CHAPTER XIII
THE PHOTOGRAPH
That same night Amber dined at the Residency, on the invitation ofRaikes, the local representative of Government, seconded by theinsistence of Colonel Farrell. It developed that Sophia's telegram hadsomehow been lost in transit, and Farrell's surprise and pleasure atsight of her were tempered only by his keen appreciation of Amber'sadventitious services, slight though they had been. He was urged tostay the evening out, before proceeding to his designated quarters, andthe reluctance with which he acceded to this arrangement which workedso happily with his desires, may be imagined.
Their arrival coincided with the dinner-hour; the meal was held half anhour to permit them to dress. Raikes put a room at Amber's disposal,and the Virginian contrived to bathe and get into his evening clotheswithin less time than had been allowed him. Sophia, contrary to thehabit of her sex, was little tardier. At thirty minutes past eight theysat down to dine, at a table in the garden of the Residency.
Ease of anxiety was more than food and drink to Amber; his feeling ofrelief, to have convoyed Sophia to the company and protection ofAnglo-Saxons like himself, was intense. Yet he swallowed hispreliminary brandy-peg in a distinctly uncomfortable frame of mind,strangely troubled by the reflection that round that lone white tablewas gathered together the known white population of the State; a censusof which accounted for just five souls.
In the encompassing, exotic gloom of that blue Indian night--the kindof night that never seems friendly to the Occidental but forever teemswith hints of tragic mystery--the cloth, lighted by shaded candles,shone as immaculate and lustrous as an island of snow in a sea ofink--as a good deed in a naughty world. Its punctilious array ofcrystal and silver was no more foreign to the setting than were the menwho sat round it, stiff in that black-and-white armour of civilisation,impregnable against the insidious ease of the East, in which yourexpatriate Englishman nightly encases himself wherever he may be, asloath to forego the ceremony of "dressing for dinner" as he would be todispense with letters from Home.
Raikes presided, a heavy man with the flaming red face of one whoconstitutionally is unable to tan; of middle-age, good-natured, mellow,adroit of manner. On his one hand sat Amber, over across from Sophia.Next to Amber sat Farrell, tall and lean, sad of eye and slow ofspeech, his sun-faded hair and moustache streaked with grey setting offa dark complexion and thin, fine features. He wore the habit ofauthority equally with the irascibility of one who temporizes with hisliver. Opposite him was a young, mild-eyed missionary, too new in theland to have lost his illusions or have blunted the keen edge of hisenthusiasms; a colourless person with a finical way of handling hisknife and fork, who darted continually shy, sidelong glances at Sophia,or interpolated eager, undigested comments, nervously into theconversation.
The table-talk was inconsequent; Amber took a courteous and easy partin it without feeling that any strain was being put upon hisintelligence. His attention was centred upon the woman who faced him,flushed with gaiety and pleasure, not alone because she was once morewith her father, but also because she unexpectedly was looking herbest. If she had been well suited in her tidy pongee travellingcostume, she found her evening gown no less becoming. It was a blackaffair, very simple and individual; her shoulders rose from it withintensified purity of tone, like fair white ivory gleaming with asuggestion of the sleek sheen of satin; their strong, clean linesrounded bewitchingly into the fair, slender neck upholding the younghead with its deftly coiffed crown of bronze and gold....
Tall, well-trained, silent servants moved like white-robed wraithsbehind the guests; the dishes of the many courses disappeared and werereplaced in a twinkling, as if by slight of hand. They were overplentiful; Amber was relieved when at length the meal was over, andMiss Farrell having withdrawn in conformance with inviolable custom,the cloth was deftly whisked away and cigars, cigarettes, liqueurs,whiskey and soda were served.
Amber took unto himself a cigar and utilised an observation of thePolitical's as a lever to swing the conversation to a plane more likelyto inform him. Farrell had grumbled about the exactions of his positionas particularly instanced by the necessity of his attending tedious andtiresome native ceremonies in connection with the _tamasha_.
"What's, precisely, the nature of this _tamasha_, Colonel Farrell?"
"Why, my dear young man, I thought you knew. Isn't it what you came tosee?"
"No," Amber admitted cautiously; "I merely heard a rumour that therewas something uncommon afoot. Is it really anything worth while?"
"Rather," Raikes interjected drily; "the present ruler's abdicating infavour of his son, a child of twelve. That puts the business in a classby itself."
"There's been one precedent, hasn't there?" said the missionary,pretending to be at ease with a cigarette. "The Holkar of Indore?"
"Yes," agreed Farrell; "a similar case, to be sure."
"But why should a prince hand over the reins of government to a childof twelve? There must be some reason for it. Isn't it known?" askedAmber.
"Who can fathom a Hindu's mind?" grunted Farrell. "I daresay there'ssome scandalous native intrigue at the bottom of it. Eh, Raikes?"
The Resident shook his head. "Don't come to this shop for informationabout what goes on in Khandawar. I doubt if there's another Resident inIndia who knows as little of the underhand devilment in his State as Ido. His Majesty the Rana loves me as a cheetah loves his trainer. He'san intractable rascal."
"They grease the wheels of the independent native States withintrigue," Farrell explained. "I know from sore experience. And yourRajput is the deepest of the lot. I don't envy Raikes, here."
"The man who can guess what a Rajput intends to do next is entitled togive himself a deal of credit," commented the Resident, with a shortlaugh.
"I've travelled a bit," continued Farrell, "and have seen something ofthe courts of Europe, but I've yet to meet a diplomat who's peer to theRajput. You hear a great deal about the astuteness of the Russians andthe yellow races, and a Greek or Turk can lie with a fairly straightface when he sees a profit in deception, but none of them is to beclassed with these people. If we English ever decide to let India ruleherself, her diplomatic corps will be recruited exclusively from theflower of Rajputana's chivalry."
"I'll back Salig Singh against the field," said Raikes grimly; "he'llbe dean of the corps, when that time comes. He'd rather conspire thanfight, and the Rajputs--of course you know--are a warrior caste. I've anotion"--the Resident leaned back and searched the shadows for aneavesdropper--"I've a notion," he continued, lowering his voice, "thatthe Rana has got himself in rather deep in some rascality or other, andwants to get out before he's put out. There's bazaar gossip.... Hmm! Doyou speak French, Mr. Amber?"
"A little," said Amber in that tongue. "And I," nodded the missionary.The talk continued in the language of diplomacy.
"Bazaar gossip----?" Farrell repeated enquiringly.
"There have been a number of deaths from cholera in the Palace lately,the grand vizier's amongst them."
"White arsenic cholera?"
"That, and the hemp poison kind."
"Refractory vizier?" questioned Farrell. "The kind that wants toretrench and institute reforms--railways and metalled roads and soforth?"
"No; he was quite suited to his master. But the bazaar says Narainitook a dislike to him for one reason or another."
"Naraini?" queried Amber.
"The genius of the place." Raikes nodded toward the Raj Mahal, shininglike a pearl through the darkness on the hill-side over against theResidency. "She's Salig's head queen. At least that's about as near toher status as one can get. She's not actually his queen, but some sortof a heritage from the Rutton dynasty--I hardly know what or why. Salignever married her, but she lives in the Palace, and for severalyears--ever since she first began to be talked about--she's ruled frombehind the screen with a high hand and an out-stretched arm. So thebazaar says."
"I've heard she was beautiful," Farrell observed.
"As
beautiful as a peri, according to rumour. You never can tell; verylikely she's a withered old hag; nine out of ten native women are, bythe time they're thirty." Raikes jerked the glowing end of his cigarinto the shrubbery and reverted to English. "Shall we join MissFarrell?"
They arose and left the table to the servants, the Resident with Amberfollowing Farrell and young Clarkson.
"Old women we are, forever talking scandal," said Raikes, with achuckle. "Oh, well! it's shop with us, you know."
"Of course.... Then I understand that the _tamasha_ is the reason forthe encampment beyond the walls?"
"Yes; they've been coming in for a week. By to-morrow night, I daresay,every rajah, prince, thakur, baron, fief, and lord in Rajputana, eachwith his 'tail,' horse and foot, will be camped down before the wallsof Kuttarpur. You've chosen an interesting time for your visit. It'llbe a sight worth seeing, when they begin to make a show. My troublesbegin with a State banquet to-morrow that I'd give much to miss;however, I'll have Farrell for company."
"I'm glad to be here," said Amber thoughtfully. Could it be possiblethat the proposed abdication of Salig Singh in favour of his son weremerely a cloak to a conspiracy to restore to power the house of Rutton?Or had the _tamasha_ been arranged in order to gather together all therulers in Rajputana without exciting suspicion, that they might agreeupon a concerted plan of mutiny against the Sirkar? This state affairof surpassing importance had been arranged for the last day of graceallotted the Prince of the house of Rutton. What had it to do with theGateway of Swords, the Voice, the Mind, the Eye, the Body, the Bell?
"By the way, Mr. Raikes," said the Virginian suddenly, "what do theycall the gate by which we entered the city--the southern gate?"
"The Gateway of Swords, I believe."
Farrell, on the point of entering the house, overheard and turned. "Isthat so? Why, I thought _that_ gateway was in Kathiapur."
"I've heard of a Gateway of Swords in Kathiapur," Raikes admitted."Never been there, myself."
"Kathiapur?"
"A dead city, Mr. Amber, not far away--originally the capital ofKhandawar. It's over there in the hills to the north, somewhere. OldRao Rutton, founder of the old dynasty, got tired of the place andcaused it to be depopulated, building Kuttarpur in its stead--Ibelieve, to commemorate some victory or other. That sort of thing usedto be quite the fashion in India, before we came." Raikes fell back,giving Amber precedence as they entered the Residency. "By the way,remind me, if you think of it, Colonel Farrell, to get after thetelegraph-clerk to-morrow. There's a new man in charge--a Bengalibabu--and I presume he's about as worthless as the run of his kind."
Amber made a careful note of this information; he was curious aboutthat babu.
In the drawing-room Raikes and Farrell impressed Clarkson forthree-handed Bridge. Sophia did not care to play and Amber was ignorantof the game--a defect in his social education which he found no causeto regret, since it left him in undisputed attendance upon the girl.
She had seated herself at a warped and discouraged piano, for whichRaikes had already apologised; it was, he said, a legacy from a formerResident. For years its yellow keys had not known a woman's touch suchas that to which they now responded with thin, cracked voices; thegirl's fine, slender fingers wrung from them a plaintive, patheticparody of melody. Amber stood over her with his arms folded on the topof the instrument, comfortably unconscious that his pose was copiedfrom any number of sentimental photogravures and "art photographs." Histemper was sentimental enough, for that matter; the woman was verysweet and beautiful in his eyes as she sat with her white, round armsflashing over the keyboard, her head bowed and her face a littleaverted, the long lashes low upon her cheeks and tremulous with afathomless emotion. It was his thought that his time was momentarilybecoming shorter, and that just now, more than ever, she was verydistant from his arms, something inaccessible, too rare and delicateand fine for the rude possession of him who sighed for his ownunworthiness.
Abruptly she brought both hands down upon the keys, educing a jangled,startled crash from the tortured wires, and swinging round, glanced upat Amber with quaint mirth trembling behind the veil of moisture in hermisty eyes.
"India!" she cried, with a broken laugh: "India epitomised: a homesick,exiled woman trying to drag a song of Home from the broken heart of acrippled piano! That is an Englishwoman's India: it's our life, ever tostrive and struggle and contrive to piece together out of makeshiftodds and ends the atmosphere of Home!... It's suffocating in here.Come." She rose with a quick shrug of impatience, and led the way backto the gardens.
The table had been removed together with the chairs and candles;nothing remained to remind them of the hour just gone. The walks wereclear of servants. Their only light came from the high arch of starssmitten to its zenith with pale, quivering waves of light from the mooninvisible behind the hills. Below them the city hummed like a disturbedbeehive. Somewhere afar a gentle hand was sweeping the strings of a_zitar_, sounding weird, sad chords. The perfumed languor of the nightweighed heavily upon the senses, like the woven witchery of someage-old enchantment....
Pensive, the girl trained her long skirts heedlessly over thedew-drenched grasses, Amber at her side, himself speechless with anintangible, ineluctable, unreasoning sense of expectancy. Never, hetold himself, had a lover's hour been more auspiciously timed orstaged; and this was his hour, altogether his!... If only he might findthe words of wooing to which his lips were strange! He dared not delay;to-morrow it might be too late; in the womb of the morrow a world ofchances stirred--contingencies that might in a breath set them a worldapart.
They found seats in the shadow of a pepul.
"You must be tired, Mr. Amber," she said. "Why don't you smoke?"
"I hadn't thought of it, and hadn't asked permission."
"Please do. I like it."
He found his cigarette-case and struck a match, Sophia watchingintently his face in the rosy glow of the little, flickering flame.
"Are you in the habit of indulging in protracted silences?" she ralliedhim gently. "Between friends of old standing they're permissible, Ibelieve, but----"
"A day's journey by tonga matures acquaintanceships wonderfully," heobserved abstrusely.
"Indeed?" She laughed.
"At least, I hope so."
He felt that he must be making progress; thus far he had been no lessinane than any average lover of the stage or fiction. And he wondered:was she laughing at him, softly, there in the shadows?
"You see," she said, amused at his relapse into reverie, "you'reincurable and ungrateful. I'm trying my best to be attractive andinteresting, and you won't pay me any attention whatever. There must besomething on your mind. Is it this mysterious errand that brings you sounexpectedly to India--to Kuttarpur, Mr. Amber?"
"Yes," he answered truthfully.
"And you won't tell me?"
"I think I must," he said, bending forward.
There sounded a stealthy rustling in the shrubbery. The girl drew awayand rose with a startled exclamation. With a bound, a man in nativedress sped from the shadows and paused before them, panting.
Amber jumped up, overturning his chair, and instinctively feeling forthe pistol that was with his travelling things, upstairs in theResidency.
The native reassured him with a swift, obsequious gesture. "Pardon,sahib, and yours, sahiba, if I have alarmed you, but I am come on anerrand of haste, seeking him who is known as the Sahib David Amber."
"I am he. What do you want with me?"
"It is only this, that I have been commissioned to bear to you, sahib."
The man fumbled hurriedly in the folds of his surtout, darting quickglances of apprehension round the garden. Amber looked him over asclosely as he could in the dim light, but found him wholly astranger--merely a low-caste Hindu, counterpart of a million others tobe encountered daily in the highways and bazaars of India. TheVirginian's rising hope that he might prove to be Labertouche failedfor want of encouragement; the intruder was of a stature the E
nglishmancould by no means have counterfeited.
"From whom come you?" he demanded in the vernacular.
"Nay, a name that is unspoken harms none, sahib." The native produced asmall, thin, flat package and thrust it into Amber's hands. "Withpermission, I go, sahib; it were unwise to linger----"
"There is no answer?"
"None, sahib." The man salaamed and strode away, seeming to meltsoundlessly into the foliage.
For a minute Amber remained astare. The girl's voice alone roused him.
"I think you are a very interesting person, Mr. Amber," she said,resuming her chair.
"Well!... _I_ begin to think this a most uncommonly interestingcountry." He laughed uncertainly, turning the package over and over."Upon my word----! I haven't the least notion what this can be!"
"Why not bring it to the light, and find out?"
He assented meekly, having been perfectly candid in his assertion thathe had no suspicion of what the packet might contain, and a momentlater they stood beneath the window of the Residency, from which abroad shaft of light streamed out like vaporised gold.
Amber held the packet to the light; it was oblong, thin, stiff, coveredwith common paper, guiltless of superscription, and sealed withmucilage. He tore the covering, withdrew the enclosure, and heard thegirl gasp with surprise. For himself, he was transfixed withconsternation. His look wavered in dismay between the girl and thephotograph in his hand--_her_ photograph, which had been stolen fromhim aboard the _Poonah_.
She extended her hand imperiously. "Give that to me, please, Mr.Amber," she insisted. He surrendered it without a word. "Mr. Amber!"she cried in a voice that quivered with wonder and resentment.
He faced her with a hang-dog air, feeling that now indeed had his casebeen made hopeless by this contretemps. "Confound Labertouche!" hecried in his ungrateful heart. "Confound his meddling mystery-mongeringand hokus-pokus!"
"Well?" enquired the girl sharply.
"Yes, Miss Farrell." He could invent nothing else to say.
"You--you are going to explain, I presume."
He shook his head in despair. "No-o...."
"What!"
"I've no explanation whatever to make--that'd be adequate, I mean."
He saw that she was shaken by impatience. "I think," said sheevenly--"I think you will find it best to let me judge of that. This ismy photograph. How do you come to have it? What right have you to it?"
"I ... ah...." He stammered and paused, acutely conscious of the voicesof the Englishmen, Farrell, Raikes, and young Clarkson, drifting outthrough the open window of the drawing-room. "If you'll be kind enoughto return to our chairs," he said, "I'll try to make a satisfactoryexplanation. I'd rather not be overheard."
The girl doubted, was strongly inclined to refuse him; then, perhapsmoved to compassion by his abject attitude, she relented and agreed."Very well," she said, and retaining the picture moved swiftly beforehim into the shadowed garden. He lagged after her, inventing a hundredimpracticable yarns. She found her chair and sat down with a manner ofhauteur moderated by expectancy. He took his place beside her.
"Who sent you this photograph of me?" she began to cross-examine him.
"A friend."
"His name?"
"I'm sorry I can't tell you just now."
"Oh!... Why did he send it?"
"Because...." In his desperation it occurred to him to tell thetruth--as much of it, at least, as his word to Rutton would permit."Because it's mine. My friend knew I had lost it."
"How could it have been yours? It was taken in London a year ago. Isent copies only to personal friends who, I know, would not give themaway." She thought it over and added: "The Quains had no copy; it'squite impossible that one should have got to America."
"None the less," he maintained stubbornly, "it's mine, and I got it inAmerica."
"I can hardly be expected to believe that."
"I'm sorry."
"You persist in saying that you got it in America?"
"I must."
"When?"
"After you left the Quains."
"How?" she propounded triumphantly.
"I can't tell you, except vaguely. If you'll be content with thesubstance of the story, lacking details, for the present----"
"For the present? You mean you'll tell me the whole truth--?"
"Sometime, yes. But now, I may not.... A dear friend of mine owned thephotograph. He gave it me at my request. I came to India, and on thesteamer lost it; in spite of my offer of a reward, I was obliged toleave the boat without it, when we got to Calcutta. My friend here knewhow highly I valued it----"
"Why?"
"Because I'd told him."
"I don't mean that. Why do you value it so highly?"
"Because of its original." He took heart of despair and plunged boldly.
She looked him over calmly. "Do you mean me to understand that you toldthis friend you had followed me to India because you were in love withme?"
"Precisely.... Thank you."
She laughed a little, mockingly. "Are you, Mr. Amber?"
"In love with you?... Yes."
"Oh!" She maintained her impartial and judicial attitude admirably."But even were I inclined to believe that, your whole story isdiscredited by the simple fact that through no combination ofcircumstances could this picture have come into your possession inAmerica."
"I give you my word of honor, Miss Farrell."
"I wish you wouldn't. If you are perfectly sincere in asserting that,you force me to think you----"
"Mad? I'm not, really," he argued earnestly. "It's quite true."
"No." She shook her head positively. "You say you obtained it from aman, which can't be so. There were only a dozen prints made; four Igave to women friends in England and seven I sent to people out here.The other one I have."
"I can only repeat what I have already told you. There are gaps in thestory, I know--incredible gaps; they can't be bridged, just now. I begyou to believe me."
"And how soon will you be free to tell me the whole truth?"
"Only after ... we're married."
She laughed adorably. "Mr. Amber," she protested, "you aredangerous--you are delightful! Do you really believe I shall ever marryyou?"
"I hope so. I came to India to ask you--to use every means in my powerto make you marry me. You see, I love you."
"And ... and when is this to happen, please--in the name of impudence?"
"As soon as I can persuade you--to-night, if you will."
"Oh!"
He was obliged to laugh with her at the absurdity of the suggestion."Or to-morrow morning, at the very latest," he amended seriously. "Idon't think we dare wait longer."
"Why is that?"
"Delays are perilous. There might be another chap."
"How can you be sure there isn't already?"
He fell sober enough at this. "But there isn't, is there, really?"
She delayed her reply provokingly. At length, "I don't see why I shouldsay," she observed, "but I don't mind telling you--no, thereisn't--yet." And as she spoke, Farrell called "Sophia?" from the windowof the drawing-room. She stood up, answering clearly with the assurancethat she was coming, and began deliberately to move toward the house.
Amber followed, deeply anxious. "I've not offended you?"
"No," she told him gravely, "but you have both puzzled and mystifiedme. I shall have to sleep on this before I can make up my mind whetheror not to be offended."
"And ... will you marry me?"
"Oh, dear! How do I know?" she laughed.
"You won't give me a hint as to the complexion of my chances?"
She paused, turning. "The chances, Mr. Amber," she said withoutaffection or coquetry, "are all in your favour ... _if_ you can proveyour case. I do like you very much, and you have been successful inrousing my interest in you to an astonishing degree.... But I shallhave to think it over; you must allow me at least twelve hours' grace."
"You'll let me know to-morrow mo
rning?"
"Yes."
"Early?"
"You've already been bidden to breakfast by Mr. Raikes."
"Meanwhile, may I have my photograph?"
"Mine, if you please!... I think not; if my decision is favourable, youshall have it back--after breakfast."
"Thank you," he said meekly. And as they were entering the Residency hehung back. "I'm going now," he said; "it's good-night. Will youremember you've not refused me the privilege of hoping?"
"I've told you I like you, Mr. Amber." Impulsively she extended herhand. "Good-night."
He bowed and put his lips to it; and she did not resist.