A Singular Hostage Part 17

In the muns.h.i.+'s wake, faint wisps of fog seemed to hang in the air. In the first moments they had spent together, the baby Saboor had magically taken hold of her heart. He was hers, and she was now his. No one could tell her otherwise. Perhaps, in taking him, she had chosen a path of some kind, as the soothsayer had predicted. But whether or not she had taken a path, she would be careful, for Saboor's very life depended on her, she was certain of it. Yes, she would most certainly be very careful.

Half-awake under her covers, Mariana listened to the rain falling on the canvas above her head.

"But Memsahib, he must sleep with me me," Dittoo had insisted the previous evening as the baby in his arms reached out to her with urgent cries. "The other servants will be expecting him. They will ask questions if he is not with me."

He had been right. How could they pretend Saboor was a lost child if he disappeared at night to someone else's bed?

Unable to argue, she had waved Dittoo and Saboor away, then slept badly, certain that Dittoo had not wrapped the child well enough against the cold.

Now she rolled onto her back and pulled her pillow over her face. In spite of Muns.h.i.+ Sahib's warnings, how easy it had been, first to steal, then to harbor Saboor....

Only Dittoo, Muns.h.i.+, and Yar Mohammad knew of the baby's whereabouts, and none of them seemed inclined to give him away. The English were not even aware of his existence. If they were, they would never imagine that one of their own people had stolen him.

Someone else knew. Mariana pushed away the pillow and opened her eyes. How could she have forgotten Yar Mohammad's message? No, she must not think of that. She must think of how to keep darling little Saboor safe, and fatten him up and make him happy.

Footsteps approached. "Memsahib, I have brought Baba," Dittoo whispered. "Rain has begun, and so you will be traveling to the next camp by palki. I have told my friends that I have sent Baba to travel in a covered cart with a barber's family."

"Shabash, Dittoo, well done," she said, smiling her wide smile as she rose to greet them. "Well done indeed."

"'MATTHEW, Mark, and Luke, and John,'" she sang softly an hour later, her voice echoing inside the closed palanquin, "'bless the bed that I lie on-'"

A gusting wind threw spatters of rain against her palki's thin walls. Outside, the steadily panted "hah, hah, hah" of her bearers told her all was well.

"How kind of the weather to let us travel together," she whispered. "Wasn't Dittoo clever to knock over the coffee things and distract our bearers while I bundled you inside!"

The shaven-headed babe in the crook of her arm did not have her brother Ambrose's rosy skin, and his eyes were brown, not deepest blue, but his small weight against her eased her old sense of loss. His eyelids drooped, and he made little effort to sit up, but he seemed content in her company. He gazed into her face, letting her nuzzle and stroke him as much as she liked. She sat up, stuffed the pillows behind her back, and pulled him onto her lap.

"There," she said softly, as Saboor rested against her breast. She closed her eyes. If only she could show him to her family, especially to Papa- She was glad that the baby did not fidget. The s.p.a.ce inside the palki was long enough, extending past her feet, but it was barely wide enough for her to move, and each time she sat up, the roof grazed her head.

"Listen to the rain on the roof, my pet," she whispered. "Today we love love the rain, do we not, my little treasure?" the rain, do we not, my little treasure?"

She rubbed her nose against Saboor's cheek. "You see," she whispered, as he reached for the locket she wore on a gold chain around her neck, "you and I are quite safe and happy together!"

BECAUSE of the rain, the march took longer than usual. Breakfast, usually served as soon as everyone arrived at the new site, was late and crowded. Officers and staff members who would otherwise have taken their breakfast outdoors had elected to join the Governor-General and his party under cover. The dining tent was filled to capacity. Unable to sit at the table, the younger men ate standing, juggling crockery and teaspoons.

A servant pulled out a chair for Mariana beside Miss f.a.n.n.y. Mariana sat and arranged her skirts, surveying the laden breakfast table. Turning Saboor over to Dittoo at the end of the march had been tricky but successful, and now she was free to enjoy her breakfast. She took a brioche and reached for a b.u.t.ter knife.

Harry Fitzgerald had appeared in the crowd. She glanced up, wis.h.i.+ng she could edge over and tell him all about the baby while no one was looking.

Lieutenant Marks, who, thanks to Miss Emily, was also in the honor guard, hovered by Miss f.a.n.n.y, eating a plate of eggs and attempting to catch Mariana's eye. He was invited for a gla.s.s of wine tomorrow, and Miss Emily expected her to attend and and be civil, although she had twice been quite clear about her feelings. The second time, she had even rashly mentioned Marks's ears. be civil, although she had twice been quite clear about her feelings. The second time, she had even rashly mentioned Marks's ears.

"The lieutenant's ears," Miss Emily had replied, "are of no consequence. In time, you will cease to notice them."

Mariana would never never cease to notice them. They symbolized all her feelings about being pushed into a marriage of convenience. This morning, as Marks smirked at her over his fork, she imagined them growing longer and longer until they drooped to his shoulders. cease to notice them. They symbolized all her feelings about being pushed into a marriage of convenience. This morning, as Marks smirked at her over his fork, she imagined them growing longer and longer until they drooped to his shoulders.

Beyond the simpering Marks, Fitzgerald balanced his cup on a plate, his fine profile turned to Mariana. His hair looked ruffied, as though he had not slept well. She would run away with him tomorrow if there were anywhere to to run in the Maharajah's territories, or if he were not leaving any day to march for Afghanistan. run in the Maharajah's territories, or if he were not leaving any day to march for Afghanistan.

She turned deliberately, avoiding Marks's stare, and gazed with pretended fascination at a servant balancing a tray of dirty plates. All she could do now was travel back to Calcutta with Lord Auckland and his party, praying all the way that Fitzgerald would finish his tour of duty in Afghanistan and return to her. Sooner or later his true story would reach Miss Emily. Sooner or later, everything must be all right.

"Where is Major Byrne?" Miss f.a.n.n.y's voice broke into Mariana's thoughts.

"He has gone to arrange for sheep," offered Lieutenant Marks.

"Sheep?" Miss Emily stopped slicing a lamb kidney. "What do we want with sheep?"

"We're having them for lunch tomorrow, Miss Emily." Marks nodded seriously.

Miss Emily's eyebrows lifted. "What sort of sheep are we expecting for lunch? I hope no one has invited the vulgar ones with orange splotches."

Marks gaped in confusion. At the table's end, Lord Auckland folded his napkin. "If I were you, Emily," he offered, a corner of his mouth turning up, "I should not wear wool at tomorrow's lunch."

Miss f.a.n.n.y bent confidentially toward Mariana. "Sheep is one of my sister's favorite words." is one of my sister's favorite words."

"And now, dear Mariana," said Miss Emily, changing the subject, "you must hear the latest excitement from the Maharajah's court." She set down her porcelain coffee cup with a click. "We have just learned that while we were at the Golden Temple two evenings ago watching the fireworks display, someone performed an interesting feat of magic."

"Yes, indeed," Miss f.a.n.n.y put in. "It is such a pity we missed seeing it happen. The story has all the romance of an Oriental Tale."

Miss Emily patted her mouth with her napkin. "You must have seen," she began, "the sickly-looking baby that the Maharajah keeps beside him all the time. The child is a political hostage, kept to ensure the loyalty of his father, a young man who a.s.sists the mysterious Faqeer Azizuddin, the Maharajah's Chief Minister."

Mariana caught her breath.

"The little hostage," Miss Emily went on, waving her knife over the b.u.t.ter dish as the standing crowd quieted to listen, "was present at the fireworks that evening. You may have noticed him, Mariana, when the Maharajah held him up to see the display."

Mariana nodded mutely.

"Apparently, the child disappeared immediately afterward, in spite of every precaution having been taken to ensure his security."

Miss f.a.n.n.y leaned forward, her face alight. "According to the natives, the child evaporated evaporated from his servant's arms as he was being carried to the Maharajah's palanquin. Since that moment, no trace of the little one has been found. The Maharajah is said to be quite desolate at the loss of the child, who, he believes, brings him luck." from his servant's arms as he was being carried to the Maharajah's palanquin. Since that moment, no trace of the little one has been found. The Maharajah is said to be quite desolate at the loss of the child, who, he believes, brings him luck."

Mariana noticed Fitzgerald watching her speculatively from across the tent.

Miss Emily's eyes shone bright blue. "As if that were not enough, we are told that the child's grandfather is a well-known magician. The natives believe it was he who spirited the boy away, but this theory suffers from the fact that, at the time of the baby's disappearance, the grandfather was not at Amritsar with all of us but forty miles away in Lah.o.r.e."

A burst of amus.e.m.e.nt came from the young officers. Behind Lord Auckland's chair, Colin Marks exchanged a whispered remark with another man, who threw back his head in suppressed laughter.

Miss Emily lowered her cup onto its saucer, her turned-up mouth making her look very like her brother. "Of course, that explanation is ridiculous, but I enjoy picturing the old man muttering spells in his room after supper, while miles away the Maharajah's hostage vanishes into the air."

Mariana tried to smile along with the others. Little Saboor's grandfather was a magician. What could that mean? She closed her eyes and saw the servant running toward her in the torchlight, his lips moving, Saboor bouncing in his arms.

Two seats away from her, Dr. Drummond cleared his throat. "Considering the carelessness of the natives," he intoned, "it is only surprising the child has not been lost before. He was probably stolen right in front of them while they were all looking the other way."

A wave of mirth circled the table. Mariana felt the color drain from her face.

"Are you all right, my dear?" Miss Emily frowned. "Take a piece of fruit."

"Oh, no, thank you very much." A lovely guava was within Mariana's reach, but she could not trust her shaking hands with the fruit knife.

"An enormous reward has been offered for the baby's return." Miss f.a.n.n.y threaded her napkin into its silver ring and gave it a pat. "Is that not so, Mr. Macnaghten?"

The political secretary sat back in his chair and waved away a servant bearing a coffeepot. "Let us hope," he said, glancing toward the head of the table, "that the child is returned before anything happens to the Maharajah's health. Any illness he suffers now may be blamed on the child's absence. If it is serious, the illness might affect the treaty."

Lord Auckland had stopped smiling. "Do you think," he asked sharply, "that the disappearance of this child could harm our treaty negotiations, that the Maharajah might actually refuse to sign our agreement over the Afghan Campaign?"

"There are two possibilities, my lord," Macnaghten replied. "One is that the Maharajah may fall ill, delaying the signing of the treaty. The second is far graver."

The crowd around the table tensed. Mariana twisted her handkerchief in her lap.

"The natives are a treacherous lot, as we all know," Macnaghten continued, lifting his heavy brows. "There is a possibility that someone opposed to the treaty may have taken the child himself, and planted him in this camp."

"Planted him here here?" Miss Emily stared, her cup poised halfway to her mouth.

Mr. Macnaghten nodded. "If that were the case and the child were to be discovered here, the Maharajah would certainly believe we had stolen him."

"Stolen him? Why should him? Why should we we do such a thing?" Miss f.a.n.n.y's voice rose in astonishment. do such a thing?" Miss f.a.n.n.y's voice rose in astonishment.

At the end of the table, Lord Auckland twirled his b.u.t.ter knife. Mr. Macnaghten made a steeple of his fingers. "Because, Miss f.a.n.n.y," he replied, "the Maharajah is quite convinced this particular hostage is responsible for all his present good fortune. In fact, it is said that next to the great Koh-i-noor diamond, the baby is Ranjit Singh's finest possession. He calls the child his Pearl of Pearls. He would naturally a.s.sume that we had abducted the child in order to procure his luck for ourselves. He might not, under such circ.u.mstances, sign our treaty. We might be forced to abandon the Afghan Campaign."

Abandon the campaign? p.r.i.c.kles of panic raced up Mariana's arms and legs.

Lord Auckland scowled. He made little stabbing motions with his knife at the tablecloth. "Are you certain of this, Macnaghten?"

Mr. Macnaghten did not look well. "My lord," he answered, "we must be mindful of the extraordinary power of native superst.i.tions. The natives attach enormous importance to the oddest of things. Since the possibility exists that the child is here," he continued more briskly, "I should urge everyone in camp to look for him."

Mariana concentrated on breathing in and out, in and out. She dared not meet anyone's eyes.

Lord Auckland nodded. "You are quite right. We must ensure that this business of the baby does not interfere with our plans. As we all know, there is no time to be lost in signing the treaty."

He surveyed the crowded tent and raised his voice. "I recognize how unlikely this is, but if any of you should learn anything at all of this child's whereabouts, you are to report such information immediately to Mr. Macnaghten. Is that quite understood?"

Everyone nodded. The standing aides-de-camp, junior officers, and Harry Fitzgerald all murmured their agreement.

Mariana could bear it no longer. She pushed herself to her feet. "I beg your pardon, Lord Auckland, Miss Emily, Miss f.a.n.n.y, but I have just remembered that my teacher is coming early today."

A male voice followed Mariana as she fied the dining tent. "Aren't these natives extraordinary," Lieutenant Marks was saying. "Imagine making such a fuss over a little black baby!"

MARIANA sat on the edge of her bed, her thoughts spinning. With everyone looking for Saboor, how long would it be before he was found and handed over like a lost parcel to the horrid old Maharajah-to die of grief and neglect while she stood helplessly by?

But she would not not stand helplessly by. Within hours of the discovery, she would be on her way to Calcutta in utter disgrace. The Maharajah, claiming bad faith, would no doubt refuse to sign the treaty. Unable to establish supply lines or move troops across his territory, the British would then be forced to abandon their plan for Afghanistan. Unable to put their own puppet king on the Afghan throne, what chance would they then have of controlling Central Asia? stand helplessly by. Within hours of the discovery, she would be on her way to Calcutta in utter disgrace. The Maharajah, claiming bad faith, would no doubt refuse to sign the treaty. Unable to establish supply lines or move troops across his territory, the British would then be forced to abandon their plan for Afghanistan. Unable to put their own puppet king on the Afghan throne, what chance would they then have of controlling Central Asia?

Everyone would blame her.

She dropped her face into her hands and let out a little howl of terror.

Who would betray them? Who knew of Saboor's presence in her tent? Did the sweeper know? Had he heard Saboor's voice while he was emptying her chamber pot? Had he overheard her talking to Dittoo? What of her palanquin bearers? They had already had the chance to see Saboor on three occasions. What of Dittoo's friends at his cooking fire? Had they guessed the ident.i.ty of the child Dittoo slept with each night?

And what of the mysterious people who also knew, but had not revealed themselves?

She stood and began to pace the fioor. There must be something she could do to keep Saboor's presence in the camp a secret. She must not allow herself to panic. Dittoo had certainly been correct to disguise him as a lost village child. That disguise could work. It must must work. work.

Scuffiing outside interrupted her whirling thoughts, and there was Saboor, rolled in his torn tartan gown and tucked under Dittoo's arm, chirping with delight as the blind dropped shut behind them, wriggling to get down, already reaching for her.

"What has happened, Memsahib?" Dittoo asked, his own face turning from warm brown to dusky gray.

"The English sahibs have guessed," she replied as Saboor wrapped his arms about her neck. "They have guessed that Saboor is here in camp-Lord Auckland says everyone is to search for him."

Dittoo put his tongue out in dismay, then smiled. "But then, Memsahib," he rejoined happily, "you have only to perform your magic and all will be well, is that not so?"

"No, Dittoo, it is not not so," she snapped. "Don't be idiotic." so," she snapped. "Don't be idiotic."

Hearing her tone, the child on her hip looked up, then laid a small sticky, calming hand on her cheek.

"AND so, Muns.h.i.+ Sahib," she said a little later, staring down at the ruined handkerchief between her fingers, "it seems that Saboor is in terrible danger of being discovered."

Her teacher stood where he had stopped as she began telling him her story. When she finished speaking, he turned and gazed out through the open doorway to the dusty compound with its drooping canvas wall.

"You and Saboor, G.o.d willing, will soon be safe, Bibi," he said, nodding seriously.

"Safe? Both of us?" Mariana gazed doubtfully at him, then at Saboor, who bounced, watching them, in Dittoo's lap. "But how, Muns.h.i.+ Sahib?"

"When Saboor came into your hands at Amritsar," the muns.h.i.+ answered, his eyes now on the child, "we were forty miles from Lah.o.r.e. We have made two marches since that day. Lah.o.r.e is now only twenty miles away. By tomorrow, having marched another ten miles, we will be close enough to the walled city for you to return Saboor to his grandfather's house there. You can do this at night, while everyone is sleeping."

"Return him?" Mariana jumped from her chair. "Of course! We will hide him until tomorrow night, and then I shall spirit him from camp after dinner, and hand him back to his family. No one will ever know." She clapped her hands. "What an adventure that will be! And by the next morning, the camp will have arrived in Lah.o.r.e, and I shall simply slip back into my tent, and no one will be the wiser. Saboor will be quite safe again. Oh, Muns.h.i.+ Sahib, I am so relieved!"

"Exactly so, Bibi."

Her face fell. "But how am I to find the Shaikh's house?"

The muns.h.i.+ made a sweeping gesture, including in it himself, her, and Dittoo. "There is one other person besides the three of us who knows that Saboor is with you?"

"The groom, Yar Mohammad, knows." Mariana hesitated. "Also some mysterious people who have sent me messages, but I do not know who they are."

Her teacher gave a small, dismissive wave of his fingers. "Then," he said, "it is Yar Mohammad who will find the grandfather and arrange your journey."

AFTER two days in their care, Saboor had begun to play. While Mariana brooded over her interview with her teacher, he sat on the fioor beside her, sorting her hairbrushes and thumping them experimentally on the striped rug.

After her meeting with Muns.h.i.+, Mariana's relief had been replaced by an unexpected pain that had wrapped itself around her heart. Tomorrow night she was to give Saboor back to his own people, to grow into a man and live a native life. She would never see him again. When she was an old lady in a lace cap she would remember his luminous presence, his slow, beautiful smile, the happy little sigh he gave when she picked him up, the dear pressure of his arms about her neck.

His sweet company had consoled her since her loss of Fitzgerald. Now she must endure the months of travel back to Calcutta without Saboor, without Fitzgerald, with only the fading hope of a happily married future. She imagined the vicarage dining room in twenty years, and her father carving her a slice of mutton with elderly, shaking hands.

The baby pushed himself to his feet and clung, hiccuping, to her knee. She cupped his soft chin in her hand. "Must I return you to your family tomorrow?" she asked him. I return you to your family tomorrow?" she asked him.

He was getting better, and he loved her so. Surely Dittoo could hide him for one more day among the English tents. After all, they had hidden him successfully for three days already. Two days from now they would reach Lah.o.r.e. Why not wait until then-at least until then? Surely they could keep him hidden if they were clever....