The Eden Passion (60 page)

Dhari followed suit, then John did likewise, and true to the nature of the room, they did nothing but eat for about twenty minutes. The clink of flatware against the china plates increased to deafening proportions, and finally John felt compelled to say, "It's very good," referring to the food on his plate.

But if anyone agreed with him, they kept it to themselves, and it was only as Rosa was filling Jennings' plate a second time that he looked up and ventured a word. "Did you sleep well, Eden?" he inquired, a stiffness to his voice.

"Very well, thank you. The bed is quite comfortable."

And that was that, at least for the second go-around, and during the silence, waves of melancholy beat upon John's brain along with the rising conviction that he was seated in the heart of a mystery. He wanted to ask questions of everyone, particularly Dhari, but that fine countenance had not looked up once during the entire meal.

At last, as Rosa was serving tea, Jennings asked, "Well, what now, Eden?"

While John had hungered for conversation, he was not prepared for so blunt a question. "I'll strike out on my own. I can't impose upon your hospitality—"

"Nonsense," Jennings interrupted. "There are only two safe places for an Englishman in Delhi now. One is the British Cantonment outside the walls, and the second is this mission school."

Dhari leaned forward. "He's right, Mr. Eden. Delhi is filled now with suspicious old men and plotting young ones."

"And what are they plotting?" he asked, feeding on the beauty opposite him.

But Dhari refused to say anything else. He saw her glance toward Jennings as though afraid she'd already said too much. The man reached out and covered her hand with his.

The quiet moment held, almost to the point of embarrassment, John entertaining a brief though unthinkable theory having to do with an old man, a young girl, and a dead wife.

Finally Jennings withdrew his hand, though he continued to focus on the girl as he spoke. "Dhari serves as our eyes and ears here,"

he said. "She has total access to the fortress palace and to her grand-father's ear as well."

In response to this remarkable information, John sat up. "Grandfather?" he repeated.

Jennings nodded. "You are in the presence of the granddaughter of Bahadur Shah Zafar," he intoned, a mocking smile on his face that seemed to war with the nature of his words. "And Aslam, the little boy you met earlier, is his great-grandson." His eyes fixed on Dhari's bowed head. "The royal princess," he pronounced, "who owes her life and that of her son to Christ. Isn't that correct, Dhari?"

John watched intently. Was it his imagination, or was something cruel taking place at the table. "I. . . don't understand," he said.

"Tell him, Dhari," Jennings urged, "tell him all."

But either the young woman couldn't or wouldn't. She sat now with her hands clasped in her lap, head bowed. John noticed a trembling about her shoulders.

"Then I'll tell him." Jennings smiled, apparently unmindful of her discomfort. He adjusted himself in his chair, facing John now. "Suttee," he pronounced simply. "Have you ever heard of it, Eden?"

Yes, he had, from Alex Aldwell, back in Scutari, but with his attention torn between Dhari and Jennings, John did not answer.

"Widow-burning," Jennings went on. "Another aspect of Indian religion which we have almost destroyed."

John's eyes were still on Dhari. He saw her glance over her shoulder as though contemplating leaving the room. But Jennings reached for her hand, a restraining gesture.

"Dhari was living within the palace at that time," Jennings said, "though she'd been coming to the mission school since she was a girl. My wife was very fond of her, called her the daughter she'd never had. Then shortly after Aslam's birth, about six years ago, Dhari's husband, one of the royal princes, died."

The discomfort across the table was increasing. Twice she tried to pull free from Jennings' grip, but he simply moved his hand up about her wrist and held it fast.

"We didn't see Dhari for several days," Jennings went on. "May was worried sick, and one afternoon one of the native servants told her that suttee was planned."

The man's face clouded. "I told May to stay out of it, that there was nothing we could do, that gods, all gods, must be obeyed. But she wouldn't listen. And that night she took a small pistol that I

kept locked in my wardrobe and went to the palace, gained entrance at the point of a gun and spirited Dhari and the infant out."

One candle stood between John and the bowed young woman across the table, and at that moment the fire seemed to leap up under the duress of a breeze, encompassing the bowed head in flame. Briefly he closed his eyes and began to understand Dhari's devotion to the dead May.

But as always, what he didn't understand was Jennings. "And you took no part in it?" John questioned.

Broadly Jennings shook his head. "My relationship with Bahadur Shah Zafar was based on mutual trust. Wouldn't I have been wronged if he had said: No more communion at your mission school, no more baptisms." His voice was rising. "Then what right have I to interfere with his gods? None, none at all, and I tried to tell May that, but she wouldn't listen. And the very next day, the palace gates were closed to me forever. The royal wrath was not aimed at Dhari or at Mrs. Jennings, but at me. A man is expected to control his wife, and if not, then he is held accountable for her actions."

He leaned back in his chair as though puzzling an ancient dilemma. "Since that day, I have not once looked upon the Peacock Throne, or shared the splendor of the royal chambers, or enjoyed the serenity of the courtyard. We were so close, Bahadur and myself . . *

His voice trailed off into a wistful tone. Dhari apparently saw the weakness and decided to take advantage of it, and once again tried to leave. But again, and with greater violence, he pulled her back down into her seat

John eased up to the edge of his chair. He was a guest, but if it went on much longer, he would be forced to act.

Then all at once, of his own volition, Jennings released her arm. "I'm . . . sorry," he muttered to no one in particular.

Across the table, John noticed Dhari still in her seat, as though in spite of her instinct to run, she knew she must stay.

"So Dhari and Aslam came to live with us," Jennings concluded. "And of course, nothing really changed for her. She now enjoys both worlds, again has total access to the palace. The priests have convinced her grandfather that she is leading a charmed life. Saved by the white goddess, they say. And May is enjoying the peace of her grave. I'm the only one left to suffer."

John heard the martyred quality in his voice and looked down at

his napkin and vowed silently to leave this place as soon as possible.

Suddenly Jennings stood, the self-pity gone from his face, replaced by weary efficiency. "It's late," he said, "and Fm certain you are as tired as I am. I must go over the books yet and see if chaos has descended in my absence."

On his way to the door he called back over his shoulder. "Sleep well, John. Tomorrow at breakfast we shall plot your future. I can always use an intelligent young man here. I weary of female company."

John started to protest everything, but decided this was not the time. Besides, Dhari was still at table, and he looked forward to time alone with her. Then he heard the flat monotone at the door. "You come with me, Dhari," Jennings ordered. "I need you to assist me with the books."

She was gone, following after Jennings down the long corridor which led to the rear of the bungalow, leaving John alone with the residue of old food odors and a sensation of unease.

Rosa came in to clear the table. John nodded to her and left by the opposite door. Midway across the entrance hall, he stopped. Beyond the front door he saw the quiet night. Perhaps now was as good a time as any. There was nothing waiting for him in Mrs. Jennings' room. And he had no desire to "plot his future" with Jennings come morning. And he certainly had no desire to pass the night in this house.

He stood a moment longer, then he walked to the front door, and stepped out into the quiet night. A stroll, perhaps that was all he needed, a convenient stroll along the walls of the palace.

For about twenty minutes he stood thus, contemplating the possibilities of the night. He looked about on either side. The cottages where the children slept were quiet. It occurred to him then that if by some miracle his "stroll" proved successful, if out of one chance in a hundred he could gain admittance to the palace grounds and to the treasure house, then he must be prepared to make a quick exit from Delhi. With that in mind he made a brief detour around the side of the compound in search of the stable where his horse had been lodged. He found it beyond the rear courtyard, found as well a sleeping native boy who never so much as opened his eyes at John's approach.

He checked on the horse, made sure he had feed and water, and was just heading around the other side of the compound, passing close to the rear rooms, when suddenly he heard a familiar voice, Jennings

quoting Scripture again, and something else, a low female voice trying to keep pace under duress.

The window was directly before him, the shade incompletely drawn. Quietly he approached, some stray voice telling him not to, but approaching anyway. He peered through the slit between shade and windowsill and wished instantly that he'd obeyed the voice inside his head.

The scene was one of copulation, the specifics blessedly obscured by the spread dressing gown on Jennings' back, his bare feet pushing against the foot of the bed while beneath him lay his partner, her ankles loosely secured to the bedposts, her face covered by the crush of his body, only a soft voice escaping over the panting groans of the man who was raping and quoting Scripture at the same time.

John stood a moment longer, magnetized by the ugly scene. Then he turned away. His eyes in passing fell on an abandoned light blue sari.

Cautiously he stepped backward; then he was running, his legs devouring the distance to the front gate and the road beyond.

Not until he reached the north gate of the fortress palace did he slow his pace. Breathless, he leaned against the wall and looked back the way he had come and tried to put the image out of his mind. It was his avowed intention then to seek immediately what he had come for, and to leave this wretched place of mixed gods. He did not belong here. But as long as he was here, he would make an effort to find what he'd come for, then leave before dawn, before he had to face Fraser Jennings again and perhaps carry out the instinct which he'd ignored in the temple of Bindhachal.

Thus resolved, he looked about at the deserted streets which earlier that day had been filled with people. Twice he encircled the Red Fortress, taking careful note of the torchlight beyond the wall.

As well as he could determine, there were four main gates giving access to the palace and courtyards. Three were heavily though sleepily guarded by dozing men in black turbans.

According to Alex Aldwell, the treasure house was removed from the palace. John recalled the man saying that he had followed the old Emperor to a deserted mound. Then it must be in the opposite direction, away from the palace itself, toward the one area where he had seen no protruding structure over the wall.

The feel of the night was strange. There were sounds, but they seemed to come from no specific source. No matter how hard he tried to discipline his mind, he still saw the image of rape. Running,

he felt his way along the wall, coming at last to the grillwork gate, the grounds beyond empty, a garden of some sort, only the faint rustling of trees as a breeze brushed through them.

Without giving himself a chance to debate the wisdom of his actions, he pulled himself up the grillwork, finding ready footholds, and in a remarkably short time dropped undetected on the other side.

He felt a surge of excitement. How easy it had been thus far. He found himself in a garden which seened to turn on a spiral around several mounds of earth.

A long avenue of trees confronted him then, leading to the largest mound, the branches indistinguishable against the night sky. He could not see the end of it. It seemed to him that he had been walking along this avenue for too long, and still no end in sight. The mound seemed to be moving farther away. Somehow in the dark he'd lost sight of the other mounds.

A few minutes later the large mound of earth again came into sight, and he ran across an open space, experiencing a state devoid of good sense, intent only on his goal.

He approached the mounded earth slowly, seeing to his amazement a small unguarded door. Though he found it incredible to believe that the bastion was not under guard, still he drew nearer.

He had just touched the metal bolt when he heard, or thought he heard, a single step behind him. Confident that his ears were playing tricks on him, he turned rather slowly to confront the ghost sound, when something of incredible strength struck a blow across the back of his head.

In a curious way, he had long expected it. He felt his knees give way, his body whirl around in a half-turn.

Then a second, more powerful blow struck him across his forehead, and all became quiet. There was a white light inside his head and a distant mocking voice which chanted, "Fool!" before the ringing of bells deafened him and plunged him into darkness.

Upon the instant of awakening, he turned away from the temptation of reason. He opened his eyes to find his face resting on damp dirt. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn't see the three dirt walls about him and the bars in front of him, the entire cubicle measuring no more than four by four.

He tried movement and instantly regretted it as pain cut across his forehead and down between his eyes. Reflexively his hand moved up,

felt a dried substance on his face, coating the bridge of his nose, and his fingers touched the wound itself, a gaping hole which felt as though his forehead had been split open.

Groaning, he gave up movement for a while and lay back against the dirt, his eyes staring sideways through the bars toward a steep dirt path which appeared to lead upward toward the spill of light at the top of the path. He was buried in earth somewhere.