Danger at Dahlkari

by Jennifer Wilde

  “Burke,” Dollie scolded as we entered, “you’ve monopolized Lauren long enough. I shan’t stand for any more of it! Now you run on, do. Lauren, dear, isn’t this something? I told you it would be smashing. Even Reggie’s impressed.”

  “You must all help yourselves,” the rajah said. “It is what you call the buffet meal, no? My cooks have prepared many delicacies to please you. Eat the food, drink the wine, be happy.”

  The rajah’s men had entered the tent along with the English party, and soon there was a crowd around the tables. As I waited to get a plate, the rajah stepped up beside me, lightly touching my elbow.

  “Your watchdog is very vigilant,” he said, “but I see that he is busy getting his food now. Here, let me serve you, Miss Gray. It will be my pleasure. A plate!” he said harshly, and one of the men quickly handed him one and stepped aside. “The food is lovely, no? You are hungry?”

  “Not—not particularly,” I said.

  “You are frightened of me? Because perhaps I make a blunder the last time we are together? We shall sit on the cushions and eat and have a conversation, and your friends will be all around us. Your young watchdog is looking at us already. He will fly at my throat if I touch you. You need not fear.”

  There was nothing I could do but let him fill a plate for me and lead me over to a pile of cushions. A servant followed with a plate of food for the rajah. I sat down on the cushions as primly as possible, and the rajah lowered himself beside me, half sitting, half reclining. He didn’t try to emulate the English tonight, but, instead, ate with his fingers while we used knives and forks. The tent was noisy with the clatter of dishes and conversations in two different languages. Sally and Sergeant Norman sat on a pile of silver cushions in one corner, deep in conversation. There was a radiant glow about her I had never seen before.

  “Your friend is happy,” the rajah remarked. “She is enjoying herself much tonight. The sergeant with the bronze hair and serious blue eyes—he is her special friend?”

  “They are very good friends,” I replied.

  “He is indeed fortunate. She is beautiful—not like you, not cool and elegant, but of the earth. Earthy? A man would give you a rose and quote poetry in the moonlight. He would seize your friend roughly and treat her with lusty abandon. She would enjoy it.”

  “She would more likely double up her fist and give him a bloody nose,” I said stiffly.

  “She does not bloody the sergeant’s nose. He is most familiar.”

  “I’m sure that is none of your concern, Your Highness.”

  The rajah smiled, not at all put off by my frank reply. He lolled back on the blue velvet cushions, supporting himself on one elbow, his long silver clad legs stretched out. His plate of food perched on a cushion. Gems flashed as he picked up a spicy chunk of meat and put it in his mouth. His smoldering dark eyes watched me as he chewed. I had rarely been so uncomfortable. He was like some magnificent, sensual animal, only the thinnest veneer of civilized manners covering the savagery that lurked just beneath the surface. He smelled of heavy musk, and his eyes seemed to undress me as his lips curled in what could only be called a lascivious smile.

  “You are angry,” he said in that husky, silken voice. “You do not like to talk of things of the flesh? You are frightened of them? That is because you are a virgin and have no knowledge of the pleasures the body is capable of giving. You are ripe to learn. The right teacher can open the doors to paradise.”

  I knew I couldn’t make a scene, but I knew I couldn’t sit there a moment longer. I smiled politely for the benefit of those around us. I set my plate down. My skirts rustled as I stood up and moved away from him, and it was at that very moment that we heard a great commotion outside. Conversation died abruptly. The musicians stopped playing. Through the open front of the tent we saw a frothing brown horse stumble across the carpets, several of the rajah’s servants trying to restrain it. The soldier riding it was deathly pale, his face streaked with dirt, his uniform covered with dust, one sleeve half torn off. He reined the horse sharply, and when it reared up he tumbled off, falling in a heap onto the thick carpets.

  Pandemonium prevailed. Everyone rushed out, talking excitedly. Reggie bellowed for quiet. Several of the rajah’s men had drawn their daggers. The soldier staggered to his feet and tried to salute as Reggie rushed over to him. I recognized him as Private Stanton, one of the men who had left with Michael. His cheek was bleeding from a small cut, his blue eyes looked glazed, and his short blond hair fell in an untidy fringe across his forehead. He stared at Reggie, his throat working as he tried to speak, but no words would come. He stumbled. Reggie caught him in his arms, holding him securely.

  “Disaster, sir. Dead—all of ’em. Murdered.”

  “What is it, Stanton? What’s happened?”

  “It was mealtime—in the camp. Everyone relaxed—at ease—there’d been no sign of the Thugs anywhere—”

  Stanton’s voice broke. He shook his head, and there were tears in his eyes. Dead silence prevailed in the rajah’s camp now, all eyes focused on the tormented young private who tried valiantly to control himself. Reggie released him, and Stanton stepped back.

  “The men were eating their food, talking, laughing. Lieutenant Stephens was in his tent. I—I had gone to see about the horses. They fell on us all at once. One minute there was the clatter of mess kits and the sound of talking and laughter and then the whole camp was swarming with them, all of them yelling and cracking those yellow scarves.”

  Stanton took a deep breath. He shoved the blond fringe from his forehead and looked around at all of us, and then he shuddered. Reggie squeezed his arm, willing the youth to continue.

  “We didn’t have a chance. There wasn’t time for a single man to seize his gun. There were too many of them—two or three falling upon each one of our men. They—it happened in minutes, our men thrashing and kicking and dying as those demons—” He cut himself short, and his light blue eyes were filled with anguish. “They didn’t see me over by the horses. I knew there was nothing I could do—I didn’t even have my gun with me. Then they saw me. They came running. I jumped on the nearest horse. They tried to pull me off. One of them grabbed my arm, almost tore my sleeve off. I kicked him in the face. Another one tried to jump up behind me. I knocked him away. I rode, and they ran after me—they were on foot, but they almost had me, too, a pack of ’em swarming around the horse.”

  “Easy, fellow,” Reggie said gently. “Just take it easy.”

  “Rutherford—Johnny Rutherford, my best mate, he—he was telling one of his funny stories. His eyes were full of laughter, and he was grinning like he always does when he’s got an audience hanging on his every word. He was standing there, telling his story, and then three of them were upon him and that scarf was tightening around his neck and his eyes were popping out and he was fighting for his life. I saw him die. I saw them all die. It couldn’t have taken more than three or four minutes—I wanted to help ’em. I wanted to do something, but there was nothing, nothing—”

  “We understand, lad.”

  “My only thought was riding for help. I knew you were camped out here. I heard the scout telling Lieutenant Stephens where you were. I thought—I had the crazy idea I could ride for help, but they were dead before I even got out of the camp with a dozen Thugs running after me.”

  “Here,” Dollie said.

  Without any of us noticing she had stepped back into the tent to fetch a goblet full of wine. She gave it to Stanton and watched as he drank it, and then she slipped her arm around his waist and led him toward the tent, all of us stepping aside to make way for them. She sat him down on a pile of cushions and perched beside him, slipping one arm around his shoulders and taking his hand.

  For a long moment no one spoke. The English wore expressions of horrified dismay, but the rajah’s face was an inscrutable mahogany mask. None of his men showed the least emotion.

  “We can’t leave tonight,” Reggie said in a carefully controlled voice, “but
we’ll have to start back as soon as there’s light in the morning.”

  “But of course,” the rajah replied.

  “There’s nothing we can do for those poor lads. We’ll return for the bodies later. The thing now is to get back to the garrison as quickly as possible.”

  “My men will be ready to depart at dawn.”

  “We’ll go back to our huts and pack. Those devils must know Stanton reached us. They wouldn’t dare risk another attack tonight, knowing we’ll be alert. All the same, I’ll post a guard. I suggest you do the same, Your Highness.”

  The rajah nodded. “Now I shall have my servants light the lanterns to carry back with you. Most grievous, a tragedy. All those fine young English soldiers murdered, including my friend Lieutenant Stephens. We shall avenge it, I promise.”

  I was in a daze. Michael was dead. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t accept it. I knew I couldn’t let myself think about it or I would lose complete control. Sally was holding my hand, looking at me with dark, concerned eyes, and I remember telling her that I was all right. Then we were moving along that narrow pathway through the jungle again, and the lanterns flickered like giant yellow fireflies, making the leafy walls seem all the darker and more ominous. No one spoke. Our footsteps crunched on the rough ground. Twigs snapped. Some animal in a nearby thicket cried out. I gave a start, stumbling. Corporal Burke held my arm in a brutal grip, his face a stern mask. We were in the middle of the group this time, Sally and Sergeant Norman directly behind us, the other two enlisted men in front, supporting the still badly shaken Stanton between them. I don’t know how long it took us to reach the clearing, but it seemed an eternity.

  We stood in front of the huts, still silent, all of us watching Reggie, waiting for instructions. He was superbly calm now, and when he spoke his voice was crisp, full of authority.

  “You will go to your quarters and pack, get everything ready so we can leave immediately at first light. I suggest you change clothes tonight and sleep in what you’ll wear tomorrow. Sleep. God knows it won’t be easy, but tomorrow is going to be a rough day, and all of us are going to need our strength. I feel sure there’s no immediate danger, but, just the same, I’m going to keep two men on guard all night. We’ll take it in two-hour shifts. Norman, you and Burke will take the first shift. Bates and Herlihy will relieve you.”

  Sally and I returned to our hut. While she lighted all three of the lamps, I closed and locked the door, closed and fastened the flimsy woven grass shutters over the two windows that opened onto the small front veranda. I was calm. I knew I had to be. Later, when this was over, when we were out of danger, I would grieve, give way to the emotions welling up inside, but it was a luxury I couldn’t afford at the moment. I took off the blue silk dress and packed it away, changing into a blue- and tan-striped cotton frock. Lifting the mosquito netting aside, I sat down on the bed to fasten up my kid boots.

  Sally was still in her petticoat, holding her sumptuous emerald gown in front of her with a resigned expression.

  “I have a feeling I’ll never wear it again,” she said.

  “That’s a foolish thing to say. You—you mustn’t think that way.”

  “It did the job,” she replied. “He asked me to marry him, just up and asked me as we were sitting on those cushions. I said no, of course, said I’d never consider marrying a military man. Then he grinned and told me he was leaving the army, being demobbed just six weeks from now. He’s saved enough to go into business for himself, and he owns a little house in Chelsea—his aunt left it to him. He wants to be a printer, can you imagine that?”

  “I’m sure he’ll do very well for himself. What did you say then?”

  “I told him I’d think about it. Naturally I’ll say yes eventually, but it’ll be lovely having him persuade me. This—this was the loveliest evening of my life, and then.…”

  “Let’s not discuss it, Sally. We—we must pack.”

  “I’m worried. I may as well confess it. They—they’re just supposed to attack unwary caravans, and then they massacre a whole group of English soldiers. Reggie says there’s no danger, but—he just says that. I could tell he was just trying not to alarm us.”

  “Maybe so, but—we’ve got to be strong, Sally.”

  “You’re right, of course. At least this time we’re surrounded by men. We came through before. We’ll come through again. Personally, I intend to be bright and brave and put on a good front for the men tomorrow. They’re going to need all the encouragement they can get—”

  Sally changed into her old dusty-rose frock and put on a pair of brown kid boots. We finished our packing and made everything ready, and then we blew out the lamps and stretched out on our beds. Sally said she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink, not a wink, but both of us were exhausted and a short time later I could tell from her breathing that she had indeed fallen fast asleep. Moonlight seeped in through the cracks under the shutters, tracing silver patterns on the floor, and the walls were thick with shadows. The camp was still, silent. I could hear jungle noises. All the creaking, rustling, slithery sounds seemed to take on ominous, threatening new meanings as my imagination peopled the jungle with stealthy figures all in white.

  You must stop this, I scolded myself. You must go to sleep.

  I tried not to think of Michael. It did no good. I could see that handsome face, the wide, mobile mouth, the solemn blue eyes, the errant lock of dark blond hair that always seemed to be spilling over his brow. I remembered his touch, his smell, and I remembered the gravity in his voice when he spoke of his love for me. He would never ask that question now. I fought the emotions sweeping over me, knowing that if I gave in to them I would never be able to face the ordeal ahead. Michael was gone. The passionate promise of that last, tumultuous kiss would never be fulfilled. If only I had given him the sign he had so eagerly awaited. If only I hadn’t held him off … How I wished now that he could have left for his expedition confident of my love.

  Try though I might, I was unable to sleep. Resting on top of the covers fully clothed, I turned this way and that, trying to make my mind a blank, but it was futile. I thought about all that had happened since Sally and I had left Bath. I was no longer the same person. That stiff, stubborn, inexperienced young girl seemed a stranger to me now.

  I heard low voices outside as the guard was changed, then the sound of Burke and Sergeant Norman returning to their hut next to ours. Norman was indeed a fine specimen. He would make a superb, if somewhat strict husband, exactly the sort Sally needed. I had no doubt they would be extremely happy together, two strong, vital, red-blooded people who were very much in love. I was pleased for them both.

  Time passed. Still I was unable to sleep. Now that my eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, I could see everything inside the hut clearly, the misty moonlight turning the rough wooden floor the color of old pewter, spread with long black shadows from the furniture. Sally moaned softly and stirred in her sleep, throwing out one arm. The transparent tent of mosquito net billowed. A stream of moonlight reached the wooden table between our beds, washing it with silver. The pistol rested on top of the table, cleaned, oiled, fully loaded, ready to use. If the occasion arose, would I be able to use it? Could I actually shoot someone with it? Would I be able to take a human life?

  Drowsy now, praying for sleep, I thought about Robert Gordon. I wondered where he was, what he was doing. He was probably somewhere in the area, probably wearing his native disguise.… I saw him in the flowing tan and white burnoose, the hood pulled up over his head, looking like some fierce Arab sheikh, and he had hold of my wrist and was dragging me across the sand toward a billowing tent. We were inside, and he was holding me in a tight grip and I struggled, beating at his chest, and he told me it would do me no good, that it was inevitable, and then he wrapped his arms around me and it was raining and we were in the gazebo and he was wearing the gypsy outfit and I wanted never, never to leave those arms because I was truly alive only when I was with him and he was my
fate, my destiny.…

  I awoke with a start, galvanized into a state of total alertness in a matter of seconds, not the least vestige of drowsiness remaining. There had been some noise.… I sat up, my blood cold, and I was startled to see Sally sitting on the side of her bed, the mosquito net thrown back. The room was flooded with moonlight. It was almost as bright as day.

  “I—I was dreaming,” I said. “Something woke me—”

  “I thought I heard a—a funny noise,” Sally whispered.

  My heart seemed to have stopped beating, and that icy coldness inside was chilling. I heard a soft, barely audible thud on the veranda as though someone had swung lightly over the railing. Sally gave a little gasp, her cheeks pale. I stood up, seizing the gun. Sally stood behind me, and I could feel her body tremble. We listened, and there was no more noise. I was beginning to think I had imagined it when the shutters covering one of the windows began to rattle.

  “Miss Lauren—” Sally said hoarsely.

  And then the shutters flew back and the man leaped up on the sill. He was dressed all in white, and he held a yellow rumal stretched tautly between his hands.

  Eleven

  He crouched there on the windowsill, ready to spring into the room, and he was like something from a nightmare, his dark face stamped with hatred, the eyes burning, the lips spread back, teeth bared. He stared at us for perhaps three seconds, and then he popped the yellow rumal and coiled his body for the leap. I swung the pistol up from my side and aimed and pulled the trigger. The hut seemed to rock with the blast. I saw a bright red blossom explode in the direct center of his forehead in the brief instant before he toppled over onto the veranda. It had happened in less than a minute, in a matter of seconds.