Abounding Might

by Melissa McShane

  “You will play directly into his hands!” Fletcher shouted, slamming both hands palm-down on the table and standing. “Why can you not see this?”

  Daphne cast a quick glance around the table. Wright was not present. Ainsworth sat with his fork, laden with sausage, hovering over his plate. Phillips’ mouth hung open with astonishment, and his eyes went from Sir Rodney to Fletcher and back again, following their conversation like a tennis match. She was afraid to do anything so normal as fill her plate or even shut the door, for fear of tipping the balance between them.

  “What I see,” Sir Rodney said in a low, gravelly voice, “is someone who has forgotten where his duty lies. I am Resident here, and I will remain Resident long after you and your men are gone. I am the one who must live among these people, Captain Fletcher, and those who might rise up against us require a strong reminder of who the governing power in this vicinity is. This is a temporary measure until the regiment arrives, no more. They will understand that.”

  “You underestimate the level of bad feeling against us in Madhyapatnam,” Fletcher said, matching Sir Rodney’s low voice, though his sounded like water over stone rather than rough gravel. “If you ever bothered to step outside this Residence—”

  “Don’t you dare try to teach me my business, boy,” Sir Rodney roared. “You may have the Governor-General’s warrant, but that means nothing compared to what I do every day to maintain the Company’s presence here! You intend to swan about—”

  “I misspoke. I apologize,” Fletcher cut across Sir Rodney’s near-apoplectic explosion. “You are the authority here. But I have a mandate, as you say, from the Governor-General, and I am responsible to him first and foremost. The Governor-General has instructed me to prevent an uprising in Madhyapatnam. I cannot do this if you persist in ignoring my recommendations.”

  “Recommendations? You’ve all but told me how to wipe—” Sir Rodney glanced at Daphne and appeared to substitute words in his head. “You dare to give me orders, in my own Residence?”

  “Not orders. I merely point out the weakness in your strategy. I appreciate your concern for Company business, but surely you must see we both want the same thing—to keep Madhyapatnam from falling into civil unrest. If you close the bazaar, the people will see it as an imposition of European strength, and will act accordingly. Please, Sir Rodney, do not act hastily.”

  “This isn’t hasty decision-making. I’ve been considering this step for the last two days. Lady Daphne and Miss Hanley’s experience made me realize how easy it would be for an enemy force to conceal itself among the people within the bazaar.”

  “Oh, but Sir Rodney,” Daphne exclaimed, seeing an opening, “surely our experience shows how safe the bazaar is! We were not molested or even challenged, despite being well outside the places Europeans normally go. If this Amitabh truly had a secret army concealed there, would that not have been an ideal time for them to attack us, when we were at our most vulnerable?”

  “Your safety is in my keeping, Lady Daphne,” Sir Rodney said, his high color fading. “You should not go outside the Residence at all, while times are so uncertain.”

  “And we have not. But I have faith that Captain Fletcher and the others are close to apprehending our foe. They cannot be successful if everyone hates them because the bazaar is shut down.”

  Sir Rodney pursed his lips in thought. He glanced from Daphne to Fletcher, holding the latter’s gaze for a long, taut moment. “One more assault,” he said, “one more incident of violence against us, and the soldiers will shut the bazaar down. More than that, and I will institute martial law in Madhyapatnam. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly, Sir Rodney,” Fletcher said. He took a seat and said, “Good morning, Lady Daphne. I trust you slept well?”

  Daphne gaped at how swiftly his anger and frustration disappeared. “Very well,” she managed, and walked around the table to the sideboard to help herself to breakfast.

  She ate swiftly, afraid of another argument breaking out, but no one behaved as if anything untoward had ever happened. Bess appeared when Daphne was nearly finished, impeccably turned out in her most somber gown. She was even smiling, though Daphne noticed her smile did not quite reach her eyes. No one was so callous as to press her for details. Daphne thought the men seemed uncomfortable around Bess and her grief. So long as no one, and by no one she particularly meant the garrulous Sir Rodney, tried to jolly her along, they could be as uncomfortable as they liked.

  When Sir Rodney excused himself, the mood of the room brightened considerably. “I thought you might have us evicted,” Ainsworth said to Fletcher.

  “I should not have been drawn into the argument,” Fletcher said. “The problem is so obvious I could not believe Sir Rodney didn’t see it. At any rate, we are back where we started, gentlemen, ladies—we have an invisible enemy whom we cannot find, with an unseen army of which anyone we meet might be a member.”

  “You make it sound as if it is impossible,” Daphne said.

  “Not impossible, just very difficult. I have not yet given up hope.” He did not sound very certain.

  “Should we fear for another attack on the Residence?” Phillips asked. “I know Sir Rodney said he had increased the military presence here, but they might not be able to withstand a full-on riot.”

  “I believe not,” said Fletcher. “The purpose of last night’s attack was to make us panic and react punitively against the people of Madhyapatnam, increasing, as I told Sir Rodney, feelings of hatred toward Europeans. Amitabh wants the people to be his army—second army, at any rate. However, people can only be manipulated so far. Already I imagine there is resentment building toward Amitabh, that he has disrupted the city, and he has shown himself canny enough not to permit that to come to a head.”

  “So what are we to do?” Daphne asked.

  Fletcher directed an ironic look her way. Daphne scowled. “I know what you will say. Ought I to be grateful that you do not simply send Miss Hanley and me back to Calcutta?”

  “You will have enough to do later,” Fletcher said. “Once we have more information, I wish you to reconnoiter the locations where Amitabh may have gone to ground.”

  “Fletcher, you can’t send her into danger like that!” Ainsworth exclaimed. “Suppose they capture her?”

  “Lady Daphne has been trained to do exactly that,” Fletcher said, “and I have faith in her and her talent. We will inquire after Amitabh, gentlemen, discreetly and with great subtlety, and we will find him.”

  “And then what?” Bess asked.

  Fletcher looked as if he had forgotten she was there. “Then we will take him into custody and see him tried for his crimes. Without him as a figurehead for this movement, it will surely fall apart.”

  “I admit to feeling some sympathy for him,” Bess said. “Had he been born a year earlier, none of this would have happened.”

  “Sympathy, yes, but not enough to permit him to continue to disrupt the lives of ordinary people in pursuit of his lost heritage,” Fletcher said. “Ordinary people who have lived in amity with the Honourable Company for twenty years.” He laid down his knife and fork and stood. “Let us gather in the drawing room—the other drawing room, I believe—in half an hour, and we will decide on a course of exploration.”

  Daphne followed him out into the hall. “Is Lieutenant Wright ill?”

  “Lieutenant Wright is avoiding me,” Fletcher said. “At least, that is how I interpret his behavior since last night. It is probably for the best, as I have not forgiven him his failure, and I am certain he knows it.”

  “But it was a simple mistake. Anyone might have made it.”

  “A mistake that put you in danger. And suppose his shot had missed and hit you?” Fletcher looked like someone who had seen a glimpse of a future filled with horrors. “He will have to prove himself before I am willing to trust him again.”

  “I… understand. It is just that he did so much to defend the Residence, I am inclined to be generous with him. I was
not injured, after all.”

  Fletcher held the door of the drawing room, the quiet one she thought of as theirs, for her and followed her inside. At this hour, it was even dimmer and cooler than usual. Fletcher went around the room, opening shutters and letting the morning light inside. “You are far more forgiving than I.”

  “I once needed forgiveness when none was forthcoming, and therefore could not forgive myself. I deeply appreciate the effects when such a burden is lifted.” She took a seat and watched him pace before the row of windows. They looked out over an overgrown patch between the Residence and its outer wall. Trees and shrubberies grew in wild profusion, unchecked by Man’s taming hand. Daphne could imagine a tiger stalking there, concealed by the trees and the shadowy stripes cast by the early sun.

  “I will remember your words,” Fletcher said. He turned to look out on the garden, if one could call such a wildness “garden,” standing with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

  The door opened, admitting Bess, who took a seat next to Daphne. “It appears I missed all the fun last night,” she said. “Did our enemy really try to burn down the Residence?”

  “He did, and we learned more of him from someone I captured,” Daphne said, though remembering the man’s head half blown away made her pleasure at having contributed feel diminished.

  “Colonel Dalhousie’s Speaker tells you, Captain, that you are to exercise caution in your pursuit,” Bess went on. “The regiment will be here in a few days, and he prefers that you have their support if the man sends his forces against us.”

  “Please give the colonel my thanks, and assure him I will be cautious,” Fletcher said with an amused smile. “Though Jack knows me well enough that such an assurance will give him little relief.”

  “What assurance?” Ainsworth said, entering the room, followed by Phillips. He carried his hat in his hands and his coat was buttoned crookedly. “Is Wright not joining us?”

  “I believe he felt unwell after last night’s exertions,” Fletcher said smoothly. “I judged it better to let him rest.”

  Ainsworth shrugged. “That will reduce our effectiveness considerably, but it can’t be helped.”

  “Indeed,” Fletcher said. “Ainsworth, Phillips, you will canvas the bazaar and the north side of town. I will take the south. We will meet here at noon to share results.”

  “Are you entirely certain there is nothing I can do to aid you, Captain?” Daphne said.

  “Regretfully, no. Though if Wright’s… condition improves, you might tell him where we have gone and ask him to search the west side of Madhyapatnam.”

  “I will do so, Captain.” Daphne tried not to sound disappointed. Fletcher had certainly gone out of his way to give her employment, and the knowledge that it was essentially make-work no longer angered her.

  When the men had gone, Bess said, “Now you must tell me every detail of your evening, beginning with the gala. I need something to give my thoughts direction other than dwelling on poor John.”

  “I would have told you last night, but you slept so soundly I hated to wake you. It was past one o’clock, at any rate.”

  “I feel much rested. Sir Rodney insisted I take a little laudanum, and I did not like to refuse, he was so kind. It made me sleepy enough that I could lay down my burdens—it is such a relaxing feeling. Though I do not believe I need more of it.”

  “Oh! I wondered… anyway, the gala was pleasant, though… actually it was somewhat tedious, as I danced with no one exciting and was forced to endure Major Schofeld’s company for half an hour.”

  “How unfortunate that you had no partner more to your liking.” Bess’s eyes glinted with wicked amusement.

  “I thought you had agreed not to tease me again!”

  “I remember no such agreement. Besides, it was a small thing, and I only say it because I know you know it is true.”

  “Very well. At any rate—”

  “I beg your pardon, Daphne, I am being addressed.” Bess tilted her head back, and Daphne went silent. After only a few seconds, Bess said, “You are to return to Government House. Lady Loudoun has need of you.”

  Daphne sighed. “At this hour? I suppose she will have been up for hours already, but I do not know how she manages to dance until past midnight and still rise with her husband to ride before dawn.”

  “It is something to do, anyway,” Bess said, “and will keep you too busy to repine after what you may not have.”

  “I fear it will simply make me more impatient,” Daphne said. She stood and Bounded away.

  Lady Loudoun’s request was for Daphne to Bound her to the Governor-General’s country residence at Barrackpur, to ready the house for Lord Moira’s arrival later that day.

  “I admit I prefer it to Government House,” she confided to Daphne, “and the air is so much healthier than in Calcutta, don’t you agree?”

  Daphne, for whom the smells of Calcutta meant adventure, nevertheless concurred. “It is more cozy a dwelling,” she said, though the Barrackpur residence was still enormous by any standard. “Shall I bring your children here?”

  “No, they are suffering from a slight ague, and Dr. Horrocks insists on treating them at home. It will make this house so much quieter.” Lady Loudoun sighed. “I am sometimes overwhelmed by all of them at once.”

  Daphne could not think of anything to say to this that might not be construed as a criticism, so she merely smiled and nodded.

  She made a few more Bounds between Calcutta and Barrackpur, conveying the countess’s essential belongings, then Bounded back to the Residence and found the drawing room empty. Rather than Bound to her bedroom to see if Bess were there, she wandered into the hall and stood for a moment, contemplating her options. All the books were in the abandoned drawing room, which might or might not have been cleaned, and Daphne had no desire to return to the scene of such gory events. It was growing too warm to walk in the garden, and she could not go to the bazaar unaccompanied. She would likely be safe, but Fletcher would be furious, and she did not wish to upset him. That he was so concerned for her safety made a warm tingle spread through her chest.

  Someone pounded on the door—the rarely used front door, carved with fanciful Oriental creatures. Curious, Daphne stood where she was and watched one of the servants emerge from the dining room and open it. She could not see the person beyond, but whoever it was addressed the servant in urgent Hindoostani. The servant recoiled and looked around, rather frantically Daphne thought. His eye fell on her, and he left the door, coming toward her hastily and gabbling so fast Daphne did not at first realize he was speaking English. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Memsahib, come, is for you,” the man said. To her shock, he took hold of her hand and tugged her toward the door. “Is terrible, must see.”

  “For me?” Her first wild thought was that Gopika had returned with some dark pronouncement that would mean all their dooms. She hurried after the man and discovered the visitor was not Gopika, but a Hindoo man, tall and gaunt with his hair slicked back with grease. He started at her appearance and said something urgent to the servant, who shook his head and pointed at Daphne. The man glanced over his shoulder fearfully. He again spoke to the servant, less urgently, and the servant replied, pushing Daphne forward with a gentle insistence. “What is going on?” she demanded.

  “He has brought a body,” the servant said. “A sahib.”

  It was Daphne’s turn to recoil. “A body? Of a European?”

  The man had already turned away. Daphne looked past him to see an oblong bundle wrapped in old cloths drifting toward them, floating off a rickety cart that looked as if it might fall apart given the right provocation. So, the man was a Mover. Would have to be, since the Hindoo faith had strict guidelines for how dead bodies should be handled. Only a Scorcher would touch a body, and that only to perform the funerary rites and begin the cremation ritual.

  She watched the bundle drift closer. She ought to retreat inside, find Sir Rodney, but she felt
fixed to the spot by an inarticulate need to see this through to the end. The Mover set the body down on the flagstones just outside the door and stepped back.

  “Who… is it?” she whispered. It was a ridiculous question, and one the Mover could have no answer for even if he spoke her language.

  The servant had taken a few steps back, away from the body, and said something to the Mover. Without touching the body, the Mover lifted the cloths at one end of the bundle with his talent, unfolding them as if peeling the skin back from a banana. A tremendous stench wafted up from the thing, and Daphne gagged, covering her mouth to hold back the reflex. The face revealed had already begun to decompose in the brutal tropical heat, and Daphne had no way of knowing how long ago the man had died. But there was still enough flesh left that she recognized him immediately.

  It was Lieutenant Wright.

  In which Daphne makes a shocking discovery

  er shocked, horrified brain seized on this fact and let it whirl round in confusion. Lieutenant Wright? Had he been killed that morning? But surely this body had been dead longer than that. So how…?

  “We must arrange for his burial, or cremation, I do not know what is to be done,” she said faintly. If this was Wright, then who had helped her prevent the burning of the Residence the previous night? “You should bring him around to the back, we cannot have a corpse on the front doorstep.”

  She turned away without waiting to see if they would obey her somewhat incoherent instruction. Sir Rodney must be told, and then… but who had they… Her mind, reeling with confusion, kept returning to that one awful question.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Lieutenant Wright came pounding down them, his red coat unbuttoned and his hair awry. “Lady Daphne, forgive me, I overslept,” he said. “Where might I find Captain Fletcher?”

  She stared at him, mute. In the dimness of the hallway, he was a dark figure, his skin dusky. His blue eyes were the only bright thing about him, and they glinted at her like glass. Like glass. Memory struck like a sledgehammer. The bright-eyed Hindoo at the palace, his expression challenging her. The same man, spotted here and there in the bazaar, the crowds parting for him to pass until he disappeared from sight. Yet that man had looked nothing like Wright, and Wright, facing her now, looked nothing like that man, except for the glass-bright eyes in a dark face.