Danger at Dahlkari (14 page)

“With great pleasure,” he said.

It was an outrageous ploy on Dollie's part, and I wanted to scold her. Lieutenant Stephens merely grinned, his deep blue eyes amused. He complimented Dollie on her success, bade her good night and led me out into the foyer, pausing to fetch his hat. I thought he looked rather weary himself. There was a tautness about his cheekbones, as though the skin was stretched too tightly, and faint grayish-mauve shadows were etched beneath his eyes. He brushed a thick wave of blond hair from his forehead, his mouth a tight line as he put his hat on and adjusted it. We left the mess hall and walked slowly toward the rows of barracks, all dark now, not a single light showing, the white walls gilded with moonlight and awash with shadows. Michael was silent, lost in thought again, and there was no sound but our footsteps and the silken rustle of my gown.

“It—it was quite presumptuous of Dollie to impose on you like this,” I remarked. “I apologize for her.”

“I'm grateful to her,” he replied.

He lapsed into silence again. Michael Stephens was something of an enigma, I decided, certainly far more complex than he would seem to be at the first impression. He was undeniably self-possessed, calm, levelheaded, an efficient soldier. He had great charm, of course, when he cared to employ it, but I suspected he kept tight rein on his emotions and rarely did anything on impulse. He was ambitious, and perhaps he was a bit ruthless, but that wasn't at all unusual in the military personality. A good soldier had to be ruthless at times, had to maintain that steely control I sensed in him. I found him utterly intriguing already, and already I sensed he was going to become very important to me.

“You—you seem very preoccupied,” I said quietly.

“Sorry. You'll have to forgive me.”

“You were thinking about the expedition, weren't you?”

“I was, actually.”

“Do—do you mind talking about it?”

“Not at all. It was a total failure. We visited over a hundred villages, interviewed hundreds of natives, and not a one of them knew a thing about the Thugs, not a one of them gave a satisfactory answer to our questions. They know, of course, but those not actually in league with the villains are too terrified to talk. We weren't given a single lead. Their cover is damn near perfect. It seems we'll never be able to break it.”

“Perhaps this man Gordon—”

“Gordon's a fool,” he interrupted, his voice severe. “He's a flamboyant, self-advertising opportunist who's managed to worm his way into the confidence of the military leaders. He hasn't accomplished a thing since he was sent out here. All he's managed to do is antagonize everyone on post. The man should be thrown out of the country.”

“You seem to feel quite strongly about him.”

“Everyone feels strongly about Gordon. He's a rogue, a disgrace to England with those filthy books he's written, those vile translations. He acts so damned superior—the man makes me livid.”

We had passed the barracks and were nearing the green. It was extremely late, but still a few lamps burned in the houses. The flagpole stood like a tall silver wand, casting a long black line of shadow across the ground. Michael had grown silent again after his outburst about Gordon. I could easily understand why the military personnel here at Dahlkari would resent the man, an outsider sent in to take over a job they had been unable to accomplish themselves. Michael felt very strongly about his failure to discover anything about the Thugs during the expedition, and that was probably the reason for this rather moody silence. He wouldn't take failure lightly. I felt certain he was accustomed to great success in everything he set out to accomplish.

As we walked across the green toward the house, I thought about the strange native with the harsh face who had come to our rescue, who had murdered to protect us. I had thought about him frequently during these past two weeks, wondering who he was, what had become of him. I kept seeing those dark, smoldering eyes, that cruel mouth unable to forget what he had done for us, unable to understand why he had gone off like that without collecting a reward. I wondered if Michael and his men had discovered any trace of him. I rather doubted it. Considering his present mood, I thought it unwise to ask any more questions.

We climbed the steps to the veranda and stopped in front of the heavy oak door with the fan of glass panes above it. A light was burning in the front hall, softly diffused golden rays streaming out through the panes. Michael had maintained his silence, and he stood quietly now, looking down at me with a thoughtful, bemused expression in his eyes. I had a wild impulse to reach up and stroke that lean cheek, and I was alarmed at myself for even entertaining such a thought. I considered myself intelligent and self-possessed and quite above the shallow, romantic foolishness that had occupied the other girls back at school, yet at the moment I wasn't so sure of myself. I felt extremely vulnerable.

“I—I want to thank you for your kindness,” I said. My voice sounded unusually stiff. “You've been very—” I hesitated, floundering.

“I'm afraid I haven't been very good company,” he replied, “but I'll make it up to you. You be ready at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Nine?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Our ride,” he reminded me.

“Oh—yes. Yes, that will be fine.”

“I'm looking forward to it, Lauren.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders then and pulled me toward him. He looked into my eyes for a long moment, and I saw his mouth curving as he tilted his head to one side and leaned down to kiss me, and then those lips were covering my own ever so lightly. They lingered in a long caress, warm, pliant, pressing gently, and then he drew back. His brow was stern, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. I looked up at that handsome face, confused, at a loss for words. Another long moment passed.

“You didn't slap me,” he said.

“I—I know I didn't, Lieutenant, but—neither did I swoon with rapture.”

Lieutenant Stephens smiled. “You will next time,” he promised. “Next time I shall definitely see to it that you do.”

And then he turned and moved down the steps and toward the green, tall and splendid in his uniform, walking in brisk, confident strides. I stood there in front of the door. Moonlight spilled over the banisters, coating the wooden floor with silver. The old porch swing creaked gently on its chains. I watched him stride down the green, and my confusion mounted, mingling with emotions I wasn't ready to acknowledge. Michael Stephens disappeared, but still I lingered in front of the door, lost in thought. It was quite some time before I finally went inside.

Six

Sally and I stood in front of the stables, waiting for the men to join us. It was a glorious morning, the sky a pale bluish gray awash with brilliant silvery sunlight. Behind us the horses shuffled restlessly in their stalls, eager to be out on such a splendid day, and there was the smell of slightly damp hay and old leather and sweat. A week had passed since the night of the dance. I had seen Michael Stephens every single day. He had come to call on me at the house every single evening. We were going to visit the fabled ruined city of Karbala today, Sally and Sergeant Norman accompanying us. A huge straw picnic hamper sat at our feet, a blue and white checked cloth spread over the lavish lunch Olana had begrudgingly packed for us. I could hardly wait to be off.

I had heard about the ruined city, of course. Almost everyone had. It had been discovered quite by accident only a few years ago, and I had read an account of that discovery in one of the papers in Bath. It had caused a sensation among archeologists and, because of the nature of the carvings, had caused proper Victorians to recoil in horror. When I had learned that Karbala was a mere two hours' ride from Dahlkari, I had begun a persistent campaign to be taken to it. Michael had had considerable reservations, and Dollie had been most alarmed at the mere idea. Reggie agreed that Karbala was interesting indeed, although certainly not suitable for an impressionable young girl. I reminded him that I was quite grown up, and he said it still wouldn't be a good idea for just the two of us to go so far afield with the Thuggee situation being what it was. It was then that I suggested that Sally and Sergeant Norman come along. Surely with two armed men there would be no danger. The arguments continued all around, but I had finally won out.

Sally looked unusually fetching in a dusty-rose cotton dress. Although it had seen better days, it fit snugly at bosom and waist, pointing up her abundant curves, with a flared skirt. Freshly washed, her tarnished gold hair spilled to her shoulders in gleaming curls, fastened in back with a black velvet ribbon. Since the advent of Sergeant Norman she looked even more radiant, glowing with a new satisfied air that seemed to heighten her color.

“I can hardly
wait
to see those carvings,” she said. “Bill assures me I'll be ever so shocked.”

“I rather doubt it,” I replied, teasing.

“I do, too,” she agreed, “but I'm terribly curious. I do wish they would hurry. They're going to wear civilian clothes, by the way. Bill told me we'll have to tether the horses and walk part way, and it's rough going. They'll not want to ruin their good uniforms.”

“I've never seen Michael out of uniform,” I remarked.

“He'd look marvelous in
any
thing, but Bill—I'm not so sure. The uniform gives him a certain glamor. Without it he might look common as a potato. I told him so. He didn't like it a bit.”

“You're not still fighting?”

“Oh, we fight every day, but I haven't seen anyone else, if that's what you mean. I wouldn't dare. He laid down the law to me the night of the dance—ever so masterful, he was, quite thrilling.” She gave a wistful little sigh, her brown eyes dreamy. “You know, I think I may actually be
fond
of him.”

“He's certainly kept you in line.”

“That's because I want him to. It's ever so nice, having just one beau. Never thought I'd take to it, but then I never met a man like Sergeant William Norman.”

“He keeps you
oc
cupied, too. I hardly ever see you.”

“You've been rather occupied yourself. I'm very happy for you, Miss Lauren. Lieutenant Stephens is
such
a fine catch.”

“I—I haven't caught him,” I protested.

“No? It certainly looks that way to me.”

“We're merely friends.”

“Friends? Every morning he comes by for you and the two of you go riding—he hasn't missed a morning since the night of the dance—and then he comes round to the house every single evening and the two of you stroll in the gardens for hours. I suppose you just
talk
.”

“That's exactly what we do.”

“And that's
all
?”

“Of course that's all.”

Sally shook her head. “It sounds dreadfully boring.”

“It's—quite stimulating.”

Sally made no reply, but she didn't need to. Her eyes told me exactly what she thought about such prim and proper behavior. It
had
been prim and proper. Michael had been charming and friendly and a wonderful companion on our rides, and, in the evenings, he had been attentive and polite and agreeable, but he had never kissed me a second time, had rarely taken my hand. I was relieved, or at least that's what I told myself. The evening of the dance had left me in a state of emotional confusion, and I still wasn't sure of my feelings toward him. I only knew that I looked forward to seeing him with keen anticipation, and in many ways this past week had been the happiest week of my life. Michael was giving me time, deliberately. I could sense that, and I both dreaded and eagerly looked forward to his next move, not at all certain what my response would be.

“You look unusually nice this morning,” Sally remarked.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“I like your hair done up like that. It makes you look older.”

I had taken extra care with my appearance this morning, but then I had been doing that for a week now and no longer tried to deceive myself as to the reason. My chestnut hair was worn in a French roll on the back of my head, secured by a number of hairpins. I wore a long-sleeved white blouse with lace ruching, a wide belt of dark blue kid and a full riding skirt of powder blue broadcloth, my kid boots the same dark blue as the belt. I was pleased with the total effect and felt I did indeed look older, less like a schoolgirl.

“I
do
wish they'd hurry up,” Sally said. “These men, you can never depend on them. I suppose they had to stop by the armory to check out their pistols. Bill said he wasn't at
all
in favor of this little outing, said it was downright foolhardy.”

“That's nonsense,” I told her. “The Thugs never attack English parties. It's only the native caravans they go after. There haven't been half a dozen English killed in the whole history of Thuggee.”

“All I know is that the number was almost increased by two,” Sally retorted. “Besides, these Thugs aren't like the others. The others had strong religious convictions, however grisly. These are the last holdouts, the most vicious of the lot. Although they still pay token allegiance to Kali, they're really just using it as an excuse to kill and loot.”

“I can see you've been discussing it with someone.”

“Bill says I have a
mor
bid interest in the matter, but, after all, I was almost strangled by the brutes. I want to learn all I can about them. Miss Lauren.…” She hesitated, as though debating whether or not to tell me something.

“What is it, Sally?”

“You know that yellow scarf, the one the Thug dropped on the ground when that native stabbed him—I never gave it to Reggie. I never mentioned it. He was asking so many questions and carrying on so that I plain forgot it was in the pocket of my dress.”