CHAPTER XI.
BEHIND THE CURTAIN.
AS soon as Dick awoke in the morning, his talk with Georgia recurred to his mind, and looking out of his dressing-room window, he called to Ismail Bakhsh, whom he saw in the compound. From his long connection with the family, the old soldier was regarded as the head of the household staff.
“Has that sweetseller turned up yet, Ismail Bakhsh?”
“No, sahib, I have not seen him this morning.”
“Well, when he does, you can detain him. I want to ask him a question or two.”
“The thing is done, sahib. If the protector of the poor would listen to a word from this unworthy one——”
“Yes; what is it?”
“It was in my mind yesterday, sahib, to examine all the verandahs, lest the storm should have shaken the pillars, and in so doing I found that the work of the rats under the floors has been great and very evil. Surely there are many places in which the planks are loose and easy to be moved, but on this side of the house it is the worst. Before the Kumpsioner Sahib’s rooms a man might even squeeze himself in and hide under the verandah floor.”
“We shall never get rid of the rats until we have proper cement floors—and it’s no good thinking of that now,” added Dick, half to himself. “But are you sure there’s nothing worse than rats about, Ismail Bakhsh? I don’t like the idea of that hole.”
“I also suspected evil, sahib, but having sent two of the servants’ sons in with lights, I was content when they found nothing.”
“I hope you nailed the boards firmly into their places?”
“I put them back, sahib, but why fasten them? There was no man inside, and in case any should seek to enter, the hole should be blocked up from within, not from without. Moreover, if the protector of the poor would invite Winlock Sahib to bring his sporting dog to the house, with your honour’s own dogs we might succeed in killing all the rats before mending the floors.”
“Good idea! Ask the memsahib to give you a chit to Winlock Sahib. No; it had better be to-morrow. I shall be out all to-day.”
Ismail Bakhsh salaamed and departed, and Dick returned to his dressing, neither of them dreaming that they were separated by nothing but a half-inch plank from a man who had listened to the whole of their colloquy. The bungalow, which had never been intended for a permanent dwelling, had been run up in haste. Hence the contrast of its somewhat ramshackle appearance with that of the substantial stone houses in the cantonments, and hence also the perpetual worry caused by the colonies of rats inhabiting the space under the floors, which should have been filled up with concrete. However, since innumerable complaints and remonstrances had brought nothing but vague promises and an occasional snub from those in authority, Dick and Georgia continued to live on in their unsatisfactory dwelling, and to wage intermittent warfare against the rats. But the rats could not fairly be accused of the worst of the damage of which Ismail Bakhsh complained, for crouched under the boards lay the sweetseller, who had effected an entrance by sliding out one of the planks from the front of the verandah and pulling another aside, returning them to their places when he had crawled in. His dark face paled when Ismail Bakhsh suggested bringing the dogs, but when he heard Dick postpone the rat-hunt to the next day, he breathed freely again.
“To-day is all I want,” he said to himself. “When I have once got the paper for Jehanara Bibi from that accursed half-blood my work is done, and Nāth Sahib may set his dogs on my track as much as he likes—and his sowars too.”
He remained crouched in his lair all morning, until the Commissioner had dismissed his clerks and hobbled round to the other side of the house to look for Mabel. As soon as the sound of his crutch had become inaudible in the distance, there was a hesitating tap on one of the loose boards. It was answered by a bolder knock from below, the board was pushed slightly aside, and a yellow hand, trembling as if with ague, passed a roll of papers through the crack. The sweetseller seized it, and pressed the fingers of the transmitter, which were hurriedly withdrawn. The hidden man secreted the papers carefully in his clothing, and crawled round to the front of the house, whence he could watch through a peep-hole all that went on in this part of the compound. When noon was come, and the servants had all betaken themselves to their own quarters, he removed the sliding plank and slipped out, bringing with him his stock in trade, and replaced the board carefully. Having assured himself that Dick was nowhere to be seen, he crossed the compound boldly, climbed the wall at a point where various projecting stones and convenient hollows afforded a foothold, and walked with dignified haste to the nearest sandhill. On the farther side of this he buried his tray and his sweets in the sand, and then, girding up his loins, set out resolutely in the direction of Dera Gul.
Dusk had already fallen when he reached the fortress, where he received a respectful greeting from the ragged guards, who informed him that the chief was in his zenana. As soon as the news was brought that Narayan Singh had returned, however, Bahram Khan sent word that he should be admitted immediately—a high honour which was not seldom the reward of the indispensable spy. Committing himself to the guidance of one of the slave-boys, Narayan Singh passed behind the curtain and into the anteroom, to discover Bahram Khan reclining upon the divan in the easiest possible undress. The pleasant murmur of the hubble-bubble, as he approached, prepared the visitor to find the room full of smoke, and his master seemed at first too much engrossed with his pipe to notice his entrance. Cross-legged in the corner sat the Eurasian Jehanara, shrouded in her veil, her glittering eyes reflecting the faint light which was shed by a brazier of glowing charcoal.
“Peace, Narayan Singh!” said the Prince at last, taking the mouthpiece of the long leathern tube lazily from his lips. “Is all well?”
“All is well, Highness. I have here a copy of the report of Barkaraf Sahib to the Sarkar, from the hands of his confidential clerk.”
Jehanara laughed harshly. “Thou hadst but little difficulty with Antonio D’Costa?” she said.
“What knowest thou of the swine?” asked Bahram Khan jealously.
“I have not seen him for many years, Highness, but he is my cousin, and I was acquainted with his character as a youth, and heard of his doings as a man. Knowing thy desire to learn the intentions of the Kumpsioner Sahib, and hearing that my cousin was in his employ, it needed only that I should instruct the skilful Narayan Singh to approach him in the right way.”
“And I,” said Narayan Singh, “needed but to hold before his eyes the copies of the bonds I had obtained from certain money-lenders, and threaten to show them to Barkaraf Sahib, when he fell down on his knees before me, and was ready to do whatever I might desire, for fear of the ruin that threatened him.”
“It is well,” growled Bahram Khan. “But what does the report say?”
Narayan Singh took out the papers which had been handed to him in his hiding-place, and laid them on the floor before Jehanara. She took them up, and leaning forward, scrutinised the contents eagerly by the dim light of the brazier.
“In this report,” she said, with deep satisfaction, “which the Kumpsioner Sahib has just finished drawing up, he recommends the immediate withdrawal of the subsidy, and the recall of Beltring Sahib from Nalapur, on the ground that the treaty was merely a temporary arrangement, the necessity for which has passed away.” Bahram Khan laughed, and she went on. “The Amir Sahib is to be assured of the continuous friendship and good-will of the Sarkar, which with the one hand will take away his rupees, and with the other present him with the liberty to govern his people without interference or guidance.”
“Truly the infidels are delivered into our hands!” cried Bahram Khan. “And when is the change to be announced?”
“The Kumpsioner Sahib desires an order, which may be carried out by the political officer on the spot.”
“Then the fool himself is leaving the border? Let him go. I care not to take his life. He has been a useful friend to me, and may be permitted to carry his folly elsewhere. It is Nāth Sahib that I want, and surely even my uncle will turn against him when he knows that the Sarkar has determined to break the treaty.”
“Gently, Highness!” entreated Jehanara. “The Amir Sahib is ever faithful to his friends, and not easily turned from his allegiance. Such is his friendship for Nāth Sahib that the only thing that would make him join in the plot would be the hope of benefiting him.”
“But,” put in Narayan Singh, who had been wondering uncomfortably whether it would be better to tell his news at once, or to wait until he had managed to secure a moment’s private conversation with Jehanara. “I heard tidings yesterday, Highness, which seem to show that the Kumpsioner Sahib is not the friend thou didst reckon him. I could have told them sooner, but I fear they will not be pleasing in thine ears.”
“Let us hear them,” cried Bahram Khan, while Jehanara shot an angry glance at the spy. He ought to have known by this time that it was generally wiser to soften and sweeten agitating news, and not to administer it undiluted.
“It was said among the servant-people that Barkaraf Sahib had asked Nāth Sahib for his sister, Highness, and that even now he has betrothed her to him.”
There was a moment’s incredulous silence, and then Bahram Khan sprang up from the divan, sending the heavy cut-glass bottle of the water-pipe flying, and almost overturning the brazier. “And this is the fruit of your counsel, both of you!” he shouted. “Who was it that held me back when I would have fallen on the whole company of the English as they returned from their fool’s dinner in the desert, and killed them all, except Nāth Sahib’s sister? Who was it again that bade me suffer my servants to be taken prisoners and held captive, and be tried for their lives by a boy, and that told me to rejoice when I received them back unharmed? Thou, O woman! thou, dog of an idolater! Surely ye were in league with the Kumpsioner Sahib to steal the girl from me, and he has bribed you to blacken my face in the eyes of all my people.”
“Highness,” said Jehanara, with dignity, “thine anger has made thee unjust to thy faithful servants. Fear not; I know the ways of the English, and this betrothal need not lead to marriage for many months. Nāth Sahib’s sister shall yet be thine, and the Kumpsioner Sahib may wait in vain for his bride.”
“Wait!” cried Bahram Khan, sinking again upon his cushions, “nay, he shall wait for nothing but death. He shall die by inches, and before my eyes, because he has sought to befool me. If he escapes, the lives of both of you shall pay for it.”
“As thou wilt, Highness. But was it not thy admiration of her beauty which first showed the Kumpsioner Sahib that the girl was fair? Suffer thy servant to consider the matter for a moment, and she will offer thee her counsel.”
Leaving Bahram Khan to look at affairs in this new light, Jehanara established herself again in her corner, gazing fixedly into the hot coals. Both her life and that of Narayan Singh were at stake, and she knew it; and she had no desire to die. Six years before she had played a desperate game with Bahram Khan, conscious that in him she faced an opponent as cunning and as faithless as herself. The conditions were unequal, for she staked far more than he did, and he won, possibly because her sense of the risk she was running had robbed her of the perfect coolness necessary to ensure success. He had not married her, even by Mohammedan rites, and nothing short of full legal recognition could have vindicated in the eyes of her own people the course she had pursued. Robbed of her anticipated triumph, she made no attempt to escape the consequences, but set herself by every means in her power to obtain that ascendency over the Prince’s mind which she had failed to gain over his heart. Fresh failures and unspeakable mortifications had awaited her. The women of the household, from the beautiful little Ethiopian bride to whom was awarded the position Jehanara had intended for herself, to the humblest hill-girl who had been kidnapped to become at once a slave and a Muslimeh, saw to it that she ate the bread of bitterness; but in spite of taunts and revilings she kept the one end in view until her persistence was crowned with complete success. Bahram Khan would listen to no advice but hers, having learnt by experience that his confidence in her was justified. The intrigue by which first the Commissioner, and then the Viceroy, had been convinced of his wrongs, was of her devising, and had proved so successful as to convince her that had it not been for Dick’s opposition, she would already have seen Bahram Khan established as his uncle’s heir. It followed that her hatred for Dick, heightened by his cavalier treatment of herself, was at least as strong as that of the disappointed claimant. As she sat brooding over the charcoal at this moment, there was a cruel light in her eyes while she ran hastily over the points of the scheme which had sprung full-grown into her mind when Bahram Khan accused her of treachery.
“Highness,” she said at last, and Bahram Khan propped himself up on his cushions with a muttered growl, while the trembling Narayan Singh appeared to take fresh interest in life, “this perfidy of the Kumpsioner Sahib’s provides thee with what was most needed, a means of involving the Amir Sahib in our plans. Nay, through this treachery, with the blessing of Heaven, thy servants will yet behold thee seated upon his throne, with the sanction of the Sarkar.”
“Wonderful!” cried the Prince, with gleaming eyes. “Go on.”
“First of all, then, Highness, the Kumpsioner Sahib must not leave Alibad before the treaty is broken—but we will consider presently by what means he may be induced to remain on the border. Next, instructions must be sent to the Vizier Ram Singh to represent thy quarrel to his master, the Amir Sahib, in this wise. Thou wilt say that the Kumpsioner Sahib, with a great show of friendliness, promised to get thee Nāth Sahib’s sister for a wife, but that he has befooled thee, and demanded the maiden for himself. Thine uncle may not altogether believe that Barkaraf Sahib really offered thee his help in the matter”—the half-caste could not restrain a touch of scorn as she glanced through her eyelashes at the miserable native who had brought himself to believe that an Englishman looked favourably on his desire to marry an Englishwoman. “Still, he has doubtless heard through his sister, thy mother, of thy love for the girl, and he will soon hear also that she is betrothed to the Kumpsioner Sahib, so that he cannot but believe in the enmity between him and thee. Next thou wilt say that by setting spies on this enemy of thine thou hast learnt that he has persuaded the Sarkar to withdraw the subsidy. This he does in order to gain honour for himself by annexing the Nalapur state, and also that he may overthrow Nāth Sahib, whom thine uncle loves, and who, as we know through Ram Singh, has sworn to resign his office rather than forsake his friend. Thus, then, thine uncle will be eager to champion Nāth Sahib’s cause against Barkaraf Sahib, and thou, forgetting thine old hatred in the new, will show him the way. According to the words of this paper of my cousin’s, the Sarkar’s change of policy will be announced at a durbar to be held by Nāth Sahib in the Agency at Nalapur, and the Amir Sahib will do well to see to it that this durbar is not held. If we devise a means for keeping the Kumpsioner Sahib here, he must needs hold the durbar himself, and while he and Nāth Sahib, and all the sahibs from Alibad, are entangled in the mountains on the way to the city, they must be caught in an ambush of the Amir Sahib’s troops. The Kumpsioner Sahib may well be killed in the first onset, to save all further trouble, but Nāth Sahib and the other friends of thine uncle need only be disarmed and kept prisoners, the writing of the Sarkar being taken from them. Then the Amir Sahib may send a peaceful message to the Sarkar that, hearing rumours of evil intended against him, he has seized a number of its officers and holds them as hostages, until he shall be assured that his fears are groundless. So then the Sarkar, fearing for the lives of its sahibs, will send some great person to reassure his Highness, and explain that it was the evil doings of the dead Barkaraf Sahib alone that caused the mischief, and Nāth Sahib will be put in his place, and the subsidy continued, and all be well—save, perhaps, the payment of a slight fine for the accidental slaying of the Kumpsioner Sahib.”
“But what is the good of all this to me?” bellowed Bahram Khan. “It would rid me of the Kumpsioner Sahib, but no more—nay, it makes Nāth Sahib the head where he is now the tail.”
“Seest thou not, Highness, that this is the plot as it must appear in the eyes of thine uncle? Now lift the veil, and behold it as it is in thine own mind. Who should naturally be chosen to command the force lying in ambush but the Sardar Abd-ul-Nabi, and is he not a close friend of the Vizier Ram Singh, and wholly devoted to thy cause? To him the Amir Sahib will give orders that he is to slay no one but Barkaraf Sahib, and that the lives of the rest are to be saved, even at the risk of his own, but from thee he will receive the command to slay all and spare none, not even the youngest.”
“Nay, I will ride with them, and smite them myself from behind!” cried Bahram Khan.
“That must not be, Highness. Thou wilt be far away at the time.”
“Then Nāth Sahib and Barkaraf Sahib shall be saved alive and brought to me that I may see them die.”
“The risk is too great, Highness. Hast thou forgotten the day when Sinjāj Kīlin Sahib was attacked in a certain nullah and all his escort slain, and how he fought his way out alone and rode back to his camp, and returning, as if upon eagles’ wings, with a fresh body of troops, fell upon the tribesmen when they were stripping the dead, and slew them every one? Not a man shall live—be content with that, for there is other work for thee than watching their blood flow.”
“And what is that, woman?”
“Thou wilt be waiting here, Highness, and as soon as a swift messenger brings thee word that the sahibs have been attacked, thou wilt ride with all speed to Alibad. Knowing that all the sahibs are away except the Padri and two or three others who are not warriors, and that there is no place of refuge for them, thou wilt hasten thither to save them and the Memsahibs. If they believe in thy professions of friendship, then all is well—they are delivered into our hands. But it is in my mind that they will not trust thee, and that is even better, for then all the evil that follows will spring from their own lack of confidence. The men of the regiment who are left behind will fortify themselves in their lines, but there is no need to attack them just then. The bazaar and the European houses will be fired—by the badmashes of the place, doubtless—and in the turmoil and confusion all the sahibs will be killed, but all men will behold thee rushing hither and thither like one possessed, commanding thy soldiers with curses to save the white men alive.”
Bahram Khan chuckled grimly, for the picture appealed to him.
“And at last,” went on Jehanara, “seeing that thou canst do nothing, so few are thy men, thou wilt retire sorrowfully, taking with thee such women and loot as may come in thy way—but only for safe keeping.” Bahram Khan chuckled again. “The next day, when the Amir Sahib learns that he has indeed raised his hand against the Sarkar, and slain so many sahibs, he will be plunged in despair. He will find it impossible to keep his army in check, and they will come to Alibad and complete the work begun by thee, before ravaging the rest of the frontier. All will be the deed of thine uncle, and he it is that will have to answer to the Sarkar.”
“True, O woman. Trust me to see that his evil deeds shall blot out mine. But how if Nāth Sahib’s sister should chance to be slain also?”
“Her safety is thy care, Highness. Before seeking to save the sahibs, thou wilt have seized Nāth Sahib’s house, which is on the outskirts of the town, and sent off his wife and sister here, for their better protection, under a sufficient guard.”
“Who will see that Nāth Sahib’s Mem troubles us no more,” laughed Bahram Khan.
“Not so, Highness. The doctor lady must find safety with the Moti-ul-Nissa.”
“Nay, is she not Nāth Sahib’s wife?” cried Bahram Khan, much injured.
“There must be sanctuary for the doctor lady with thy mother,” repeated Jehanara firmly. “What harm can she do thee, Highness?”
“She is Sinjāj Kīlin’s daughter. That is enough.”
“True, Highness, and for that very reason she must live. The Begum must be warned to hide her in the inmost recesses of the zenana, since the Amir Sahib clamours for her blood, and she herself must clearly understand that thou art protecting her at the risk of thy life. See here, Highness, and think not it is any love for thy foes that moves me. Her testimony is the very crowning-point of our plan. When thou hast made thyself master in Nalapur, and goest forth to meet the armies of the Empress with the head of the Amir Sahib as a peace-offering, there will yet be voices raised against thee. But when it is known that thou didst save the doctor lady, the wife and daughter of thine own and thy father’s enemies, and place her in safety in thine own zenana, who shall judge thee too hardly that thou couldst not save the town? Thou hast done all in thy power, and the Memsahib will bear witness to thee. And as for sparing her—why, there is Nāth Sahib’s sister left for thee still.”
“Aha!” laughed Bahram Khan, “and she is not of Sinjāj Kīlin’s blood. She will not fight like the doctor lady.”
“Nay, but she is of Nāth Sahib’s blood,” said Jehanara, conscious once more of an inconsistent thrill of perverted pride in her father’s race, as she remembered what other Englishwomen had done before in like circumstances; “but all will be well, Highness, whatever happens. If she is found married to thee, she cannot, as a pardah woman, be brought into court to testify against thee, and if she is dead by that time, why, she killed herself in her terror, not waiting to learn thy merciful intentions towards her. And women pass, but the throne lasts, Highness. The one is better than the other.”
“Truly, thou art a veritable Shaitan!” To Bahram Khan’s mind the epithet conveyed a high compliment. “Set the matter in train, then. Here is my seal.” He took off his heavy signet and handed it to her. “Do thou and Narayan Singh see that all is in order, so that not one of my enemies may escape. But what of Barkaraf Sahib? If he leaves the border, I lose half my vengeance.”
“It may be, Highness”—the speaker was Narayan Singh, who had remained silent in sheer astonishment at the daring and resourcefulness of his co-plotter—“that the Hasrat Ali Begum might help us in the matter. If her Highness were to hear that any evil threatened the doctor lady or her husband, she would doubtless send a messenger to warn her. Might she not become aware, through some indiscretion” (he looked across at Jehanara), “that the Kumpsioner Sahib was departing from the border to seek his own safety, leaving Nāth Sahib to carry out a dangerous and disagreeable task? Her Highness would send the Eye-of-the-Begum immediately to inform the doctor lady of what she had heard, and does there live a woman upon earth who, having received such tidings, would not at once fling the Kumpsioner Sahib’s cowardice in his teeth, and taunt him until he was forced for very shame to remain and do his business for himself?”
“By that saying,” interrupted Jehanara, vexed at being selected to perpetrate an indiscretion, “thou betrayest thine ignorance, Narayan Singh. There is such a woman, and the doctor lady is she. She would tell the news to her husband, and leave him to reproach the Kumpsioner Sahib if he thought fit, and there would be no taunts, for the English are not wont to speak like the bazaar folk. But there is another woman who would work for us, though ignorantly, and that is the wife of the Padri Sahib.”
“The lady of the angry tongue!” cried Bahram Khan. “But how should we persuade my mother to send a slave to her?”
“It would not be easy, Highness, and therefore the Begum shall not be troubled in the matter. I will disguise myself and tell the Padri’s Mem that her Highness, desiring to warn the doctor lady, was too closely watched to allow of her sending her usual messenger. I will say also that I succeeded in slipping away from Dera Gul, and in crossing the desert with the message, but that I dared not approach Nāth Sahib’s house, fearing there might be spies among his servants. Thus, then, I will tell the news, and before very long the Padri’s Mem will tell it also—in the ears of the Kumpsioner Sahib.”
“It is well thought of,” said Bahram Khan approvingly.