“You—you had your own men murdered,” I whispered.
“I had to, Lauren.”
“You sent them to kill us. Yesterday morning they—”
“Not you,” he said. “I never intended for you to be killed. They were to abduct you and your friend Sally, bring you safely back to camp. That was why the tiger hunt was set up to begin with, so that you could be abducted. The rajah wanted you. He planned to keep you hidden away in the palace, forcing you to become one of his concubines. I had other plans for you, but I didn’t tell him.”
Michael got up and stepped over to the front of the tent, lifting the flap to peer out. The camp was noisy, and I could tell that there must be at least a hundred men. Michael let the flap drop and turned back around, looking at me with a solemn expression.
“You and the girl were to be abducted from your hut, the others to be killed quickly, with silent efficiency. Unfortunately, you were awake, alert. You shot the man climbing in through the window, and that caused the rest of your party to come out firing. From then on it was sheer disaster.”
“How—how could you know what happened? All the Thugs were killed.”
“Ahmed was with them. He was standing in the jungle, watching the man climb into your window. He saw you shoot him, saw you rush out with a pistol in your hand. While the others were swarming over your camp he hurried back to report. That’s why he was so vicious back there—he blames you for the deaths of all his comrades. He’s been begging me to let him kill you. Ahmed’s a hot-blooded youth, impulsive, too.”
“He—he followed me in the bazaar one afternoon, spying.”
Michael grinned. “The young fool actually thought he might have an opportunity to abduct you then, take you to the rajah and get in his good graces. He thought maybe he could lure you behind the stalls and knock you unconscious, somehow or other smuggle you to the palace. It was a foolish idea, but as I said he’s hot-blooded, not always bright. The plan might actually have worked if that corporal hadn’t been with you. As it turned out, the young idiot almost got himself caught.”
“Those men who crowded around Burke—”
“Our men, of course. If they hadn’t been on hand Ahmed would have been in quite a mess.” Michael shook his head, the grin still playing on his lips. “His throat was sore for a week. When your corporal puts a stranglehold on someone he intends to hold him. Serves the young rascal right. He’s a good lad, though, one of the best. That’s why I’ve promised him a reward. I intend to let him have the girl—Sally.”
I sat up, gripping the side of the cot with my hands. I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. Michael still wore the high black boots, the clinging white trousers and scarlet jacket. The uniform was dusty and worn, but it was a British uniform. It was inconceivable that any Englishman could be so treacherous, could speak of such heinous deeds in a casual, chatty voice. It was almost beyond belief. He shoved a heavy blond wave from his forehead and sighed.
“You don’t understand, do you?”
“How could I? You—you’re British.”
Michael shook his head, smiling a curious smile. “No, Lauren. My father was Indian. He went to England to attend Oxford. He met a woman there, an engaging blonde who worked in a pub, serving ale to rowdy students. She became his mistress, and ultimately she gave birth to me.”
“The rajah. You’re his—”
“His son,” Michael said. “I know it seems incredible. Through some peculiar twist of nature I inherited none of his features, none of his coloring. I took after my mother, and no one ever suspected I wasn’t one hundred percent English. It’s not all that unusual, actually. I understand there are any number of Negro bastards in Africa who can pass for white. In America, too. Some times it happens that way.”
“I—I can’t believe it.”
“It’s true, I assure you. When I was in my teens my father decided to send for me. When I arrived in India he was startled to find a fair, blue-eyed lad with perfect English features. He had originally intended to find a place for me at the palace, but after he saw me he decided I could ultimately be of far greater use if I continued to pass as white.”
Michael paused, his mouth lifting at one corner in a half smile. “He sent me back to England. I received the finest education his money could provide. Eventually I graduated from Sandhurst and received my commission and shipped out for India. By that time Sleeman had already begun persecuting the Thugs, trying to eliminate them. Those that escaped his purge began to congregate in this area. I spent two years in Delhi, passing information about special caravans to my father, and finally I came to Dahlkari to be your guardian’s aide. I managed to persuade him to let me head most of the expeditions against the Thugs.”
“So—so you could cover up for them,” I said.
“Precisely. I did a rather good job of it. Then Gordon came along. He will die this afternoon along with all the rest of the English besides your friend Sally.”
“You plan to—to attack the camp?”
“That’s why Ahmed and I were in the jungle this morning—getting the exact location. My father is dead. I know all about that. The English are responsible. This afternoon all the men here will join together in mass attack. Robert Gordon will die—they all will. Perhaps that’ll serve as a warning to Sleeman.”
Michael gave a grim nod, his mouth tight, his blue eyes filled with savage hatred. He knew that a large detachment of English soldiers had left the garrison, and he had located them this morning, but he obviously had no idea that there had been two detachments, that at this very moment Gordon was leading a hundred and fifty men to the Thuggee camp. That knowledge gave me great strength. My jaw still ached, as did my arm, yet I managed to stand up, managed to retain a calm composure.
“And what about me?” I asked quietly.
“I’m going to take care of you for the rest of your life,” he said. “I love you, Lauren. I meant everything I said back at the garrison. I’m a very wealthy man now. My father saw to it that I received a five percent cut of everything throughout these past three years. The loot was converted into money, English money, and it’s waiting for me in Australia, in a bank in Sydney. Now that my father’s dead I have no desire to remain in India. As soon as I’ve avenged him we’ll go to Australia. We’ll start a new life there, together.”
He paused as a loud keening sound filled the air. It seemed to issue from a soul in torment, rising higher and higher. He frowned. “That’s the wife of one of the men killed yesterday morning,” he informed me. “She was staying here at the camp with us. We brought our dead back yesterday, her husband among them. She’s insisted on suttee, and there’s nothing we can do but oblige her. The pyre’s already been laid. It’ll be lighted in half an hour. The widow’s in the next tent, waiting to join her husband.”
The keening became a shrill, piercing shriek that shattered into a series of broken sobs. Eventually it subsided, replaced by occasional groans that were even more disturbing. Michael scowled, irritated by the interruption, and then he heaved a sigh, forcing himself to ignore those anguished groans.
“We’ll be married,” he continued. “You’ll have everything you could possibly desire.”
“You—you’re insane.”
“Don’t talk like that, Lauren.” His voice was hard. “You’re going to be my wife.”
“I’d rather die!”
He looked incredulous, as though he were unable to comprehend what I had said. I realized then that he was indeed demented. I knew that there were people who simply had no conception of right and wrong, totally amoral individuals who could commit the most heinous crimes without the slightest remorse. Michael was one of them. He had been part of a horrible conspiracy of mass murder for gain, yet he saw no reason why I should hesitate to fall into his arms. He planned to turn Sally over to Ahmed, planned to murder Dollie and Reggie and all the others, and he actually couldn’t see why that should make the least difference to me.
“You love m
e,” he said gruffly.
“No, Michael, I don’t. I never have.”
He stepped quickly over to me and seized my arms, gripping them tightly. I winced, trying to pull away. He shook me viciously.
“You’re lying!” he exclaimed.
“No—” I whispered.
“I don’t believe you! You’ve got to love me.”
“I—I’m in love with Robert Gordon.”
Michael stared at me, shocked, profoundly shocked, and then, slowly, his expression changed. The corners of his mouth tightened, his nostrils flared, his lids lowered until his eyes were narrow slits. I saw his father in him then, saw the rajah’s coarse savagery, surfacing now for the first time in his son. It had been there all along, of course. I had sensed a hard, ruthless quality from the first, but the mask had always been carefully maintained—until now. Hatred glowed in his eyes, hatred and brutal determination. He released me. He stepped back. A cruel smile twisted on his lips.
“Very well, Lauren,” he said quietly.
He stepped to the front of the tent. “Ahmed!” he called, and a moment later the Indian youth stepped inside. He glanced at me with loathing, then gave his full attention to Michael. They spoke quietly, their voices barely audible. Although I couldn’t make out any of the words I knew they were discussing me, making some sort of arrangements. Ahmed nodded twice, and then he turned to look at me, smiling a smile that caused my blood to run cold. His fingers stroking the hilt of his knife, he laughed, his dark eyes burning with anticipation, and then he stepped back outside.
Michael folded his arms over his chest and glanced at me with complete indifference. The intense hatred was gone now. I might have been some inanimate object beneath his notice.
“You said you’d rather die,” he remarked. “It’s just been arranged.”
“Ahmed—”
“Ahmed’s going to murder the widow. She should stop moaning any minute now. He’s going to strangle her, hide her body under the cushions—he’ll bury it in the jungle later.”
The moans had continued all the while, and now they stopped abruptly. There was a shrill, terrified shriek, then a horrible gurgling sound that seemed to go on forever. It ceased. There was a heavy thud and the sound of something being dragged.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why did you have him kill that poor—”
“You’re going to take her place.” His voice was a casual drawl. “The woman has always observed complete purdah, wearing an all-concealing white burka, only her eyes visible. Ahmed will return in a moment with the burka. It should fit you nicely. You’ll be gagged, naturally, and when the funeral pyre is lighted, you’ll be hurled into the flames.”
He looked bored, and I knew that as far as he was concerned I was dead already. His cool, indifferent manner was far more terrifying than outright menace. I hadn’t really been frightened before, for he was Michael, Michael, someone I knew, someone who couldn’t possibly wish to hurt me, and I realized now that this cool blond savage was someone I had never known at all. He sat down at the table, opened a drawer and took out some papers, ignoring me completely as he went through them. I had been stunned before, too stunned to feel any strong reaction, but now the impact of it all hit me full force. My whole body seemed to go limp, and it took great effort just to stand. There was a terrible hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach. My heart leaped wildly, pounding so loudly that I felt sure he must be able to hear it.
“You—you are insane,” I said hoarsely.
He didn’t bother to reply, didn’t even look up. The front tent flap lifted. Ahmed stepped inside, the voluminous burka draped over his right arm. Michael didn’t say a word. He merely nodded curtly in my direction and went back to his papers. Ahmed grinned and came toward me like a lithe young panther, his eyes glittering. He paused to drop the burka on the cot, and then he reached for me, wrapping strong, sinewy fingers around my arm. I struggled violently, kicking at his shin, clawing at his cheek with my free hand. His handsome young face turned into a mask of venomous fury. I saw him ball his hand into a fist, saw him swing back his arm, and as the pain exploded inside my head I hurtled back into the swirling blackness of oblivion.
The motion caused me to awaken, and I opened my eyes to see sad, dark faces all around. I was walking, stumbling, strong hands holding my arms and leading me across the camp. There was chanting, and I saw the huge pile of wood and the two men with lighted torches standing beside it. I tried to cry out, and I tasted the cloth tied across my mouth, brutally tight. The white robe enveloped me completely, with only a small slit in front to see through. Ahmed held my left arm, another man my right, and they forced me to move. I struggled. Ahmed wrenched my arm with sadistic glee, chuckling to himself. I fell to my knees. They pulled me back up, dragging me forward, nearer and nearer to that pile of wood.
Almost a hundred Thugs watched, their faces grim, respectful, for they thought I was the widow. They stepped aside as we passed. The chanting continued, a dreadful dirge, mournful, monotonous. I saw Michael standing several feet away from the pyre, his arms folded over his chest, his face expressionless. My terror was so great, so overwhelming that, finally, I was unable to feel anything at all. Trancelike, I moved, and Lauren was far, far removed, observing all this with total disbelief, for it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.
We stopped in front of the pyre, both men holding me tightly. Michael gave the signal, and the men with the torches tossed them onto the pyre. I saw the wood catch, crackle, the flames shooting up in a blaze of sizzling orange, devouring wood, turning brown to black. I could feel the heat as they rose higher, higher, and I could feel Ahmed’s muscles tense as he prepared to hurl me into that blazing inferno. I shook my head. I was screaming inside. The screams rose, growing louder and louder, and then they seemed to be all around me, filling the camp.
Ahmed whirled around to see what was happening, and then he let go of my arm and gave a loud shriek and fell to the ground, clutching his chest. Streams of scarlet flowed between his fingers. He arched his back, kicking his legs out, then he fell limp. The other man screamed and, still holding my arm, pitched forward into the flames. If strong arms hadn’t seized me, tearing me free, pulling me back, I would have gone into that crackling orange hell along with him. Gordon tore the robe off of me, untied the gag and flung it aside, and then he held me very tightly while all around figures leaped and yelled and darted, shouting, firing pistols, tumbling to the ground. I paid no attention. None of it was real. The only reality was this man, his strength, his arms crushing me to him as though he feared I might somehow get away.
Twelve
I watched the groom leading the chestnut back inside the stables, and then I turned to the young corporal who had been my escort this morning, thanking him for his courtesy. The corporal smiled a shy smile and nodded, then moved briskly across the cobblestoned yard. It was a dazzling, sun-spangled morning with a sky of silver blue, and we had had an exhilarating ride over the plains. I should have felt exuberant and glowing, but the sadness that had been hanging over me these past three weeks colored everything, made it impossible for me to savor youth and health, sunshine and fresh air, made it impossible for me to truly enjoy anything.
Five weeks had gone by since that dreadful day when I had been rescued by Robert Gordon. He had left for Delhi immediately afterwards, without a word, without making any attempt to see me, and three weeks ago I had finally realized that he had no intention of returning to Dahlkari. His job had been completed. He had done it brilliantly, succeeding where all others had failed. There was no reason for him to return. If I had been taken in, if I had believed his absurd, outrageous promises, that was my own fault. It had been sheer moonshine, all of it. Five weeks had gone by, and I had finally resigned myself, giving up all hope, yet the sadness lingered on, coloring my days in pensive hues.
At first I had expected him to come back right away. I had been filled with elation, hardly able to contain myself, and then, when he failed to retu
rn, I expected a letter of explanation. None had come. Not from Gordon. Corporal Burke had returned to Delhi, too, and he had written. It was merely a short, awkward note, clumsily phrased, but it had meant a great deal. He informed me that he had been promoted to the rank of sergeant, that his new duties were rather a bore. He said he hoped that I had recovered from my “unpleasant experiences” and wished me the best of luck, signing the note Sergeant Theodore (Ted) Burke. I had cried then, because I had been so fond of Burke, because he had been thoughtful enough to write me, because Gordon hadn’t.
Leaving the stables, I strolled slowly past the white-frame buildings, beneath the tall, leafy trees that threw dancing blue-gray shadows over the sun-washed walks. I could hear men marching in the distance, hear a sergeant calling the cadence. There was a strong breeze. The skirt of my tanand bronze-striped dress billowed, petticoats fluttering, and my chestnut locks were tossed about. As I passed one of the small, rather shabby bungalows where the married enlisted men lived with their families, a handsome and robust young sergeant stepped out onto the porch. Seeing me, he stood back near the front door, in the shadows, waiting for me to pass. I moved on, pretending not to see him. It was the Simpson bungalow. Sergeant Major Simpson was obviously on duty this morning. His wife and her new lover had clearly been taking advantage of his absence.
Poor Valerie. I wondered what would happen to her when that rich, exotic beauty began to fade, when that voluptuous body was no longer so enticing to men. She would probably turn to drink, or perhaps even drugs. She was a pathetic figure, actually, desperately searching for a fulfillment she would never find. I knew now why Gordon had been seeing her. The first time he had encountered her she had been wearing a lovely amethyst bracelet that he had recognized as a piece of property stolen by the Thugs. He knew that Sergeant Major Simpson spent a great deal of time in the village, consuming liquor in one of the native establishments, and he strongly suspected that Simpson was the man he was after. He had courted Valerie, pumping her for information about her husband, assuming he had given her the bracelet. He had built up quite a case against the sergeant major, and it was not until it was all over that he learned that the bracelet had been a gift from Michael.
Danger at Dahlkari Page 24