‘Quite the opposite, I believe.’
‘Then I shall speak no more of it.’
Hervey’s brow furrowed. ‘You were called to Dorothea Worsley’s this morning, I understand. She is well, I trust?’
‘She is very well. Her time nears – two months, I’d say; these things are difficult to be exact about – but the season has fatigued her.’
Hervey wondered if there was something more; but he put it from his mind. Milne, he found, was invariably frank – as frank as may be – and if he were anxious for Kezia’s condition he’d given him ample opportunity to say so …
Instead they saw out the coffee with general chat about the healthiness and otherwise of the garrison, though he began to regret indulging Milne in so vivid a description of the plague of boils visited on the Madras Artillery.
Hervey didn’t stay long at office. St Alban had returned soon after Milne left, saying there was no business to detain him. Hervey had been doubly content, for Sammy had told him that a tiger had come close to one of the villages near the Long Tank the night before. The ryots had chased it away, but were sure it would return as their goats had not long yeaned, and although they kept dogs and a watch, they feared they’d be unable to drive it off for good now that it had scent of the fold. There was nothing that he, Hervey, could likely do, but it would be a fine thing to get sight of the beast, if only at a distance. Georgiana, he was sure, would wish to; and St Alban was all eagerness, for leaving India – whenever that would be – without seeing a tiger would be too much to admit at a drawing room. He was certain that Fairbrother would say the same.
Kezia wasn’t tempted, however, when he proposed the idea on returning to Arcot House; she had to pay a call on Dorothea Worsley. Besides, she reminded him, she’d seen tiger in Bengal, ‘where they are of no little size’. (She’d thought it would be in vain to suggest he took care, for himself or Georgiana.) She was, though, pleased that Major Garratt would accompany them. Knowing that he’d not yet seen a tiger, but that it was his avowed intent to have a skin on the wall by the year’s end, Hervey had woken him playfully – ‘Dekh, dekh, samne – baagh!’ – and Garratt had sprung up, all anticipation. And when Hervey had explained, he’d been all activity. His plans for a grand baagh shikar in the Nilgiris were well advanced, and of tiger hunting he’d read everything he could lay his hands on, but a glimpse of the noble creature hereabout, this very evening, could only serve his object.
‘One thing I would say, though,’ warned Hervey, thinking it right not to let eagerness entirely overtake caution; ‘a thing that was told me when first I was here: you may take your chance with a leopard in thick country – as once I did at the Cape, and not by choice – but you have none with a tiger. The leopard when startled isn’t so intent on killing as on escaping, whereas tiger – man-eater or no – is so prodigiously strong, it makes no odds why he attacks, for he’ll crush you instantly.’
But Garratt, composure returned after his rude waking, needed no cautioning. A man whose soldiering had hitherto been on his feet rather than in the saddle was all too alert to the threat of ambush. ‘And from all I’ve read, too, wise words, Colonel,’ he said tactfully.
They set off just after four. There were two hours to sunset, about the best time of day, said the major, tigers disliking the heat of the fore- and afternoon as much as did he. Their smaller prey was anyway nocturnal, but the tiger also favoured dusk, he supposed, so that it could carry off or devour its kill under cover of darkness.
Between them they carried a good weight of shot, though the major’s pair of capping rifles seemed to Hervey to be somewhat undue. Service pistols and carbines would be more than enough, though admittedly a volley of lead would not make for the prettiest of trophies. Georgiana wanted a pistol too, but Hervey said he thought it better to wait till she’d had more practice. Annie was relieved, for then she would have felt obliged to carry one as well, and she was not yet confident that pistols behaved exactly as bidden. Besides, in the company of men it was scarcely necessary. Not, at least, in the company of Colonel Hervey.
They trotted fast for most of the way. The village lay at the lower end of the Long Tank, south of the Audeaur River, five miles or so distant, and Hervey’s design was to find a place a few hundred yards short of the objective – the merest mound would do – from which to observe the approaches. Had there been time he would have skirted the village on its northern side so as not to lay any scent across the path of the tiger – it came, said Sammy’s informants, from the Vandalur Hills to the south – and then to observe with the sun behind them. Instead they might have to shade their eyes.
Finding any elevation proved difficult, however, especially as the lemon grass stood high. They’d closed to a furlong of the village before they could see anything of it – so close indeed that the evening breeze, slight that it was, brought them its scent, more than usually rank. They would have to stay in the saddle to have any chance of spotting a crouching tiger, but the horses had had only light exercise earlier and could bear the weight. In any case, dismounting, even in company, was perhaps not the most prudent thing when the shadows lengthened.
They waited silently but for the odd equine grunt and sniffle – sounds natural enough not to dismay a tiger. Annie felt the need of a shawl as the sun neared the horizon, but she’d not brought one, and nor had Georgiana. She hoped she’d not have to bear it long, for what with the sun in her eyes and the lemon grass she could see next to nothing, and felt sure that when the tiger appeared it would be so fleeting that she’d not be rewarded with so much as a glimpse to write home about. But she was where she ought to be – where Georgiana was – and where, in truth, she’d have wished to be. For she’d never seen Georgiana’s father in the field – or any soldier; a mystery she supposed would intrigue any woman.
She watched keenly. Hervey stood a little in advance of the rest of them, peering periodically through his telescope – one day she hoped she too might be able to look through one – just as she imagined he had when the French were in the field, or any number of the savage people he’d fought with, the King’s enemies. (She’d observed the land from the deck of their packet out with a telescope, but it wasn’t the same.) Just behind him, watching as fixedly too – not into the distance but close about – was Serjeant Acton. She knew that as covering man it was not his to observe what was far away, rather what threatened at hand. Then behind him (and just to the front of her and Georgiana) stood Corporal Johnson, observing not quite so intently, but alert enough and his horse as quiet as a mouse; and to the left of him, facing south to their south-east, were Captain Fairbrother and Lieutenant St Alban. Only Major Garratt, standing rifle in hand several lengths of horse to their rear, did she have to turn to see – not that the major noticed, for he looked the most intent of all.
She began to marvel at being here. She, Annie Gildea, who’d been a chambermaid at the Berkeley Arms in Hounslow, sat side-saddle like a lady with these finest of gentlemen (and Serjeant Acton and Corporal Johnson, gentlemen too in their way), and in this distant, strange land. She wondered what purpose the Almighty could have for her, for her fortune in being here was hardly of her own making? She wondered if her own heart would count for anything in His purpose, or whether it would simply be taken up in the great stream of events as everything else? Would she, in truth, ever be more than mere Annie Gildea, late of the Berkeley Arms? Perhaps, like her brother, this place would one day see her passing – suddenly, by some malign hand, the Grim Reaper or one of his many attendants. She shuddered. Perhaps she ought never to have quit the sphere in which she was brought up.
But no (she almost shook her head); she had looks, airs – she knew she had, because some had told her so (Georgiana for one) – and she fancied, though how could she truly know, that although she had no formal learning she had intelligence. These past two years she’d read a great deal, and learned already much useful native language, both Hindoostanee and Tamul. No; she might not be a lady, but she m
ight soon pass for one and then she—
A squeal, a shriek – the horse plunging then bucking, the tiger still fast on its quarters.
Georgiana fell hard, the horse tumbling after her, pinning her leg.
Annie’s reared and threw her.
St Alban leapt to Georgiana’s side.
Hervey levelled his pistol, but—
Crack!
Garratt’s rifle fired first, taking the beast in the shoulder. It fell thrashing with bloodied claws, then grunted and lay still.
Hervey put a ball between its eyes to make sure, and slid from the saddle as calmly as he could to head for Georgiana.
‘Stand fast! There’s another!’ shouted Garratt, on his feet and making into the lemon grass.
Fairbrother went after him.
Annie had scrambled to Georgiana’s side almost as fast as St Alban. Only Acton and Johnson stayed mounted, the one to cover his colonel, the other to gather loose reins.
St Alban managed to get the stricken mare to her feet. Hervey and Annie got Georgiana to hers. There were no bones broken – none apparent at least – and though winded she was composed enough to brush the dust from her skirt.
The mare stood stock still, her quarters badly torn. He’d seen worse in the Peninsula, but Hervey contemplated putting a bullet in her brain nevertheless … ‘Annie, get back into the saddle. Georgiana, you’ll ride with me. Corp’l Johnson, take her in hand,’ he said briskly, giving him the mare’s reins.
But Annie couldn’t settle her mount to get a foot in the stirrup. Hervey grabbed her by the waist and lifted her roughly, but then recollected himself enough for a smile of sorts – reassurance.
Acton remained restless until Hervey was back in the saddle, only then letting his sabre drop into the shoulder, at ease, as if sighing with relief.
Garratt and Fairbrother reappeared. ‘Gone away,’ said the major.
Hervey nodded. It wasn’t the time to enquire – nor to congratulate or thank. ‘We’d better have the villagers retrieve your trophy.’
V
The Penalty of Death
Next morning
Burra hazree: the governor breakfasted heartily only occasionally these days, mindful of his constitution. Chota hazree, ‘little breakfast’ – a dish of tea and a sweet biscuit or the like – was all his physician recommended as a rule. This morning however he had business to transact, and it was as well to do it with the aid of the table. They began with furmity made with almond milk, which Somervile confessed to liking immoderately, and then the khitmagars brought a silver tureen the size of a bucket.
‘I imagine you’ll have had kichree since your landing here, Captain Fairbrother, though in the hot weather it’s not eaten so very much. I venture to say, though, that you’ll not have eaten so good as this. Every establishment in Madras has its own receipt, but here my cook excels. Such a way with fish and the smoke box; and the rice – not a grain that sticks to another; and a spiced sauce he makes at midnight when no one is abroad to observe. Servez-vous, servez-vous!’
Fairbrother helped himself liberally. He’d returned late after the evening’s exertions, lain down and fallen into a deep sleep, waking only with the dawn and his bearer bringing tea. He’d eaten nothing since the middle of the day before, and the kichree – all saffron yellow rice, pink fish and golden-yolk eggs – was a picture.
Hot bread in silver bowls, piping hot coffee from silver pots, and then chilled porter from bottles wrapped in white linen – the khitmagars were practised at their art, bowing as one to be dismissed. Somervile could hardly wait for his guest to pass the spoons to him.
‘And so, tell me, Captain Fairbrother – I’m excessively intrigued: your good friend and mine was for once at a disadvantage in battle? What do you suppose would have happened had it not been for the presence of the good major – La Longue Carabine?’
Fairbrother sighed. ‘Mr St Alban would likely as not be dead, Colonel Hervey and his coverman much hurt, but the tiger killed nevertheless.’
‘Quite probably so.’
The truth was, as well they knew, Hervey had several times before been at a disadvantage (how might it be otherwise in a lifetime of making war?) but always there’d been a man to cover him.
Fairbrother smiled. ‘La Longue Carabine indeed; Major Garratt was already called “Hawkeye”.’
Somervile tapped the table approvingly. ‘I’m very glad you’re come, Fairbrother.’
‘To breakfast?’
‘To India. Our friend is in fine spirits – and he has a major at last worth the name; but – and I’ve known him these twenty years, almost – he is never better than with you at hand.’
‘I am glad to be here. But how long is not for me to say. Hervey thinks the Company will dispense with his services – and the rest of the reinforcement – very soon.’
‘My days are spent trying to persuade Fort William otherwise, though until late I’d thought Hervey’d be recalled on promotion. Now that Melbourne’s prime minister, however, I fear the call won’t come – not, at least, for some time. That pleases me as governor, of course, but not as a friend.’
It was only the day before that Fairbrother had learned that Earl Grey was no longer prime minister, and he’d thought the news favourable to his friend.
‘How so? I understood that Lord Melbourne commended his action in Bristol, that the city would have fallen to the mob had not he taken command.’
‘That is true, on both counts, but Lord M is so very contrary – a Tory masquerading as a Whig no less. No sooner was the danger to the King’s Peace gone but he began loathing the means of quietening that danger. Hervey ought by rights to be general now. The French do these things much better.’
Fairbrother smiled. ‘And yet we beat the French always.’
‘I grant you that, yes, but perhaps if we arranged things better we might do so more expeditiously, more economically? Be what may, we are most fortunate here to have his services. His subduing of Coorg – its rajah – was most brilliantly done, and at very little cost.’
‘I’ve heard the same from everyone, although he himself is still much affected by the death of his brigade major. He’s lost some good young men of late, and feels it keenly. And the business last evening … St Alban would for certain have succumbed without Garratt’s shot. War is one thing, Sir Eyre, but …’
‘Quite.’
‘And he troubles too over the court martial – of the dragoon, the one who struck an officer – the penalty of death withal.’
‘Ah yes, I know of it. I am apprised of all capital sentences in the presidency, for the simple fact that they’re ultimately mine to remit. But he hasn’t spoken to me of it. Why does it trouble him?’
‘I don’t know the particulars, but the man is not of fundamentally bad character, it would seem.’
Somervile, already helping himself to more kichree, though his plate was not yet empty, sighed and raised his eyebrows. ‘Cruel necessity.’
Fairbrother sighed too, resignedly. ‘No doubt.’
‘Or is the colonel become sentimental in his seniority? Perhaps if the regiment were to flog, the odd execution wouldn’t seem so harsh.’
Fairbrother smiled. ‘You deliberately try me, Sir Eyre.’
The Sixth had held flogging in abeyance for many years, even during the late wars with France. No one doubted its efficacy in maintaining good order and military discipline – not least the Duke of Wellington himself – but in a regiment of cavalry, its recruits brought with care and the whole under good regulation, its application ought rarely if ever to be strictly necessary. That had indeed been the tradition of the Sixth for as long as any had served, save for one unhappy instance when they’d a martinet for a colonel – a man from another regiment who’d bought command and exercised it as he would a stallion that he couldn’t master save with sharpened rowels and wire bit. Besides, he too, Fairbrother, had a deep contempt for flogging. It couldn’t be otherwise, he’d say, if anyone had seen the bac
ks of recalcitrant slaves (especially knowing that he himself might have been on the receiving end of the lash if his father had left him the wrong side of the blanket).
‘I shall await our friend’s application for remission, though I must say that any plea in mitigation would have to pass muster with his fellow commanding officers here to be successful. I couldn’t risk an outbreak of violent insubordination – in King’s regiments or Company’s alike. It’s tricky enough since Bentinck decided – quite without consulting – to abolish flogging in the black regiments.’
‘The governor-general? He has?’
‘Very decidedly. And now every sepoy thinks he must be superior to a man wearing the King’s coat. No good will come of it. Not, at least, in the Bengal army, “the martial races” as Fort William’s wont to call them – deuced hotheads for the most part. The Madrasee’s made of sounder stuff. But it won’t be easy. The Nairs especially can be refractory.’
Fairbrother nodded. He hadn’t heard of the Nairs – or indeed of many other tribes – but was content to let the question go. In truth, he’d admit, he was only too content that he himself was not called on to make decisions requiring great exercise of the mind. He was a man of some means – even more so now since the death of his father – and was content to wander through life taking his pleasure in whatever amused him. That he could, when roused, fight with unmatched skill, had first recommended him to Hervey – that and his ability to see things not as others, a particular instinct for the native man’s way of thinking, which must stem, so he (and Hervey) supposed, from his own quarterings. At the Cape he’d often known what the Xhosa and the Zulu were thinking, and in consequence what to do, even though the veld was a far cry from the forests of the Ashantee whence his mother’s people had been taken. The people of India were another matter again, however; another matter entirely. He might share their coffee complexion (those from the northern parts, at least – coffee and cream – not the Tamuls and those hereabout), but how and what they thought he didn’t suppose he’d any notion of.
The Tigress of Mysore Page 6