Terror in the Sun Read online

  The little Shrines by the water, the women in their beautifully coloured saris walking with heavy loads on their heads, small boys driving water buffaloes, a flock of black and white goats – all were irresistibly attractive.

  And the lake itself was a glory as the evening sun turned it to gold and children from the isolated villages plunged naked and jubilant into the cool water.

  This, she thought, was the India she wanted to see and even the sight of the vultures flapping their huge wings, as they were disturbed from consuming a half-eaten carcass, did not dispel the feeling of magic.

  They drove for several miles before William Sleeman ordered the carriage to return and now they took another route, moving through undulating countryside with more trees.

  As if it was constantly in his thoughts, he pointed out rows of lime and peepal trees and said,

  “Those are all places of abomination where wretched travellers, camping in the shadow of them for the night, have felt a Thug knee in the small of their backs, a Thug breathing behind their heads and the silken cord pulled tight around their necks.”

  Amelie gave a little cry.

  “William, you are frightening me!”

  He reached out his hand and took hers.

  “I am sorry, my dear, I did not mean to. In fact I was actually thinking aloud.”

  It was what Brucena thought that he was doing and she was exceedingly interested in what he had said.

  She had learnt that a place of strangulation was called a bele that a pola was a secret sign left by one Thug for another and a kburak was the noise made by a pickaxe digging a grave.

  Gradually she was compiling a glossary of her own on everything that concerned Thuggee.

  She had already learnt, both from Major Hadleigh and her cousin, that it was a mistake to ask openly for information, it was far better to listen.

  They drove on and now they could see the town of Saugor in the distance.

  There were people coming out from the town and Brucena looked at them with interest as they were returning home with empty baskets, which had doubtless held vegetables that they had sold in the market.

  Then she noticed, before they reached them, two distinguished-looking men wearing turbans and white-sashed dhotis over pantaloons and sandals with curled toes.

  They looked more prosperous and certainly better dressed than any other Indians they had passed and she wondered if they were strangers to this area. perhaps travellers.

  She was just about to ask Cousin William what he thought, when she noticed that between the two men was a small boy. Even as she looked at him she knew that she had seen him before, although most Indian children looked very much alike.

  But this boy was different and she was certain that he was the little boy who she had given the pink ball of silk to early in the morning in exchange for his flower.

  The carriage drew nearer and the men stepped off the road to let it pass.

  She then saw that the child with the little face and big eyes whom she had admired and who had smiled at her so beguilingly was crying.

  Tears were running down his cheeks and yet he was making no sound, only crying in dumb misery.

  It was the same small boy – she was sure of it.

  Then, as one man who was holding him by the hand, released him to put his palms together in the ancient gesture of namaste to salute the English Sahib, she saw that the child still held tightly in his hand the ball of pink embroidery silk that she had given him that morning.

  Chapter Three

  Brucena held her breath.

  For a moment it seemed as if a thousand questions flashed into her mind.

  Then, as she knew what she feared, she was aware that she must not speak of it in front of Amelie.

  Already she had said that she was frightened and Brucena had known ever since she arrived in Saugor that William Sleeman deliberately avoided talking about the Thugs in front of his wife.

  It was not only because she was pregnant but also because, like most Englishmen, he believed that ladies should be protected and cosseted against anything that was unpleasant or violent.

  There was a chivalry about him that she knew was part of his Cornish ancestry and she remembered that her Cornish grandfather, whom she had loved, had had the same principles.

  She therefore bit back the suspicions that came to her mind and told herself that she was being over-imaginative.

  Cousin William has said that after their last purge all the Thugs had left the vicinity and yet the riots she had seen on her arrival, because six Thugs were to be hanged, had shown her that a great number of people in Saugor sympathised with them or else were too frightened to take up any other attitude.

  A moment later they passed what was obviously the rest of the group connected with the two distinguished-looking men who were escorting the little boy.

  There were a number of heavily laden packhorses led by men with beards and turbans, all of whom looked prosperous and well-clothed.

  There were no women in the party and Brucena wondered what had happened to those she had seen that morning in their brilliant saris and the children who had been playing with the little boy who gave her the flower.

  In a voice that somehow trembled despite herself, she asked,

  “Where are these people – coming from?”

  “There has been a big market in Saugor today,” William Sleeman replied. “Farmers from all over the Province have brought in their vegetables and fruit for sale and their womenfolk have come with them to buy pretty saris and more jewellery to hang in their noses and round their arms.”

  It was an explanation that did not answer the questions that Brucena longed to ask.

  If there were so many travellers, would there not be Thugs too who preyed on them?

  Thugs who would await their opportunity under the lime trees that they were now passing through, then swiftly and silently commit their terrible crimes to add everything that the victim had bought to the spoils that they already possessed from other murders.

  ‘It could not happen here and in broad daylight,’ she thought to herself.

  Yet the face of the little boy with the tears running down his cheeks filled her thoughts to the exclusion of all else.

  They drove on and, while Amelie chatted away, Brucena was silent.

  She was wondering what Cousin William would say when she told him what she suspected and she felt a little apprehensive in case he should laugh her to scorn and tell her to forget the Thugs and just enjoy herself as any ordinary English girl would do in her place.

  But she knew she would feel that she had betrayed the child who had given her the flower if she did not ask her cousin to investigate.

  She thought to herself that the men and their packhorses would not get so far that the mounted Sepoys could not catch up with them.

  The carriage reached the bungalow and, as they drove through the banks of flowering shrubs up to the front door, Brucena saw Major Hadleigh waiting for them on the steps of the verandah.

  As soon as the horses drew to a standstill, he hurried down to lean over the door of the carriage and say,

  “Lord Rawthorne has called, sir, with a letter from the Resident of Gwalior.”

  “Now why should Mr. Cavendish be writing to you, William?” Amelie asked, before he could speak, “and if he has, I am sure it is only to be disagreeable.”

  “I think we can be certain of that,” William Sleeman said with a smile. “But who is Lord Rawthorne?”

  “As far as I can ascertain,” Ian Hadleigh replied, “he is making a tour of India and is staying with the Resident at the moment with letters of introduction from the Governor-General.”

  “We must certainly make ourselves pleasant to him,” Captain Sleeman remarked.

  “He arrived rather late, as he had been delayed on the journey,” Ian Hadleigh went on. “I have therefore, in your absence, sir, suggested that you and Mrs. Sleeman would be delighted if he would stay the night.”
r />   “Quite right! Quite right!” William Sleeman approved.

  “I have sent his escort to the Barracks, while he and his personal servants will stay in the house.

  William Sleeman nodded his agreement as he stepped out of the carriage and Major Hadleigh then helped Amelie to alight.

  There was no need for him to help Brucena.

  She was on the ground before he could put out his hand towards her and she wondered for a moment if she should tell him of her suspicions.

  Then she told herself that he would quite certainly disparage anything she might say and also tell her, as he had already done, that she should not concern herself with Thuggee.

  She therefore followed Amelie into the sitting room, where she found a tall dark man of about thirty-six in conversation with Cousin William.

  “I am sorry I was not here when you arrived,” Captain Sleeman was saying as they entered the room. “I cannot understand why Mr. Cavendish did not let me know of your arrival so that we could have made preparations to entertain you.”

  “I did not wish to put you to any trouble,” Lord Rawthorne replied. “I intended to be here far earlier and, having made your acquaintance, to push on to Bhopal, where I have some friends. But by the time I arrived it was too late to proceed further.”

  “We are delighted that you can stay with us,” William Sleeman said. “And now may I present you to my wife.”

  Amelie curtseyed as Lord Rawthorne bowed.

  “And my cousin who has recently arrived in India from England,” Captain Sleeman went on, “Miss Brucena Nairn.”

  As he looked at Brucena, Lord Rawthorne almost visibly started.

  There was no doubt of the look of admiration that came into his eyes as he appraised her, Brucena thought, very much as a man might appraise a good horse.

  There was something about him that she did not like. She thought it was perhaps his arrogance and his very obvious appreciation of his own consequence.

  “You are just out from England as I am,” he began. “So we have, Miss Nairn, something in common. What do you think of this strange, wild unusual country?”

  “I find it fascinating.”

  “I too find many fascinating things here,” Lord Rawthorne replied and there was no doubt that he meant it as a compliment.

  Later that evening as they sat at dinner and Major Hadleigh had joined them, Brucena thought that there was nothing wild about the scene and, except for the Indian servants, they might have been dining conventionally in any country in the world.

  Cousin Amelie and she in their best evening gowns, Cousin William in his gold-braided tunic and Major Hadleigh in the red and blue evening dress of the Bengal Lancers made the small party colourful and very formal.

  Lord Rawthorne would have looked somewhat drab in contrast if he had not decorated his stiff shirtfront with a large emerald stud that flashed in the light of the candles.

  It was such a beautiful stone that Brucena could not keep her eyes from turning towards it and, as if he realised what she was looking at, Lord Rawthorne said,

  “I think, Miss Nairn, you are admiring my latest acquisition since I reached India. I wanted to buy it from the Maharajah of Gwalior, but he insisted on making me a present of it. I have been searching ever since to find something to give him in return.”

  William Sleeman stiffened as his guest spoke.

  Then he said slowly, as if he was choosing his words with care,

  “I think, my Lord, you would be wise to be careful of accepting gifts from the young Maharajah.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Lord Rawthorne enquired.

  “Only that he has been rather tiresome since he became old enough to take certain things into his own hands. When I spoke to the Governor-General about him a short while ago, he made it clear that we should be particularly careful of ‘Greeks when they come bearing gifts’.”

  Captain Sleeman spoke in a way that made it impossible to take offence at his words.

  But there was a little frown between Lord Rawthorne’s eyes as he said,

  “I understand quite well what you are saying to me, Sleeman. At the same time the British Resident says that there has been a great deal of unfair gossip about the Maharajah and he suggested that the British have in many ways treated him unjustly.”

  Brucena knew that it was with effort that Cousin William bit back the words that came to his lips.

  There was a great deal that he could say about the behaviour of the young Maharajah, but he knew that it would doubtless be repeated to the British Resident and would only make trouble.

  The old Maharajah had died six years ago, leaving his widow, Baza Bae, but no legitimate heir and after much consultation she adopted as an heir a relative of her late husband’s.

  This boy was given the title of Maharajah and grew up at the Court, but soon he showed himself to be a morose, ill-conditioned young devil.

  The Gwalior Army had always been turbulent, rebellious and addicted to plunder and menaced the State and the safety of its neighbours.

  The Prince encouraged all the wildest malcontents and strangely enough the British Resident seemed content to let the young Prince do what he liked.

  It was the Maharajah and the worst of his soldiers who encouraged the Thugs and the British Resident took the attitude that Captain Sleeman’s reports of their activities were exaggerated.

  He said to all who would listen that he was quite certain that many of the hangings and the imprisonments imposed on the men who were caught were a miscarriage of justice.

  What is more he refused to allow William Sleeman to pursue or capture any Thug on Gwalior territory.

  It was a very difficult situation for Captain Sleeman and, although he had the full authority of the Governor-General to put down Thuggee and repress it in every way he could, the proximity of Gwalior made his task more arduous.

  He had said so often,

  “The Province is a Sanctuary for the men I pursue.”

  Now that she had heard the origin of the emerald in Lord Rawthorne’s shirt-front, it struck Brucena that it was no longer attractive and had an almost evil glint in it.

  Because the subject had been dropped, William Sleeman turned to speak to lain Hadleigh on some other matter and, in a voice that only Brucena was meant to hear, Lord Rawthorne said,

  “Emeralds would become you, Miss Nairn. I would like to see them against your white skin.”

  She considered his remark to be impertinent and raised her chin a little as she replied in a cold voice,

  “What other parts of India are you visiting, Lord Rawthorne?”

  He realised why she had changed the subject and replied with an annoying twinkle in his eye,

  “I am a wanderer without direction or much purpose, Miss Nairn, and I intend to stay and enjoy myself wherever my mood takes me.”

  Brucena did not reply and then Amelie stated,

  “You must see the Taj Mahal, Lord Rawthorne. It is one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen in my life and my husband feels the same. My father always said that it was one of the great wonders of the world.”

  “You must forgive me,” Lord Rawthorne said, “if I ask the name of your father. I find it rather surprising to find a Frenchwoman here in the centre of India.”

  “My father belonged to the ancient family of the Comtes Blondin de Chalain,” Amelie replied, “and he, Comte Auguste Blondin de Chalain, who settled in the Ile de France, what you call ‘Mauritius’, sent me to India because he thought that there might be opportunities here to improve his fortune.”

  Brucena realised that Lord Rawthorne was not only interested in what Amelie was telling him but also impressed that she came from a noble French family.

  She despised him because his attitude became a little more respectful, as Amelie went on to say that she had only been nineteen when she came to India in 1828 to stay with an English family in Jubbulpore.

  It was there that she had met William Sleeman and, m
uch to the annoyance of a large number of young very eligible Army officers in the district, had fallen head-over-heels in love with the forty-year-old Political Officer and married him.

  It was certainly not surprising that he had fallen in love with her for Amelie de Chalain was tall and had very fair skin and dark brown hair. She had a natural vivacity, a quick intelligence and a charm that had almost every man she met at her feet. At the moment, however, she was not looking her best and it was obvious as the evening progressed that Lord Rawthorne had eyes only for Brucena.

  He sat himself down beside her when the gentlemen joined the ladies and paid her compliments that did not make her blush but which she disregarded as somewhat impertinent.

  She had the feeling that he expected her to be bowled over by his attentions and the fact that she found him so unattractive made her astonished when she heard William Sleeman say to his wife,

  “I have had a letter, my dear, from Mr. Cavendish, which makes it imperative that I should see him sooner rather than later and Lord Rawthorne has put forward an idea that I hope you will agree to.”

  “What is that?” Amelie asked.

  “His Lordship is very anxious that we should all attend some sports which have been arranged for his amusement while he is in Gwalior. I thought it might amuse you and, of course, Brucena, if we all journeyed to Gwalior and stayed with his Lordship in the Guesthouse which he tells me has been put at his disposal.”

  Mrs. Sleeman was obviously astonished at her husband’s suggestion, knowing what he thought of Gwalior and in particular of the behaviour of the British Resident.

  But she was quick-witted enough to realise that he must have an ulterior motive in agreeing to Lord Rawthorne’s invitation and with only the faintest pause she replied with a smile,

  “It sounds delightful and I am sure that it will be nice for Brucena, who has had rather a dull time since she came to stay with us.”

  “We must certainly change that,” Lord Rawthorne said somewhat heavily. “I will speak to the Maharajah, who seems a most accommodating young man, and arrange for you to see native dancing and all sorts of other things that I have already found the Court of Gwalior excels in.”