Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (35 page)

He could scarcely breathe. Hindustani and that hair—Annie!

"How did you know I was here?" His heart pounded painfully.

"Come." She drew him behind some refreshment tables, where they were out of the crowd. "I knew ye were in England, but not where to find ye. Ram, Major Rale's back too, him of the John

Company, remember? He knows you're home and he's sworn to ruin ye. But, oh lad, my heart's afire at seeing ye again!"

"Where's Fred?" he managed,

"Him! Away in Wales, building the big house he's dreamed of, and thinking I'll rot my life away there, bearing his bairns and his savagery too! Ah, why wasn't it ye who married me?" Her fingers clutched his arm. "I've been in town two weeks, and I'll do all I've dreamed of. Will ye not help me? Fred won't be back for months, for I've bribed him so's I don't have to bear longer wi' his drunken nastiness. Are ye married too?"

"No." Suddenly he was glad he wasn't. "Annie, I'm here with friends. Come, let's join them." And aware it would impress her: "One's a widowed lady of title. She may be of service to you."

"Has she been so to you?" Her jealousy flared.

"Not in that way," he laughed. But upon leaving their shelter they at once became separated by the crowd.

"La, 'tis an Indoo king!" A witch took his arm and swung around to stare up, laughing, into his face. "Come, dance!"

"No!" He was looking around for Annie. He felt someone pressing against him from behind and, reflexes swift, he pivoted and jammed one of his pistols so hard in a man's stomach that its owner let out a loud "Oof!"

"I like not such intimacy, sir!" he warned harshly. The man was a Robin Hood who, still gasping, backed quickly away. But as he did, Ram felt an arm brush upward past his eyes. There was a slight tug at his turban, and the woman beside him vanished.

His diamond spray! He was tempted to cry thief, but how to identify one witch among so many? Realizing that he was still gripping the loaded pistol, he uncocked it gently. The girl's pimp hadn't known how near death he'd been.

Isabella was beside him. "Come, time for unmasking draws near. Do we gather at your house afterward or mine?"

"Not mine, I fear. But first I beg the honor of presenting a Queen Elizabeth to you, when I find her again."

"A lady ye met in the mob?" she asked disdainfully.

"Aye, one I knew in India, as well as her husband and father. She's new come to town and knows no one, despite her great wealth."

As he expected, at mention of wealth she melted. "La, another

nabob? Indeed, the town grows full of you. Can I be of service, pray call on me."

Asking her to wait at the rendezvous, he plunged again into the crowd and, sighting Annie at last, bore down upon her.

"I thought Vd never find ye again!" she cried with relief. "Canna we go away and talk? I've rooms up a pair of stairs in Covent Garden, near the Shakespeare Tavern. They're no great shakes, but suffice for me now."

'Tirst meet my friends. Lady Isabella Martham will be charmed to introduce you to the town, and Sir Harry Tapley's a rare hand at squiring ladies."

"I want only you for squire. But I'll not keep ye from your friends," she added with challenging abnegation. 'Til go home by chair and ye can call upon me at your leisure."

"You couldn't travel the streets unescorted so late." He drew her forward. "Here's Lady Martham and there's Harry, the noble Roman,"

After introductions, he told Tapley about the theft of his spray.

"Bah, these masques become a nest for Newgate bait!" The baronet scowled. "Have ye no idea of the slut's looks?"

"A witch. Dark skin, wide mouth and black hair," he recalled. "The bauble's of no great worth, but her cully was nearer a ball in his belly than he knew."

"Nabob," Isabella smiled, "Mrs. Morgan's devastated, but a migraine forces her to return to her lodgings and so miss our later gathering. But she permits me to visit her when she recovers."

The honey-mouthed schemer! Well, tonight she could take the crew home with her and they could lose at play among themselves.

"I'll escort her to her chair," he said coldly. "But I fear I'll be unable to play tonight. Your ladyship will forgive me?"

Her cloying smile didn't fade. After all, if this fish was escaping at last, surely wealthy Mrs. Morgan was already in the net.

Adieus made, Ram guided Annie outside. Shouts for Captain An-struther's coach brought Young Joe, who led them to it.

"Shakespeare Tavern," Ram ordered and they rolled away.

"Ah, 'tis a dream!" Annie snuggled close, childlike in her enthusiasm. "Oh, the years I've waited for this; London, the bon ton— and ye wi' me! How poor Bea would ha' loved it."

"How is she?" Ram, too, was enjoying himself.

"Dead! Aye, wi' her husband, and Mother too! Cholera."

"When?" It didn't seem possible that life-loving Bea was gone.

"A year since. I was upcountry wi' Fred or perhaps ye'd not be seeing me now. Father made Fred resign and bring me home. But he'll never come himself, even though the company's almost finished. 'Twas only a ramp of Prince Eugene to anger England and the Dutch, and when they made him political concessions, he withdrew the charter."

"What of Rale?" Ram asked. "You say he's in town?"

"Aye." She shivered. "And Fred's made his peace wi' the H.E.I.C. for deserting by promising he'll bear witness against ye whenever Rale wants. He's a poor creature, my husband."

"Bah, what can Rale do?" But he remembered the kidnaping of Rajah Prasad that Baja had tricked him into, remembered Rale's cowardice, his threats. And the John Company never forgot an injury.

The coach stopped outside the tavern and Annie had to direct it a few doors farther along, where Ram walked with her to a dark entry.

"May I call at your convenience, ma'am?" he asked formally, aware that his people could overhear.

"Lud, my convenience is now, sir," she giggled. "D'ye expect me to mount dark stairs alone? And may I not offer an old friend a glass of wine?" When he bade the coach wait, she shivered. "Poor lads, they'll be mortal cold. Can't a hackney take ye home later?"

"I'll need you no more tonight," he told Williams. "Young Joe, wait up for me." Following her within, they mounted to her rooms.

"Martha!" she called. "La, the chit's likely slipped out to some lad, thinking I'd not be back yet." She brought a decanter and as she poured wine gestured to a settee. He smiled inwardly, sure the maid had been sent away for the night. And as Annie couldn't have known he'd be at the masque, clearly she was prepared to bring home some other man—any man—who might strike her fancy. He drank his wine quickly.

She eyed him as she refilled his glass. "Ram, can ye think what like it is to have the juice of life within ye and only a sot for company?" Her lips parted and her breath came fast. Her hand caught his. "Ram! Oh, Ram!"

His glass crashed on the floor as time swept back to a Bankipur bungalow. God! Her kisses were maddeningly familar yet fascinatingly new. Scratched by her antique dress, he swore under his breath.

Laughing unsteadily, she led him into her bedchamber. "I fear, sir, ye'll have to maid me. Martha trussed me in so's I'll never escape but wi' aid." Together they began to unlace the bodice; then the gem-studded stomacher and the billowing skirt with its wide-spreading hoops, from which she stepped.

His overpent passion burst and clashed with hers as, gurgling in her throat, she tore off his turban and silk jacket. Ferally she clawed, groaning in her urgency, until he had mastered her and they lay spent and gasping.

Later, as he opened a drowsy eye to glance across at her, he began to laugh softly, then wildly. She awakened and for an instant regarded him blankly. "Oh, my love!" she breathed. "What ails ye?"

"Look at you!" he pointed. "Piebald!"

She picked up a mirror, then laughed in turn. Her chest, arms and face were painted a dead white to be in keeping with her role of Queen Bess, but the rest of her was her natural pale-lemon tint.

"And you," she countered. "Ye're part Maratha—but not where it counts!"

"Two piebalds!" he choked helplessly and reached for her again.

They were reawakened by a knocking. "Martha's come." Sleepily she reached for clothing. "If she so much as raises a brow, I'll scratch her eyes out!"

But it was Young Joe, bringing Ram's clothes. "The Captain may not wish to wear his Hindustan costume by day. The coach waits on his pleasure."

Watching from behind the bedchamber door. Ram was both embarrassed and pleased. A sharp lad. Young Joe. He was as deferential as to a queen on her throne; yet Annie stood there, hair awry, bare to the waist and the ancient farthingale billowing out from her like a ship under full sail.

He didn't love her and was sure she loved only herself; but with memories of the past and the excitement of the present, each filled the other's need. He was amused at how, under Isabella's tutelage, she dropped her Scots accent; how she basked in the compliments

of Lord Such and Sir Thomas So and drew envy from the Countess of This and Lady That for the gems, silks and rarities she'd brought home. And Harry and Isabella had undertaken all the tedious details of leasing and furnishing a house for her—filling their pockets in the process, as they had when helping himself with his house.

Though now mistress of a fine establishment in Red Lion Square, Annie kept her Covent Garden lodgings. For Ram couldn't visit her home late and leave early when she had a staff of servants and was, as she told everyone, expecting her "dear husband to arrive from building his great mansion in Wales."

As for Ram's own prospects, Wade was still encouraging—and still a big winner at play. There was possibility the King would wink at the heirs' sale of Napier's Horse Regiment, so long as it was done without its being known in either the English or Irish Parliaments.

So Ram was as happy as he'd been since Chanda. Even memory of her no longer pained. Sometimes he remembered the Irishman and his vow to seek him out. But first he must get his regiment, he told himself; that above all. Later he would take up the quest.

One night, he was returning from Covent Garden and thinking of what Annie had told him: that just before her sailing, Raja Bajaji Rao had entered into a treaty with the John Company. The wily old rascal, he'd done at last what he himself had advised so often. As a Company ally, Baja would make new conquests. Ram wondered who was leading his old troops now.

"Chilly night. Captain." Peg-Leg Parker stumped forward to pay the chairman and to open the front door. " 'Minds me o' winter quarters in the Low Countries, back in '03."

"A trifle before my time, Tom," Ram chuckled, entering.

Joseph took his hat and cloak. "The gentlemen are at play, sir. They're rare hands with the Oporto tonight. Young Joe's taken in five bottle already."

Ram frowned; not that he minded the wine, but he needed sleep. "Send in more." He went to the gaming room.

As he entered, a slurred voice was complaining: "Curse me, but foul luck's dogged me these three months. Damn your eyes, here goes the east meadow. See if ye can beat that!" It was Roger Sparrow, eyes red, wig awry, drool on his chin.

Courtnaye, as banker, dealt his cards. Harry sat on the right with

a Major Holton beyond him and callow Lord Deane next to Sparrow. All had their coats off and their waistcoats unbuttoned.

"Come and raise our spirits, Nabob/' Tapley invited. " Ton honor, we're most demnably dull."

"Pox take London weather!" Ram shivered, sitting. "You must all have blood like butter to stand it." He leaned to accept cards, then checked, realizing he hadn't removed his sword. Unbuckling it, he tossed it onto a settee. He glanced around. Courtnaye had gold and paper before him; Holton seemed to be winning, as was Harry; the peer was scrawling an I.O.U. The squire had neither money nor paper.

Young Joe brought more wine and all drank. Spanow emptied his glass and held it out for replenishment.

"Play!" he mumbled. "Me lud, trouble ye for quill and paper . . . or Gen'man said house worth fi' thousand. I stake it. No good without meadow or north pasture. Aye, house—fi' thousand."

Ram was tempted to intervene. It was bad to see the lad staking his house. Yet, if he won! He saw Courtnaye's cold eyes watching the bumpkin scrawl his signature.

"Five thousand," the captain said quietly. "I accept." He glanced around the table, but all the rest refused cards. It was to be between the gambler and his gull. In dead silence each tumed a card.

Courtnaye won.

"Cheat!" Sparrow leaned across to catch the winner's wrist. "Pox ye, I saw ye palm it!"

"Faugh!" Courtnaye flung off his grip. "You're drunk, fool!"

"Fool? Aye, thrice damned for letting ye cheat me of nigh twenty thousand! Ye whoreson, think I don't know ye cuckolded me lady's late lord—you and that bastard baronet?" Sparrow laughed horribly, swaying. "Gulled by a whore and her pimps! You, Nabob, they rob vou too—and you, me lud! I'll cry their names over the town. Cheats! 'Pimps! I'll—"

But already Courtnaye had kicked back his chair, leaped for Ram's sword and drawn it. Before the rest could stir, he sprang at the screeching man. There was a gurgling scream and the snap of metal as the weapon shattered upon a waistcoat's silver button. But the point had pierced Sparrow's chest, leaving some inches of steel projecting.

The victim stared down at it with horror-widening eyes, then

clawed to pull it out, while Courtnaye crouched before him, clutching the useless hilt.

Incredibly, Sparrow pulled out the blade and, using it as a dagger, stabbed futilely at his assassin. But blood gushed and he staggered, fell, gave a long shudder and become still.

All were frozen in position: Courtnaye staring down at the bodv, the peer, Harry and the major leaning with their hands on the table to Courtnaye's right, and Ram on his left.

"Great God, ye've killed him!" Lord Deane broke the silence.

Murdered him you mean! Ram thought savagely, staring at the captain. He looked more closely. Bright blood was spurting from the left of Courtnaye's neck. Sparrow's stab must have nicked him, after all. Yet he seemed unaware of it and held his pose, watching the lad he'd ruined and killed. Then irritably, as if brushing off a fly, he slapped his neck. Lowering his hand, he saw it bloody. Scowling, he felt again and became aware of the spurting.