Terror in the Sun

by Barbara Cartland

  They were of various ages and she saw as she looked at them that they were all boys and each one seemed a little more attractive than the last.

  She had a feeling, although she could not be sure, that they came from many different Castes.

  They were playing happily with one another, some with small sticks, others with stones.

  Then, as she stood watching them, she saw the boy she sought or rather, to be truthful, he saw her.

  He was standing a little detached from the rest as if he was shy and afraid to join them.

  Then his eyes, unusually serious, which seemed to fill his small face, lit up and he came towards her just as he had done before.

  Now he had no flower, but, when he reached her, he put his hand into the breast of the clothes he wore and drew out what with a leap of her heart she expected – the little ball of pink silk that she had given him!

  She crouched down so that her face was level with his.

  “You have your pink ball,” she said in Urdu. “I was looking for you.”

  He smiled at her and she thought that, although she spoke haltingly, he understood.

  “Where is your mother?” she asked him.

  For a moment he looked puzzled and then as she repeated the question an expression of pain came into his face and his eyes filled with tears.

  “Mother – dead,” he stammered and as he spoke he put his hand up to his neck.

  Brucena drew in her breath as she knew that she had found out what she wanted to know.

  She thought quickly whether there was anything more she could say or could give him and then some instinct warned her that it was dangerous.

  But she could not leave him and could not go away when he had recognised her and she felt in some way that he trusted her.

  Because she had nothing else, she took off the white silk tassel that was attached to her sunshade and put it into his hand.

  He looked at it with delight.

  “For you!” she said.

  “Mine?” he questioned as he had before.

  “Yes, yours.”

  He was obviously delighted, but he did not run and jump as he had done with the children she had first seen him with.

  Instead he just stood, holding the tassel against him, the pink ball also in his hand.

  It was then that Brucena saw a man coming through the trees opposite where the children were playing.

  He was tall and moustachioed and she knew from his turban and his white-sashed dhoti that he was one of the men she had seen with the small boy on the road.

  She rose and said deliberately in English,

  “Goodbye.”

  As if the boy was too intent on his new trophy to be interested, she moved away, aware only as she went that the man coming towards her was watching her,

  She had the uncomfortable feeling that, if she looked at him, she would see an expression of suspicion on his face.

  Chapter Five

  Brucena thought that the entertainment seemed to go on interminably.

  At any other time she knew that she would have been thrilled and delighted with the dancing of the women, the snake charmers and the strange musical instruments whose melody she was beginning to appreciate.

  But she found it hard to prevent her thoughts from returning again and again to the little boy, who she sensed was now in the possession of the Thugs.

  There was no doubt that the men she had seen him with on the road must have killed the whole party of travellers but, as she had learnt from her books, they had saved the child because he was attractive.

  For what reason she did not like to question too closely.

  The Maharajah who had received them was like a Prince in a Fairytale and only his face betrayed the fact that he was the villain rather than the hero.

  His clothes were embroidered with gold, his achkau was sewn with jewels and there were more jewels in his turban besides a great aigrette pinned to the gold tissue, while ropes of pear-shaped diamonds were looped about it like tinsel on a Christmas tree.

  Jewels flashed on his fingers and blazed on the gold on his sword belt while the hilt of his sword was encrusted with diamonds and topped by a single emerald the size of a rupee.

  There were ropes and ropes of magnificent pearls round his neck and Brucena thought wryly that Amelie had been quite right in thinking that her two little strings of pearls would not be noticed.

  Equally while the Maharajah was obviously prepared to be pleasant to Lord Rawthorne’s guests, she knew that there was something evil about him, just as she was sure that a great number of those present were prepared not only to tolerate the Thugs but perhaps even to encourage them.

  It took away all her joy in the barbarous splendour and beauty of the evening and wherever she looked she could see only the little boy’s face and the tears coming into his eyes when he had said,

  “Mother – dead.”

  It was with a sense of relief Brucena realised that Cousin William had indicated that his wife was tired and it was time for her to retire.

  “There is no need for you to go,” Lord Rawthorne said hastily as she rose.

  ‘“On the contrary,” Brucena replied coldly. “When Mrs. Sleeman leaves, I obviously must accompany her.”

  “Why?” he asked. “There are plenty of other people to chaperone you, if that is what you want.”

  She did not deign to answer him, but merely followed Amelie as she curtseyed to the Maharajah and then, escorted by her husband, moved towards the door.

  Everyone they passed put their palms together politely and bowed their heads but, while they seemed respectful, Brucena somehow felt that the expression in their eyes belied it and she was glad to be leaving the great chandeliered hall where the Maharajah had entertained them.

  Perhaps, she thought, it was as glittering as its owner’s jewels, but beneath it there was something dark and frightening and every instinct in her body shrank from it.

  There was a carriage outside to carry them back to the Guesthouse, but, only as they drove the short distance to it, did Brucena realise that Major Hadleigh was not with them.

  ‘I would suppose that he is enjoying the dancing girls,’ she thought scornfully and then told herself that in all justice he might have other reasons for staying.

  It suddenly struck her that she had seen very little of him that evening.

  He had been present at dinner, which had been a long-drawn-out feast, but she could not remember if afterwards he had sat beside them on the satin-covered chairs that were grouped round the inevitable gold throne that accommodated the Maharajah.

  At the time all she had been conscious of was Lord Rawthorne whispering compliments in her ears and making eyes at her with the brand of arrogance and impertinence that was peculiarly his own.

  ‘I dislike him more every time we meet,’ Brucena decided.

  She had known and been annoyed that Amelie had been watching his overtures with pleasure and she knew too that, whatever she might say, the Frenchwoman was convinced that in her own interests she should marry such an important man.

  They reached the Guesthouse and Amelie gave a little yawn.

  “It was a very spectacular evening, but I must admit to feeling rather tired.”

  “Not too tired, my darling?” her husband asked.

  “No, I am all right, but I shall be glad to be able to lie down.”

  “Will you forgive me if I go back for a little while to the party?” William Sleeman asked. “I know that otherwise we shall offend our host, who has certainly put himself out to amuse us.”

  “Don’t be too long, dearest,” Amelie urged him, “although I think I shall be asleep when you return.”

  “I will do my best not to wake you,” William Sleeman promised.

  He kissed his wife, said ‘goodnight’ to Brucena and disappeared out into the night to where the carriage was still waiting for him.

  Brucena looked after him, an expression of consternation on her face.

/>   She had meant to take this opportunity of telling him about the small boy, but now it was impossible.

  There had been no chance for her to do so on her previous return to the Guesthouse for it was already getting late and she had to hurry to be ready at the time the carriage was to carry them to The Palace.

  ‘I must tell him, I must!’ she thought, but there was nothing she could do now but go to her bedroom where her maids were waiting for her.

  They helped her out of her gown and then she brushed her hair absentmindedly, thinking of the child and feeling that, even if Cousin William knew about him, there would be nothing he could do.

  ‘It’s an intolerable position,’ she pondered.

  She was aware that in any other State, the British Resident would allow a child who had been kidnapped in such a way to be taken back to the Province where the crime had taken place.

  Yet she knew without asking that Mr. Cavendish would do absolutely nothing to help Cousin William and instead would actively obstruct him from carrying out what he believed to be his duty.

  ‘The whole situation is horrible,’ Brucena concluded.

  The maids left her and she climbed into bed, but she found it impossible to sleep.

  Then for the first time she felt that perhaps she had put herself in a dangerous position.

  All she had done was give the little boy a tassel from her sunshade, but she had asked him about his mother and she had a feeling that, if he was questioned, there would be no reason for him not to tell the truth about what the English lady had said to him.

  She had an uncomfortable feeling that the man whom she had seen advancing towards them would be well aware of who she was and where he had seen her before.

  ‘He will know that I will tell Cousin William,’ she decided, ‘and he will be afraid that his crime will be discovered.’

  Then she told herself that he would not take it so seriously. Even if William Sleeman knew about him and as long as he remained in Gwalior he was safe.

  She felt her mind going over and over everything that had happened until she felt almost like a squirrel in a cage turning round and round and yet not advancing at all.

  She had been lying there thinking for two or perhaps three hours, it might even have been longer, and now the shafts of moonlight were flooding in through the uncurtained windows turning everything in the room to silver.

  Looking at it from behind the mosquito net it seemed to Brucena strange and beautiful but at the same time sinister.

  The moonlight itself was revealing, yet the shadows were very dark and so much was hidden.

  Then suddenly there was a sound.

  It was not very distinct, yet it was different from the other noises of the night that she had heard during the past few hours.

  She could not explain why, but she knew that it was different from the other sounds, which had become part of her thoughts and yet had not impinged upon them.

  She suddenly felt herself shiver and it was almost as if the base of her skull prickled with a fear that she had never felt before in her whole life.

  She sat up in bed, listening, straining her ears and waiting for that sound again.

  She was not even certain if it was a movement or a footfall or just something she sensed and yet she could have sworn that it was caused by a human being.

  It flashed through her mind that one means by which the man who had brought the little boy to Gwalior could avoid recognition as a Thug would be to kill her.

  Even as she thought of it she told herself that she was being absurd.

  Thugs only killed travellers. But to save himself might he not resort to murder?

  She began to tremble and then little shivers of fear almost like streaks of lightning were running through her and she knew that she was desperately afraid as she had never been afraid before.

  She heard the sound again and now she was almost certain that it was a footfall, hardly more than the ghost of one, and yet undoubtedly made by a man who was moving towards her – threatening her – menacing her –

  For a moment it seemed as if it was impossible for her to move and that if she wished to run away her body would not obey the commands of her brain.

  Then cautiously, moving silently so that she would not be heard, she lifted the mosquito netting from the side of the bed farthest from the window and slipped out.

  She felt the softness of a rug beneath her bare feet and then, as she stood hesitating and still listening, the sound came again.

  Now with a terror that had no reason and a panic that she could not even think clearly in, she ran across the room, pulled open the door and stepped into the darkness of the passage outside.

  Vaguely she knew that she must go for help, but to whom or where she had no idea.

  Anywhere, so long as it was away from the horror of what frightened her, the murderer who, she was certain, intended to take her life.

  The passage was in complete darkness and, as she started to run, she crashed into someone large and massive and at the sheer horror of it a scream rose in her throat.

  She felt as if she had not run away from death but into it and now there was no hope and no chance of escape.

  Because she was so terrified, she could only tremble all over and wait to die.

  Then two arms went round her and she knew by instinct not thought that she was safe.

  She clung frantically to the man who was holding her, still trembling violently but at the same time knowing far away at the back of her mind that she was now safe from what she had feared.

  “What is it?” a voice asked in so low a whisper that she could barely hear it.

  Because she could not answer, her voice having died in her throat, she could only look up in the direction of where the voice had come from and, as she did so, a man’s lips took possession of hers and held her captive.

  For a moment she felt nothing, not even surprise, only a sudden sensation of relief that swept away her agonising fear.

  Then, as the man’s arms tightened, her lips were suddenly soft beneath the insistence of his and she felt the terror, which was still making her tremble, dissolve as if the sun was rising in the darkness of the sky.

  Something warm and wonderful and infinitely marvellous crept up her body, moving slowly and yet relentlessly through her breasts, up to reach her constricted throat and from there into her lips.

  It was so perfect, so unlike anything that she had ever felt or known before and so rapturous that she felt her whole being surrender to the glory of it.

  It was like touching the Life Force itself and becoming a part of it and she felt the wonder of it seeping through her veins.

  She felt that she ceased to be human and became Divine for only Gods could know such rapture.

  How long the kiss lasted Brucena had no idea, she knew only that the darkness and terror had gone and she was in a light that came from her heart and was part of the beauty of music, flowers and sunshine.

  She was safe as she had always wanted to be and there was no more fear.

  Ian Hadleigh raised his head and said in a voice that was hard to recognise,

  “My darling, my sweet! I have loved you for so long and have not dared to tell you so.”

  “I – love you, too,” Brucena whispered, her voice quivering, “but I had not – realised it was – love.”

  Even as she spoke, she knew that this was why she had disliked Lord Rawthorne, why she had hated his compliments and had found him repulsive.

  It was also why she had been angry at Ian Hadleigh’s disapproval and his habit of finding her in compromising circumstances and why she had missed him when he had not been there.

  It was now impossible to think, but only to feel and, without really meaning to, she moved even closer to him.

  Then he was kissing her again, kissing her with long, slow, passionate kisses that seemed to draw her very heart from her body and make it his.

  He kissed her until the whole world seemed to turn up
side down and glisten and glitter with a radiance like the chandeliers in the Maharajah’s Palace.

  Then at length, as if human nature broke under the strain of such ecstasy, Brucena hid her face against his neck and he said very quietly,

  “I love you, but you must tell me what has upset you.”

  It was then that Brucena realised that she had forgotten why she had run from her bedroom, why she had been terror-stricken and why she had sought safety only to find it in Ian Hadleigh’s arms.

  As it all came back to her, she felt the shafts of fear run through her again and she said hastily, her words tumbling over one another,

  “I have – something very – important to – tell you.”

  “I am ready to listen,” he replied, “but not here. It would be best to go back to your room.”

  He felt her start at his decision and he asked,

  “Is there something there that has upset you?”

  “Not – now that – you are with me,” she stuttered after a pause.

  With his arms round her he drew her down the passage and opened her door.

  Apprehensively Brucena looked round, half-fearing to see a figure near the window or a knife in the bed, but there was nothing.

  Nothing but the moonlight and the sheet crumpled and thrown back as she had left it.

  Ian Hadleigh closed the door behind them and then asked,

  “What has upset you, my precious?”

  As he spoke, Brucena gave a little gasp, for he was not in the evening dress of the Bengal Lancers as he had been when they had dined with the Maharajah, but dressed as a native with a turban on his head and a white dhoti that made him appear like every other Indian.

  He smiled at her astonishment and murmured,

  “You have made me forget everything except that I love you.”

  “You have – been out in – disguise?”

  “At this moment we are neither of us our ordinary selves.”

  His words made Brucena suddenly conscious of her own appearance and she was aware for the first time that she had nothing on but a thin lawn nightgown trimmed with lace.

  Instinctively she put up her hands as if to protect herself from his gaze and Ian Hadleigh suggested quietly,