“Surely you are telling some idle tale of the bazaar,” said Malcolm.
“No, sahib. My brother is a grass-cutter in the Nana’s stables. While I was at the well this morning a carriage came down the road. It was a rajah’s carriage, and there were men riding before and behind. I asked my brother if he had seen it, and he said that it brought the Begum to Bithoor, where she is to wed the Nana.”
“What! A Mohammedan princess marry a Brahmin!”
“It may be so, sahib. They say these great people do not consider such things when there is aught to be gained.”
“But what good purpose can this marriage serve?”
The woman looked up at Malcolm under her long eyelashes.
“Where have you been, sahib, that you have not heard that the sepoys have proclaimed the Nana as King?” she asked timidly.
“King! Is he going to fight the Begum’s father?”
“I know not, sahib, but Delhi is far off, and Cawnpore is near. Perchance they may both be kings.”