The reception in honour of Kharrak Singh's birthday, a very brilliant affair, was held in a pavilion erected for the purpose in the courtyard of the palace, since Sher Singh was still debarred entrance to the building itself. On the dais at the upper end was a silver-gilt arm-chair for the little Rajah, flanked by plain silver chairs for Gerrard and Sher Singh, and behind the three chairs was a curtain, which shielded the Rani and her attendants from the public gaze. Gerrard was conscious of an unusual amount of whispering and excitement behind the curtain, but it did not occur to him that this had any special significance until the speeches were over, and those present came up to offer their congratulations and their nazars. First of all came Sher Singh, as the foremost subject of the realm, with an offering of gold coins, which it was Kharrak Singh's duty graciously to accept and retain. But to Gerrard's dismay, and the horror of all the spectators, the boy drew back as his brother approached, and folding his arms across his chest, sat like a little cross-legged image of obstinacy, mutely declining to notice either the offering or the offerer. Whispered remonstrances were useless, and Sher Singh, after waiting for a moment in vain, cast the nazar contemptuously on the gold-worked carpet, and turned away with a face convulsed with rage. "The child has been put up to this!" he muttered angrily, and stalked down the gangway, between the rows of Sirdars and notables. Gerrard beckoned hastily to the next man, mentally resolving to get the durbar over as quickly as possible, and then hurry after Sher Singh and try to placate him, but to his horror, Kharrak Singh remained immovable, and declined to notice the offering now held forth to him. Remonstrances came from behind the curtain at this, and Gerrard gathered that the boy had improved on his mother's instructions; but as if an evil spirit had taken possession of him, he sat hugging himself tightly, finding, apparently, a malicious pleasure in the perturbation he was causing. It was highly probable that the Rani had desired him to be specially gracious to the military officers who would bring up their swords to be touched when the old councillors had passed, but Gerrard was not minded to let matters go further. The durbar was hastily broken up, with the excuse that the Rajah must be ill, and the Rani and her crowd of chattering excited women conducted back, with all the usual paraphernalia of sheets held before and behind and on either side of them, to their own apartments. Gerrard allowed them barely time to get back there before demanding an audience, but in that brief interval he heard that the Rani had that morning distributed to the army the monthly allowance which had just been paid to her, and the jewels in which she had invested her savings since her widowhood. It might be considered a valiant effort to compensate them for the breaking of her promise, but Gerrard knew that her tradesmen's bills would have to be settled by the Durbar in consequence. The lady was clearly incorrigible, and he braced himself for the struggle.
The Rani displayed no penitence when, after much delay, and many complaints as to the unreasonableness of the request, she consented to receive Gerrard, but he detected a trace of alarm in her voice when she referred to Kharrak Singh's treatment of the councillors. Evidently her son had gone further than she wished, for it was no part of her plan to drive the Durbar into making common cause with Sher Singh. Gerrard seized upon the opening thus afforded him, and made skilful use of it. The harm done must be instantly repaired, and the offended notables placated with suitable gifts and assurances, if Kharrak Singh's rule was to endure. The Rani assented to this, though with reluctance; but when Gerrard proceeded to say that the first person approached must be Sher Singh, and that the Rani's peace-offering to him must be the fief of Adamkot, she refused to hear another word, and when he persisted, intimated that the audience was at an end. He took out his watch.
"Maharaj," he said, sending his voice loudly in the direction in which, as the rustling behind the curtain informed him, she was withdrawing in disdain, "I give you five minutes. If by that time you have not put your seal to the sanad,[1] and given it to the Rajah to bring to me, that we may ride together to Kunwar Sher Singh's house with it, I leave Agpur, and tell Colonel Antony Sahib that it is impossible for me to fulfil my duties here."
The rustling ceased, and it was clear that the Rani had paused. Then there broke out a tumult among her women, some evidently entreating her to yield, and others advising that she should let the insolent Feringhee go, and take the reins of power into her own hands, secure of the support of the army.
"Two minutes gone!" said Gerrard.
The Rani tried to temporise. "Let not Jirad Sahib fit the shoes of impatience to the feet of offence," she said blandly. "Is he not ruler here? But the wise ruler is he who acts with the dwellers behind the curtain on his side."
"Three minutes gone!" said Gerrard.
"I have set Jirad Sahib's foot on my head because it was the will of my son's father," cried the Rani passionately; "but to that of Sher Singh I will not bow."
An approving chorus from the attendants answered her, interrupted by
Gerrard's reminder that four minutes had passed.
"What is it you command me to do?" she demanded desperately.