A Singular Hostage Part 27

Mariana peered over the edge of her platform. A great, greasy round of bread leaked cubes of spicy-looking potatoes onto the tray. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

It was turkey she wanted, and her mother and father, and Baby Freddie, and Fitzgerald.

"Please eat," the girl whispered. "You will need food today."

Reluctantly, Mariana opened her eyes. There was something haunted about Reshma. From time to time, a sad, wounded look came over the girl. How frail, how underfed she looked, as if the very air of the Citadel were draining her life away.

"I cannot eat." Mariana shook her head and waved a dismissing hand at the food. "Have it for yourself," she added firmly. "Eat it."

The girl's eyes brightened. "You are good," she whispered, glancing first at the tray, then, carefully, at the doorway, "you are a good lady. That is why," she added, dropping her voice so low that Mariana had to lean from her platform to hear, "I am glad you are to marry the father of Saboor Baba."

Mariana jerked herself upright.

"You will be good to Saboor Baba, will you not, Bibi?" the girl murmured as she folded her potato bread. She raised her eyes, licking the grease from her fingers. "He is such a good boy."

Her little face, so eager at the prospect of her meal, filled suddenly with sorrow.

Footsteps echoed in the stone hallway outside the door. Female voices argued in a distant room. Where in his grandfather's house was little Saboor now? Was he upstairs with the ladies, or down in the courtyard with his magician grandfather?

Mariana glanced at the frail figure that crouched, eating hurriedly, in the corner. With her eyes, she measured the distance to the door. What was outside the guarded entrance to this tower? A courtyard, a garden, porticoes? Guards? After she had been taken down the elephant ladder, her arm gripped ruthlessly by the pockmarked queen, the palanquin she had been pushed into had threaded its way between many buildings. If she ran, could she find an open gate out of the Citadel before she was caught? If caught, how badly would she suffer?

She got up quietly, her mud-caked hair hanging heavily down her back, and crouched beside Reshma. "How far is it," she whispered, "to Shaikh Waliullah's house from here?"

"It is not far," said the girl promptly. "I think the Shaikh lives by Wazir Khan's Mosque."

"Reshma," Mariana murmured urgently, "take me there. Find a way for me to get out of the Citadel, and then take me to the Shaikh's house."

Reshma stopped eating. Mariana caught her gaze and held it. "You must must do this, Reshma." do this, Reshma."

"I cannot, Bibi." The girl's greasy fingers trembled, as did her voice. "You must not ask me to do this."

"But why? Why not?"

"Bibi," came the answer, spoken so softly Mariana could scarcely make out the words, "if you disappear as Saboor disappeared, they will punish me as they punished Saboor's servant."

"What did they do to him?"

"They took a great, curved sword, and with one blow, they sliced his nose from his face."

ONE by one by one, the elephants heading the British procession slowed, then halted. The marching band fell silent. Lord Auckland leaned from his howdah, his fingers tapping impatiently on the railing. "Why must every every journey to the Citadel be filled with interruptions?" He sighed. "How I wish this ghastly wedding business were already behind us," he told Macnaghten, who sat behind him. "I am already exhausted, and it's only six o'clock in the evening." journey to the Citadel be filled with interruptions?" He sighed. "How I wish this ghastly wedding business were already behind us," he told Macnaghten, who sat behind him. "I am already exhausted, and it's only six o'clock in the evening."

Staccato shouting erupted nearby. Lord Auckland straightened, abandoning his effort to see. Nothing was visible from his perch but the cavalry escort, an aimless crowd of liveried servants, and the usual swarm of excited boys from the nearest village perilously chasing one another under the elephants' moving feet.

He frowned. "I had hoped yesterday's treaty signing would be our last visit to the Citadel. What a wretched way to celebrate Christmas!"

A panting bearer loped past their elephant, a peac.o.c.k feather fan in his outstretched hand. With another sigh, Lord Auckland settled himself in his seat.

"I was sorry to hear that the bridegroom's father has refused to speak to us until tomorrow," he said crossly. "That is most inconvenient, Macnaghten. The man behaves as if we have nothing else to do, as if the Afghan Campaign were nothing at all. Someone might have told us the old fellow was considered some sort of religious authority, that he held regular gatherings at his house. What fool told us he was a magician? But what does it matter now? All that matters is that our last effort at forestalling this miserable marriage has come to nothing."

The line of elephants started forward again, with the somberly clad Lord Auckland and Macnaghten together at its head. Behind them in the soft light of dusk, the Eden ladies bent their heads together, one black crepe bonnet nearly touching the other.

"I would much prefer to take the girl away with us tonight," Lord Auckland told Macnaghten, "but since we have had no contact with the Shaikh, we shall have to leave Miss Givens there until tomorrow morning."

He coughed, then fell silent. Beads of perspiration dotted Macnaghten's brow.

"I warned her." Lord Auckland shook his head. "When she first came to camp, I gave her my most stringent warning. 'Never,' I said, 'show interest in the natives.'"

The marching band had started up again. Macnaghten leaned forward to be heard. "Who could have guessed at her excitement over native men? It is terrible to imagine how she will suffer tonight."

Lord Auckland's only reply was silence.

Their progress slowed by a leaping, pushing crowd of native onlookers, they followed the city wall toward the Elephant Gate. Steadying himself, Lord Auckland searched the fioor of the carved howdah for his silver-topped cane.

"Whatever Miss Givens's intentions may have been," he said as he sat up again, the cane in his hand, "her revelation saved the day. Accidentally, of course." His pale eyes brightened. "What a diversion the girl created after the Maharajah's marriage proposal! We could not have done it better ourselves."

"Quite so, sir," Macnaghten agreed, bobbing his head. "In fact, I have yet to think of a satisfactory response to that outrageous suggestion. Any refusal, no matter how well put, would have offended the old man, and might easily have had the effect of undoing our alliance. One cannot fathom the native mind. But what baffies me the most is how Miss Givens formed her own alliance with the Waliullah family. When could she have done it? She never left our sight."

Lord Auckland adjusted his top hat with precision. "I haven't the faintest idea, Macnaghten, but I do not wish to think of such matters now. Let us enjoy our relief at not having to partic.i.p.ate in tonight's ceremony. I cannot say how pleased I was when you told me that this barbarian exercise is to be conducted by natives, according to their custom, and that we may leave it to the ladies to join Miss Givens as witnesses to her 'consent.'"

Macnaghten frowned. "I must say, I was most unpleasantly surprised at the behavior of the girl's munshi when he came to explain their marriage proceedings."

"Why?" Lord Auckland poked the end of his stick restlessly into the fioor of the howdah.

"I found the man far too self-possessed for a servant, my lord. I did not like him."

Lord Auckland nodded. "Well, Macnaghten, this whole business is nearly over, thank G.o.d. I only hope my sisters keep their heads. They had some notion of getting Miss Givens to feign a swoon, then rushing her away on the pretext that she was too ill to give her consent." He smiled tightly. "It had not even occurred to them to wonder how they would manage this, with their only translator lying 'unconscious' between them."

He shook his head bleakly. "Why do we call this evening's spectacle a 'wedding'? Why do we not call it what it will be-an Oriental baccha.n.a.l? I can predict its course exactly, from deafening fireworks to screeching dancing girls, to poisonous wine, and finally to red-hot food."

"A proper wedding takes place in church," agreed Macnaghten. "How well I remember my own wedding day, how anxious I was, how lovely my wife looked."

He smiled to himself and crossed his legs.

"One thing is certain," p.r.o.nounced Lord Auckland from the front seat, "Miss Givens is never to have a real wedding. We have tried everything to save her, and it is now too late. Tomorrow, she will return to us in utter disgrace. For all that she is to blame for her own misfortunes, I cannot help feeling sorry for the girl."

IT was quite dark before the fabled picture wall of the Citadel rose before them at last, its bright tile figures of battling elephants, horses, and warriors fiickering in the torchlight.

"Welcome, welcome, most respected Governor-General Sahib! Welcome to the Governor-General and his party!" The Maharajah's amba.s.sador, a smiling man in a striped turban, started forward to greet them, torchbearers running beside his velvet-draped elephant.

As Macnaghten gave his prepared reply, a fiock of white doves erupted abruptly from a hundred small apertures in the wall. Their beating wings made the rushing sound of a sudden windstorm as, fiying together in a spiraling white cloud, they fiew in an arc, then in a circle, over the English party, before vanishing again into the wall.

"Kindest greetings and salutations from the Governor-General and his party," replied Macnaghten warily as the amba.s.sador's elephant advanced.

Lord Auckland glanced upward at the wall. "If I were a native," he observed solemnly, "I might believe the appearance of those birds to be an omen of some sort. But I am not a native. I, praise G.o.d, am English."

The thudding of artillery fire reached them through the filigreed window. Moran called sharply for silence.

"They have come," she announced to the crowded room, as braying trumpets and rattling drums followed the sound of the guns. "Send for the clothes."

"Who has come?" Mariana loathed the wobbly sound of her voice.

"Your husband, his family. They have come to take you away." Moran c.o.c.ked her head and smiled. "Your husband has come for you, dressed in beautiful clothes, riding a white horse."

Mariana's throat closed. Uncle Adrian's instruction returned through the ringing in her ears. "Always remember who you are."

Moran's eyes were fixed on Mariana's face. She frowned. "Bring a light, Reshma. I want to see how well her nose is healing."

The sour girl from the howdah sat against the wall. "This wedding is nothing," she said nastily, her nose ornament swinging like the ta.s.sel on a bell pull. "She has no relations of her own, no jewels, not even a copper pot for a dowry. How do we know the bridegroom is wearing beautiful clothes? She She has sent him nothing to wear." has sent him nothing to wear."

Murmurs of agreement filled the room.

Moran stopped peering at Mariana's nose, and pointed at the girl with beringed fingers.

"You, Saat, were you not a dhoolie dhoolie bride, brought to the Maharajah's tent with no wedding dinner? Do not speak," she snapped, as the girl opened her mouth. "We have heard enough of your doings." bride, brought to the Maharajah's tent with no wedding dinner? Do not speak," she snapped, as the girl opened her mouth. "We have heard enough of your doings."

As the girl named Saat Kaur recoiled, a maidservant stepped into the room carrying a shiny cloth packet, followed by a eunuch holding a black velvet pillow on outstretched hands. An intricate emeraldand-pearl necklace, a pair of heavy gold earrings, and other jewelry lay on the pillow, st.i.tched onto their places with black thread.

"These are your wedding clothes, and your jewels," said Moran, gesturing toward the bright packages. "Come, then," she ordered as she opened a mustard yellow veil the size of a bedsheet. "They will do the nikah nikah, the marriage agreement, now. We are bringing you upstairs."

"Now? Like this?" Mariana wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. "But my clothes are all oily and-"

Moran tugged her to her feet. "You do not wear your wedding clothes yet. Lower the blinds upstairs," she barked over her shoulder to a eunuch as she draped the veil like a tent over Mariana's head and face, "and make sure the seating is ready. Come, be quick, and keep your head down." She put a hand on the back of Mariana's head and pushed it forward. "Do not walk proudly."

"No!" Mariana stood straight and s.n.a.t.c.hed off the yellow veil. "I have already told you there has been a mistake. I have told you that the Shaikh does not wish this marriage to take place." She held the veil at arm's length, and dropped it onto the fioor. "I cannot be married against my will," she announced, planting her feet on the tiles. "I will not partic.i.p.ate in this wedding of yours." She folded her arms.

Everyone began talking at once.

"Wedding of mine mine? Against your your will?" Moran thrust her face into Mariana's, her voice a loud, persuasive singsong. "Against your will, when you announced aloud to a hundred men at court that you were betrothed?" will?" Moran thrust her face into Mariana's, her voice a loud, persuasive singsong. "Against your will, when you announced aloud to a hundred men at court that you were betrothed?"

She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the veil and jerked it into place over Mariana's head. "As for the Shaikh," she sneered, "you are wrong. He has just now arrived with his son to take you away. You are only feeling shy." She raised her voice, as if speaking to a deaf person. "Brides always feel shy." There was a murmur of a.s.sent and giggles from the crowd.

"Tell the eunuchs to wait," Moran added over her shoulder. "We may need them to take her upstairs."

Bodies crowded against Mariana. Hands pushed her head down. Bent over, she tottered helplessly toward the tower stairs.

Chattering women propelled her up the stone steps. There was no need to guess where she was; as soon as she reached the head of the stairway, she was a.s.saulted by a blast of noise. Lights fiickered through her veil as she was pushed outside and across a carpet, then nudged onto a platform like the one she'd just left, this one covered with scratchy, metallic cloth.

Her breath dampening her face, she listened through her veil.

Her attendant ladies were leaving. As their whispers faded, a rustling sound signaled the arrival of two other women who sat down, one on each side of her.

After a moment's silence, a familiar voice spoke into her ear. "Mariana," it said, in English, "is that you?"

Mariana tore her imprisoning veil from her face. There, like two tardy rescuing angels, sat the Misses Eden. Both were wearing black, as if they were in mourning.

At the sight of Mariana's face, Miss Emily started, her eyes wide.

"Oh, Miss Emily, Miss f.a.n.n.y," Mariana choked out, "I am so glad to see you. Please help me. They did so many things-"

Should she describe her ordeal to two spinster ladies?

Miss Emily produced a handkerchief and pressed it mutely into Mariana's hand.

"But, Mariana," Miss f.a.n.n.y whispered, staring, "what have they done to your nose, to your hands? Why have they wrapped you up like a parcel? I must say that yellow does not not suit you. Why is your face all shiny?" suit you. Why is your face all shiny?"

Miss Emily found her voice. "Perhaps there are things," she intoned, "that are better left unmentioned."

Mariana looked about her. She and the Eden sisters now sat in a darkened enclosure connected by a covered pa.s.sageway to the ladies' tower door. The sides and back of the enclosure were of thick canvas, while the side facing the courtyard had been made up of thin cane screens lined with fine muslin. Through the screens, she could clearly see a brightly lit gathering of men, no more than ten yards away.

Was that Lord Auckland in a silver chair?

"Can they see us?" she breathed.

"No, my dear, it is the oddest thing," replied Miss f.a.n.n.y. "As we approached, we could see nothing at all. We had no idea what was inside this enclosure, and yet from here we can see the courtyard perfectly."

"I am so glad you have come, Miss Emily," Mariana said eagerly. "I had feared no one would come to save me. But why are you wearing black? Has someone died?"

Miss Emily tightened her black-gloved hands in her lap, then spoke briskly, allowing no further interruption. "No one has died, my dear, but I am sorry to say that we have not come to save you, although my brother and Mr. Macnaghten have certainly tried their best to prevent this disaster."

What had Miss Emily said? Mariana's mind whirled.

"This 'wedding' business of yours," Miss Emily went on stiffiy, "has gone too far to be stopped. You must marry the man to whom you say you are betrothed." Black ribbons quivered under her chin. "I cannot imagine how I shall explain this to your aunt and uncle after they trusted me to guard your safety and your reputation...."

"But Miss Emily, I cannot marry the Shaikh's son. It was never, Shaikh Waliullah never-"

"Mr. Macnaghten is to call upon the Shaikh tomorrow afternoon," Miss Emily broke in firmly. "He did his best to arrange a meeting for today, but the Shaikh was too busy to see him."

Too busy to see Mr. Macnaghten and cancel the wedding? Impossible! Mariana shook her head vehemently. "Miss Emily, I cannot possibly marry-"

Miss Emily ignored the interruption. "As much as it pains me to say so," she went on, "you are the sole author of this dreadful situation. We all all warned you to keep away from the natives. I shudder to think what you could have done to invite a proposal of marriage from one of them." warned you to keep away from the natives. I shudder to think what you could have done to invite a proposal of marriage from one of them."

Thundering in Mariana's brain joined the pounding of her heart. She could scarcely breathe. "Miss Emily," she shouted, "I invited neither neither this proposal this proposal nor nor the Maharajah's!" the Maharajah's!"

Desperate, she turned to her other side. "Miss f.a.n.n.y, I-"

Miss Emily raised a finger. "Do not appeal to my sister. f.a.n.n.y quite agrees with me. You, my dear, did not stop at merely soliciting a marriage proposal. You announced your engagement before the Maharajah's entire court, and then went away on his elephant. Had you not done those things, there might have been some way out." She smoothed her black skirts. "As it is, nothing can be done until tomorrow morning when Mr. Macnaghten will come to the Shaikh's house to collect you and return you, sadder but wiser, I am sure, to our camp at Shalimar."

Her teeth clamped shut to prevent herself from shrieking with rage, Mariana gazed out over the crowd of glittering Sikhs and black-clad Europeans.

"What is that scent you are wearing, Mariana?" Miss f.a.n.n.y inquired. She had covered her nose with her handkerchief. She shifted on the platform beside Mariana, her taffetas creaking. "It has quite given me a headache."

"The second thing we have come to say," Miss Emily interposed in a repressive tone, "is that no word of these events is to escape the British camp. My brother has issued instructions to all those who were present at the Maharajah's dinner and to all who are present this evening that no mention of this 'marriage' is ever to be made in either personal letters or official dispatches. As far as we are concerned, these events will never never have happened." She coughed delicately. "As far as he is able to do so, my brother has determined to preserve your reputation. It is not, of course, within his power to preserve your honor." have happened." She coughed delicately. "As far as he is able to do so, my brother has determined to preserve your reputation. It is not, of course, within his power to preserve your honor."

Mariana could not take her eyes from the throng outside her enclosure. Of course they would gossip. They would all talk about her. How she despised Miss Emily, Miss f.a.n.n.y, Mr. Macnaghten, every one of them. If he were here, she would hate Fitzgerald, too.