said to be occupying the hills, there would be no great difficulty in dislodging them. Cowardly though they might be, however, they had the upper hand at present, and Lady Haigh and Penelope felt this bitterly when their party debouched from the hills about dawn, and struck off across the desert towards the north-east, leaving the great mass of the Alibad fort, touched with the sunrise, well to the south.
“If they only knew!” sighed Lady Haigh. “Just across there, and we here! How they would ride if they knew!”
“What is going to happen to us?” asked Penelope. They were riding side by side now, in the midst of their guards.
“Well, the worst that could happen would be that we might be carried right up into Central Asia, which all but happened to the captives in the Ethiopian disaster,” said Lady Haigh, ignoring decisively possibilities even darker, “and I suppose the best that could happen would be that Major Keeling should make terms for us almost at once.”
“But if he had to make concessions, as you said? Ought we to want him to do it?”
“Of course we oughtn’t to, and I don’t—but yet I do. Perhaps he won’t. You see I know already how high-minded my husband can be where I am concerned, but I don’t know what Major Keeling would be willing to do for you.”
“I know. He would refuse, even if it tore his heart out.”
Lady Haigh looked at her curiously. “You seem to know him pretty well,” she said. “Well, it’s something to feel that our poor little fates won’t be permitted to weigh against the safety of the frontier. But what nonsense we are talking!” as Penelope shuddered. “My dear, don’t we know that those two men would invade Central Asia on their own account if we were taken there, and bring us back in triumph? Don’t let us pretend they’re Romans. They’re good Englishmen, and would no more leave us to perish than turn Mohammedan!”
This robust faith, if a little unfortunate in the mode of its expression, was very cheering, and Penelope withdrew her eyes from the fast diminishing fort, and set her face sternly forward. But if there was no sign of a force riding out from Alibad to the rescue, there was a cloud of dust in front which showed that some one was approaching, and the escort were visibly nervous. Seizing the bridles of the ladies’ ponies they urged them aside behind a sandhill, and there waited, gathered in a close group. It was a large company that was coming, and the dust it made was sufficient to have prevented its noticing the smaller party, so that it passed the sandhill without turning aside. A sudden lull in the wind revealed the white mantles and scarlet turbans of the men who composed it when they had gone some distance.
“The Sheikh and his followers!” gasped Penelope. “They will go back to Sheikhgarh and be captured.”
“Not if Murtiza Khan got through,” said Lady Haigh, trying to hide the anxiety in her tone, “for Major Keeling would be certain to send some one to intercept the Sheikh before he could reach the hills. No,” she added acidly, in response to the gesture of Nizam-ul-Mulk, who had tapped a pistol in his girdle significantly as he saw her gazing after the riders, “we are not quite idiots, thank you. It wouldn’t be much good to signal to the Sheikh, who doesn’t know anything about us, and would never think of going out of his way on the chance of helping some one in distress.”
“But he might have told them at Alibad, and they would have known where we were,” suggested Penelope.
“And have come out to find us shot, which wouldn’t be much good,” said Lady Haigh.
They rode on again after this brief halt, taking the direction of Fort Shah Nawaz, but leaving it out of sight on the right hand. The dark rocks which marked the mouth of the Akrab Pass were visible in the distance on the left, and Lady Haigh expected that Nizam-ul-Mulk would lead the way thither. But to her surprise, they still rode straight on, leaving the pass on one side.
“Where are you taking us?” she could not refrain from asking him at last.
“To Kubbet-ul-Haj. There is safe-keeping in Ethiopia for any Farangi prisoner,” answered the man with an insolent laugh, and Lady Haigh grew white under her veil.
“Ethiopia! That means Central Asia, then!” she said. “Never mind, Pen. They’ll catch us up before we get there. We can’t possibly get farther than the Ethiopian frontier to-night, if as far.”
Although she spoke rather to encourage Penelope than because she believed what she said, Lady Haigh proved to be right. The discipline of the guards seemed to disappear as they were farther removed from their leader at Sheikhgarh; and at noon, thinking that all danger was past, they insisted on a rest of two or three hours, despite the remonstrances of Nizam-ul-Mulk. Hence, when evening came on, the Ethiopian frontier was still an hour’s ride away, and they positively refused to attempt to reach it that night, demanding that a camp should be formed on a low hill covered with brushwood—an excellent position both for concealment and for discerning the approach of an enemy. Nizam-ul-Mulk was forced to yield. The horses were picketed in a hollow on the Ethiopian side of the hill, a rude tent was pitched for the ladies, and a due portion of the rough food of the escort sent them through Hafiza. When the comfortless meal was over, they were thankful to lie down, without undressing, on theresaiswith which Wazira Begum had supplied them; and Hafiza, at any rate, was soon audibly, as well as visibly, asleep. But presently Penelope sat up and said softly, “Elma, are you awake?”
“Ye-es,” responded Lady Haigh sleepily. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, do let us talk a little. I can’t sleep. Elma, if they should separate us—if they are only pretending to go to sleep——”
“Nonsense! after such a day of riding they are as tired as I am, and that’s saying a good deal. Don’t conjure up horrors.”
“But if they took us to different places! Oh, Elma, if I was alone among these people I should die!”
“Oh no, you wouldn’t. You’d get on much better than you think.”
“I couldn’t do anything. You can say what you like to these people and they obey you. No one would obey me.”
“Well, you conquered Wazira Begum, at any rate. I only made her hate me, though she did what I told her.”
“But as long as you’re there, I feel safe—as if you were a man.”
“What a testimony! But, Pen, you’re horribly old-fashioned. You shouldn’t be such a honeysuckle kind of girl—always leaning on some one and clinging to them—and yet you are so obstinate in some ways. I suppose it’s no good telling you to stand up for yourself, though. You seem born to cling. Colin was your prop for a long time, and you let him drag you out to India to marry Ferrers, whom you didn’t want, and he very nearly succeeded. I suppose I’m the support just at present, until Major Keeling comes to the front. He will be a good stout prop, at any rate. I couldn’t stand his domineering ways, but I suppose you like them.”
“Oh yes,” said Penelope thankfully. “You don’t know him. Elma——”
“I know you,” interjected her friend.
“Elma, doesn’t it seem extraordinary that it is only a few weeks since I really wanted to die? It felt as if it was the only way of settling things—as if I ought not to marry him, and yet couldn’t bear not to—and now the only thing I care for is to see him again. I should be perfectly happy——”
“It isn’t extraordinary at all—merely that you’ve come to your senses. My dear, I was in love with Dugald once, you know——”
“But if we should never see them again, either of them! Oh, Elma, if they should never find us! What do you think——?”
“I think you’ll have a touch of fever if you don’t try to go to sleep. Listen to Hafiza. She is going among strangers, just like you and me, but she doesn’t sit up and talk. Say your prayers, and lie down.”
“She can sleep because she has so little to lose, whatever happens. So long as she was kindly treated, I suppose she could make herself happy anywhere.”
“Well, I have about as much to lose as you have,” with a terrific yawn, “and I should very much like to go to sleep.”
“I oughtn’t to be so selfish. But listen, Elma. We’ll take turns to sleep, and then they can’t separate us. I will watch first.”
“Oh, very well. Wake me when you feel drowsy,” and Lady Haigh turned over on her hard couch, and composed herself to sleep. When Penelope roused her, however, it was not to take her turn at watching. She was kneeling beside her, with her lips very close to her ear.
“Elma, wake up! Don’t say anything, but listen. Don’t you hear noises? I’m sure something is going to happen.”
Lady Haighsat up, and listened attentively. “It may be only the sentries moving about,” she whispered at last.
“No, there are none. I peeped out to see. They are sleeping all round the tent, so that we could not pass, but they have no one on the watch. There it is again! Listen!”
But this time there was no difficulty in distinguishing the sounds, for a tremendous voice, so close at hand that Lady Haigh stopped her ears involuntarily, shouted, “At them, boys! Cold steel! Don’t let one of them escape!” and immediately the wildest tumult arose outside the tent. It aroused even Hafiza, who sat up and with great presence of mind opened her mouth to scream, but was forestalled by Lady Haigh, who flew at her like a wild cat, and gagged her with a corner of theresai.
“Do you want us all to be killed?” she demanded fiercely. “Our only chance is that they may not remember us.”
“Elma, are you there?” said a voice outside the tent at the back, and Lady Haigh released Hafiza and turned in the direction of the sound.
“Is it you, Dugald?” she cried joyfully, trying to tear up the edge of the tent-cloth from the ground, but it was well pegged down.
“Stand aside!” said the voice, and there was a rending sound as a sword cut a long slit in the cloth, revealing Sir Dugald dimly against the starry sky. “Out with you!” he said, “and stoop till I tell you to stand up.”
Determined to obey to the very letter, Lady Haigh and Penelope crawled out through the slit on their hands and knees, followed by Hafiza, who was so anxious not to be left behind that she kept a firm hold on Penelope’s riding-habit. Sir Dugald led the way through the brushwood, away from the clash of swords and the wild confusion of shouts and yells in front of the tent, and when they had passed the brow of the hill, he gave them leave to stand up.
“We are to make for the horses,” he said. “I only hope they won’t have run away, or we shall find ourselves in a hole. But Miani has the sense of a dozen, and wouldn’t go without his master.”
They ran and stumbled down the hill, Sir Dugald assisting any one of the three who happened to be nearest, and a little way back on the road they had come, found Miani and four other horses waiting in a hollow, secured to a lance driven into the ground.
“But where are the rest?” cried Lady Haigh. “The men can’t have walked from Alibad here.”
“There’s a horse for each man,” was the grim reply. “Keeling and I, his two orderlies, and Murtiza Khan—there’s our rescue party.”
“It’s perfect madness!” she cried piteously, collapsing on a heap of stones. “There was no need to risk your lives in this way.”
“All that could be spared. This is a little jaunt undertaken when we are supposed to be asleep. No one knows about it.”
“It’s just the sort of mad thing Major Keeling would do, but you—oh, Dugald! if anything happens to you I shall never forgive myself,” and Lady Haigh sat on her stone-heap and wept ignominiously.
“Good heavens, Elma! you’ll call together all the enemies in the neighbourhood if you make that noise. I’m all right at present. Why don’t you weep over the Chief? He’s in danger, if you like.”
“Yes, and why aren’t you with him?” she demanded, with what might have appeared a certain measure of inconsistency.
“Orders,” he replied tersely. “I have to see you home. Hope we shall be able to collar your ponies. Where did you manage to pick up an ayah? Not one of your captors’ people, is she?”
“No, she must go back with us. She belongs to Sheikhgarh. Oh, Dugald——”
“Hush! I believe I hear the Chief coming. Here, Major! we’ve got them all right.”
“Good!” returned Major Keeling, hurling himself into the group after a run down the hillside. “How are you, Lady Haigh? Pretty fit, Miss Ross? Got a good ride before us still. We must have an outpost here some day—splendid place for stopping the smuggling of arms into Ethiopia.”
“And call it after you,” suggested Lady Haigh, now quite herself again. “What shall we say—Kīlinabad? or Kīlingarh? or Kīlinkôt?”
“Has this hill any name, Kasim?” asked Major Keeling, turning abruptly to one of the orderlies who had come up.
“It is called Rahmat-Ullah, sahib, from one who was saved from death by a pool of water that he found here.”
“Then there is its name still. Rahmat-Ullah, the Compassion of God—what could be more appropriate? But now to think of present needs. Surviving enemy has escaped with the horses, unfortunately. We didn’t venture to fire after him for fear of rousing the neighbourhood, so we must ride double.” As he spoke, he was unstrapping and rearranging the greatcoat which was rolled in front of Miani’s saddle. “Haigh, take your wife.” He unfastened the black’s bridle from the lance, and was in the saddle in a moment. “Miss Ross, give me your hands. Put your foot on mine. Now, jump!” and as Penelope obeyed, she found herself seated before him on the horse, the greatcoat serving as a cushion. “Don’t be afraid of falling. I shall hold you,” he said. “Besides, Miani is too much of a gentleman to try any tricks with a lady on his back. You all right, Lady Haigh? Ismail Bakhsh, you are the lightest weight; pick up the old woman, and fall in behind. Murtiza Khan may lead; he has deserved well for this three days’ work. Kasim-ud-Daulat, bring up the rear, and keep your ears open for any sounds of pursuit. Now, forward!”
They were in motion at once, Miani making no objection to his double burden. Penelope smiled to herself, realising the strangeness of her position, and also Major Keeling’s anxiety that she should not realise it. His left arm was round her, the sword which must have dripped with blood only a few minutes ago hung almost within reach of her hand; but he was careful not to say a word that could make her feel that there was anything odd in the situation.
“He is determined to behave as if he was a stranger,” she said to herself. “No, not quite. A stranger would have asked me if I was quite comfortable before starting. But why doesn’t he let me ride behind him, so as to leave his arms free? I know! it is from behind that he expects to be attacked. Oh, I hope, I hope, if there is an attack, it will be in front. Then the bullets must reach me first, and he might escape.”
As if in answer to her thought, Major Keeling’s deep voice remarked casually at this moment, “If we are attacked in front, Miss Ross, I shall drop you on the ground. It sounds rude, but you will be safer there than in the way of bullets. Keep out of the way of the horses as best you can, and we will pick you up again when we have driven the rascals off.”
“Ye-es,” said Penelope faintly, with the feeling very strong upon her that there were some seasons at which women had no business to exist. Again, as if to comfort her, Major Keeling laughed happily.
“Never felt so jolly in my life!” he cried. “This is the sort of adventure that’s worth five years of office and drill.”
The assurance was so cheering, though entirely impersonal, that Penelope accepted the comfort perforce. They rode on steadily, and the regular beat of the horses’ hoofs was pleasant in its monotony. A continuous low murmur from Lady Haigh, punctuated by an occasional word or two from Sir Dugald, showed that she, at any rate, had no doubt of her right to exist and to demand a welcome. Penelope’s thoughts became somewhat confused. Scenes and images from the exciting panorama of the last three days danced before her eyes. She knew that they were unreal, but could not remember where she actually was. Suddenly they ceased, and she knew nothing more until a deep voice broke upon her slumbers—
“You would make a good cavalryman, Miss Ross. You can sleep in the saddle!”
Bewildered, she gazed round her. The silvery light of the false dawn was spreading itself over the sky, and the familiar front of the Haighs’ house at Alibad looked weird and cold. They were actually inside the compound, riding up to the door, and startled servants were running out from their quarters to receive them. Lady Haigh dismounted with much agility, and came running to assist Penelope, who was still too much confused to allow herself to drop to the ground, but Major Keeling and Sir Dugald both remained in the saddle.
“Don’t expect me till you see me,” said Sir Dugald to his wife. “I’ll send you a message when I can.”
“And he shall have an hour’s leave when it can be managed,” said Major Keeling, turning his horse’s head. Then he looked back at the two ladies standing forlorn on the steps. “Now my advice to you is, go to bed and get a thorough rest. You needn’t be afraid. Tarleton and the Fencibles have the town in charge, though we are out on the plains.”
“Oh, Elma, and we never thanked them!” cried Penelope, horror-struck, as the two officers and their escort disappeared.
“Thankedthem! My dear Penelope, what good would thanks be? If we thanked those two men on our bended knees for ever, it wouldn’t come anywhere near proper gratitude for what they have done for us to-night. But come indoors, and let us hunt up some bedding. It’s all very well to advise us to go to bed; but every single thing we took into camp is burnt, so we must do the best we can.”
“But the servants?” cried Penelope.
“Oh, they stood in the water and escaped, and made the best of their way back to Alibad when the fire was over, but they didn’t save anything. Now I must give Hafiza into the charge of themalli’swife, and then we will go indoors.”
The gardener’s wife was a Nalapuri woman, and quite willing to give shelter to her compatriot, who had been eyeing the European house with much disfavour; and Lady Haigh called up the two ayahs, and set them to work at making up some sort of beds, while she and Penelope had some tea. The moment they were alone she turned to Penelope and said, “Well?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Penelope.
“Oh, nonsense! Did he say anything?”
“He said he should drop me on the sand if we were attacked in front.”
“Of course, Dugald said that to me. But what else?”
“Nothing, really. I—I went to sleep, Elma.”
“Penelope, you are perfectly hopeless! I should dearly like to beat you. You haven’t one scrap of romance in your whole composition. You went to sleep!”
“I was so dreadfully tired—and I felt so safe, so wonderfully safe.”
“I suppose you expect him to take that as a compliment. But I am disgusted. Oh, Pen, I didn’t think it of you!”
“I couldn’t help it,” pleaded Penelope, “and he didn’t mean to say anything then, I’m sure.” But Lady Haigh refused to be mollified.
“You gave him no chance. And, as you say, you never even thanked him. My dear, it was touch and go, as Dugald says. By the greatest mercy, one of the Sheikh-ul-Jabal’s men caught sight of our party just before the guards made us hide behind that sandhill. They thought it was an ambush, and were all prepared, so that it was rather a surprise when they were allowed to pass. When they were crossing the plain towards Sheikhgarh, they were met by a patrol which Major Keeling had sent out to try and intercept the Sheikh as soon as ever he had heard Murtiza Khan’s news——”
“But that must have been in broad daylight.”
“So it was. The Sheikh’s vow expired, it seems, as soon as his nephew Ashraf Ali was fourteen. He couldn’t afford to be handicapped when it was a question of putting the boy on the throne, you see. Well, Major Keeling had guessed that the enemy would probably send us away somewhere, lest Sheikhgarh should be retaken; but the only thing he could do when he heard what the Sheikh had seen was to send out theshikariBaha-ud-Din, who most happily went back to Alibad with Dugald, you know, to examine the trail, and he found the marks of our ponies’ shoes, quite distinct among the native ones. And as soon as it was dark, he and Dugald and the orderlies started after us. But it was a near thing.”
“Very,” agreed Penelope, with a shudder. “If they had taken us just that one hour’s journey farther, Elma—into Ethiopia!”
“Well, if you ask me, I am not sure that it would have made very much difference. A frontier has no peculiar sacredness for Major Keeling, unless it’s his own. But of course there might have been an Ethiopian fort, and five men could scarcely have attacked that. Yes, Pen, we ought to be very thankful. And now here is Dulya to say that our rooms are ready. I needn’t tell you to sleep well. You seem to have quite a talent for it!”
After behaving with sufficient heroism during their three days’ trial, Lady Haigh and Penelope collapsed most unheroically after it. Two whole days in bed was the smallest allowance they could accept, and they slept away, peacefully enough, hours in which the fate of the province might have been hanging in jeopardy, with a culpable indifference to the interests of civilisation and their race. The military situation was curious enough, and to the eyes of any one not trained in the topsy-turvy school of the Khemistan frontier, eminently disquieting. Gobind Chand’s army still remained in occupation of the whole hill-district on the west, a potential menace, if not an active one. The Sheikh-ul-Jabal and his troop of horsemen had left Alibad by night, intending to make an attempt to regain possession of Sheikhgarh by means of the secret door to which Wazira Begum had alluded; but as this necessitated a very wide flanking movement, in order to approach the place from behind, it was not surprising that nothing had been heard as yet as to their success. Just across the frontier was Wilayat Ali’s army, which had let slip its opportunity of combining with Gobind Chand by attacking Alibad from the desert while he moved out from the mountains, but still remained willing to wound, if afraid to strike. Between the two was Major Keeling, with the whole of his small force mobilised, so to speak, and holding the positions he had devised to cover the town, while the town itself was inadequately garrisoned by Dr Tarleton and his volunteers. The dangers of the position were perceptible to the least skilled eye. In the possession of artillery alone lay Major Keeling’s advantage; for the fact that the rest of his force consisted wholly of cavalry, though advantageous in ordinary cases of frontier warfare, was a drawback when the operations were of necessity altogether defensive. It was not until four days after their return to Alibad that the ladies obtained a coherent idea of Major Keeling’s plan of action, and this was due to a visit from Sir Dugald, who had come in with orders for Dr Tarleton.
“I suppose you’re able to take an intelligent interest in all that goes on, with the help of that telescope of yours?” he asked lazily, while Lady Haigh and Penelope plied him assiduously with tea and cake in the few minutes he had to spare.
“Oh, we see the guns plodding about from place to place, and firing one or two shots and then stopping, but we can’t make out what you are doing,” said his wife.
“We are shepherding Gobind Chand’s men back into the hills whenever they try to break out. In a day or two more we ought to have them fairly cornered, unless some utterly unexpected gleam of common-sense on Wilayat Ali’s part throws us out; but just at present we can do nothing but ‘wait for something to turn up.’”
“But how will things be better in a day or two?” asked Penelope.
“Because the enemy’s supplies must be exhausted by then. These border armies never carry much food with them, expecting to live on the country. We are preventing that. There is no food to be got in the hills, and when they burned the forest they destroyed any chances in that direction. We have sent Harris with one of the guns to make a flank march to the south and take up a strong position with Vidal and his police across the road by which the enemy came, and the Sheikh will take good care that no stragglers get past him. So far as we can see, they must either fight or surrender.”
“But isn’t it rather cruel—starving them out in this way?”
“Cruel! If you talk of cruelty, wasn’t it cruel of them to fire the bestshikargahin Khemistan? Isn’t it cruel of them now to be keeping us grilling out on the plains, without time even for a change of clothes? Why, until I managed to get a bath just now, I hadn’t taken off my things since the night we rode out to find you!”
“You looked it, when you rode in two hours ago,” said Lady Haigh, with such fervent sympathy that her husband requested her indignantly not to be personal.
“And if we’re not to starve them out, what are we to do?” he demanded, still smarting under the accusation of cruelty. “Of course, when an enemy takes up his quarters in broken country inside your borders, any fool will tell you you ought to clear him out; but what are you to do with one weak regiment against an army? Perhaps they will let the Chief raise another regiment after this—if we come through it—and give him the two more European officers he’s been asking for so long. Wilayat Ali might have swept us from the face of the earth if he had a grain of generalship about him, and Gobind Chand’s army might have rushed the guns a dozen times over if he could have got them to stand fire.”
“But what is it that paralyses them?” asked Lady Haigh.
“Mutual antipathy, so far as we can make out. It seems that Wilayat Ali carefully picked out the most disloyal Sardars to serve under Gobind Chand, evidently in the hope that either we or they would remove him from his path, and that the Sardars would also get their ranks thinned. He hasn’t forgotten Gobind Chand’s attempt to get the Chief’s help in deposing him, after all. But Gobind Chand is not eager to take the chances of war, and the Sardars don’t quite see hurling themselves against our guns that Wilayat Ali may have a walk-over; and, moreover, they see through his scheme now. It’s really as good as a play, the way the two chief villains are trying to betray one another to us.”
“But have they actually tried to open negotiations?”
“Not formally, of course; but venerable Mullahs and frowsyfakirstoddle casually into our lines, or try to, and unfold their respective employers’ latest ideas. Wilayat Ali offers us the contents of his treasury if we will allow him to join us and help to wipe out Gobind Chand and the disaffected Sardars. Gobind Chand is rather more liberal, and offers us the help of his army to annihilate Wilayat Ali and his supporters, after which he will take the contents of the treasury and retire into private life, and we may keep Nalapur. No doubt he wishes us joy of it.”
“But surely they can’t have started the war with these schemes in their minds?”
“Wilayat Ali did, I think; but Gobind Chand seems to have been overreached for once. His eyes must have been opened when Wilayat Ali failed to support him in his attack on the town; and he didn’t need a second warning. The assiduity with which the two villains are playing Codlin and Short for our benefit is really funny, but I rather think there’s a surprise in store for each of them.”
“Something that will punish them both? Oh, do tell us!”
“Well, there seems some indication that the Sardars are as tired of one as the other, and will shunt Gobind Chand of their own accord; and if the Sheikh-ul-Jabal’s tales are true, he has worked up a strong party among Wilayat Ali’s supporters in favour of his nephew Ashraf. If so, we may expect some startling developments. The pity is, we can’t force them on, only sit and wait for them to happen.”
Quitecontrary to his expectation, Sir Dugald was able to ride into the town again the very next evening, and was received with unfeigned joy by the two ladies, to whom, through the medium of the talk in the bazar as reported by the servants, all sorts of hopeful and disquieting rumours had filtered during the interval. Was it true that Gobind Chand was dead and the Sardars had surrendered, they demanded eagerly, or was Wilayat Ali marching upon the town?
“Not that, at any rate,” said Sir Dugald. “In fact, barring accidents, things are going on pretty well. A deputation from the Sardars came in last night, bringing a gruesome object tied up in a bundle, which they said was Gobind Chand’s head, sent in as a guarantee of their good faith in offering to surrender. Their appearance would have been sufficient proof, for it was clear they were very hard up; but the evidence they preferred was distinctly unfortunate, for as soon as the Chief saw it, he said, ‘It’s not Gobind Chand’s head at all. They have killed some other Hindu of about the same age, and either they intend treachery, or the rascal has escaped.’ We had the deputation in, and put it to them, and in an awful fright they confessed he was right. Gobind Chand, seeing how matters were going, had managed to get away some hours before they found it out; but they caught one of his hangers-on, and thought they would make use of him instead. It was a very pretty little plan, but they hadn’t counted on the Chief’s memory for faces.”
“Served them right!” said Lady Haigh fervently.
“Well,” Sir Dugald went on, “it was arranged that the chief Sardars should come in this morning, as suppliants, and hear what terms the Chief would allow them. But when they came, they were prepared with a plan of their own. They were on the point of dethroning Wilayat Ali before the war began, you know, and his ingenious scheme for employing us to kill them off hasn’t increased their affection for him, so they proposed quite frankly to proclaim Keeling Amir, and then help him to get rid of his predecessor. They seemed to fancy the idea a good deal, and he had quite a long argument with them about it. He would govern them justly, as he had done Khemistan, they said, and they would be quite willing to take service under him and fight any one he chose. He asked them how they ventured to offer the throne to a Christian, and they were very much amused. They had known he was a good Mussulman ever since he came to the frontier, they said, and they were sure he would be glad to be able to give up pretending to be a Kafir. He assured them they were mistaken, and one after another got up and said they had heard him read prayers in a mosque, or seen him do miracles. Of course we knew then what they were driving at; but the trouble was, that the more he denied it the more they were convinced it was true, and that he was afraid ofus. We had never known of his proceedings, it seemed, and might make trouble for him with the Company. They adjured him pathetically to let them see him alone, and promised that not one of the rest of us should leave the tent alive to say what had happened. If he would only trust himself to them, they would escort him safely to Nalapur, and, once there, the Company might whistle for him.”
“Dugald! you don’t mean to say they would have murdered you?”
“Like a shot, at a word from Keeling. Things were really beginning to look rather unpleasant, when the Sheikh-ul-Jabal, in a towering rage, burst into the conference. It seems that he is back in possession of Sheikhgarh, having summarily wiped out the Nalapuri garrison. Some of Gobind Chand’s men tried to make their escape through the hills, and lost their way and fell into his hands, so he learned something of what was going on from them. He is not exactly the mirror of chivalry, you know, in spite of his saintly pretensions; and having so often traded on his likeness to the Chief, he was seized with a fear that the Chief was returning the compliment, to the prejudice of young Ashraf Ali. He brought the youth with him into the conference, and it was confusion worse confounded when he declared who he was, and demanded that he should be recognised as Amir. Everybody talked at once at the top of his voice, and at last, when they had all shouted themselves hoarse, the Chief had a chance of making himself heard. He made the Sheikh come and stand beside him, so that the Sardars could see how the mistake had arisen; and horribly disgusted they were. Then he invited them to join with us in putting Ashraf Ali on thegadi, with proper guarantees as to the powers to be granted him; and they were all inclined to agree to that until a Mullah put in his oar, and said that the youth had been brought up by a heretic, and was no true Mussulman. Thereupon the Sheikh swore solemnly that his sect were rather better Mussulmans than other people, and invited any number of Mullahs to examine into his nephew’s orthodoxy. As they had been willing to accept Keeling, whose orthodoxy, on their own showing, must have been extremely shaky, they could not well refuse, and they are hard at it now, collecting all the Mullahs within reach to badger the unfortunate boy. If he survives the ordeal creditably, messengers are to be sent in his name to-morrow to Wilayat Ali, inviting him to recognise his nephew’s rights, and surrender, when his life and a suitable maintenance will be granted him. I wouldn’t give much for his chance of either when the Sheikh is in authority at Nalapur; and if he’s wise he will prefer to cross the border and take the Sheikh’s place as the Company’s pensioner.”
“And if he isn’t wise?” asked Lady Haigh.
“Well, he’ll scarcely be such a fool as to fight us and the Sardars together. But if he wants to be nasty, he’ll retreat into Nalapur, and hold one place after another till he’s turned out, and then wage a guerilla warfare until he’s hunted down, which would mean unlimited bloodshed and years of turmoil. That’s his only chance; and as he will be desperate and at bay, there’s every reason to fear he’ll take it. Well, I can tell you more next time I see you.”
The next occasion again arrived unexpectedly soon. It was on the morning of the second day—rumour, good and bad, having run riot in the interval—that Sir Dugald galloped up to the verandah, and before coming indoors, shouted for his bearer and gave him hasty orders, sending off also a messenger to Major Keeling’s house.
“We’re off to Nalapur,” he announced hastily, walking in and taking his seat at the breakfast-table, “to set the king on the throne of the kingdom, otherwise to put Ashraf Ali on thegadi.”
“Then has Wilayat Ali surrendered, after all?” cried Lady Haigh.
“Not voluntarily, exactly, but he has been removed. Sounds bad, doesn’t it? and I’m free to confess that the Sheikh-ul-Jabal has managed the affair with a cleverness worthy of a worse cause. We have been simply made use of, all along.”
“Oh, tell us what has happened! How can you think of breakfast just now?”
“How can I? Easily, when you remember that we start in half an hour. But I’ll do my best to combine breakfast and information. Well, when the messengers went to invite Wilayat Ali to abdicate in favour of his nephew, he very naturally sent back an answer breathing defiance, and containing libellous remarks about the Sheikh’s ancestors and female relations. The Sheikh promptly despatched a challenge to Wilayat Ali to meet him in single combat and decide things by the result. Of course Wilayat Ali returned a refusal, as any man in his senses would, who had everything to lose by such a combat, and nothing to gain but the removal of a single adversary. But here came in the Sheikh’s sharpness. As he told us before, the Amir’s camp was full of his adherents, and when they heard that Wilayat Ali meant to refuse the challenge, they raised such a to-do that they nearly brought the place about his ears. His soldiers became openly mutinous, and the camp-followers shrieked abuse after him. He must have seen then that he was cornered, for if he had tried to get back to his capital, he would pretty certainly have been murdered on the road, so he accepted the challenge as giving him his one chance. The Sheikh had laid his plans with such deadly dexterity that there was actually nothing else to do, for the Sardars were only too pleased to see him in a hole, after the way he had treated them. So the lists were set—that’s how the Chief put it—and we all stood to watch. The Sheikh left Ashraf Ali in Keeling’s charge, and rode out. They were to fight with javelins first, then with swords. The javelin part was rather a farce—they threw from such a safe distance, and I don’t think one of them hit, though one of the Sheikh’s javelins went through Wilayat Ali’s cloak. When they had thrown all they had, they drew their swords and really rode at each other. We couldn’t see very clearly what happened in the first round, but it looked as if something turned the edge of Wilayat Ali’s sword, and the Chief dashed forward and yelled, ‘It’s murder, absolute murder! Our man wears chain-armour under his clothes. It’s not a fair fight.’ He wanted to ride in between them and stop it; but we weren’t going to have him killed, whoever else was, so we simply hung on to him, and pointed out that as none of us had a spare suit of chain-armour we could offer to lend the Amir, and the Sheikh was probably proud of his foresight in wearing his, and would certainly refuse to take it off, things must settle themselves. He talked about Ivanhoe and the Templar, but we kept him quiet while they rode at one another again. This time we saw that, putting the armour out of the question, the Sheikh was the better man, quicker, more active, in better training—thanks to the desert life, I suppose. He avoided Wilayat Ali’s rush in the neatest way—the sword just shaved his shoulder as it came down—and turned upon him like King Richard in some book or other, standing in his stirrups and bringing down his sword with both hands. It’s a regular Crusader’s sword, by the way, with a cross hilt, and it cut through turban and head both, and the Amir dropped from the saddle as his horse rushed by. Then came the finest thing of all. The Chief was boiling over with rage—wanted to make the Sheikh fight him next, and so on; but on examining Wilayat Ali’s body we found that he had armour on too. They both wore armour, each trusting that the other didn’t know it, but each suspecting that the other wore it too, and that was why they both struck for the head, so that it was a fair fight after all—from an Oriental point of view. The Sheikh was proclaimed victor with acclamations, and Ashraf Ali’s right was acknowledged by most of those present; those who didn’t acknowledge it thought it best to slink away as unobtrusively as possible. Then the Sheikh turned to Keeling, and with the utmost politeness invited him to come to Nalapur as his guest, with an escort—not a force—to witness the youth’s enthronement. No British bayonets to put him on thegadi, you see. And we are going.”
“But hasn’t Wilayat Ali a son?” asked Lady Haigh.
“Yes, Hasrat Ali, who is officiating as governor of the city while his father is away. I imagine he would meet with an early death if we were not going to Nalapur; but as it is, the Sheikh intends to marry him to his niece, Ashraf Ali’s sister.”
“Oh, poor Wazira Begum!” cried Penelope. “Is the young man nice?”
“Very far from it, I should say; but when it’s a choice between marriage and murder, he will probably look at the matter philosophically.”
“I wasn’t thinking of him,” said Penelope indignantly, “but of the poor girl. How can they want her to marry him?”
“They want to have a check upon him if he takes kindly to the new state of affairs, and a spy upon him if he turns rusty, and they seem to think they can trust the young lady to be both.”
“Well, I call it infamous!” cried Lady Haigh; “and I only hope that Wazira Begum will refuse and run away. If she comes here, I’ll give her shelter.”
“You shouldn’t say that sort of thing in my hearing,” said Sir Dugald, as he rose from the table. “It might become my duty to insist upon your giving her up, and what would happen then?”
“Why, I shouldn’t, of course!” cried Lady Haigh defiantly.
* * * * * * *
It was a fortnight before Major Keeling and his escort returned from Nalapur, but messengers were constantly coming and going between the city and Alibad, so that there was little scope for anxiety. Sir Dugald came home late one night, and was instantly seized upon by his wife and Penelope, and ordered to satisfy their curiosity as to the course of events, which turned out not to be altogether satisfactory.
“The Sheikh has no notion of yielding an inch to make things pleasant on the frontier,” he said. “He will give up criminals of ours who take refuge in Nalapur, but merely as an act of grace, and he won’t enter into any regular treaty. No doubt it’s a piece of wisdom on his part,—for he is regarded with a good deal of suspicion as having lived so long on British soil,—and his attitude will tend to disarm the suspicions of the Sardars and the Mullahs.”
“But how ungrateful!” cried Lady Haigh. “I thought he professed to be so friendly to Major Keeling?”
“While he was under his protection, perhaps—not when he can treat with him as an independent power. And, after all, it has been clear all along that he was an old fox—what with his vows and dispensations, and his steady pursuit of a policy of his own when he persisted he had nothing of the kind in view. He was not exactly our willing guest from the first, you see, only driven to take refuge with us as the result of what he considers our treachery. He can’t forget that old grudge, and really one doesn’t wonder. It gives him a dreadful pull over us that he can always say he has seen the consequences of admitting a British force within his borders in time of peace, and doesn’t wish to see them again.”
“Then the Nalapuris will be as troublesome as ever?”
“Pretty nearly, I’m afraid; but as the Chief says, all he can do is to go on his own way, combining fairness with perfect good faith, and trust that Ashraf Ali may be induced to enter into a treaty when he is freed from his uncle’s influence. The worst part of the business at the present moment is that Gobind Chand has managed to escape into the mountains between Nalapur and Ethiopia, and has been joined by all who had reason to think their lives might not last long under the new state of affairs; and of course any discontented Sardar or rebellious Mullah will know where to find friends whenever he wants them. Keeling tried hard to induce the Sheikh to let a force from our side of the frontier co-operate with him in hunting the fellows down, so as to stamp out the rebel colony before it can become the nucleus of mischief; but he utterly refused, and professed to see the thin end of the wedge in the proposal. They’ll never be able to do it by themselves, and it’s bound to give us no end of trouble when we have to take the business in hand at last. But he won’t see reason.”
“Then has Wilayat Ali’s son joined Gobind Chand?” asked Penelope.
“Ah, you are thinking of your young lady friend. No; he was caught in time, and accepted the proposed marriage with resignation. So did the bride—if she didn’t even suggest it herself as a means of strengthening her brother’s position. Hasrat Ali is a Syad through his mother, so it is a very good match, and the Sheikh seems quite satisfied; but I rather think Ashraf Ali has some qualms. At any rate, he is giving her the finest wedding ever seen in Nalapur, and emptying the treasury to buy jewels for her. He has given her the title of Moti-ul-Nissa, and has had inserted in the marriage-contract a proviso that neither Hasrat Ali nor his household are ever to quit the city without his leave. That is to guard against his taking her away into some country place and ill-treating her, of course, so he has really done all he can.”
“Oh, poor girl! poor Wazira Begum!” cried Penelope, with tears in her eyes. “What a prospect—to marry with such a life before her!”
“They’re used to it—these native women,” said Sir Dugald, wishing to be consolatory.
“Does that make it any better? And you—all of you—acquiesce, and make no effort to save her!”
“My dear Miss Ross, what can we do? You know what these fellows are by this time. If one of us so much as mentioned the young lady, it could only be wiped out by his blood or hers, or both.”
“It feels wrong to be happy when such things are going on,” said Penelope, pursuing a train of thought of her own, apparently. “Can nothing be done?”
“Ask the Chief, if you care to,” said Sir Dugald. “He’s coming to dinner to-morrow.”
“It really is most unfortunate,” said Lady Haigh, on housewifely thoughts intent, “that if there is any difficulty with the servants some one is sure to come to dinner. I know this new cook will lose his head and do something dreadful. I think you ought to warn Major Keeling, Dugald.”
“The Chief never cares much what he eats or drinks,” was the reply; “and he certainly won’t to-morrow,” added Sir Dugald, too low for Penelope to hear.
Lady Haigh’s fears were justified. A few minutes before the dinner hour she ran into Penelope’s room, looking worried and hot.
“Oh, Pen, you’re ready! What a good thing! That wretched cook has ruined the soup, and we can’t have dinner for half an hour. I’ve been scolding him and trying to suggest improvements all this time, and I’m not dressed. Go and talk to Major Keeling till I come. Dugald won’t be in for twenty minutes. Such a chapter of accidents!”
Nevertheless, Lady Haigh’s voice had not the despairing tone which might have been expected in the circumstances, and she ran out of the room again with a haste which seemed calculated to conceal a smile. So Penelope imagined, and the suspicion was confirmed when Major Keeling came to meet her as she entered the drawing-room—he had been tramping up and down in his impatient way—and remarked innocently—
“At last! Lady Haigh promised to let me see you alone, but I was beginning to be afraid she had not been able to manage it. I have been waiting for hours.”
“Oh no, only ten minutes. I saw you ride up,” said Penelope, and turned crimson because she had confessed to the heinous crime of watching him through the venetians.
“You knew I was here, and you left me alone—and the time seemed so short to you! Well, it only confirms what I had been thinking—— Don’t let me keep you standing. May I sit here? Do you remember, that evening at Bab-us-Sahel, when I saw you first, you promised to leave Alibad at the shortest possible notice if I considered it advisable?”
“Leave Alibad?” faltered Penelope. “I—I know you made me promise, but I never thought——”
“I have come to the conclusion that it may be necessary.”
“But why?” she cried, roused to defend herself. “What have I done?”
“You are spoiling my work. I can’t tell you how many times to-day I have had to keep myself from devising ridiculous excuses for taking a ride in this direction. I had a fortnight’s arrears of writing to make up, and yet I have spent the day between my desk and the corner of the verandah where I can get a glimpse of this house. Now, I know you are too anxious for the welfare of the province to wish me to go on risking it in this way, and there is only one remedy that I can think of.”
“Only one?” Penelope was bewildered and pained.
“Only one—that you should keep your promise and leave Alibad.”
“If you wish it I will go, by all means,” she said proudly.
“But only as far as Bab-us-Sahel, and I shall come after you. And then I shall bring you back.”
“Oh!” said Penelope; then, as his meaning dawned upon her. “I didn’t think you could have been so cruel!” she cried reproachfully. Realising that she had betrayed herself, she tried to rise, but he was kneeling beside her chair.
“Cruel? to a little tender thing like you! No, no; you know I couldn’t mean that,” he said.
“It was cruel,” said Penelope, still unreconciled, and venting on him the anger she felt for herself. “It was unkind,” she repeated feebly.
“What a blundering fool I am!” he cried furiously. “Why, you are trembling all over. Dear girl, don’t cry; I shall never forgive myself. It was only a—a sort of joke. The fact was, I have asked you to marry me twice already, you see, and I was so unlucky each time that it made me rather shy of doing it again. I thought I’d see if I couldn’t get it settled without exactly saying the words, you know. Tell me I’m a fool, Penelope; call me anything you like—but not cruel. Cruel to you! I deserve to be shot. Yes, I was cruel; I must have been, if you say so.”
“You weren’t. I was silly,” came in a muffled voice. “I only thought—it would break my heart—to leave—Alibad.”
“Only Alibad? Is it the bricks and mortar you are so fond of?”
“I love every brick in the place, because you built it.”
Thus it happened that the journey to Bab-us-Sahel, the suggestion of which had caused so much distress to Penelope, was duly undertaken, and Mr Crayne insisted that the wedding should take place from Government House. He said it was because there was some hope now that Keeling might get a little common-sense knocked into him at last, which might have sounded alarming to any one who did not know that the bride’s head barely reached the bridegroom’s shoulder. But Penelope had a secret conviction that the old man had not forgotten the morning at Alibad when he welcomed her as his future niece, and that he had penetrated her true feelings more nearly than she knew at the time. Held under such auspices, the wedding was graced by the presence of all the rank and fashion of Bab-us-Sahel; but Lady Haigh, who had received a box from home just in time, raised evil passions in the heart of every lady there by displaying the first crinoline ever seen in Khemistan. The bride was quite a secondary figure, for not only had she refused the loan of the coveted garment, but she defied public opinion by wearing an embroidered “country muslin” instead of the stiff white watered silk which her aunt and Colin had insisted she should take out with her three years before.
It must be confessed that Penelope was not a success when she returned to Alibad as the Commandant’s wife, and therefore theburra memsahibof the place. The town is still famous in legend as the only station in India where the ladies squabble over giving, instead of taking, precedence. Long afterwards Lady Haigh congratulated herself on having been the means of averting bloodshed on one occasion, when a visiting official, finding himself placed between two ladies of equally retiring disposition, decided to offer his arm to the baronet’s wife. “I saw thunder in Colonel Keeling’s eye,” said Lady Haigh (Major Keeling had received the news of his promotion shortly before the wedding), “so I just curtsied to the General, and said, ‘Mrs Keeling is the chief lady present, sir,’ and he accepted the hint like a lamb.” But at the time, or rather, in the privacy of a call the next morning, she had taken Penelope to task.
“You don’t put yourself forward enough, Pen,” she said. “Do you think that if I had beenburra mem, the poor General would have had a moment’s doubt as to the person he was to take in to dinner? You make yourself a sort of shadow of your husband—never do anything on your own responsibility, in fact. Why, when the history of the province comes to be written, people will dispute whether Colonel Keeling ever had a wife at all!”
“Will they?” said Penelope, momentarily distressed. “Oh, I hope not, Elma. I should like them to say that there was one part of his life when he got on better with the Government, and left off writing furious letters even when he was unjustly treated, and was more patient with people who were stupid. Then if they ask what made the difference, I should like to think that they will say, ‘Oh, that was when his wife was alive.’”
“My dear Pen, you are not allowing yourself a very long life.”