Dishonored

by Maria Barrett

  At last the colonel smiled.

  “A drink for the colonel and Mrs. Mills, bearer!” The host shouted above the chatter of the party, “Quickly!” He clapped his hands loudly. “Quickly, a drink!” The bearer came into sight, carrying a large silver tray, and Indrajit Rai fussed extravagantly over the refreshments. Alicia smiled at several of their acquaintances, nodding to the left and the right, and the colonel relaxed slightly. He took a long gulp of his whisky soda and glanced around him. The difficult moment was over, at least for the interim, and the party continued much to the relief of the agitated host.

  “But what I do not understand is why so many of our countrymen do not question the supremacy of the British. Pah! It would seem to me that we are all too afraid of putting the situation right.” Jagat Rai had his back to the rest of the party as he spoke to a small group of young men in the corner of his father’s large open drawing room. He knew nothing of the true situation in Meerut or of the tension in the military community and spoke simply off the top of his head; he enjoyed the thrill of indulging in dangerous talk. “It would seem to me—” he broke off as one of his friends jabbed him in the ribs. The colonel was within earshot and had glanced several times in their direction; his ear was constantly tuned to any talk of unrest. Jagat was undeterred. “It would seem to me,” he went on, but louder this time, his voice rising above the swell of small talk, “that where the British are concerned, we are frightened of speaking our minds, it would seem to me—” Jagat received a sharp prod with a bony elbow and turned toward his friend to protest. He saw then, quite clearly, that the colonel had stopped talking and was staring hard at him, a prominent vein in his temple distended and throbbing. The chatter around the room died away but he matched the colonel’s stare.

  “It would seem to you what exactly?” Colonel Mills demanded. He had no intention of restraining himself this time; the boy needed to be embarrassed, put in his place. He was aware of the room’s attention focused on their exchange and he waited for the boy to back down.

  “It would seem to me,” Jagat answered, “that the British superiority in India is a figment of their imagination.” He spoke with cool assurance, his face set and his gaze steady on Colonel Mills. A shocked murmur ran through the room. Jagat Rai, an intelligent, educated and angry young man, was not going to back down. “The British are no better than any other ruler in this country and perhaps they are even worse.” He saw the colonel’s face flush deep red but he went on. “Whatever they are, colonel, the people of India are not happy with them. The situation is not a comfortable one and I think that it is going to have to change.”

  “Well I… I…” For the first time in his life, Colonel Mills was lost for words and the whole party looked on with horror and dismay as he floundered. He had never, in all his military career, been spoken to with such insolence by an inferior, and never, never by a native! His face took on a peculiar bilious look as the blood pounded beneath the surface of the skin and such a sudden, overwhelming urge for violence overtook him that he had to grip the leather gloves he held in one hand to stop himself from lunging forward and taking the blighter by the throat.

  Jagat Rai simply smiled, nodded his head and then turned away, back to his friends, as if nothing untoward had happened. The only thing that perturbed him was the fact that he might have offended his father.

  “Alicia!” Colonel Mills finally announced to the still hushed room. “We are leaving. I will not stay here to be insulted!” He glared across the room and shouted for the bearer.

  “Oh my goodness! Colonel Mills Sahib!” Indrajit Rai rushed in from the verandah where he had been talking to more guests and bowed humbly low. He had heard the colonel’s remark and his mind was in turmoil. “Please, colonel, you must not be leaving so soon! My cook has prepared some European canapés, please, you must stay to taste of them!” He glanced up and smiled hopefully.

  “Alicia, are you ready?” Colonel Mills did not even acknowledge the man. He waited a few moments for the boy to bring Alicia’s wrap and then he held his arm for her and turned toward the door. “We are leaving,” he announced to the room, and, as Indrajit Rai stared desolately after them, the colonel and Mrs. Mills swept arrogantly out of the party.

  “Damned impudent darkie!” the colonel exploded as soon as the carriage moved off. “I’ve never heard such bloody rudeness in my entire life!” He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “Stuff and bloody nonsense too! If you ask me, that blasted boy…”

  “Reggie!” Alicia protested at the bad language and Colonel Mills grudgingly apologized. They sat in silence for several minutes. “I don’t know where the hell these fellahs think they’d be without the British!” He went on, too angry to let it drop. “I mean, really! They have no idea of the skill and organization it takes to—” He stopped short. Alicia had placed her hand at the top of his thigh, her long elegant fingers applying a little pressure before edging higher. There was only one way to calm her husband down and Alicia moved her hand expertly, her touch light and exciting. Besides, she thought, hearing his breathing slow and regulate, he always lasted much, much longer after a temper.

  Colonel Mills swallowed hard, finally losing his train of thought and relaxed back against the padded velvet of the seat. It was a long drive home and he was glad of that. Damn and blast the events of the day, he thought, not quite letting himself go, and damn and blast tomorrow as well, with that wretched bally ride up to Meerut; it was the last thing he needed! He eased his shoulders back as Alicia deftly stroked and let out a sigh. Had to be done though, he thought, before his mind drifted into pleasure, no doubt about that, not after tonight there wasn’t. He closed his eyes and the face of Jagat Rai flashed into view. “Ruddy Indians,” he murmured as a cool hand wrapped around his flesh. He blinked them open to check that the blinds were down, then settled back once more. Couldn’t trust them an inch, he mused, only moments before his whole body shivered and Alicia’s hands worked their magic.

  2

  Sunday, May 10, 1857

  COLONEL MILLS TOOK THE CROP PROFFERED TO HIM BY HIS SYCE and tapped it against his thigh impatiently. It was still dark and only a faint glimmer of day could be spotted on the horizon. Already the heat had begun. He was in a foul temper; they should have left some time ago, if they’d been able to find the servants.

  “You ready?” he shouted across at Captain Boyd.

  The captain nodded. He jarred his mount forward, regardless of the young horse boy under foot, and adjusted himself in the saddle. The massive dark stallion was jittery, it wanted to be off, and the small boy cowered against the stable wall as the horse shifted fretfully about.

  “Right! We’ll head up to the Lohagarh Fort and then out across the open plain toward Meerut. We can stop in a couple of hours for a break on the Sariska Pass, find one of the caves for shade.”

  “Fine.” Captain Boyd dug his heels in and the horse moved off. He glanced over his shoulder at the colonel, slowing to let him take the lead, and minutes later they had left the camp boundaries and were heading out into open countryside.

  However, at the same time that they set out, eighty miles to the north, the Meerut that Colonel Mills and Captain Boyd rode toward lay in chaos and devastation. Nanda’s rumors had become reality: the native troops had mutinied.

  Dense smoke from burning buildings rose up into the dark sky above the town, obscuring the very last of the moon, and as the new day broke, the terrible remains of frenzied and savage attacks on the Europeans could be seen as only dark, gruesome shapes in the faint dawn light. They had slaughtered everything in their path and while the command dithered, shocked and confused, the bloodthirsty band of rebel seepoys had ridden on over the Abu Nullah bridge and out on to the Delhi road. They were headed south, to march on Delhi and to murder the Europeans, screaming with violent anger and hatred.

  “Whoa! Steady, boy! Whoa!” Colonel Mills pulled hard on the reins and dug his thighs tight against his mount’s flank, gripping to
keep his balance. “Whoa!” He kept his seat, but only just, somehow managing to calm the horse. He was an expert equestrian but he struggled for several minutes to bring the animal back under his control. “Christ! Boyd!” He glanced back over his shoulder at the captain as the horse steadied. “Boyd? You all right?”

  His companion’s horse had also reared up in panic at the sudden terrifying screams that came out of nowhere, but Captain Boyd, less experienced, had taken a fall and lay on the hard, dry ground, moaning in agony. His mount had bolted and, as Colonel Mills dismounted, hurrying his own horse over to Boyd, the same blood-curdling yells sounded again.

  “Good God! What the hell…!” Colonel Mills bent down, glancing behind him as he did so. He could see a cloud of dust on the horizon and he knew they didn’t have much time. “Boyd? Boyd, can you move? We have to get out of sight, can you get up?”

  Boyd managed a nod.

  “Here man, take my arm.” The Colonel slipped his arm behind the captain and wrenched him to his feet. He groaned, his legs buckling, but the colonel held him up. Still clenching the reins, he dragged Captain Boyd over to the cover of some rocks where he slumped down, the rock supporting him, his face white with pain. “It’s my shoulder,” he moaned, “I think I’ve broken my shoulder.”

  “All right. Just stay there, man.” Colonel Mills secured the reins of his mount and then ran out on to the track to collect up Boyd’s cap. He swept his foot over their tracks and darted back to the cover of the rock. Standing close to his horse, he held her nose and waited. For the first time in his life he felt frightened. Not for himself and Boyd, he didn’t give a damn about his own life, but Nanda’s words came back to him and an image of the angry young man at the party swam before his eyes. It was for Alicia he was afraid. It was for Alicia that his heart pounded in his chest as the thunder of galloping hooves neared and hysterical Indian voices were carried screaming on the wind.

  It was over in seconds.

  The rabble of men, whose uniforms, torn and bloodstained, told him everything, had passed out of sight, a stray bullet clipping the edge of the rock where Boyd crouched and the colonel’s mount screeching in fear for a few terrifying moments. They had galloped by and the captain and Colonel Mills remained undiscovered.

  “What in God’s name…?”

  “Meerut!” Colonel Mills answered, standing and wiping the sweat out of his eyes. “They’ve come from Meerut.” Without wasting another moment, he led his horse out on to the track and stared into the distance. “I’ve got to get up there,” he said, “find out what’s happened!” He put his foot in the stirrup, ready to mount, then glanced back at Boyd. “Will you be all right?”

  Captain Boyd nodded.

  “I’ll send someone back for you as soon as I reach there.” They were about ten miles south of Meerut. He mounted and pulled the reins in.

  “D’you think they’ll come back?”

  “No, I don’t think they will.” In truth he had no idea what they would do. In his experience the Indian was wholly unpredictable, save for one thing: vengeance. And the thought of that chilled him to the core.

  “Ayah!” Alicia Mills sat forward and put her breakfast tray down on the bed beside her. “Ayah! Where are you?” She called out again to her servant, this time more impatiently for fear of having to get up herself. “Ayah! Where are you?” Her voice rose. “Please come here!” she shouted. “The baby is crying!”

  Moments later, she sighed, exasperated, and swung her legs over the side of the bed, reluctant to get up. Just then the ayah came running into the room.

  “Where have you been?” Alicia demanded. “Did you not hear the baby crying?”

  “No, Memsahib!” The ayah’s voice trembled as she spoke. “I have been outside!” A small sob suddenly escaped her and she rushed to the crib. Alicia jumped off the bed and ran across to her. She gripped the ayah’s arm. “What is it? What’s happened?” For some reason she felt an instant panic. Things had been so odd that morning, no servants, a deathly quiet in the house. She shook the ayah who had bent to pick up the baby. “What? What is it? Tell me!”

  The ayah yanked her arm free and cradled the infant to her breast, trying to soothe him. She wiped her cheeks on the skin of her wrist, unable to stop her frightened crying. “We must go, Memsahib,” she stammered. “Please, we must go now, please to hurry…!” She was shaking and her anxiety made the baby scream even louder. Alicia grabbed the ayah’s shoulders, fear making her long fingers dig painfully into the flesh. “What has happened?” she cried. “Tell me…?”

  “Mrs. Mills! Mrs. Mills!” They were interrupted by an urgent banging on the door. “Mrs. Mills! Are you in there? It’s Major Reece!”

  “Yes…! Oh my God!” Alicia ran to the door, flinging it open. “What is it?” The panic was making her dizzy, she could hardly breathe. “What’s happened?” She looked frantically past the major into the sitting-room of the house. “Bearer!” she shouted. “Bearer? Where are…?”

  “The bearer has gone, m’am!” Major Reece cut her short. “So have most of the servants. There’s trouble here…” He was armed with his sword and a pistol. “We have to leave now!”

  Alicia glanced back at the ayah. She tried to take some deep breaths, to calm herself down.

  “Can you dress quickly? We don’t have much time…” In the distance they heard a scream, a wild, animal sound, and Alicia began to shake. “Yes, yes I can… Oh God…” She ran back into the room and began to pull open the drawers in her chest, grabbing at her clothes, throwing them into a heap on the floor. She couldn’t think, she was too frightened. Suddenly the sound of the rabble hit them; a terrifying murderous yell and the ayah let out a sob. It brought Alicia to her senses.

  Opening the tiny drawer, she grabbed the baby’s layette, flinging the tiny garments at the ayah. She ripped the silk shawl from around her shoulders and ran forward, throwing it across the baby to hide it. “Go,” she cried urgently, “take the baby and hide under the verandah… right down into the corner where the wine is kept!” She pushed the ayah toward the back door of her bedroom. “Go on! Go…!” Alicia had started to cry as the ayah clung weeping to her hand. She wrenched it free, not able to look at the baby. “Go, I tell you!” she shouted. “Go on…! Go!… Go now!” She turned away as Major Reece ran into the room. “Mrs. Mills! Hurry! Please hurry!” He was white and sweating, his pistol in one hand. “There’s no time! Please, come with me!” Alicia wiped her face on the sleeve of her silk night-dress, unable to stop her crying now and barefoot, she ran after the major out on to the verandah.

  “Oh my God…! No…!” She looked desperately about her at the sight of the camp on fire, thick black smoke rising up into the clear blue sky, the heat everywhere.

  “Here…! Mrs. Mills? Here…!” The major had secured a ladder against the wall. “We have to get up on to the roof… we…” He looked behind him as the first of the rabble came into view, soaked in blood and screaming, the steel of his blade flashing menacingly as it caught the light. He raised his arm, aimed his pistol and fired. The man went down.

  “Come on!” he yelled at Alicia, who stood almost paralyzed with fear. “For God’s sake…! Come on!” He would not go up the ladder without her. “Come on…!” But it was already too late. As she stumbled toward the ladder, her legs gave way and she lost control of her bladder. Helpless, she sank to her knees weeping as a group of seepoys galloped into the grounds of the bungalow, slashing violently at the two officers holding the entrance and mutilating their bodies in a matter of seconds.

  Major Reece never managed his second shot.

  Much, much later, when the bloody chaos the mutineers had wrought was discovered, there was very little recognizable left of either him or Alicia Mills.

  3

  IT WAS DARK BY THE TIME COLONEL MILLS SET OUT AGAIN FOR Moraphur. He had ten men and three officers of the Sixth Dragoon Guards with him; that was all the command at Meerut could spare. They rode long and hard, the colonel sick to th
e pit of his stomach at the sight of the devastation he had witnessed in Meerut, terrified for the peril of his own camp. He had been shocked and ashamed at the disorganized and futile response of the senior officers at Meerut. It seemed the command, despite the repeated warnings, were totally unprepared for what had just happened; they had no idea what to do.

  As each mile passed on the road to Moraphur, the colonel felt the raging ache of despair as images of the carnage flashed in and out of his mind. The hot, dusty landscape bore witness to the chaos, littered every now and then with the charred remains of a burnt-out carriage or the carcass of a slaughtered donkey, already foul-smelling and fly-infested in the stifling heat.

  Finally they reached Moraphur. Passing through a silent, closed town, as the boundary of the camp neared, the party slowed to a walk and continued on in grim, shocked silence. Moraphur had not escaped.

  The colonel dismounted; several of the men did the same. He gripped the reins of his horse and swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. As he bent to pick up a small bloodstained lady’s slipper, he saw the foot, severed at the ankle, was still in it. Behind him the wretched noise of one of the soldiers vomiting echoed in the silence and he closed his eyes.

  “Dear God,” he murmured. “Oh dear God…” Walking on, he kept his eyes ahead and passed the carnage all around him in a daze. He followed the main road of the camp up to the grounds of his own bungalow and for a moment his body froze. The bungalow stood, almost untouched it appeared. He dropped the reins of the horse and ran ahead. “Bearer!” he shouted. “Alicia! Alicia!” But as he ran, he caught his foot on something and stumbled, nearly losing his balance. He glanced down at the ground, back at his path and it was then that he saw it. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands. He made no sound. He recognized Alicia’s hand; it still wore the ring he had given her for her birthday.