Danger at Dahlkari (17 page)

“You don't have to tell me all this, Michael.”

“But I do, you see, I want you to understand. Valerie Simpson is a case in point. You've heard about that. You couldn't have been in Dahlkari for three weeks without hearing about it. She's supposed to have taken an overdose of laudanum because I rejected her.” He frowned and kicked at a loose stone with the toe of his boot. “Valerie was bored with her husband, a complacent chap who couldn't care less what she does. She found me attractive, and she made a play for me—made several, actually. One thing led to another, and I began to see her.”

I remained silent. Michael's frown deepened.

“As Lieutenant Colonel McAllister's aide, I have to spend quite a lot of time at the rajah's palace—diplomatic work, a bloody bore. I'm generally there for a couple of hours every other afternoon. As I couldn't very well visit Valerie at night when her husband was underfoot, I saw her in the afternoons—during my free time. She was very clinging, very possessive, resented my going to the palace instead of coming to her bungalow. I found her a nuisance from the very first.”

“And so you broke off with her,” I said.

“Rather brutally, I'm afraid. I told her I wanted nothing more to do with her. I'm confessing all this because—well, my relationship with Valerie is typical of all my relationships with women. As I said, I've been rather indifferent, not caring much one way or the other. I'm not indifferent about you, Lauren. I care a great deal.”

“I—I see.”

“Do you? I'm making a wretched mess of it, but what I'm trying to say is—”

Before he could finish there was a loud shout, quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. I jumped to my feet. Michael stood there for a moment as though paralyzed, too startled to move, and then his face turned very grim and he jerked his pistol out of the holster and told me to follow him. He moved rapidly in the direction of the sounds, and I hurried along behind him, frightened, my heart palpitating.

“Halt, you devil!” Sergeant Norman shouted, and then there was another pistol shot. Michael seized my wrist and began to run, pulling me along with him. A couple of moments later we stumbled upon Sally and Sergeant Norman. She was pale and visibly shaken, and the sergeant's eyes were full of alarm. The pistol in his hand was still smoking.

“What happened, Norman?” Michael snapped. “What is it?”

“A native, sir. He was spying on us! A fierce-looking devil he was, too, crouching behind the rocks right over there at the edge of the trees. I don't know whether I hit him or not. There—there may be more, sir! I just saw that one, but there could be a whole pack of 'em.”

“We must leave at once,” Michael said crisply. “We must get the women back safely.”

“My sentiments exactly, sir. The gunshots may have frightened those bloody devils off momentarily, but they could come back en masse. I think it might be the Thugs, sir. I
said
we shouldn't risk coming way out here like this. I had a feeling something was going to—”

“That'll do, Sergeant! We have no time to waste on words!”

His cheeks were ashen, his blue eyes frighteningly sober. I could see him struggling to maintain his calm, and he did so magnificently. Pistol gripped tightly in his hand, he told Norman that we must make for the jungle at once, that we'd have a far better chance to elude them once we were in its shelter. Norman gave a curt nod in agreement, and the four of us moved quickly past ruined temples with erotic carvings, past walls with pornographic bas-reliefs. We climbed over piles of stones, circled around barriers, and in a matter of minutes Karbala and the sunlight were behind us and we were moving down those long green tunnels again, moving as fast as possible in that density of trees and vines, for all we knew a pack of murderous Thugs in hot pursuit.

Sergeant Norman knocked vines out of the way and dragged Sally along by the wrist, and she made no protest at his rough treatment, stumbling along with golden curls atumble, her face still pale. I kept right behind them, out of breath, panting, remembering the horror, expecting a band of fiendish assassins to fall upon us at any moment with yellow scarves in hand. Michael brought up the rear, constantly looking back for signs of pursuit, but the jungle was so dense and the light so dim that he couldn't have seen them unless they were directly behind. Our crashing footsteps and Sergeant Norman's frequent curses drowned out any sounds our pursuers might have made. Slapping against branches, ducking to avoid hanging vines, I ran, keeping my eyes straight ahead, seeing Sergeant Norman's broad back and Sally's bouncing curls and her flying dusty-rose skirt. She stumbled. He jerked her back up. He shoved a curtain of vines out of the way and yelled “Bloody hell!” as a low-hanging branch slapped the side of his face, but he didn't falter for an instant, kept right on plunging ahead.

My lungs seemed about to burst. My heart was pounding loudly as though about to explode. In my panic I thought I could hear shouts of “Kali! Kali!” and I could see those white turbans and those brutal faces and see the yellow rumals ready to be slung around our throats. I tripped over a root and fell to the ground. Michael lifted me up. He wrapped one arm around my waist and propelled me along, his pistol in his free hand. It seemed an eternity before we reached the great shelf of rock and earth. We moved down it quickly, stumbling, sliding, clinging to vines, and then we were in jungle again and moving downhill. Birds shrieked overhead, flying about in a frenzy of alarm, and a startled monkey screamed and leaped frenziedly from branch to branch.

Exhausted, ready to drop, we finally reached the stream. Sergeant Norman didn't bother looking around for stones to cross over on. Scooping Sally up into his arms, he dashed into the stream, boots making noisy splashes as he crossed. He tripped once and almost lost his balance. Sally let out a shriek as she swung perilously near the water, but the sergeant regained his balance and safely reached the other side. Following the sergeant's example, Michael gathered me up and started across in the same fashion. I clung to his shoulders, looking back at the line of jungle, still expecting a band of white-clad Thugs to burst into view. Michael sat me down beside Sally. Chest heaving, blond locks wildly disarrayed, he gave Norman a relieved look, and the sergeant sighed and shook his head.

“I think we've eluded them, sir.”

“I'm not certain they ever came after us. I didn't see anyone behind us, but that doesn't mean anything. They could have been there, but if they were they've given up.”

“It was a close call, sir. A very close call. I'm convinced a whole pack of 'em were lurking around those ruins, just waiting for their chance. If I hadn't spotted that devil when I did.…”

Sally put her arm around my waist. She was amazingly calm now, and I thought there was a satisfied look in her eyes. I had the curious impression that she knew something the rest of us didn't know, but it could have been my imagination. I was utterly shaken. My lungs felt raw, and my heart was still beating rapidly. Sally gave me a squeeze and reached over to push a lock of chestnut hair from my eyes. The men ignored us, watching the other side of the stream with pistols held ready. Silently, Sally comforted me, and I finally managed to compose myself.

“That's it, then,” Michael said. “There's no one following us.”

“Looks that way, sir, but we'll not want to tarry, regardless. We must think of the women.”

“Right. We'll head for the garrison immediately.”

The men helped us mount, and soon we were riding away from the clearing. I turned back to have a final look at the flamboyant tree ablaze with scarlet flowers, knowing I would always remember it when I thought of this day. A short time later we had left the jungle behind and were once again riding over vast, empty terrain. It was only mid-afternoon. The sky was a pale, cloudless blue, and the air was clear, the breeze invigorating, and it seemed the other had never happened at all, that I had imagined that desperate flight through the jungle, that slide down the rocky crevice, the terror that had so completely possessed me.

We rode slowly, all of us exhausted, too exhausted for any attempt at conversation. We arrived at the garrison shortly before five, a bedraggled lot, the object of many stares. Sally was impatient to be alone with me. I could tell that she did indeed have something to tell me and could hardly wait to do so. We left the horses at the stables, and the men walked with us to the McAllister house, neighbor women lifting back lace curtains to peer as we passed. Dusty, disheveled, we looked as though all four of us had been in a brawl. Heaven only knew what kind of interpretation the gossips would put on it.

“I shall make a full report to Lieutenant Colonel McAllister,” Michael said, “that goes without saying, but I think I should go inside with you and help explain things to Dollie. She'll be terribly alarmed.”

Sally gave me a sharp look, her meaning quite clear.

“I—I think not, Michael,” I told him. “I'm terribly tired, and Sally and I can handle Dollie. You really needn't come in.”

“You're sure you don't want me to?”

I nodded and smiled. Michael creased his brow and looked uncertain. We told the men good-bye and watched them walk away, and then Sally took my hand and led me up onto the front veranda, her lively brown eyes full of excitement.

“It was
him
, Miss Lauren. It was the native.”

At first I didn't comprehend. “The native?”

“Back there at the ruins. I got a good look at his face, and it's not a face you're likely to forget. It was
him
spying on us. There weren't any Thugs. There never were.”

“But—”

“I tried to tell Bill, but he got all excited and jerked his pistol out and started
shoot
ing. I—well, I was afraid the men would go after him and—and someone would get hurt, so I just kept my mouth shut, pretended I was terrified, too.”

“Then—”

“There was just one man, and it was him, and he
was
spying on us. I wonder why. Why would he be watching us like that? Miss Lauren, I wonder who he
is
.”

Seven

It was to be a very formal, very festive affair, and all the men wore full dress uniforms, the women their finest gowns. A caravan of carriages left Dahlkari early in the afternoon filled with stiff, resplendent officers and excited, chattering women, their full skirts ballooning in the seats. Ours was one of the last to leave, for Reggie had some paper work he wanted to clear away before he left, and Dollie explained that it wouldn't look good if we were to arrive too early. One paid obeisance to the rajah out of necessity, but one never appeared eager. There was a very fine line one had to draw with native royalty. One mustn't appear too cool, yet one mustn't seem too cordial either.

It was a lovely day, clear and sunny, the sky like a bolt of soft blue silk unfurled above. Dollie, Reggie and I rode in an open victoria with tan leather upholstery, the most splendid vehicle on post. I occupied the seat facing them, with plenty of room to spread my skirts out, while the driver perched on a high seat in front, urging the two chestnuts on at a brisk pace. As only officers and their women had been invited, and as it was Sergeant Norman's afternoon off, Sally had elected not to come with us, claiming she had better things to do than poke around an old palace and try to chat with a bejeweled heathen. She and Bill were to spend the afternoon at the bazaar in the village. As Reggie's representative at the palace and a favorite of the rajah, Michael had left shortly after noon to be on hand to help the rajah greet his first guests.

“Thank goodness the weather is fine,” Dollie remarked. “I was afraid it might rain.”

“I was hoping it would!” Reggie snorted.

Dollie made a face at him and opened her ruffled purple parasol. Her purple taffeta gown was adorned with black velvet bows, a rather overpowering garment that she nevertheless succeeded in dominating. Reggie was even more impressive than he had been on the night of the dance, boots shining, tight white trousers spotless, tailored scarlet jacket festooned with gold braid. One white gloved hand toyed with his monocle, the other held on to the side of the carriage as we bounced and jostled over the rough road. I wore a soft white silk gown with tiny blue flowers scattered over the bouffant skirt and adorning the low-cut bodice. The gown had come from Paris, and Dollie had declared it just the thing for the garden party.

“Michael has often mentioned the rajah,” I said. “I'm eager to meet him.”

“He adores entertaining his English friends,” Dollie told me. Reggie gave a little groan at the last two words. “Well, that's what he calls us,” she continued, “his English friends. I think it's rather sweet. He's really giving this party in your honor, you know, dear. He likes to meet all the new arrivals at the garrison.”

“Particularly the female ones,” Reggie said grumpily. “The rogue has an eye for the ladies, Lauren. He was educated in Oxford, if you can picture that, and prides himself on his English ways. He likes to flirt with the English ladies. Outrageous, I call it.”

“
I
think he's charming,” Dollie protested. “He's a bit
wi
ly, true, and I've no doubt he's devious, but I've rarely encountered such fine manners.”

“Fellow's a pain in the neck,” Reggie grumbled.

“You're just in a bad mood today,” Dollie told him. “I wager it's that Gordon fellow. You're
always
in a bad mood when he's around.”

“Has Robert Gordon returned to Dahlkari?” I inquired.

“Came swaggering in yesterday,” Reggie replied. “He condescended to stop by my office to say he was back. Cool as you please he was—fellow disappears for a month and casually strolls into the office, says he's back and then saunters off to his quarters to write those bloody reports. It's enough to put you off your feed.”