COLONEL BAYARD looked after Brian with a sigh. “Your brother is highly conscientious, ma’am, but I hope I know better than to use improper language about his chief in his presence. Nor have I anything worse to say of the General than that I believe from my soul he had no evil intention in putting me in my present disagreeable position.”
“Ah, believe me, his one thought was to atone to you for any slight Lord Maryport might have seemed to offer,” said Eveleen earnestly. He sighed again, impatiently.
“Then why this strange behaviour on his part? I was upheld by the consciousness of rectitude, reconciled to the Governor-General’s unjust treatment by the prospect it gave me of a speedy reunion with my wife—actually on the point of departure for home. Then I am summoned back in the most peremptory manner, compelled to sacrifice my passage and relinquish my hopes. And for what? I believed, all my friends believed, the Bombay papers proclaimed their hearty concurrence—that Sir Henry had recognised his own incapacity for the task allotted to him, and desired the Governor-General to command my return. There was nothing peculiar in this save the singularity of such a frank acknowledgment on his part—which I conceived accorded strictly with the candour of his nature as I had experienced it,—and it explained the haughty tone of Lord Maryport’s letter. The assiduous attentions of the Khans on my way up the river showed that they took the same view, and I made haste to join Sir Henry and relieve him, as I imagined, from the burden of a duty unsuited to his talents. What was the reality? I make no complaint of finding myself second where I was formerly first, though I own it grated upon me; but in our first interview it was made clear to me that Sir Henry desired my services purely in a minor capacity. I was to be nothing but a putli [puppet] in his hands. Tell me, I beg of you, whether this was his attitude from the first, or whether he changed towards me when he perceived the delight with which my return was welcomed?”
He had so obviously decided in his own mind in favour of the second alternative, that Eveleen and her husband both found it difficult to answer him. Richard spoke hesitatingly at last. “I tried to hint at what I believed to be the General’s true state of mind in one of my letters, you may remember.”
“Did you? It’s possible. But if I noticed it, I set it down to your habitual caution. But Mrs Ambrose—why did she not warn me three weeks ago? I made no secret then of the feelings that inspired me.”
“Ah, forgive me!” cried Eveleen, conscience-stricken. “I tried—indeed I tried—but you would not understand. And how would I tell you such a thing as that straight out?”
“No, I suppose it would be impossible to an Irish person,” he spoke as though to himself. “But what I can’t make out is”—with renewed vehemence—“how Sir Henry can have asked for me, knowing my views and my friendship with the Khans, and knowing also that all his intentions were diametrically opposed to the policy I have consistently pursued?”
“No, there you do him an injustice,” said Richard quickly. “He had no such intentions—he was as favourably disposed towards their Highnesses as yourself. You and he were agreed upon the necessity of forcing them to observe their obligations—but doing so in the most considerate manner. I give you my word, I believe there has been too much consideration. Had you been with us instead of at Bombay, and witnessed the ingenious provocations, the childish artifices to which the Khans have resorted, as though determined to tire out our patience, you must have decided, with the General, that they had exceeded all limits of toleration.”
“‘Et tu, Brute!’” said Colonel Bayard mournfully. “‘Mine own familiar friend——’”
“Pray don’t think I am alone in this. You have met a good many of the Khemistan Europeans in these three weeks. Is there one of them that takes your view of the case in opposition to the General’s?”
“The General is the disposer of benefits nowadays,” irritably. “Nay, forgive me—I am unjust. But these youths are all agog for war—naturally enough; Sir Henry has trained ’em for it. Of course they rejoice in the prospect of hostilities.”
“Not I. I have seen war in Ethiopia, and know what it means. Am I likely to wish to bring it upon Khemistan if it can be avoided? But I tell you plainly, I believe a temporising policy here, pursued further at the present juncture, would lead to a retreat and a disaster which, following upon our Ethiopian misfortunes, would lose us India. The Khans—and especially Gul Ali—have played with us too long already.”
“I could forgive Sir Henry everything,” cried Colonel Bayard vigorously, roused by the name, “but his treatment of Gul Ali. To affect to hold the poor old man to a renunciation extorted from him by force by that villain Shahbaz Khan is an outrage of which I had fancied him incapable.”
“But sure he did resign the Turban to Shahbaz!” said Eveleen in perplexity.
“True—most solemnly,” agreed her husband. “But when he quitted Shahbaz’s hospitable roof, he saw fit to change his mind, and declare the renunciation a farce.”
“And no wonder!” cried Colonel Bayard warmly. “When it was only brought about by the pressure imposed on him by that most abandoned scoundrel——”
“We have often agreed that Shahbaz was the ablest of the Khans,” said Richard imperturbably. “You said to me once you saw no hope for the dynasty but in him.”
“True, but he had not then shown himself in his real—his most iniquitous colours. To force his innocent and venerable brother to cede him the Turban by threats——”
“His innocent and venerable brother having failed to rob him of his heirship by intrigues——” crisply.
“Ambrose, you are hopeless!” cried Colonel Bayard warmly. “The General has bewitched you. Mrs Ambrose, in your gentle breast I know I shall touch a chord of sympathy with the aged Prince’s misfortunes. Listen, I beg of you. I was riding with the advanced guard from Bidi—where I caught up the force—when we met a solitary cossid mounted on a camel. He recognised me, and dismounting, threw himself at my feet, and bewailed the miserable lot of his master. With the General’s permission I volunteered to seek out my old friend, and convey to him the assurances of safety and kind treatment from Sir Henry, which it occurred to me Shahbaz Khan must have kept back. You had said to me that you suspected something of the sort, ma’am; do you remember? Well, I found Gul Ali encamped in the jungle—a few wretched rowties [small common tents] sheltering the few retainers who remained faithful to him. Our appearance—your brother accompanied me, by the way—produced at first the utmost consternation, the fugitives fearing an attack. But my name restored confidence, and the Prince met and embraced me, and conducted me into his miserable dwelling. Old and sick, exposed to the heavy rains—this was the plight of the man I had last seen enthroned in his palace. Briefly he unfolded to me his brother’s perfidy. As I expected, Shahbaz had induced him to abdicate by the strongest assurances of Sir Henry’s hostile disposition towards him. I pledged him my honour that he was mistaken, and he would fain have accompanied me there and then to make his submission. But I knew he would find Shahbaz with the General, and fearing his timidity might betray him once more, I persuaded him to send his son—not Karimdâd, of course, but one of the younger ones—and a nephew instead.”
“That was the mistake!” said Richard sharply. “Had he but met the General face to face——”
“Easy enough to see where another man has gone wrong.” Colonel Bayard spoke with some displeasure. “Well, ma’am, sherbet was served, and we parted with the usual compliments. My one aim was to lead the young Khans to Sir Henry before they could be intimidated by Shahbaz. Alas! it did not occur to me that he might corrupt them instead, though when we met him he embraced them cordially, and begged a visit after their audience. I took them to Sir Henry’s tent, where we all sat on the carpet together, since there were no chairs. The General, who had met the youths very civilly, addressed them kindly, but with severity—through his Munshi, not through me—nor did he make the slightest show of consulting me. Seeing me thus set aside, and reading in his decided tone that he regarded them as rebels, is it any wonder the young Khans were seized with alarm? They left his presence—I suggested to him to show his goodwill by shaking hands with ’em, which he did very readily—to seek Shahbaz, and I grieve to say they were persuaded by that villainous plotter to betray their aged parent into his hands. They saw Shahbaz enjoying Sir Henry’s favour and possessing all the tokens of power, and in return for his bribes they fell in with his designs. I despatched a spy to Gul Ali’s camp to mark their return there, for I feared all was not well, and it was as I feared. They insisted upon the General’s angry tone and the curtness of the terms he had used, and declared it as his command that Gul Ali should surrender himself again to Shahbaz at Bidi. Asked what part I, their friend, had taken in the interview, they replied that even were I sincere in my professions—of which they hinted a doubt—it was clear I was devoid of any power to help. Do you wonder that the unfortunate old man feared to offer the personal submission for which Sir Henry had stipulated? Once again he made his escape—and so unremitting is Shahbaz in his villainy that he even succeeded in bribing his brother’s Munshi to substitute a defiant message under his seal for the letter he had despatched in excuse for his non-appearance. Sir Henry was highly irritated, and lent an ear all the more readily to the poisonous suggestions of Shahbaz. With a view of clinching matters, he replied to the letter with a direct refusal to communicate further with Gul Ali unless he gave effect to his forced renunciation by recognising his brother as Chief Khan.”
“But sure ’twas the wisest thing he could do!” Eveleen had been bubbling over for some moments with the desire to speak. “Wouldn’t you say the unfortunate old creature was silly? He can do no good for himself or anybody else.”
Colonel Bayard was painfully taken aback. “I didn’t expect this from you, Mrs Ambrose. Is the unhappy Gul Ali to be branded as a fool because unfortunate? His misfortunes all spring from the misdeeds of others.”
“Ah, but do they? Is he able to retain the fidelity of a single supporter, will you tell me? Has he taken one bit of the advice you have given him, or kept any single promise he has made? I grant you he’s unfortunate, but I’d say with all my heart he was incapable as well!”
“A Daniel come to judgment!” said Richard drily.
“And if he ain’t incapable,” pursued Eveleen, rushing on before Colonel Bayard could speak, “he’s treacherous, believe me. As Ambrose says, you don’t know the things he has been doing—stopping the dâks and attacking our boats on the river, besides the army he’s been getting together. And when poor Sir Harry sends word that the army is to be disbanded, all the old horror will do is to say there’s no army to disband.”
“Precisely. How can he disband an army if he hasn’t got one? I grant you that in their childish way the Khans have sought to lead Sir Henry to think they were raising troops, but this was purely make-believe, designed to deter him from attempting decisive measures against them.”
“Then they were finely mistaken in Sir Harry! But believe me, they have been assembling their Arabit hordes for months. We have heard too much of them to doubt that. Ah, don’t let your kind heart set you against the General and all of us who see that unfortunate old deceiver as he really is, and not as you do—an angel with wings a weeshy bit muddy!”
“I have brought this upon myself, I suppose——” with a pique he could not disguise. “But don’t be afraid, ma’am. I value my friends too highly to part company with ’em over a difference of opinion, and I trust they’ll extend the like compliment to me. This last effort to preserve the authority of the Khans and prevent bloodshed I’ll carry through with my whole heart. If it fail, my work here is done. I am merely, as Sir Henry has more than once reminded me, a commissioner under a peace treaty, and if there’s no treaty, I am at liberty to go home.”
“Now why would such a nice man be so unreasonable as all that?” asked Eveleen mournfully as he left them.
“Why, my dear, ain’t all nice people the same, in your estimation?” Richard’s tone tried to be jaunty—not very successfully.
“Like yourself? Well, I wouldn’t say quite all—but a good many, certainly. But sure Bayard will never be able to call Sir Harry unreasonable after this. Did y’ever see anything like the way he has given in to him time and again?”
“I own I never thought he had it in him to be so patient. If Bayard succeeds in persuading the Khans to consult their own interests and submit, they will have the General to thank, not themselves.”
“And if they won’t consult their own interests, and will not submit, there’s not a soul on earth can accuse Sir Harry of dealing with them hastily.”
“I don’t say that. People can say strange things. But if the Khans have an anna’s worth of sense in their foolish heads, they will submit—having stood out to the very last moment.”
“Well, I’m sorry for it!” said Eveleen. “Why, now”—as he looked at her in amazement,—“have you forgotten I was against the silly creatures from the first? Ever since Bayard said he had no power to make them treat the women properly, don’t you know?”
“I had forgotten, certainly. Now I have some faint recollection——”
“Y’are very flattering!” sharply.
“If you expect me to remember all the contradictory speeches you make on all sorts of topics, I fear, my dear——”
“When you talk like that, you make me feel I’d do anything—anything in the wide world—to make an impression, to let you feel you had to reckon with me.”
“My dear, pray don’t! I assure you it ain’t necessary any longer.” Whether his alarm was real or pretended she could not distinguish. “Henceforth your wildest utterances shall be most carefully weighed. You forget you have already carried out your threat—by presenting yourself here. If we get through, I promise you won’t find me disregarding your threats again.”
“You don’t put it very nicely,” she complained. “But tell me now—d’ye really think we’ll have to fight?”
But apparently Richard repented his freedom of speech. “Not a bit of it!” crushingly. “What I’m afraid of is that you will be actually and literally bored to death.”
And not a word more would he say, though Eveleen tried coaxing and reproaches in turn. Indignant though she was at the time, however, there were moments, after they had reached Qadirabad, when she began to feel his prophecy might come true. Whatever excitement there might be for the men, who rode daily to the Fort to discuss Lord Maryport’s treaty with the Khans in durbar, life at the Residency was the very acme of dulness for the woman left at home. If Eveleen had expected to be able to resume her former pursuits, she was mistaken. She blamed herself bitterly for not having brought a horse—difficult though it might have been for poor Captain Franks to find room for it—for the lack of one played into the hands of her natural enemies. Any man who prevented, or sought to prevent, Eveleen from riding when she wished to ride was a natural enemy, and all the members of the Mission—soldiers and Politicals alike—were immovably united in the determination that she should not go outside the walls. The only exception to this rule was the permission to go out by the water-gate, cross an uninviting tract of sand which was really part of the bed of the river, but now dry, and thus gain access to the Asteroid, which lay in a meagre trickle called a channel. But this excursion was as unsatisfying as the ride round the garden, which was the only one allowed her—if not quite so tantalising,—and she did not repeat it. If she was not to sink to the lowest depths and gossip with Ketty, she must find her interests in that dreary treaty, which seemed to be debated for hours day after day, but never signed. Poor Colonel Bayard might have been the Khans’ bitterest enemy, instead of their most tried and persevering friend, by the way they treated him. His championship of their cause—expressed indiscreetly, perhaps, to Gul Ali and his retainers—was made an excuse, and a perpetually recurring one, for tormenting him. Was he really in sympathy with the deposed Chief, whose honours had been so shamefully filched from him? Oh, well, if he said so, it must be presumed to be true, but Gul Ali had heard rumours—— And in any case, if he was on the side of the oppressed, why was he representing their chief adversary, the Bahadar Jang? Would he show his friendship by getting Gul Ali replaced in his position of supremacy, and punishing the presumptuous Shahbaz? Over and over again, by varying paths, the discussion was led dexterously to this point, at which the harassed emissary could only reply that he had no power whatever to interfere with the Governor-General’s decisions; the utmost he could do would be to urge the expediency of modifying them. This was not at all what was wanted, and the bald question invariably followed: If you are a friend, and yet can do nothing to help us, why are you here? The reply that he had hoped to make submission easier by entreating instead of imposing it was not at all in accordance with the Khans’ idea of a friend’s duties.
It almost seemed as though Colonel Bayard might have gone on indefinitely presenting the treaty, and the Khans talking about it, had not the spur been applied which the envoy had been dreading. He had written feverish letters almost daily, entreating the General to return to Sahar with his force—or at least to remain stationary, and not pursue the route he had taken on leaving Sultankot, which would bring him to the river about half-way to Qadirabad. It was the death blow to his hopes when the news came that not only had Sir Harry emerged safely on the river bank from the desert, but his flying column had been joined there by the troops he had left at Bidi. The effect on the Khans was no less marked. Their Vakils sealed that very day the pledge which bound them to accept the treaty.
“Did y’ever see a man look so miserable when he’d got what he’d been fighting for for a week?” demanded Eveleen of her husband when Colonel Bayard had brought the draft home—not at all in triumph—and laid it up in his desk. “You’d say he was sorry they have signed, instead of glad.”
“I believe you. He don’t know whether to blame Sir Henry most for his show of force, or their Highnesses for permitting themselves to be affected by it.”
“But sure they couldn’t have gone on hesitating for ever!”
“He had hopes, I’m certain, of inducing the General to promise that if they would sign the treaty, Gul Ali should get back his Turban. Of course Sir Henry has no power to promise anything of the kind—it rests with the Governor-General, and he will never grant it.”
“Well, if I was poor Bayard, I’d be glad the matter was settled and out of my hands.”
“Pardon me—not if you were he. You would be more unhappy than ever, because you had not succeeded in averting the misfortune. There’s a sort of twist in his mind where his dear Khans are concerned. To him, they and the General alike are pawns in the hand of Shahbaz, who is the greatest villain existing, and advises all to their destruction.”
“But sure they are all dead against Shahbaz!”
“That’s merely another proof of the man’s cunning. Bayard has persuaded himself that Shahbaz is so steeped in plots he can’t eat his pillau without some ulterior object, while his poor simple brother and nephews, beguiled by his subtlety, are innocent lambs asking to be shorn. Lambs, indeed! much more like wolves, they look to other people.”
“Then you think there’s danger?” Eveleen’s eyes were sparkling.
“I do think so, and I’ll tell you why. Perhaps it will make you more contented to stay indoors, as you are told. The city is swarming with Arabits, whose demeanour is as uncivil as they dare, though for the moment they are held in check. Through some extraordinary blindness, Bayard don’t see them—as a danger, at any rate. Not an armed man in the streets, he writes to the General. They all have their swords and shields—what does he expect of ’em? muskets and revolving pistols? Their matchlocks are close at hand, I haven’t a doubt. And all our spies bring in word of fresh bands—either concealed at a convenient distance from the city, or pressing towards it from all quarters. Kamal-ud-din alone, they say, has assembled ten thousand men, and is approaching by forced marches. And here are we allowing ourselves to be played with, while precious time—every day of which augments the Arabit hosts—is lost!”
“Now I wonder why wouldn’t you tell Bayard that?” asked Eveleen curiously.
“Do you think I haven’t?” he laughed shortly. “I try to bring the reports to his notice, but he has no eye for ’em—too much engrossed with the unmerited sufferings of that crew at the Fort. I wonder what will be their next expedient for gaining time? He will allow himself to be taken in by it, I’ll wager, through sheer remorse at having conquered ’em so far!”
But perhaps the Khans thought their hold on Colonel Bayard was wearing a little thin. At any rate, their next step was taken entirely without his assistance. When he opened his desk in the morning, that he might take the draft treaty with him to the Fort, the treaty was gone—without any sign of violence, or even the forcing of the lock. In this the thieves had overreached themselves. There were only two keys to the desk, one of which was in Colonel Bayard’s own possession, the other in that of his Munshi. The Munshi was a Qadirabad man, and had returned to his home there when his employer left Khemistan for Bombay, so that the Khans had had some three months in which to exert upon him the various methods of persuasion in which they excelled. Arrested promptly, he was so grievously surprised and terrified that he made a full confession. For a handsome consideration, he had unlocked the desk in the night and turned his back for a moment, then locked the desk again, having seen and heard nothing. That was all he knew, but the work had all to be done again.
For once, however, Colonel Bayard refused to take the part of his gentle protégés. To corrupt his servant and break into his house, that they might destroy the draft they had signed of their own free will, was too much even for him. The treaty was gone, but in durbar that day he took a high tone which brought the Khans to heel like whipped dogs. They apologised piteously for the misdeed of some unnamed retainer, who had been led away by the hope of helping his masters to bribe the Munshi and steal and destroy the paper. They had known nothing of the crime, they declared, and to prove it they would set their seals the very next day to the treaty itself—not a mere draft this time, but the whole of Lord Maryport’s requirements. Having made this tremendous concession, it would not have been the Khans if they had not promptly endeavoured to nullify it by demanding that Gul Ali should have the Turban restored to him; otherwise, they said, it was quite unnecessary to make a new treaty, since they had never broken the old one. But Colonel Bayard was still sufficiently disgusted and disillusioned to reply with a curt negative, and returned with his staff to the Residency through streets ominously filled with a sullen throng, who surged up to the very horses of the escort, and muttered curses on the Farangis.
When they went to the Fort the next day, there was not a man of the Mission who did not feel doubtful whether he would ever return. The crowds in the streets were larger and more menacing, and it was with the utmost difficulty that a passage was forced through them. The demeanour of the guards and attendants showed a scarcely veiled insolence, and round the walls of the audience-chamber were ranged a small army of wild-looking Arabits, armed to the teeth. After their long acquaintance, the Khans ought to have known Colonel Bayard better, for this suggestion of physical force was the one thing needed to stiffen his temper. He refused even to enter the durbar-hall till the additional guards were withdrawn, and declined to be placated by the suggestion that they were there to do honour to the treaty. The Khans were evidently flurried by his coldness, and affixed their seals in some haste, Gul Ali only pausing to remark in heartrending tones that he had laid his life and honour and everything he had at the feet of the British, and they had taken it all away. Colonel Bayard’s generous heart responded instantly to the plaint of ill-usage, and he spoke impulsively. He could do nothing in the matter of the Turban—he only wished he could—but he would beg Sir Henry Lennox to visit Qadirabad and hear what the Khans had to say, in the hope that he might accord as an act of grace what could not be given as a right.
The effect of his hasty speech was electrical. The Khans broke into radiant smiles, and Khair Husain modestly expressed their unworthiness to welcome the shining presence of the Bahadar Jang. His gestures were so emphatic as almost to seem extravagant, and Brian, by a meaning look, directed his brother-in-law’s attention to a slight confusion among the servants at the door. The trays of sherbet were just being brought in, which were the signal for the conclusion of the interview, and as far as the two men, watching without appearing to do so, could see, they were hastily carried out again and then brought in a second time—or possibly others substituted. What was the reason? Poison was the first thought in the minds of both, and it seemed as though it was also in that of Khair Husain, for in a rather marked way he drank from his cup first, and then passed it to Colonel Bayard. The Englishman had seen nothing of the by-play, and accepted the honour as a mere graceful compliment, but it seemed to Richard and Brian that Khair Husain directed an eye towards them as he drank. When they left the audience-chamber, they were surprised to find a band of Arabit horsemen drawn up facing their own troopers. Little Hafiz Ullah Khan, the youngest of the princely family, who was escorting them to the gate, explained volubly—
“It is those badmashes outside—we cannot control them. They are angry because the treaty is signed and my great-uncle’s wrongs have not been redressed, and they might show rudeness. Therefore we send an escort of our own to see you safely through the town. Would the Bahadar Jang be likely to shed the light of his radiant countenance upon us if he heard that his servants had eaten gali [abuse] in our streets?”
The reasoning was very clear, but it was abundantly obvious that the mob were prepared to use much more substantial weapons than abuse. All down the long Bazar from the gateway of the Fort to the city gate, the Mission had practically to fight its way. At Colonel Bayard’s earnest entreaty, his companions succeeded in getting through without drawing their swords, but in two or three ugly rushes they were forced to defend themselves by laying about them with the scabbards. The troopers of the Khemistan Horse were hard to restrain, but they found some alleviation of their discontent in backing their horses among the crowd, with a callous disregard of toes and shins. The Khans’ cavalry did more talking than anything else, but the only time Richard Ambrose had leisure to listen to them, what they said was significant—“Let them pass. These men are nothing. Wait till the Bahadar Jang comes!” Something suspiciously resembling a torrent of curses accompanied the name, but it might have been directed at the crowd, whose own language was blood-curdling. It was not until half the distance had been covered that stones began to fly—the partially demolished house of a man who had presumed to become unduly rich and had suffered for it affording a supply of missiles. Then indeed the riders had a hot time, for to the stones and iron-shod lathis in the street were added stones and curses from the roofs. Most of them received blows more or less severe, and Richard had his cap knocked off and got a nasty gash on the forehead. Happily Brian was in time to prevent his being knocked off his horse, for any man who went down in that yelling, swearing, spitting crowd would have small chance to rise again. But the gate was nearly reached, and the Arabit escort—with the first sign of common-sense that had distinguished them—made a semicircle and beat back the mob while their charges were filing through the narrow portal. Once safely outside, and dignity consulted by riding a short way as if nothing had happened, they pulled up beside a well to repair damages. One of the troopers of the escort had an arm broken, and while Colonel Bayard and the surgeon were looking to him, Richard submitted unwillingly to the ministrations of his brother-in-law, which were necessary because the blood running down his face prevented him from seeing.
“I cot your eye in the durbar just now,” said Brian hastily. “Would you say you thought what I did?”
“I think the General has saved all our lives without knowing it.”
“But you wouldn’t say he’d come here?”
“I should say the Khans will have to live a good bit longer before they catch that old weasel asleep.”