Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  The Maharanee spoke to Rundhia, in his own language, vehemently, for about a minute. She was at no loss for words. She let him have it with the governed directed anger that cuts like a whip. Then, in English, for Lynn’s benefit:

  “Don’t play for sympathy! That is no more than one of your usual nose-bleeds! Let your doctor attend to it. Go!”

  Rundhia strode from the room. The Maharanee came and put her arm around Lynn:

  “Lynn, Lynn darling, I am too ashamed to tell you how I feel. Has he hurt you? Are you all right? I have told him I will neither pay his debts nor speak to him again until he has your full forgiveness.”

  “Oh, I forgive him. It was my fault. How did you happen to come on the scene?”

  “I wished to talk to you. A servant told me you were in the treasure room with Rundhia. I came to — But you say it was your fault?”

  “Yes. I dared him.”

  “You dared him? Lynn, I can’t believe it.”

  “Oh, well, I didn’t run. I could have. It’s the same thing.” She looked down at the blood on her dress. “I must go and change this.”

  “I am coming with you,” said the Maharanee. “Yes, to your room. Oh, Lynn, we love you so. What can I say to you? That wretch! That stupid, willful Rundhia!”

  “Shall we go?” Lynn answered. “I can make it, I think, if we go now. It’s hot and stuffy in here. I’m a bit faint. I’ll be all right if I lie down for a minute or two.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  NORWOOD could almost physically feel those diamonds in his tunic pocket. He should have asked Lynn not to mention them. He knew that. It was too late to turn back. And besides, she was having a row with her aunt and it wouldn’t be cricket to butt in. He wished he hadn’t seen Lynn kiss Rundhia. There were two things that Norwood ached to do that minute. One was to punch Rundhia. The other was to go to the temple and throw those diamonds at the high priest.

  But that was just the kind of thing that Norwood could be trusted not to do. He knew exactly what he should do. But the Maharajah and his court were waiting to give him official audience. He glanced at his watch. There remained only five minutes in which to reach the palace in time for the appointment, so he mounted his horse at the gate and rode up the long drive to the front door, where he arrived exactly on the minute. The sais wiped the dust from his boots and he strode up the palace steps, expecting to get away within fifteen minutes. But time, in India, is one of lethargy’s dimensions.

  He was kept waiting, in polite conversation with palace officials, while the Maharajah’s chamberlain considered, and discussed with his secretary, typewritten ceremonial schedules graded for every possible occasion. Half an hour passed before Norwood was ushered into the audience chamber to endure a formal presentation to the man with whom he had been closeted until midnight of the night before.

  As a captain, Norwood wasn’t entitled to be received from the throne, so the Maharajah sat on a gilded chair at one side of the room, with officials of only second-grade importance on smaller chairs to right and left. The chamberlain stood and read aloud from the instruction for the reception of British captains:

  “His Highness now enquires after the visitor’s health.... The visitor responds.... His Highness is pleased to welcome him.... His Highness begs him to be seated.... The visitor sits.... His Highness...”

  The Maharajah spoke in Persian, although he hardly understood it. Persian was the ceremonial language of the court. Norwood spoke English, although there was a star against his name in the Army list in proof that he spoke Persian well. The remarks were translated by the court interpreter. Finally, Norwood remarked that this was one of the proudest moments of his life. The Maharajah bowed acknowledgment and gave him leave to go. Norwood arose from a comfortless chair, bowed exactly the right number of inches, stepped backward three paces, and walked out — but not to the front door.

  He was met and importunately detained by the Maharajah’s minister of state and four other important members of the Council.

  Silently cursing his luck, he did his best to escape. But servile wretches in silken liveries flung open the door of an anteroom.

  “Look here, Diwan sahib, I’d be awfully glad to talk things over with you now, but I have urgent -business at the Residency.”

  “Oh, but Captain Norwood, we could phone the Residency.”

  “That wouldn’t help, I’m afraid. I’m not expected there. I need the Resident’s advice.”

  “Ah, but Captain Norwood, is not our need greater? Documents, arguments, some witnesses, are ready now! His Highness has postponed important business to be present. He is waiting in the Council room. This boundary dispute is so urgent and its implications so important, that we feel our importunity is justified. We beg you.”

  “Oh, well.”

  Norwood could almost feel those diamonds, burning him through the lining of his tunic pocket. Tension crept into his normally easy manner. The ministers detected it. Tension became mutual.

  “I hope you’ll bear in mind I’m in a hurry.”

  “Yes, but this needs very close attention, Norwood sahib. It is intricate — involved. It—”

  The door of the anteroom closed behind them. The door of the Council chamber opened. For the second time within fifteen minutes, Norwood bowed to the Maharajah.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two cars started from Rundhia’s palace door within two minutes of each other. Having brought Rundhia’s nose-bleed under control, the Bengali doctor drove away first, in the smaller car, for a professional call on Aunty Harding. If he had been going to his own execution, he might have looked equally comfortless. Perhaps he dreaded Aunty Harding’s temper, perhaps something else.

  Rundhia, a moment or two later, climbed into the new Rolls-Royce and laid his head back on the cushions, to prevent the nose-bleed from recurring. He was still bleeding slightly. He kept dabbing with a handkerchief.

  “The British Residency!”

  The Russian chauffeur drove like fury, but Rundhia made him slow down near the Residency gate. Though he affected to despise all ceremonial, Rundhia took cynical pleasure in making sure they should turn out the guard. He had phoned to say he was coming, so he was shown into the dim library, where the shades were drawn against the brazen sunlight, and the Resident didn’t keep him waiting more than a couple of minutes.

  “How are you, Rundhia. How is the new Rolls-Royce behaving?”

  Rundhia dabbed at his nose with the handkerchief. “The car is quite well, thank you. How are you?”

  They sat in armchairs eyeing each other in comfortless silence for nearly a minute. The Resident, who was feeling drowsy, tried to look firm, but fatherly and cordial. Rundhia was very good indeed at looking insolent without giving actual grounds for offense. He did his best, until the Resident decided to take hatred by the horns:

  “Of course, I’ve no inkling of the reason for this unexpected visit, Rundhia. However, I’m glad you came. There are no witnesses, and, of course, this is off the record. I am taking the opportunity to remind you, once more, privately, that our treaty with this otherwise independent State of Kadur gives to His Majesty’s Indian Government the right to veto the succession to the throne of any heir in whom His British Majesty’s advisers may lack sufficient confidence.”

  “I have always been civil to you. But you couldn’t like me, even if you tried, could you!” Rundhia retorted.

  “I take exception to that,” said the Resident. “I have my duty to consider, not my personal likes and dislikes. As a matter of actual fact, I could easily like you, if you would give me the opportunity. When you choose, you can be charming, and you are very intelligent. But on several occasions I have deplored your conduct and have had to speak to you about it. You have recently returned from Delhi. Rumors reached me. Without revealing confidences, I may say they were more than rumors. There are limits beyond which an heir to a throne should not trespass in quest of amusement — or for any other reason. I remind you that your cousin Jodh
a comes of age this week.”

  “Jodha is such a crock he couldn’t cut up if he tried,” said Rundhia. “One leg in the grave. The other’s rotten. Why drag him in? He’ll be dead soon.”

  “Failing acceptable heirs, the throne of Kadur can be escheated. I am warning you, Rundhia.”

  “Thanks! I have heard you. Now it’s my turn and I’ll warn you. It’s what I came for. Who is this Captain Norwood? I notice you didn’t present him at the palace. He came alone. Why? Are you keeping your hands off? Why does he carry diamonds in his tunic pocket? Why is he nervous when someone happens to see them? Is he one of your British gentlemen who never — never under any circumstances, never take a bribe? From a priest, for instance — to report, according to his honorable conscience, in the priests’ favor!”

  “You are talking dangerously.”

  “Yes. Whose danger? It would smell sweet, wouldn’t it! I was riding early this morning. I saw Norwood on his way to the river — overheard him say that priests were waiting for him near the river. And I happen to know he was down by the river after midnight last night. Now he carries diamonds in his tunic pocket.”

  “Have you seen them?”

  “No.”

  “Who did?”

  “I am well informed about it.”

  “Look here, Rundhia. You don’t expect me, do you, to credit an unsupported charge, based on hearsay, against an officer who has a perfectly clean record?”

  “Would you prefer that I take my information elsewhere?”

  “Who was your informant?”

  “I refuse to tell you.”

  The Resident rose from his chair: “I hope the drive home won’t affect you disagreeably!”

  Rundhia actually started for the door. As he drew abreast, the Resident said:

  “Hello, I notice your nose is bleeding. Have you been in an accident?”

  “Ask Norwood!”

  “You mean to tell me — ? Do you know where Norwood is now?”

  “At the palace, in conference, perhaps fishing for a larger bribe from someone else.”

  “Now, now, Rundhia! Who was your informant about those diamonds?”

  “I might tell you in strict confidence.”

  “I promise nothing. But I will believe nothing unless you tell me your informant’s name.”

  “Between you and me, it was Miss Lynn Harding.”

  “How should she know?”

  “She saw them. Norwood is in love with her.”

  “You know that?”

  “Any fool could guess it. I think Norwood casually let her see them to impress her. He is mad about her. Don’t quote me. It’s up to you now.”

  “Have you spoken to Norwood about it?” Instead of answering, Rundhia patted his nose with the handkerchief. “I am going home now to lie down,” he remarked. “My head aches. If you keep me out of this, I’ll keep you posted, but if you quote me, I’ll deny I said a word about it.”

  “Well, Rundhia, you have made a very serious accusation against an officer in good standing. I shall have to think what to do.”

  “I shall know what to do, if you do nothing,” Rundhia retorted. “Good-bye.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE Maharanee’s maid, who changed Lynn’s frock, was one of those who had been loaned to Aunty Harding, because she knew English. It was impossible not to believe that the Maharanee already knew more than the facts about Lynn’s break with her aunt. The maid left the bedroom. The Maharanee sat by the verandah window, staring past the edge of the sun-blind into the garden. There was hardly a sound except the purring of the two electric fans.

  Lynn lay on the silk-draped cot on the verandah. There was a table beside her, lemonade, flowers. She was feeling all right, but uncharacteristically cautious. Aunty seemed dozens of miles away — past history, and yet a menace more real and vivid than the grip of Rundhia’s hands that she could still feel on the skin of her wrists. She had a feeling she was not yet through with Aunty Harding.

  Meanwhile, she smoked a cigarette and watched the Maharanee, who seemed to Lynn to be considering, not what to say, but how to say what was crowding her thought.

  “Maharanee dear, I wish you wouldn’t feel so upset.”

  “How you must despise us.”

  “Please! I don’t. To go away leaving you thinking anything as untrue as that would be dreadful. I am not even angry with Rundhia.”

  “I am more than angry with him,” said the Maharanee. “I am ashamed. Lynn, is it true — it has been told to me — that Mrs. Harding saw Rundhia kiss you in the garden?”

  “Yes. That, too, was my fault. I could have prevented it. I knew Aunty was looking. I did it to annoy her.”

  “Not because you like Rundhia?”

  “Oh, I like him. He is the handsomest thing I have ever seen, and amusing. I was playing with fire, I knew that. I knew I had started something. So I went with him to the treasure room to have it out, and make it quite clear that he mustn’t try it again.”

  The Maharanee’s worried face relaxed into a wise smile: “My dear, you don’t know Rundhia if you think he won’t try it again! Unless — is it true. — it has been told to me — that Mrs. Harding has decided not to stay here any longer?”

  “First train, and first steamer for home,” Lynn answered. “Marching orders. At the moment, it hurts her to move and she can’t keep food down. But the doctor can probably fix that. And she’s brave. She has an iron will. She told me to pack my things.”

  “And will you do it?”

  “What in the world else can I do? I haven’t a sous marquis to my name. Aunty gives me pocket money — no more.”

  The Maharanee smiled: “Yes. Lack of money can make even Rundhia obey. But it is a limited power. It can be broken.”

  “So I think. But it remains to be seen,” Lynn answered.

  “You are of age? You don’t look it, but you are, are you not? If I invite you to remain in the palace as my guest, will you accept?”

  “How can I?”

  “It would give me very great pleasure to provide you with more than pocket money. I can easily invent a salaried position. You have been such a comfort, such a joy to me, that your companionship would more than justify a requisition on His Highness my husband’s exchequer. Is it true — it has been told to me — that Mrs. Harding threatened to — my informant did not clearly understand — I think the word was disinherit?”

  “Aunty has threatened that several times. Today I took her at her word,” Lynn answered. “She will pay my fare home. After that, I go on my own way — earn a living. It was final.”

  “Can you legally be left without money?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Why? Do you mind telling me?”

  “Why should I mind? It’s no secret. But I was so young when it happened that it’s mostly hearsay. People have told me that Aunty Harding persuaded my mother to divorce my father because of some woman who should have been simply kicked into the street. Mother wouldn’t accept alimony. She died practically penniless. Father died the following year, in an accident. Aunty took me to live with her when I was five years old. But she never adopted me. I don’t know why. I’m glad she didn’t.”

  “What became of your father’s money?”

  “I don’t know. I think the other woman got it. Anyhow, there was none.”

  “You say you will earn a living. How? What can you do?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “For such a beautiful girl as you are there is always marriage to look forward to. Is Mrs. Harding not afraid of what people may say if she should leave you penniless until you marry?”

  “She isn’t afraid of people. Other people are afraid of her. She will simply say I was impossible. But I won’t accept another cent from her. Maharanee dear, you can’t guess. Perhaps I’m as ungrateful and bad as she says. But I know what I have had to endure. No more humiliation from Aunty Harding! I am through.”

  “Then why go home with her, since you are
welcome here?”

  Lynn laughed. “Will you chain up Rundhia?”

  “It is that of which I wish to talk to you,” said the Maharanee. “Unless Rundhia’s offense so hurt your pride—”

  Lynn laughed again: “Maharanee dear, I have only just now discovered my pride. I’m going to hang on to it. Rundhia may look to his own pride. Never mind about locking him up, I’m not afraid of him.”

  “Strange though it may sound, you have no need to fear him,” said the Maharanee. “When people are afraid of him, he knows that and he takes advantage. That is inborn in Rundhia. He has the autocratic disposition of his ancestors and very keen intelligence, but not much self-restraint. He is not as cynical as he pretends. That is only a pose.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I know Rundhia. He is affectionate. Amoral, yes; but only to the point where his intelligence, his poetic nature and his sentiment discover one and the same objective. Then he becomes idealistic. He loves me, who am only his aunt and benefactress, not his mother or his passion of a moment. He would lie and steal, and swindle me for money for his gross extravagances. But he would never do to me what he would consider a real injury. He is utterly honest — he is heart-whole — when he tries to teach me to be modern. Given the right guidance, Rundhia can be one of the world’s truly great men. All he needs is guidance.”

  “That’s what I’ve been getting for seventeen years! Who’s to guide Rundhia?” Lynn asked. “Can’t you?”

  “No. He tries to guide me to be modern. Lynn, he needs you!”

  Lynn laughed again: “With a tennis racket? I misguided him this morning, badly. If I were Rundhia, I think I’d be so through with me that—”

  “Lynn, he loves you. Rundhia has never loved anyone as he loves you. Rundhia goes for what he wants. That is his great fault. But it shows a power of decision. Given guidance, it can be changed into a virtue.”

  “Maharanee dear, he’s merely having some emotions. Until I came, and amused him, he was almost bored out of his senses. I revived emotions that he thought he couldn’t get except in Europe. He no more loves me than I love him.”