Danger at Dahlkari (18 page)

“Will he be at the garden party?”

“Oh, dear,” Dollie said, “I
hope
not. He despises the rajah even more than Reggie does. He claims all that wealth should be distributed among the people—”

“That's the only thing Gordon and I agree about,” Reggie interrupted. “The radicals claim the
British
are exploiting India—building schools and hospitals and bridges and roads and planning a railroad and trying to build industry and
help
the blighters—yet a handful of sleek potentates live in luxury that staggers the imagination. Sahji Bandi, now, our host for the afternoon and the chap who ‘rules' the district—he's got enough wealth in that crumbling palace of his to feed every native in every village in the whole bloody district for the rest of their natural lives. That's no exaggeration. And he's not even one of the
rich
rajahs!”

“Now don't get yourself worked up,” Dollie scolded. “We have to display a pleasant front, dear. You know that.”

“I know,” he grumbled. “Chap expects us to jump at his beck and call, expects the Viceroy himself to pay homage. He's got his own police force, twenty men or so, I'd wager, not a man more, and every time there's trouble of any kind in one of the villages the military has to work hand in glove with those swarthy demons, can't make a move on our own.”

“It
is
his district, dear,” Dollie reminded him.

“And he'd find it damned difficult to manage if we weren't here to do the job for him—twenty men indeed! Take the Thuggee situation. The rajah didn't even
know
about it, claimed he didn't at any rate. He graciously consented to let us conduct our investigations, but he expects a full report on all our activities. Damned cheek, I call it! That's why he and Gordon don't get along. Gordon won't let
any
one know what he's doing. Flatly refuses to tell the rajah what he's up to. Sahji Bandi has made an official complaint to the Viceroy—not that it'll do him any good. Gordon'd tell the Viceroy himself to go to hell if he happened to feel like it.”

“I believe he used those very words to the rajah,” Dollie remarked. “Shockingly undiplomatic.”

“Tickled me when I heard that,” Reggie said. “I don't have any use for Gordon, mind you, but when I heard what he said to that crafty old tyrant it did my heart good. The fellow's got cheek if nothing else. Sahji Bandi lolls around on his satin cushions smoking his hookah, fingering his jewels, pretending he can tell us what we can or can't do. Makes my blood boil just to think about it!”

Dollie twirled her parasol. “Well, dear, you have Michael to handle the rajah for you, and a fine job he does of it, too. You're fortunate to have an aide who's such a splendid diplomat. He and the rajah get along swimmingly,” she informed me. “Michael has just the right touch. Reggie complains, but he rarely has to deal with the rajah directly, just an occasional meeting now and then.”

“And these damned parties!” Reggie complained.

“It
is
a party, dear,” she replied. “Please try to remember that. I know
you
don't care anything about it, but some of us would like to have a nice time. Do stop grousing now. It's a lovely day, and the rajah always puts on such a
show
.”

We had entered the Royal Parkland now and, thanks to elaborate irrigation over the decades, the land made a startling contrast to the area surrounding it. The grass was a deep, rich jade, and enormous teak and mahogany trees cast soft blue-gray shadows on the ground. I was startled to see a herd of deer milling about. The rajah had gone to Magdalen College at Oxford, Dollie said, and he had been so impressed with the famous deer park that he had imported these animals over to add an English touch to the palace grounds. The carriage rounded a bend, and then I saw the palace itself and the incredibly beautiful lawns, and a few moments later a stern-looking native servant in white silk trousers and turban and a marvelously brocaded pink silk jacket was helping us alight from the carriage.

The palace wasn't nearly as large I had expected it to be, yet it was still spectacular, all white marble with domes and minarets and mosaics of blue and green and gold. There were lavish gardens with ponds and fountains, and the teak and mahogany trees shaded the rolled green lawns where striped tents and marquees had been set up. Beautifully gowned women strolled about twirling their parasols, talking with handsomely uniformed officers, and native servants in those lovely pink jackets presided over tables covered with spotless linen cloths, tables piled high with heavily ornate English silver containing exotic and colorful food. Other servants circulated with trays of champagne, and a native orchestra painfully rendered traditional English tunes in an octagon-shaped white wooden gazebo unmistakably English with its fussy gingerbread trim. Tame deer mingled among the guests, begging for bits of cake. It was all the most incredible combination of Victorian stuffiness and Oriental splendor.

The rajah stood on the front steps of the palace with a resplendently uniformed Michael beside him to help greet the guests. Two servants stood behind them holding aloft an enormous square-shaped canopy of gold brocade embroidered with pearls, tassels of pearls dangling from the edges. Dollie strived to look cool and dignified as we strolled toward the steps, but she couldn't quite contain her excitement, lively brown eyes taking in all the splendor with considerable zest. Reggie screwed his monocle in his eye and held his shoulders ramrod stiff. The rajah's face was inscrutable as he watched us approach, but Michael wore a warm smile, looking so handsome it almost took one's breath away.

“Lieutenant Colonel and Mrs. McAllister, Your Highness,” Michael said, “and this is Miss Lauren Gray.”

Dollie made a little half curtsy, her purple skirts crackling, and I followed her example. Reggie gave a curt nod and extended his right hand with deliberate brusqueness. A faint smile played on the rajah's lips as he shook the gloved hand, but his dark eyes remained expressionless. A rather tense moment followed, but Michael quickly leaped into the breach, displaying that smooth diplomacy Dollie had mentioned earlier.

“Was I not right, Your Highness? I've been telling him all about you, Lauren. I told him you would be the prettiest girl at the party. He said he would judge for himself.”

“Indeed so,” the rajah said. “My friend Lieutenant Stephens is correct. I am honored by your presence, Miss Gray.”

It was the first time he had spoken. His voice was deep and husky, yet there was a curious lilt that gave it a honeyed quality. Rajah Sahji Bandi was almost as tall as Michael, lean and muscular, his skin a dark mahogany. He wore soft white leather boots, and his formfitting trousers and tunic were of exquisitely brocaded white silk, as was his turban. A necklace hung across his chest like a cobweb of fine silver, ablaze with dozens of ruby pendants, some of them as large as grapes. There were matching silver and ruby bracelets fastened about his wrists. The jewelry merely emphasized his excessive virility, for here was a man who was unmistakably male. He had a seamed, harshly handsome face, deep lines on either side of a full, curling mouth, his nose a powerful beak. His glowing black eyes were disturbingly arrogant, yet he was a magnificent creature, crackling with magnetism.

“I am pleased to be here,” I said politely.

“And where is the other young English miss? The one with the hair like old gold?”

“Sally? She—she couldn't attend, I'm afraid.”

“I hear about her. I hear about you both, am most eager to meet you. My friend Lieutenant Stephens is a lucky man indeed. You must enjoy yourself, Miss Gray. Later perhaps we can have a conversation.”

“I'd be delighted, Your Highness.”

“I'll join you later, Lauren,” Michael told me. “We're expecting a few more guests.”

“Isn't he
some
thing?” Dollie whispered as we moved away. “Did you see those
rubies
? He was wearing emeralds last time—emeralds and pearls set in gold. You handled yourself so
well
, dear! So cool and composed. I'll confess, he always makes me awfully
ner
vous.”

“I don't like the way he looked at her,” Reggie told his wife. “I do wish that dress of yours wasn't cut quite so low, Lauren. I'm not a prudish man, not particularly, but—”

“Oh, hush!” Dollie told him. “It's the
fashion
. My gown's cut just as low—well, almost as low. Bosoms are quite the
thing
, Reggie. Lauren looks divine.”

Reggie stroked his neat mustache, scowling. “All the same, you watch yourself, girl. That fellow has a reputation. These heathens keep their women under lock and key, keep 'em covered up head to toe. Because our women follow the fashion and—uh—display their charms, these randy Indian males sometimes get the wrong impression.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” I said dryly.

We joined the other guests strolling about the lawns, moving past tables and striped tents. The huge trees cast soft shadows, and for once it was not overly warm. A native servant approached us with a heavy silver tray laden with glasses of champagne. Reggie took one for Dollie and me, declaring he wanted something a mite stronger himself. All around us voices rose, the officers' sober comments mingling with the women's flighty scraps of conversation. The native band chugged and churned out English melodies like Sunday afternoon amateurs giving a park concert, the music a cacophony of discordant noise in the background. Birds of brilliant plumage flitted about the trees, and water splashed in the magnificent white marble fountains inlaid with mosaics.

“I'll just go find some port,” Reggie said gruffly. “There's bound to be some around somewhere.”

“Mind you don't have too much,” Dollie called after him. “He does so hate these affairs, always did. Oh dear, there's Prunella Dobson wearing a gray gown.
Silk
, but still gray. I hope you don't mind what Reggie said about
your
gown, dear. He didn't mean anything by it. He's just terribly stuffy about such things.”

“Is the neckline really so daring?”

“Well, dear, they
do
go to extremes in Paris, but if I were nineteen and had a figure like yours I'd wear it that low, too. Gone are the days, alas! Michael admired your dress, and that's all that really matters.”

“Did he?”

“You didn't
no
tice? You know, dear, I fancy he's going to ask you a very important question any day now. The lad's quite smitten. It's as plain as day.”

I made no reply, and we continued to stroll about the grounds, pausing now and then to chat with various people, then moving on. One of Dollie's close friends rushed over to impart a fresh piece of gossip, and I left them at it, walking on by myself, strangely discontented, not knowing exactly why. A servant came over to take my empty champagne glass. I took a fresh glass from the tray, sipping the bubbling brew as I continued to stroll. Pausing beneath one of the tall, slender mahogany trees, I was surprised to find my glass already empty. I looked back at the palace. The white marble minarets and domes were silhouetted against the pale blue sky, the intricately detailed mosaics gleaming in the sun. Michael and the rajah still stood beneath the golden canopy, greeting late guests.

I gave a little start when something cool and moist touched my arm. It was one of the deer, a lovely spotted tan creature with soulful brown eyes. I stroked its head, smiling when it tried to nibble one of the tiny blue flowers sewn on my skirt.

“You mustn't do that,” I scolded. “I haven't anything for you to eat, I'm afraid. You'll have to look elsewhere.”

As though understanding every word, the deer wandered away, joining the dozen or so others ambling among the guests. I leaned against the trunk of the tree, slightly dizzy from the champagne. I shouldn't have drunk it so quickly, I thought. Couples strolled past, and I nodded when necessary and smiled politely. Dollie was still deep in conversation with the captain's wife, and I was vaguely aware of Reggie standing with a group of men in front of one of the tents. There was laughter and animation, gaiety all around, full skirts rustling like colored petals, gold braid shining in the sun, and it all seemed to blur and grow hazy before my eyes, receding as my mind wandered elsewhere.

I thought about the native who had rescued Sally and me, who had mysteriously appeared at the ruins a week ago, spying on us. Who was he? What had he been doing there? The man was obviously a bandit, a fugitive, and that was one of the reasons neither Sally nor I had told anyone that he had been the man Sergeant Norman had fired at. After what he had done for us, we both felt curiously protective toward him, and both of us had been most relieved when the group of soldiers Reggie had sent to Karbala came back to report they had discovered no signs of anyone about the ruins. The native had disappeared once more, but I had a persistent feeling that I would see him again, and soon.

The leaves of the mahogany tree rustled, and flecks of gold sunlight danced among the shade surrounding me. The natives in their pink jackets were beginning to serve food, removing the heavy silver covers from chafing dishes, arranging delicious smelling Indian delicacies on fine English bone china. Nightingale tongues? I shouldn't have been surprised. I gazed at my empty champagne glass, wishing it were full again, knowing the sparkling wine would afford only a temporary escape from the confusion and indecision that had been bothering me all week long.

Michael was in love with me. He had been about to declare himself that afternoon at Karbala, his “confession” a prelude. “
What I'm trying to say is
—” he had begun, and then Sergeant Norman had shouted and fired his pistol and Michael had never been able to finish his statement. He had not brought it up again. During the past week he had been polite, agreeable, charming, but he had been preoccupied, too, spending more time than ever here at the palace helping the rajah arrange the party. Twice he had been unable to accompany me on my morning ride, and he had spent far less time at the house in the evenings. I understood, and I was relieved, for I didn't want him to ask me that important question, not just yet. He was in love with me, but I wanted to be certain about my feelings toward him before I was required to answer the question that seemed inevitable.