A Hanging at Dawn: A Bess Crawford Short Story Page 5

  I had the strongest feeling that Richard was glad to have him close by. Bess certainly was, and I had to remind her that she mustn’t make a nuisance of herself. There weren’t many children her age close by, and so Simon often rode with her, played tennis with her, and generally tolerated her. But then he had no friends his own age, and he seldom went down to the pub for an evening. He had always been a great reader, and he mentioned once that he had an account at a bookshop in London.

  We were sent back to India, and Richard was promoted to Colonel. That meant a great deal more responsibility, and he was often away or staying late into the evening on regimental business.

  I watched Simon grow up. When he was promoted to Corporal, his duties increased and he too had less time for us, but off duty he was often to be found in the house or out with Bess. He never presumed on friendship or welcome—he always spoke to Richard first. And by now Bess had a new governess just out from England.

  When the compound was attacked that awful day, and the main body of troops was out on Reconnaissance, we had a very difficult few hours. Bess, nine by then, had held up very well, better than her terrified governess. And help came in time. Simon slept in the house for quite a few nights after that, and other men took turns guarding the officers’ quarters and the cantonment itself for almost a month, until all the men responsible had been found and sent under guard to Delhi.

  I had expected Bess to be upset by all that had happened, but she was a soldier’s daughter and told me when I’d asked if she had nightmares, “Not precisely nightmares, Mummy. Bad dreams, but I already know how it ended. So, they don’t bother me all that much.” Then she’d grinned. “Did you know that Miss now sleeps with a large revolver under her pillow?”

  Shocked, I said, “Um, does she know how to use it?”

  “I don’t think so. And it isn’t loaded. I’ve looked.”

  “I’m not sure I’m happy to hear there’s a weapon in the Nursery.”

  “Don’t worry, Mummy. I can load it if need be. But I’m not sure Miss can hit anything even if she tries to fire it.”

  I remember when the turn of the century came that there was some discussion about whether 1900 was the end of the old century or the beginning of the next. And so, we had parties both years. As time passed, Simon was promoted to Corporal, then Sergeant, and finally became the youngest Sergeant Major in the history of the Regiment when the previous man retired. It was a popular choice, and he handled it well. Bess teased him unmercifully, but he just laughed.

  And then May 1910, our lives changed dramatically.

  In late March there was a raid on a friendly village at three o’clock in the morning. Richard, now a Colonel, went himself to deal with the aftermath, and when he came in at five o’clock, dusty and tired, he said, “I don’t know who is behind the trouble. But I think we put the fear of God into them.”

  I’d reminded him that someone ought to tell the Pathans that.

  And then toward the middle of May, the unthinkable happened, and none of us was prepared for it.

  I sometimes have nightmares about it still. I’ve often wondered if Simon does as well . . .

  The raid in March was just the beginning of a period of unrest. Richard tracked the troublemakers to the Pass, caught them out in the open, and sent them racing for the Afghan border. After that, several companies kept a rotating watch on the mountainous Pass. Still, there had been two or three skirmishes, what Richard called a testing. To see where our strengths were, and of course our weaknesses, a constant probing. Several friendly villages were unsettled by the raiding parties, and they had to be both pacified and protected. We had heard there was civil unrest in other parts of the country as well, but whether this was in any way connected with our troubles, no one knew. Or if they did, no one was saying. Calcutta was being very quiet.

  Afghanistan had been a thorn in Britain’s side for a very long time. The country had attracted the attention of Russia as well as the British, and we had tried to influence the man on the throne—sometimes our puppet and sometimes not. Meanwhile the Afghans skillfully played both sides. In the first Afghan war, the retreating British columns were attacked repeatedly, enduring heavy casualties on their desperate march back to the Pass. That was in the 1830s and 40s. Another outbreak of hostilities took place in the late 1870s—just about the time Disraeli declared Victoria Empress of India—and in the end, Afghanistan was allowed to be independent. But we were not happy about that, as Russia kept up her own campaign to be the influencing partner there.

  All this was in the past, of course, but was precisely why our cantonment had been set up and was still active all these years later. The Pass was the traditional gateway to India for invading armies. The Regiment was there to stop them.

  The skirmishes became running battles, the probing more intense, and right in the middle of this, the Maharani’s daughter—married and now a mother herself—decided to come and visit, bringing her youngest child with her while her husband and several of his Princely friends were busy entertaining dignitaries newly arrived in India.

  It was the end of the dry season, when it was cooler and easier to travel any distance, and the heat would be climbing before the monsoon rains at the end of June. Still, the Maharani was excited, planning all manner of festivities, and I was at the Palace any number of times to help her decide such things as whether or not she ought to have her daughter’s rooms redecorated, and what the guest list ought to be for various dinners.

  Richard was asked to provide an escort, although the Princess would have retainers with her. It was more a matter of courtesy than need, but the train would include a great many trunks containing everything from nappies for the baby to the casket of jewels most of the Princes and their wives carried with them everywhere they went. And there would be bags of rupees as well, to pay for the journey and to give as baksheesh in princely style. Lieutenant Hayes was put in charge of the escort, and Simon was among the men he asked to accompany him.

  Simon hadn’t seen Parvati for some years, and I had no reason to speak to Richard about his being included in the escort. Nor did Simon ask to be relieved of duty.

  The train brought the entourage most of the way, and then it had to caravan through the countryside to reach the Palace.

  This much I knew—it’s how replacements, friends like Melinda, visitors, and anyone else who comes out to us, must travel.

  The rest I pieced together from a hodgepodge of truth and lies.

  Disembarking from the train, Parvati spotted Simon among the escort. Not too difficult to do because he was often a head taller than the rest of the ranks. She greeted him as a friend, asked about us, and then proceeded through the station with the stationmaster escorting her, to the shigram, the bullock-drawn landau awaiting her outside. A nurse, rather broader than she was tall, easily carried the little girl, all big eyes and pretty silks. She was very like her mother, so it was said.

  Parvati had already provided her husband with an heir, and marriage seemed to agree with her, for she was now a very attractive woman, with the poise and grace of her mother.

  Eyes turned to follow her progress. And there was a delay while the many trunks were tied onto the carts that were to follow. The crowd of excited villagers who had come to stare at the spectacle had grown into about forty people.

  Simon, seeing to the trunks, making certain they were lashed onto the wagons properly, had wisely posted a guard over them from luggage van to street.

  While Lieutenant Hayes was chatting with the Princess, the Nanny was handed into the ornately decorated landau with the baby, toys and parasols and gold-tasseled cushions that alone cost more than most Indians made in a month. Some onlookers noticed that the child had a gold rattle in her fist, shaking it and cooing at the sound it made. The entourage slowly formed into a train of vehicles, trunks, staff, and Parvati at the head.

  They set out, and in the heat of the day, they stopped to rest for an hour. They were to spend the night at a gu
esthouse halfway between the railhead and the Maharani’s Palace. Advance parties had already inspected every inch of the guesthouse, and the apartments the Princess was to occupy had been emptied of their furnishings and all of them lavishly replaced with everything from a porcelain bath to silk hangings. One of the Palace cooks would be there to prepare her meals.

  In late afternoon they had almost reached the guesthouse when Simon rode up beside the shigram and spoke to Parvati. They talked for several minutes, and then when the little girl began to cry irritably, Parvati looked for the gold rattle.

  It was nowhere to be found, and the assumption was, it had fallen out of the carriage while the child was playing with it.

  Simon volunteered to go back and look for it, although he had little hope of finding it. Something like the rattle would have meant a fortune to most of the people living out here.

  Still, he found it in the dust kicked up by the bullock, a mile or so back, and as he caught up with the caravan, they were already disembarking and he saw to the unloading of the carts that one of the Princess’s staff had indicated would be needed for the night. At this time the rattle was still in his possession.

  He organized the horses, the parking of the wagons, and then when he finally reached the guesthouse, the Princess’s party had already been taken up to the rooms reserved for them. Lieutenant Hayes saw Simon riding in and sent him to post a perimeter guard for the night, even though the compound was walled, with a gate.

  At three in the morning, a guard making the rounds found a body beneath one of the carts, and signs that it had been tampered with. A chest lay on the ground, the lock broken and the contents missing.

  There was a terrible uproar. Lieutenant Hayes was hard put to it to keep the Army escort and the Princess’s entourage from each other’s throats, each side pointing a finger at the other. He sent a mounted runner posthaste back to us, and I happened to be at home when the rider arrived, covered in dust and almost incoherent as he asked to speak to the Colonel.

  Richard, unfortunately, was out with the troops, holding a series of talks with friendly elders on our side of the Pass. I took Private Evans across the compound to the Officer of the Day, where the man made his report.

  Major Dudley was in charge, and he listened to what he was told, frowning and more than a little uncertain what to do about the situation.

  There was no way to reach Richard. Nor was there time to do it. This was not something that could be left to Lieutenant Hayes to deal with, not with the political overtones, but I was very glad that Simon was there to support him.

  “I’ll have to go myself,” the Major said finally. He thanked the runner, and then said to Captain Sullivan, “You’ll take over here. I’ll go out to that guesthouse, escort the Maharani’s daughter directly to the Palace, and then do what I can to get to the bottom of what’s happened.” He shook his head. “This is damn—” Catching sight of me standing quietly to one side, he changed that to “—the worst possible timing.”

  I spoke then. “Major, it might be a good idea for me to ride with you. I know Parvati—the Princess—and I can soothe matters with the Maharani as well. A woman’s touch?”

  There was a brief flicker of relief in his face, and he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Crawford. Excellent idea.” Turning to the men around him, he added, “See that a mount is ready for Mrs. Crawford. She will be joining the party. I think it best if we take other senior officers with us. Men who can be spared. We don’t quite know what we’ll be facing.”

  Captain Sullivan hurried away to make the arrangements, and the Major began to question the rider again, asking him who was in charge of the Princess’s retinue.

  I stayed just long enough to hear him say, “He’s a right martinet, sir. Giving orders as if he outranked the Lieutenant. I’d walk wide of him, if I were you.”

  I was glad I’d spoken up. There was surely going to be trouble ahead, of one kind or another, and Richard would be glad of my account of events, when we got back.

  It took me no time to change from my day dress to my riding habit, while my maid put the few things I’d need in a small case. I was at the gate when Major Dudley rode up with the post adjutant, Captain Ramsey, and the senior regimental surgeon, Dr. Broughton.

  Bess, just coming down the stairs, saw me leaving and ran out to ask where I was going. “I missed my ride this afternoon. Could I come with you?”

  I told her only, “It seems that there’s been a problem with the Princess’s entourage. I’m going, in case there are any ruffled feathers that need smoothing. As I remember, the Prince is rather a stickler for propriety—”

  “He’s stuffy,” Bess said. “I always felt sorry for Parvati, marrying him.”

  “He’s young, darling. He’d only just inherited from his father a year before the wedding. He’ll mellow as he gets the hang of being a Prince.”

  “I hope so for Parvati’s sake. I liked her.”

  Giving her a last kiss, I mounted, and we set out.

  None of us had much to say, until we were well clear of the cantonment. Then Major turned to me and asked quietly, “What can you tell me about this Princess? What am I to expect?”

  “She’s a little spoiled—the Maharani spoils all her children. But she was a lovely girl, and I’ve always liked her. Of course, it’s been some years since I’ve seen her.”

  “Not much given to hysterics and crying, is she?”

  I was already wishing Richard back here. “Not at all. At least not when she was sixteen.”

  “Just as well. We’ll have trouble enough with the entourage. Who else is with Lieutenant Hayes? Besides the Sergeant Major? I didn’t have time to review the roster.”

  “I don’t know who else went with him. I didn’t see them leave.”

  “Well. We must do what we can to see that the Princess is safe and no more disturbed than necessary. The rider doesn’t know who the dead man is. That’s a good sign. If he’s just one of the people hired to bring the bullock carts, it should be a much simpler matter to deal with than one of the Prince’s retainers.”

  I could have pointed out that while Lieutenant Hayes hadn’t known more about the victim when he’d sent the mounted runner, he would surely know more now. He’d had two more hours to investigate. It would take us another two hours to reach the guesthouse—it was just after noon, now—and by that time, the whole affair might have blown over, the dead man’s killer found and the Princess’s party already on their way to the Maharani’s Palace. Or by late afternoon, relations between the two parties, the men under Lieutenant Hayes and the Prince’s retinue, might be on the point of armed warfare. We had no way of knowing. But I said nothing. I was here as a courtesy to the Princess, not to tell Major Dudley what to do.

  But he turned to look at me, adding, “What’s worrying me is jurisdiction here. Do we simply support whoever is in charge of the party, or do we take charge? And there’s the location of the guesthouse. I’m not sure whose property that is. The Government’s, surely?”

  Major Dudley was a nice man, a good officer. But he was not a leader, and he had taken longer to reach his majority than Richard had done. He was a good party guest—he never brought up unpleasant subjects, he never gave anyone cause to object to anything he said or did. If we needed someone to dance with a widow or a young girl attending her first evening with her elders, he was willing, and he made his partner feel that he’d asked her for the pleasure of her company. He could hold down a fort, if he was called on to defend it, his tenacity coming to the fore. But he was not at his best where the situation was rapidly changing and evolving, and so it fell to the other officers to deal with incursions and raids, where split-second decisions made the difference between life and death. And he could be counted on to protect the cantonment.

  I hoped that I could reassure Parvati that all was well, and that the Army had everything in hand, then whisk her off to her mother without further ado, while the authorities dealt with the murder and theft. It wouldn’
t interfere with her holiday at all.

  The question was, had the man to whom the Prince had given the responsibility of protecting his wife and daughter also sent for instructions? The railway was not terribly far away, and there was a telegraph office. A single rider could be there and back in a quarter of the time a bullock cart could travel.

  Apparently, we discovered when we arrived at the guesthouse, the Prince’s man, one of his senior ministers, had indeed received instructions.

  And was insisting that they be carried out to the letter.

  Parvati and her little daughter had already been rushed off to the Palace under heavy escort, as if her life were in danger. The caravan had been hastily collected and was leaving shortly to follow her, accompanied by the rest of the troops and retinue, and there was already someone in custody, waiting to be taken away under a separate escort to stand trial. All very efficiently dealt with. Or so it appeared when we rode in finally and were greeted with this news by the beleaguered Sergeant at the gate.

  Only, he was under strict orders from Lieutenant Hayes to hold that gate and stop anyone from coming in or out, and he had armed men to back up those orders.

  Not a very good sign that all was proceeding smoothly, I thought, when I saw how relieved the Sergeant was to see a senior officer arriving to take charge.

  The gates swung open just wide enough to allow us through.

  The courtyard was busy with the Prince’s retainers, their brilliantly colored coats and signature turbans of the Prince’s household moving about like birds of paradise among the plain clothing of the carters and the men who managed the bullocks. I’d learned to recognize most of the turban styles, especially those of the Salute Houses. The British had ranked the Princes by the number of guns in a salute a Prince received. As I recalled, this house had a 19-gun salute. Only three or four huge estates ranked 21 guns.