“I—I don’t know, sir,” and I burst into tears, which displeased my papa so much that he ordered me to go to my chamber, and not to show myself in his sight for the rest of the day.
The remainder of the afternoon I spent in scribbling these pages to my Amelia, until my eyes ached so badly I could write no more, and also (I’ll confess it) in reading again and again the dear delightful letter that assured me of Fraser’s penitence and faithfulness. My beloved girl will wonder that I could take so much pleasure in that which had so sadly disobliged the dear kind gentleman I had seen so lately, and indeed I was ashamed of my own delight, and astonished at it. I put the letter in my bosom at last, and crept like a mouse into the saloon, which was not lighted, since Mrs Freyne was spending the evening abroad. But outside in the varanda sat my papa, meditating, I fear, on the humours of his troublesome girl, and though he had forbid me his presence I could not endure not to be near him. Seated, therefore, on the straw matting (this is used instead of a carpet), close to the open door that leads on the varanda, and sheltered by the antiporta, I ventured to watch him, with all the love and reverence in my gaze that ought to, and does, fill my grateful heart on the slightest thought of him. He appeared troubled, and I knew that he felt the want of the Captain’s company, who is so often with him of an evening, but before very long Mr Dash was announced, and the two gentlemen sent for their hookers[01] (have I said that these are a strange sort of tobacco-pipe, with a vessel of water and a long tube like a serpent and all manner of outlandish additions belonging to ’em?) and began to smoke.
“I looked in at the Captain’s quarters as I passed,” says Mr Dash after a while, “thinking he would be coming to pass the evening with you, sir.”
“And you found him abroad?”
“No, sir, but he was too busy to stir a foot. Questionless that sergeant of his has been in trouble again, and is condemned to pass the night in the black hole for brawling, after smuggling a jar or two of arrack into the guard-room, and the Captain’s preparing a new scheme for his reformation.”
I knew well what Mr Dash meant, for Captain Colquhoun had often told me of this man, who is an extraordinary good soldier so long as he can resist the influence of strong liquors, and had even requested my opinion on the possibility of depriving him altogether of the indulgence, which in this climate is so often abused; but I did not believe that ’twas this matter which was exercising the Captain’s mind this evening. I sat listening while my papa and Mr Dash spoke of the overbearing and threatening carriage of the new Soubah towards us, and wondered whether he would permit himself to be appeased by the genteel congratulatory letter sent him by the President as soon as he was formally proclaimed in Calcutta. My papa made sure that all would be well, since the Nabob had received the letter favourably, and shown no resentment for the injurious treatment of his messenger in the matter of Kissendasseat, but Mr Dash pointed out that Surajah Dowlah had already seized and imprisoned one of his rivals, namely, Gosseta Begum, his uncle’s widow, and was commonly reported to be about to march against t’other, his cousin the Purranea Nabob, so that he was destroying his enemies one by one, “and after Sucajunk,” says the young gentleman, “our turn will come.”
My papa made some jesting answer to the effect that Mr Dash had taken the infection of Captain Colquhoun’s apprehensions, and after that I believe I must have fallen asleep where I was crouched, for I woke up with a great start and my heart thumping, to find Mr Dash gone and Mr Menotti shouting on the varanda, while my papa sought to quiet him.
“I tell you, sir,” he cried, “I found one of Omy Chund’s peons (and I believe ’twas Juggermunt Sing, their Jemmautdar and the biggest rascal of ’em all, but I could not make sure in the darkness) lurking in your grounds, with a billet upon him addressed to Miss.”
“Sure the fellow must be the biggest fool of ’em all if he handed the chitt to you, sir, in mistake for Miss,” says my papa.
“Sir,” says Mr Menotti, with a very haughty air, “I addressed myself to the rogue with authority, demanding what he was doing in such a place.”