The Warden of the Marches by Sydney C. Grier - HTML preview

CHAPTER XXIV.
 WHAT ZEYNAB SAW.

“DICK, I want to speak to you. I’m sure there’s something wrong.”

“There’ll be something wrong with you, if you rush up the steps at that rate, after being out all morning. You haven’t walked back, I hope?”

“No, of course not. I had a doolie. But it’s really important, Dick.”

“I dare say it is, but I won’t listen to a single word until you lie down in that chair and let me fan you. Now let us hear about it. You went to the Refugees’ Camp as usual, and doctored all and sundry?”

It was not in the confined limits of the Memsahibs’ courtyard that this conversation took place, for since the arrival of the relieving column the fort had been practically deserted, owing to its insanitary condition. As the town had also been left by the enemy in an undesirable state, most of the rightful inhabitants were under canvas for the present. Quarters had been found, however, in the large Sarai for a good many of the Europeans, who led a picnic existence in the bare mud rooms, cheered by such remnants of their household goods as they had been able to save, until the neighbourhood should quiet down, so as to allow them to return to their homes. Bahram Khan was holding out obstinately at Dera Gul, where he appeared to hold in deep contempt the devastation wrought by the besiegers’ mountain-guns. They had battered his walls to pieces, but he and his garrison retired to shelters underground, whence they emerged on more than one occasion to frustrate, with considerable loss to the attacking party, attempts to carry the place by assault. Meanwhile, his followers’ wives and children, who were not admitted into the fortress, had thrown themselves quite happily on the hands of the besiegers, in the calm confidence that this course would ensure their being provided with food, lodging, and medical attendance free of cost. To have despatched them, in their present unprotected condition, to any distance from the British lines would merely have led to their being killed or enslaved by the tribes, and after much discussion they were gathered into a special camp, under the charge of an officer detailed for the duty, which he cursed daily. Here they were looked after in company with the native women and children who had survived the siege, and such of the townspeople as now began to reappear from mysterious hiding-places or cities of refuge. The care of their health was entrusted to Georgia, and every morning she visited the camp and prescribed for any patients that might be awaiting her. It was from one of these visits that she had just returned.

“I was making a surprise inspection of the huts, Dick—it’s necessary every few days, you know—and I came to one where a number of women who have no children are quartered together. They were not expecting me, and they were just sitting or standing about. One of them was Jehanara.”

“My word!” Dick sprang to his feet. “Are you certain, Georgie?”

“Quite. I never forget a face, you know, and hers is a remarkable one.”

“And what did you do?”

“I pretended not to have recognised her, and our eyes did not meet, so I don’t think she could have seen that I knew her. I finished the inspection, and then, when I was reporting to Major Atkinson, I asked him to arrest her at once, as I was sure she was there as a spy.”

“And had she got away in the meantime?”

“Oh dear, no! When I had made Major Atkinson understand which woman I meant, he laughed at me, and said that she was certainly a spy—a spy of our own; and she had a pass signed by the General to allow her to leave the camp when she liked.”

“Somebody is being made a nice fool of.”

“That’s what I thought. If she has come to the General, and offered to betray the fortress to him—that door, you know—and it’s all a trap! He doesn’t know her as we do. I thought of going to him at once, but then it struck me that he might laugh at me as Major Atkinson did, so I came back to tell you as fast as I could.”

“You thought he might be like Burgrave, and dislike ladies’ interfering in politics? Well, I suppose I must go myself, and fish for snubs. What I do admire in all these big chaps is their deep-rooted distrust of the man on the spot. I wonder they don’t order us all out of the district before they’ll deign to set foot in it.”

Before very long Dick was received by General Cranstoun in the seclusion of his tent. To his observant eye, the General’s face wore a slightly expectant, not to say conscious expression, and he went straight to the business in hand.

“I should be glad, sir, if you would authorise the arrest of an East Indian woman who calls herself Joanna Warren or Jehanara. She is a secret agent of Bahram Khan’s, and my wife found her secreted in the Refugees’ Camp this morning.”

“There is no such person in the camp,” was the terse reply.

“What! has she got away already?” cried Dick. “Excuse me, but this may be a serious matter. Did she know that she was recognised?”

“I believe not. I understand that when she heard it was Mrs North’s habit to visit the camp, she considered it unwise to remain there longer.”

“I wish to goodness I knew whether that was all,” muttered Dick. “Is there any hope of getting hold of her still?”

“I do not know. The matter does not appear to me to lie in your province, Major North, and I am not prepared to offer you any assistance.”

“Perhaps you are not aware, sir, that the woman in question is Bahram Khan’s most trusted counsellor? It is generally understood that all our recent misfortunes are attributable to her influence, and I know personally that she has done an immense amount of harm.”

“Perhaps you are not aware that the unfortunate woman of whom you are speaking has been for years most cruelly ill-used by Bahram Khan, and has vowed vengeance upon him in consequence? But I am not at liberty to say more upon the subject.”

“No!” cried Dick, with sudden enlightenment, “because she made you promise to say nothing to me before she would utter a word. She told you that I was brutally unsympathetic, and had insulted her in her misfortunes, and that I forbade my wife to receive her?”

“These are facts of which I should scarcely expect you to be proud, Major North.” Still, the General looked uncomfortable.

“I am prouder of them than I should be of being taken in by the most cunning Jezebel in India. The woman hasn’t a grain of truth in her composition.”

“I have been considered a good judge of character,” said General Cranstoun severely, “and I would stake my life on Miss Warren’s truthfulness. She has told me something of her history, and her manner left on my mind the most extraordinary impression of impotent fury thirsting for revenge. No acting could have produced the effect.”

“And so you are going to stake your life on her truthfulness? and the lives of her Majesty’s troops? I see it all!” cried Dick, with growing excitement. “You are to be at the north-east corner of the Dera Gul rock with a body of picked men at a certain time, when she will open a door leading into the subterranean passages. Guided by her, you will make your way up with your detachment to the gate opening on the zigzag path, and hold it until the rest of your force comes up. Then the fortress is in your hands.”

“Why—how in the world did you know this?”

“I am acquainted with the lady, you see.”

“But the door—how did you hear about that?”

“I have seen it. When the place was empty, before it was restored to Bahram Khan, I explored it thoroughly.”

“And you never told me of the existence of the door? I should have imagined that the interests of the public service would have prevailed over any slight personal jealousy——”

“I didn’t mention it,” said Dick, “because the door is a portion of the solid rock, and can only be opened from within. It is lifted by a complicated arrangement of weights and pulleys, and a dozen women couldn’t make it stir. I should say it needed ten men at least.”

The General’s brow gathered blackness. “Your information would have been more valuable had it come earlier,” he said. “In the circumstances, I do not feel justified in abandoning an excellent opportunity of ending this revolt, merely in view of your suspicions.”

“They are certainties. Say that you and your picked men are trapped in the cave—the door works from above. The only way out is up a narrow staircase, which only one man can climb at a time, but there are holes high up through which you could be shot down in dozens. Once inside, Bahram Khan has you safe—to use as a hostage, if he likes.”

“I should not feel justified in abandoning the attempt,” repeated the General, “but,” he added, with a degree less of severity, “if you can suggest any precautions that might render success more certain, I shall be glad to consider them.”

“There are to be no lights, I suppose? Then I would let every man except those in the front rank carry a block of stone. We can get them out of the ruins not far off, and if they are piled up at the sides of the doorway—I’ll show the men how to do it—the door can’t come right down, at any rate. Then, Jehanara has arranged with you that the rest of the force shall advance up the zigzag path at a signal from the gate? The enemy’s fire commands every foot of the way, and we can’t shell them to any purpose at night. But if, instead of climbing up on that side, our main body was making a determined assault with scaling-ladders upon the opposite side of the fortress, where the walls come down to the level, that would distract the attention of the garrison if you found it necessary to retire from the cave. My idea is that as soon as you are well inside, the door will go down, and you will be summoned to surrender. But the door will stick, and you will be able to retire in good order, and form outside. Then, even if the attack did not come off quite at the same moment, you would be prepared to resist the garrison if they charged, and be sheltered against their fire from above. And the best part of the plan,” added Dick cunningly, “is that there is no need to break faith with Jehanara. If she means well by you, everything will go off just as you arranged, and her feelings will not be hurt by the knowledge of my base suspicions.”

“Major North,” said the General, holding out his hand, “I have done you an injustice. The arrangements you suggest seem to obviate all risk, and I shall be glad if you will accompany me, in order to direct the men who will carry the stones. The details of the main attack I will arrange immediately.”

“Then when was the attempt to be made, sir?”

“To-night, of course. Is to be made, if you please.”

“That was a pretty close shave!” muttered Dick to himself, when he was safely outside.

And thus it came to pass that there was yet another night in which Georgia and Flora, unable to sleep, sat together in one of the bleak rooms of the Sarai, and held each other’s hands in an agony of fear and anxiety, while Mabel stole in at intervals from her watch beside Fitz to ask whether there was any news yet. Over and over again the anxious watchers persuaded themselves that they could hear the sound of firing echoed across the miles of desert which separated them from Dera Gul, and on each occasion they assured one another that the idea was absurd. Mrs Hardy came in several times to scold them for sitting up, twice spoiling the effect of her rebukes by administering hot coffee as a corrective, but she knew as well as they did that they could not bring themselves to face the solitude of their own rooms. At last, just as day was breaking, a messenger came from the signal officer at the camp to say that flash-signals of some sort were visible to the eastward, but the mists of the morning made it impossible to read them properly. There was still an hour or so more of weary waiting, and then Dick and Haycraft rode in together, the latter with his arm in a sling. He had been knocked from one of the scaling-ladders by a stone hurled at him, and the bone was broken, but otherwise he was only bruised. And what did even a broken arm signify, when there was victory at last?

“It was just as we thought,” Dick told Georgia. “As soon as we were inside the cave, I saw the door begin to come down—shutting out the stars, don’t you know? and a voice called out to us to surrender. But just when the door ought to have descended with a crash, it made a grating noise instead, and stuck fast, for the stones were piled about four feet high on each side. The enemy saw the dodge in a moment, and opened fire through the holes up above, but as we were all in the dark, it was a pretty wild affair. Two or three were wounded, and from the back of the cave came an awful scream—a woman’s scream. It was that wretched Jehanara, who had tried to escape up the staircase, and was shot down by mistake. So now we shall never know—or rather, the General won’t—whether she was deceived herself, or deceiving us. Then, as we got out of the place, we heard the sound of the attack on the other side, and we raced round to take part in it. Our men were already in at the breach the shells have made, and by the time we got up they were fighting hand to hand inside. We pressed the garrison back from point to point, until we came to the zenana. It seems that Bahram Khan had talked big about killing all his women before the end came, but his plucky old mother didn’t quite see it. She and the rest barricaded themselves in, all except Bahram Khan’s wife Zeynab, and kept him out. The fellow made a great fuss about breaking down the barricade, and went off to find a hammer or pickaxe or something to do it with, but we got there first. The men he had left fought to the last in front of the barricade, and behind it the old Begum held out stoutly until I came up, when she surrendered at discretion. Then we found out from one of our wounded that Bahram Khan and his wife had got away through the cave, with either two or three of his men, so that he is still at large, though the place is in our hands. Of course the regiment is scouring the country for him, and the tribes are all thirsting for the reward that will be offered, but it is a horrid bother.”

“Zeynab will scarcely be the help to him that Jehanara would have been,” said Georgia.

“No, but I don’t like his being loose. I shall get them to post a sentry at the gate here, as well as the Sikh at Burgrave’s door, and none of you must go outside without an escort. Mab mustn’t try any more of her adventurous rides.”

“Why, Dick, there’s no one for her to ride with at present.”

“No more there is, happily. Well, I shall be thankful if her devotion to Anstruther lasts long enough to keep her between walls just now. Bahram Khan driven desperate would be an ugly customer to meet out in the open.”

It was a source of considerable relief to Dick to learn that at this particular time Mabel was less likely than ever to quit her charge. Two or three days before, she had astonished Dr Tighe by demanding to be allowed to assist in dressing the patient’s burns. The doctor, who had contrived, with what he regarded as almost superhuman cunning, always to accomplish this process at a time when she was not on duty, was much perplexed by the request.

“Trust me,” he urged; “I’ll let you help as soon as it’s desirable.”

Mabel shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I want to know the worst while he is still unconscious. I think I can trust myself not to make any sign, but I am not sure, and if it is very dreadful—oh, it would break my heart if he thought I shrank from him because of his scars!”

“But, my dear young lady, that’s all the more reason for waiting. The wounds will be far less painful to look at when they are a little more healed.”

“That’s just it. If I see them now, at their worst, I can’t be horrified afterwards. I want to be able to judge of the improvement, so that I may cheer him if he thinks he is not getting on.”

Dr Tighe muttered fiercely to himself, but yielded at last, and allowed Mabel to act as his assistant at the next dressing. She thought she had schooled herself to bear the worst, but in spite of all her resolutions she shrank and shivered involuntarily when she realised the frightful change in the dark handsome face she had always secretly admired. Dr Tighe, going about his work with swift, practised fingers, said nothing, and pretended not to notice the drops of water which splashed upon him from the basin she held.

“Will he—can he ever look at all as he did?” she asked in a whisper at last.

“If things turn out as I hope, he will look no worse than a man who is badly marked with smallpox. There will be two or three ugly seams—here, and here”—he indicated the precise spots lightly with a finger-tip—“but the hair will help to cover them when it grows again, and if the mouth is much disfigured—why, you must lay your commands upon the patient to grow a beard.”

Mabel was crying. “Oh, it is too dreadful, too dreadful!” she sobbed.

“Then you had better leave the sick-room to me before he recovers consciousness. There’s no need to make things worse for him by raising false hopes. Either stick to him, disfigurements and all, or don’t let him know that he ever had the chance of marrying you.”

“It’s not for myself; it’s for him!” flashed forth Mabel. “Stick to him? of course I shall. He himself is not changed. But I can’t be too thankful that I have seen him like this. At least I know the worst.”

Again the doctor was puzzled. Was she forcing herself to keep faith, for shame or pity’s sake, or was she really in love still? He did not attempt to argue the matter with her, and nothing more was said on the subject for a day or two. Then the doctor stopped Mabel one morning at the door of the sick-room.

“One moment, Miss North. Has the patient ever exhibited any signs of consciousness in your presence—tried to speak, or anything of the sort?”

“Never,” said Mabel, in surprise. “I should have told you if he had.”

“I didn’t know whether you might be luxuriating in the sentimental satisfaction of feeling that you were the only person he recognised. You needn’t be angry; from your point of view it would be very natural. Well, I can’t make it out, then.”

“But has he spoken again—are there any signs——?”

“Not a word. But I can’t help thinking that there may be a kind of semi-consciousness about him—ability to distinguish light from darkness, or a loud noise from silence, perhaps—and I am almost certain that he knows when you are there. There are minute variations of temperature and pulse which correspond day after day, marking the difference between your presence and absence. It’s a queer thing.”

“And you think he will soon be quite conscious? Oh, doctor!” and this hope it was that kept Mabel so closely within the walls of the Sarai as to satisfy even Dick. But no further change in the patient’s condition seemed to reward her eager watchfulness. Dr Tighe said nothing more, and Mabel was afraid to ask questions. Any good news he would surely tell her, and she did not want to hear any that was bad. After another three days, however, he stopped her again outside the sick-room.

“Miss North, I’m going to give that poor fellow away. I won’t presume to inquire into your feelings towards him, but unless you can take him, scarred as he will be, without a qualm, you had better keep away from him in future. He is conscious, but he guesses how it is with him, and he means to tire you out. He has settled in his own mind that if he shows no gratitude for your nursing, and no interest in your presence, you will leave him alone, so that he won’t be tempted to take advantage of your pity for him. So he lies there like a log, and the self-repression is bad for him. I would be glad to see you end it one way or another.”

“Do you mean that he can speak, and see, and hear, but pretends he can’t?” demanded Mabel.

“No, no. He can’t see—because of the bandage over his eyes, if for no other reason—and he can’t speak intelligibly. But he can hear, and he can answer questions by moving his right hand for yes, and his left for no. That’s how I found it all out.”

“And he has pretended not to be able to hear a sound! Why, I might have said anything to him—anything! Happily I haven’t,” catching the doctor’s eye, “for Colonel Slaney told me so particularly not to excite him. But what do you want me to do?”

“To please yourself. Either make him understand that you mean to stick to him, or simply stay away. It’ll be better for him.”

“Which have you told him you expect I shall do?” asked Mabel, turning upon him. The doctor looked guilty.

“I’d have had the greatest pleasure in preparing the poor fellow’s mind, if I’d known,” he confessed; “but for the life of me I couldn’t decide which you’d be likely to do.”

“Thanks for your high opinion of me,” said Mabel, entering the room with a short laugh. “Perhaps you will kindly notice that I am putting an end to your doubts at this moment.”

Such was the confused condition of Dr Tighe’s mind that he did not at first realise the bearing of this sentence. Indeed, it was not until he was busy in his improvised surgery half-an-hour later that he perceived its full import, and made the bottles ring again with the shout of joy which greeted his discovery. As for Mabel, she sat down in her usual place beside the bed, and bent over the patient.

“Fitz,” she said very distinctly, “I want to speak to you. You needn’t pretend you can’t hear, for I know Dr Tighe has been talking to you. Raise your right hand when you mean yes, and your left when you mean no.”

No movement of any kind followed, but Mabel was not to be daunted.

“I understand,” she went on, “that you don’t like me to be here, and would rather I left off helping to nurse you?”

This time the right hand was unmistakably raised an inch or so.

“I have no right to offer any objection,” resumed Mabel, “but I don’t think you need have left Dr Tighe to tell me about it. I suppose I ought to have known that I had treated you too badly for you ever to care for me again.”

The left hand was shaken two or three times with pathetic vehemence.

“Then some one has told you,” indignantly, “how old and wretched I am beginning to look. Even Flora confesses it—I made her tell me—but she said she loved me just the same. I said I shouldn’t mind it, if it didn’t prevent my friends caring for me—and there were one or two to whom I felt sure it would make no difference. I never thought that you—— No, you are not to touch that bandage,” intercepting a feeble movement of one hand towards the eyes. “Do you want to be blind? But it’s better as it is,” with a heavy sigh—“better that we should part now. I mean, I couldn’t bear you to think me ugly.”

Again the left hand was shaken vehemently.

“Do you mean that it isn’t that? Then there’s only one other thing it can possibly be. You don’t believe I can be faithful, though you can; and you haven’t realised that it’s just this accident of yours which removes my objection to you. You know I said you would look so dreadfully young compared with me. Well, no one can say that now. You will look like a battered veteran, and though I have gone off so dreadfully, I shall look quite youthful beside you. Do you understand?”

The right hand was lifted somewhat doubtfully.

“I’m glad of that. Because, you see, I have told people that we are engaged, and it would be such a very uncomfortable thing if I had to contradict it. Now listen. Flora and I have agreed that I am not Queen Mab any longer, but if you agree it will be very rude.” Up came the left hand with alacrity. “That’s right; then I am still Queen Mab to you, and I lay my commands on you that this sort of thing is not to happen again. I mean to help nurse you, whether you like it or not, and you will get well much sooner if you make up your mind to like it. But even if you don’t, I won’t give you up.”

Both hands were raised, with an imploring gesture, and Mabel took them in her own, and hid her face in them.

“Because I love you, Fitz. You couldn’t have the heart to send me away after that, could you? Don’t try to talk; I understand.”

Returning to her watch that evening, Mabel met the Commissioner, who stopped to inquire after Fitz.

“He is conscious; he knows me,” she answered joyfully, adding, after a moment’s hesitation, “I think perhaps you will like to know that it is all right between us now.”

“I am very glad to hear it. I hope from my heart that you may be absolutely happy. As for Anstruther,” added Mr Burgrave, in his old courtly way, “there can be no question as to his happiness.”

“We shall always feel that we owe it very much to you,” faltered Mabel.

“It is extremely kind of you to say so. I am leaving early to-morrow, and that is a pleasant assurance to carry with me. I hoped I should meet you this evening, as I am dining at your brother’s, but I see you have other duties.”

“I am so sorry—I didn’t understand—how stupid of me!” cried Mabel. “Are you leaving the frontier altogether?”

“I am returning in the first instance to Bab-us-Sahel, to take up my regular duties again. My visit to the frontier has extended over a preposterous length of time, owing first to my accident and then to the rising, and I fear it has thrown the machinery of government a good deal out of gear. Personally, however, I cannot bring myself to regret it. I have enjoyed many important experiences, for which I did not bargain when I set out.”

Mabel’s eyes fell before the kindly look in his. “Can you ever forgive me?” she murmured.

“I have nothing to forgive. The fault was mine.” He bowed over the hand she held out to him. “The Queen can do no wrong.”

They parted, and Mr Burgrave went on to the Norths’ quarters, two small square rooms without a door, and possessing only one small window apiece, high up in the back wall. One side was open to the courtyard of the Sarai, and at night was somewhat inadequately closed by means of curtains and Venetian blinds. The dinner-table had been laid with the help of contributions from the Grahams and the Hardys, and the Commissioner pretended politely not to recognise his own reading-lamp, the only large lamp belonging to the community that had escaped the chances of war and earthquake. Flora, whose father was dining with the General, occupied Mabel’s vacant place, and did her part in helping to arrange the impromptu drawing-room at the back of the room. There were screens and a brazier, to mitigate the coldness of the evening air, and for furniture the camp-chairs which had played so many parts in the economy of the siege. Dick had received strict injunctions to offer his guest a cigar, and Georgia and Flora were prepared to efface themselves so far as to retire into the bedroom should Mr Burgrave’s principles forbid him to smoke in the presence of ladies, but their self-sacrifice was not needed. No sooner were the chairs arranged than the Commissioner, who had been helping to carry them behind the screen, prepared to take his leave.

“I will ask you to excuse me early,” he said to Georgia, “for I have a good deal of writing to do, and Mr Beltring has been good enough to offer to take poor Beardmore’s place for this evening.”

He hesitated for a moment, turned to go, and then came back again.

“I think perhaps I had better explain something that might perplex you in the future,” he said, speaking to Dick, but including Georgia. “It has to do with the frontier question.”

“I thought we had come to an agreement on that subject,” said Dick, with some apprehension.

“Pardon me, I agreed to withdraw my report in deference to your representations, but I still think your principles unsound—radically unsound.”

The rest gazed at him in alarm, and he went on. “Your custom of intervening in trans-frontier disputes, and practically exercising authority outside our own borders, is diametrically opposed to the traditional policy of the Government. I am bound to admit that it seems to succeed in your case, but it needs exceptional men to carry it out. You, Major, especially with Mrs North to assist you”—he bowed to Georgia—“are unquestionably a power to be reckoned with all along this frontier, but what would befall the ordinary civil servant who might be sent to succeed you?”

“That’s just it,” said Dick. “You mustn’t send us the common or garden office-wallah up here. Let me pick the right man—whether he’s a wild rattlepate like Anstruther, or a steady plodding chap like Beltring—and give him the right rough-and-tumble sort of training, till he knows the tribes like a brother, and there’s your exceptional man ready when you want him. Only he must be the right sort to begin with, and he must be caught young.”

“A possible clue to my own lack of success up here!” mused the Commissioner. “Still, I fear you will scarcely find that any Government will look with favour upon a system that would practically make the frontier a close preserve for you and your pupils. But this is what I wished to say. I can’t conscientiously work with you on your lines, though I have promised not to oppose you, and therefore I am recommending the severance of the frontier districts from those of Khemistan proper, and their erection into a separate agency under an officer answerable directly to the Viceroy. Don’t think I have tried to shift the responsibility from my own shoulders. It seemed that while we could not well work together, we might work side by side. I have done the best I can.”

He went out precipitately, one of the servants hastening to light him to his own quarters, thus restoring the lamp. Those left behind looked at each other.

“Poor old chap!” said Dick. “It’s about the worst thing he could have done for himself, and it’s not very much good to us. The Great Great One can scarcely be expected to welcome such a slap in the face as that. His own nominee, sent to carry out his very own policy, recomm