CHAPTER XXI.
FOR A CONSIDERATION.
“I can’t go on wasting time like this,” said Georgia to herself the next morning as she stood on the terrace, drawn thither by the fascination of the distant view of Bir-ul-Malikat. “Two whole days have slipped away already, and I have not got a step nearer to discovering the antidote, nor even to communicating with Khadija. What am I to do? When those women and children came to ask for medicine yesterday, I thought it was a hopeful sign, and I suppose that if I stayed here long enough my fame might spread even as far as Bir-ul-Malikat; but what good is that when Abd-ur-Rahim won’t hear of our setting foot outside the walls? It was bad enough before, when I knew Dick would be angry if I hinted at going over to pay Khadija a visit, but I think I might have talked him round. I only wish the dear boy was here now to be angry, instead of being taken out of the way just when I had been thinking so unkindly about him. But I don’t see how Abd-ur-Rahim is to be worked upon, unless any of his own wives or children should happen to fall ill, and even then I am afraid I shouldn’t be able to persuade him to let me leave the town, if only for an hour or two. I wonder whether Rahah and I could concoct a letter to Khadija, and whether we could get it taken to her if we did? I should think we ought to be able to pique her curiosity, or perhaps her covetousness, supposing that she could read the letter when she got it. Let me see, what could we say?”
She knelt down with her arms on the parapet, and was revolving in her mind honied sentences which might cover an even more tempting meaning, and thus appeal to the witch’s cupidity, when her attention was attracted by a moving object between her and Bir-ul-Malikat. Now that the search for Dick had once more quitted the immediate neighbourhood of the fortress, the solitude of the desert was so seldom disturbed by any traveller that Georgia watched the approaching speck with interest. As it came nearer she saw that it was a man mounted on a donkey, but when it passed out of sight round the slope of the hill she thought no more about it. Presently, however, Rahah came in hot haste to seek her mistress.
“There is a messenger from Bir-ul-Malikat waiting outside the door, O my lady, and he will not give his message to me. Is he to be allowed to speak to you?”
“Oh, of course. Some one must be ill,” said Georgia, and she returned indoors and donned her burka. The man whom she had seen riding across the desert was standing in the outer hall at a suitable distance from the doorway of the passage which led into the harem, and the door was open to allow of conversation. The visitor was respectably dressed, and had the appearance of a steward or other responsible servant, but his first words were not calculated to recommend his mission, at any rate as Rahah translated them.
“O doctor lady, Khadija, the mother of Yakub, sends thee greetings, and desires thee to visit her at Bir-ul-Malikat.”
“Why?” asked Georgia. “Is she ill?”
“I know not,” answered the man, doggedly.
“Then why does she send for me?”
“That is her business. It is not for any man to dispute the will of Khadija.”
Georgia pondered the matter for a moment. Her first impulse was to accept the invitation which had arrived thus opportunely, but its tone was so unpleasant that she began to suspect a trap. If her presence was really needed, Khadija could well afford to send her a more explicit message. It was evident that the matter was not one of life and death, or more would have been made of it, and Georgia had a lively recollection of the way in which she had been lured to the Palace at Kubbet-ul-Haj, to warn her against putting faith in mysterious messages. In any case, nothing could be lost, and the respect in which she was held would probably increase, if she declined to pay any attention to a summons worded as this one had been.
“I go nowhere unless the messenger tells me plainly why I am wanted,” she said, sharply.
“That is not a reply to satisfy Khadija,” returned the messenger.
“Then she must find satisfaction elsewhere,” said Georgia.
“Her power is greater than the doctor lady knows.”
“Thou art a fool,” said Rahah, contemptuously, her wrath aroused by the veiled threat. “My lady also has medicines. Is she likely to fear Khadija?” and she dropped the curtain as a sign that the interview was at an end.
The messenger departed baffled, but it was not without many misgivings that Georgia heard his retreating footsteps crossing the tiled floor. Had she acted foolishly in refusing so peremptorily the witch’s request? It was possible that the terms in which it was couched had been adopted merely in order to try her, and that she had lost once for all the opportunity of gaining an entrance to Bir-ul-Malikat. The thought troubled her a good deal, in spite of the persistence with which she assured herself that it was only prudent to act as she had done, and she wandered in and out of the various rooms, unable to settle to any occupation, pausing now and then on the terrace to look across the desert in case the messenger should be returning. Engrossed in watching for him, she failed to notice the approach of another traveller, and it was with some surprise that she received the news which Rahah hurried out to bring her.
“O my lady, another messenger! He says that he is Yakub, the son of Khadija, but he will not say why he is come.”
Once more Georgia assumed her burka and went to interview the visitor. He was a young man, somewhat foppishly dressed, and evidently a dandy in his way, his appearance producing in Georgia’s mind the impression that his mother had spoilt him as a boy, and now lavished upon him all the money she had to spare. He came forward with a slight swagger, and salaamed in rather a perfunctory way.
“O doctor lady, thy handmaid Khadija, my mother, sends thee greetings, and entreats thee to visit her at Bir-ul-Malikat.”
“Why?” asked Georgia, with a directness which he seemed to find embarrassing, for he fidgeted with his girdle as he replied—
“Nay, O doctor lady, is it strange that my mother, having heard of thy fame, should be anxious to see thee?”
“But why does she not come here? Is she ill?”
“No; thanks be to God!” was the answer.
“Then is there any one ill in her house?”
“That is not for me to tell the doctor lady.”
“Then neither is it for the doctor lady to go there,” and Georgia was about to retire into the harem again when he sprang forward.
“Let not the doctor lady turn away the light of her countenance from her servant. There is one ill in the house.”
“But who is ill, and what is the matter with him or her?”
“I cannot tell. I have given my message.”
“You must tell me if I am to come.”
“But it is not in my power, O doctor lady! My mother has told me no more than that, and I know only that it is one of the women.”
“In that case, my friend, you had better return to Bir-ul-Malikat at once, and find out the age of the patient and her symptoms. Then I will either give you medicine for her, or I will ask leave from Abd-ur-Rahim to go and see her. It is absurd to come to me in this way. I should have no idea what to take with me.”
“But it cannot be, O doctor lady. My mother will tell me no more than I have told thee.”
“She must tell me more, if she wishes me to go and see her. You must make her understand that unless she is perfectly open with me she need not expect me to come. She can send me a letter if she likes, but I must have some idea what is the matter.” And Georgia retired into the interior of the harem, feeling that she was acting with a prudence such as Stratford himself could not have exceeded. That caution was necessary in this case she could not doubt. The repetition of the message, and the persistent mystery in which it was enwrapped, had raised strong suspicions in her mind that there was no sick person at all in the case, and that the request was merely a bait to lure her into the power of the sorceress—a trick which she did not intend should succeed a second time. Her desire was to be able to dictate terms to Khadija, not to be obliged to sue for her own release, and she awaited the further development of the situation with much interest and some anxiety. To pass away the time, she occupied herself in putting her medicine-chest in order, setting Rahah to work to polish her surgical instruments, a task in which the girl took a keen delight, and even before the business was finished to her satisfaction, another visitor was announced. As before, Rahah went out to see who it was, and returned in a high state of excitement.
“O my lady, it is Khadija the sorceress herself! Surely she has heard of my lady’s power, and comes to prove it.”
Georgia’s heart beat a good deal faster than before, as she walked slowly down the long room, refusing resolutely to quicken her steps, but she succeeded in keeping her anxiety from betraying itself in her voice as she gave her visitor the usual greeting. The sorceress, a small shrunken old woman, with white hair and piercing dark eyes, looked at her sharply before making her hurried reply.
“And upon thee be peace, O doctor lady! Will my lady be pleased to accompany her handmaid back to Bir-ul-Malikat, where one of the household is grievously sick?”
“I must hear more about the matter before I come,” said Georgia, turning and leading the way through the passage back into the harem. “Sit down and rest, O Khadija, and tell me who is ill,” and as she spoke she seated herself upon the divan opposite the visitor, while Rahah took her stand beside her to interpret what was said.
“Nay,” said Khadija; “surely the doctor lady, who is so wise, needs not to be told anything? She knows all things by her own wisdom.”
This was a direct challenge, and Georgia saw that it would be necessary to administer a lesson to her visitor. She drew herself up and fixed her eyes sternly on Khadija.
“You are right, O Khadija. I know many things without hearing of them from you, and before we talk again of your matters I will ask you certain questions, and according as you deal truly with me in answering them or not, so will I decide whether I will grant your request.”
Khadija looked up in evident surprise, not unmixed with apprehension, and Georgia went on, speaking in a low voice, but very slowly and distinctly—
“You are learned in poisons, Khadija. Tell me, then, what was the drug that Fath-ud-Din used to poison the Queen of England’s Envoy—that drug which you gave him?”
“God forbid!” cried Khadija, raising her skinny hands in indignant protest. “Does the doctor lady think that her handmaid is as one of the evil women in the corners of the bazaars, who sell poisons to wives tired of their husbands? Far be it from me to deal with deadly drugs to such an end!”
“I have other questions to ask, Khadija, but I shall speak with you no more unless you answer this one. Also it would be well for you to answer it truly, for I know the answer.”
“If the doctor lady knows, why should she ask me?” grumbled the old woman; but the response was prompt—
“That I may see whether you are dealing truly with me or not, O Khadija.”
“It might have been the juice of a plant?” was the tentative suggestion. “Yea, doubtless it was the juice of a plant,” with the air of one who had just remembered a forgotten fact.
“It might have been, but it was not.”
“It might have been some metal, or a deadly fruit, or the venom of a serpent?” the last with a cunning side-look at Georgia.
“No, it was none of those; but we are coming to the point. Hasten, O Khadija; my patience will not last for ever.”
“Could it have been the essence distilled from the dried body of—some beast?”
Georgia rose from her seat and turned away, but the old woman threw herself before her and clutched her dress.
“O my lady, was it the poison of a deadly fish?”
“Ah! now we are getting at the truth,” said Georgia, turning, but refusing to sit down again. “It was a fish, then; but how was the poison administered?”
“Surely the doctor lady knows all things. It would be vain if one should try to deceive her. There was but one small drop of the medicine, and it was to be given in a cup of coffee.”
“And it was carried for safety in the jewel of a ring, which was to be dropped into the coffee. Is it not so, Khadija? But we will speak of the Father of sleep again presently. Tell me now who it is that is ill in your house, and what the sickness is.”
As they resumed their seats on the divan, Khadija gave a lingering look into Georgia’s eyes, trying to discover whether she was possessed of information upon this point also, but finding herself baffled, leaned forward and spoke in a whisper.
“O doctor lady, I will not deceive thee. It is my master’s daughter—my Rose of the World, my child Zeynab.”
“And what is the matter with her?”
“O my lady, I will hide nothing from thee. The maiden is light of foot and venturesome as the wild goats. Some days ago—it may have been four or five—she was climbing upon the walls of the garden with the slave-girls, and she declared to them that she could go further than any of them along the wall where it was broken. Thy handmaid called to her with many rebukes to come down, but she was headstrong and went on, and presently a part of the wall fell with her to the ground. Nor was that all, for a great stone lay upon her foot and crushed it, and nothing that I have done will cure it.”
“What have you tried?” asked Georgia—and the old woman gave a list of various native remedies she had administered, all of them sounding equally inadequate to a European listener, and the greater number either painful or disgusting.
“And now, O my lady, the foot is swollen to the size of twice my head, and it has turned black, and the maiden sobs and moans day and night.”
“That sounds as though the bones were crushed,” said Georgia. “I may have to take off the foot.”
“Never, O doctor lady! Better that the child should die, though she is the light of my eyes, and Fath-ud-Din will slay me if any ill befalls her. Rather than lose her foot she must die, for who will marry a woman with only one foot?”
“I will have a look at it, and see what I can do,” said Georgia. “It may be possible to remove the shattered bones without amputation. But you must understand that if I come I take the responsibility and the authority in the case. If it is only possible to save the girl’s life by amputating her foot, it will have to be done. You must leave me to settle it with Fath-ud-Din, and I will take the blame.”
“Nay!” cried Khadija, with still more energy. “Fath-ud-Din must know nothing of this, whether the maiden recover or not. O doctor lady, she is all that I have, saving my son Yakub, and when I have seen her married to the King’s son Antar Khan I can die happy; but Fath-ud-Din would take her at once from my keeping if he heard what had happened to her, or knew that I had brought in an English doctor-woman to see her. Thou wilt not tell him, O doctor lady? I know that the English speak the truth. Fath-ud-Din hates them; but if they have the skill to save his daughter, it is well to make use of it without his knowledge.”
It is sad to be obliged to confess the humiliating truth, but it was this speech that decided Georgia to embark upon a course so unprofessional that, if it had become known in England, it would have been the duty of her medical confrères to drive her with ignominy from their midst. She made up her mind deliberately to haggle for her fee before she visited the patient.
“Why was it that you gave Fath-ud-Din the poison with which to injure the Envoy?” she asked, suddenly. Khadija looked astonished at the unexpected change of subject.
“Nay, O my lady, is it not the duty of a servant to do her master’s will?”
“You are not in the position of an ordinary servant to Fath-ud-Din—you are more of an adviser and helper. Why did you make it easy for him to poison a man who had done you no wrong?”
“I hate the English,” responded the old woman, sullenly. “They came and burnt my village because our men had raided into Khemistan, and my husband and my elder son were killed.”
“And now you are obliged to rely upon an Englishwoman to help you to avoid the wrath of Fath-ud-Din? Hear me, Khadija—I will come to Bir-ul-Malikat and do my utmost to cure Zeynab, but only on one condition.”
“And that is, O doctor lady——?”
“That you give me the antidote for the poison you call the Father of sleep, and tell me how to apply it. If I find you have deceived me, Fath-ud-Din shall know everything; but if the Envoy recovers, all will be well.”
“O my lady, she will poison you as soon as you have cured the girl,” put in Rahah, in a frightened whisper.
“I think not,” said Georgia. “Tell her that before I leave this house I shall write out an account of the circumstances, to be sent immediately to Fath-ud-Din in case anything should happen to me.”
Khadija received the information with a grunt. “And what will the doctor lady do in return for the antidote?” she asked.
“I will go with her to Bir-ul-Malikat,” replied Georgia, “and do all I can to save the girl’s foot. Whether I find that amputation is necessary or not, I will remain in the house until the patient is fairly on the way to recovery, that she may have the best possible chance.”
The old woman nodded her head meditatively. “Thou wilt cure my Zeynab, and I will give thee the antidote. That is fair. Thou wilt come at once, O doctor lady?”
“I must make a few arrangements first. You are prepared to give my maid and me a room to ourselves, I suppose, as we shall be obliged to remain over the night? It may be necessary for us to spend four or five days with you.”
“Oh yes; the doctor lady shall be lodged in the best part of the harem, in the rooms of my Zeynab’s mother—may she rest in peace!—and the women of the household shall see to her comfort.”
“That is well,” said Georgia, as she left the room and went to seek Lady Haigh. Rahah followed her.
“It is not safe, O my lady. She will kill you if she can, and there will be many opportunities if you are staying in her house.”
“We must try to take adequate precautions, and baffle her, Rahah. In any case, the possibility of success is worth the risk.”
Nevertheless, as Georgia knocked softly at the door of the sick-room, the thought crossed her mind: “At any rate, I will make sure before I go that I shall be allowed to try my remedy if I succeed in bringing it back. It is a risk, undoubtedly, to go, and I shall hear a good deal about it from Dick if I ever return, so that I won’t enter on it as a mere speculation.”
“What is it, Georgie?” asked Lady Haigh, coming out. “Is anything fresh the matter?” for the repressed excitement in Georgia’s manner caught her attention at once.
Instead of answering immediately, Georgia drew her to the window and threw open the lattice, so that the light fell full on the faces of both.
“Have you confidence in me, Lady Haigh?—as a doctor, I mean?”
“Every confidence, Georgie. I would sooner have you to attend me if I was ill than any male doctor I know. But why do you ask? Oh, my dear, don’t—don’t tell me that it is anything about Dugald! He doesn’t seem quite so strong here, I know; but it is only the change of air. Don’t say that he is really worse!”
“No, that is not what I wanted to say, though it has to do with Sir Dugald. Just before we left Kubbet-ul-Haj, Lady Haigh, I found out the name of the poison Fath-ud-Din used against him. Now I have the chance of obtaining the antidote; but that involves my going to Bir-ul-Malikat, and perhaps remaining there for several days, attending Fath-ud-Din’s daughter. If I can cure her, I am to have the remedy given to me. What I want to know is, if I obtain the antidote, will you let me use it for Sir Dugald?”
“But you must not go, Georgie! I can’t let you run into danger, and what you propose would be fearfully dangerous.”
“That is not the question, Lady Haigh; and the danger is my affair. You can’t prevent my going, except by assuring me that you won’t let me try the antidote.”
“Oh, Georgie, how can you be so unkind?” And Lady Haigh fairly broke down. “He is getting worse, I know it; and he will slip away without ever recognising me or speaking to me again. I ought to prevent your going, I know; but I can’t. Oh, what will Major North say to me? No, Georgie, don’t go! We have had our share of happiness, Dugald and I; and how can I dare to risk your future and Major North’s? Oh, why did you ask me, and make me pronounce my husband’s death-sentence? No, don’t mind what I say; I am nearly mad with trouble. You are not to go.”
“Nevertheless, I am going,” said Georgia, her face very pale. “My only condition is that you are to use the antidote, if I can get it sent to you, whatever happens to me. You are quite right—I ought not to have asked you. It was only that it struck me suddenly that you might listen to Dick and Mr Stratford again, and it would all be no use. You promise me that you will try the antidote, if I can get it?”
“Nothing can be worse than his state now,” sobbed Lady Haigh. “Yes, I will use it, Georgie. How could I do otherwise, when you are risking your life to obtain it for him? You believe in it, I can see that.”
“I do, and I hope that before long you will have good cause to believe in it too. Now I must tell Mr Stratford of my intended mission. I shall say nothing about the antidote, but I won’t get into trouble again by going off without leave.”
Stratford was busied, with Fitz and Kustendjian, in compiling the official chronicle of the events of the last few days, and it did not strike him that there was any special danger in Georgia’s going to visit a patient who had asked for her attendance. He knew nothing of the evil fame of Khadija, and thought that if Abd-ur-Rahim could be brought to give his consent, the ride to Bir-ul-Malikat would be a pleasant change for Georgia after her imprisonment within the four walls of the harem.
“One of us might go over with the escort and fetch you back,” he suggested, “if you could fix any special time.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Georgia, with a guilty feeling of concealment, “for I don’t know how long I shall be. If it is necessary to perform an operation, I shall probably be detained some time. Could you spare Mr Anstruther to help me get my things together, and to see that the horses are properly saddled?”
Fitz jumped up from the divan with great alacrity, and when Georgia had him alone she confided her plan to him, explaining the importance of her going to Bir-ul-Malikat at this juncture, and the probability that her stay there might extend over several days. His first impulse was naturally to declare that he would go too, and to reproach her with unkindness and lack of confidence in him when she refused his escort somewhat decidedly. But Georgia had her answer ready.
“I don’t want you at Bir-ul-Malikat, Mr Anstruther, because I think you would be more useful here. I want to arrange a code of signals which will show whether all is going well or not. Do you know anything of heliography? I have a small mirror in my dressing-case, and, if you have another, we could each signal night and morning how things were going, for I ought to know if Sir Dugald gets worse. I suppose one flash would mean ‘All right!’ and two ‘Send help!’”
“Oh, we can do better than that,” said Fitz, whose face had brightened perceptibly when he found that he might be of use even though he was not allowed to act as Georgia’s escort. “I will jot down the Morse code for you, Miss Keeling, and then we can hold conversations. Long and short flashes will represent dashes and dots, you see, and none of the natives will be able to imitate our signals, though they might easily twig what one flash meant, and signal ‘All right!’ when it was all wrong. You didn’t know I studied telegraphy a little before I came out, did you? One never knows when things may prove useful, and I chummed up with a clerk in the Whitcliffe post-office, and got him to put me up to the dodges.”
Leaving Fitz occupied in writing out the code, Georgia next made a raid on the stores under the care of Ismail Bakhsh. She felt it to be a matter of the greatest importance that Rahah and she should take their own provisions with them, since to depend on Khadija’s liberality would be merely a gratuitous invitation to her to poison them both, and with this danger in her mind she secured a sufficient quantity of meat extract and other portable articles of food to last for three or four days. Ismail Bakhsh demurred persistently to parting with the stores in his charge, except in obedience to an officially signed order, yielding only under protest; while, when he discovered, from some chance words let drop by Rahah, the real object of the journey, he could scarcely be restrained from going at once to Stratford and begging him to prevent it. Rahah overwhelmed him with shrill reproaches, for, little as she approved of the expedition herself, she was determined not to allow any man living to thwart her mistress’s wishes; but it was Georgia herself who forced him to give an unwilling acquiescence to the plan. Her plea that she was going to secure a medicine that might cure the Burra Sahib he dismissed with contempt, remarking that the Burra Sahib’s illness did not concern her—a slight to her profession which aroused all the ire of which Georgia was capable. Looking straight at him, she spoke sternly—
“Am I to ask your leave to go where I will, Ismail Bakhsh—you who have eaten my father’s salt? I am going to Bir-ul-Malikat, and I forbid you to interfere. You take too much upon yourself.”
Ismail Bakhsh saluted in dumb amazement as Rahah translated the words with much gusto.
“Truly Sinjāj Kīlin himself speaks in his daughter!” he murmured submissively, as Georgia increased by another tin the pile which Rahah was carrying, and left the room without vouchsafing him another glance. He watched the two women out of sight, and after securing the door of the store-room, went off to his quarters, revolving many things in his mind.
Georgia’s preparations were now almost complete. Rahah had added several native loaves and a quantity of flour to her stock of provisions, together with a saucepan and a new water-jar, and Fitz brought Georgia the paper on which he had written out the Morse code, and reminded her that it was possible, by means of two mirrors placed at right angles to each other, to obtain a flash when the sun might seem to be too low in the heavens for signalling to be attempted with success. The only thing now left to be done, although it was a very important one, was to obtain Abd-ur-Rahim’s consent to the expedition. It occurred to Georgia that in this she might find a powerful ally in Khadija, and before sending Rahah to ask the old commandant to come and speak to her, she returned to the room in which she had left the sorceress. When Abd-ur-Rahim appeared, Rahah was walking meekly behind him, and passing into the inner room, took her place behind her mistress without a word; but it struck Georgia presently that she must have made a suggestion to him on the way.
“What does the doctor lady require?” asked Abd-ur-Rahim.
“I wish to go to Bir-ul-Malikat with Khadija, who has one sick in the house that she desires me to see,” said Georgia.
“But the doctor lady must remember that it was not even permitted to her yesterday to visit the sick in the town, outside the citadel. How, then, could her servant suffer her to cross the desert to Bir-ul-Malikat?”
“But surely you will make an exception in favour of Khadija, who is the servant of your lord Fath-ud-Din?” urged Georgia, aghast at this new possibility of failure just as success seemed to be in her grasp.
“I know not,” replied Abd-ur-Rahim, cautiously. “Who is it that is sick?”
“Make no inquiry into matters that concern thee not, O Abd-ur-Rahim,” put in Khadija, with more than the usual touch of sharpness in her tone. “It is enough for thee that one of thy lord’s household is sick, and that I desire the doctor lady to come and see her. It will not be for thy health, nor for that of thine house, for thee to put difficulties in the way of her coming.”
Abd-ur-Rahim grew visibly paler under the implied threat. “But what shall I say to my lord and to the English if any evil befalls the doctor lady?” he asked, helplessly.
“What evil should befall her?” snapped Khadija. “Am I a dog, to ill-treat the one who comes to help me?”
“Nay,” stammered Abd-ur-Rahim. “Far be it from me to hint evil concerning thee. But there are dangers in the desert, and perhaps among the servants at Bir-ul-Malikat there might be—— Nay, I cannot let the doctor lady go unless I have a surety in her place.”
“Whom dost thou seek?” demanded Khadija.
“Thy son, Yakub, that he may remain here until the doctor lady has returned in peace.”
“It is well,” returned the old woman, after a scarcely perceptible pause. “Why should I fear for my son, since I mean well to the doctor lady? Let him come, and welcome.”
“Then I will ride with thee to Bir-ul-Malikat, and receive the young man before the doctor lady arrives there,” said Abd-ur-Rahim, determined to leave no opening for the evasion of his conditions.
Khadija gave an angry snort, but to demur would have been to cast a doubt on the honesty of her own intentions, and she submitted to the inevitable. Abd-ur-Rahim departed to order the horses to be got ready, and Georgia went to say good-bye to Lady Haigh, and to give her last directions respecting the treatment of Sir Dugald. Fitz received a parting injunction to take care of Colleen Bawn, and was further honoured by having Dick’s swo