Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

As Kesri was leading the captain away, Shireen said to Mrs Burnham: ‘Is something the matter, Cathy?’

‘No — not at all!’ said Mrs Burnham — but her eyes, Shireen noticed, were still following Captain Mee and Kesri Singh.

‘I saw you talking to the havildar that day,’ said Shireen, ‘at the Villa Nova. Do you know him?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Burnham faintly. ‘Kesri Singh was in my father’s regiment, I knew him many years ago.’

‘Really?’ Struck by a chance thought, Shireen said: ‘But surely then you must know Captain Mee too? He once mentioned that he and the havildar had been in the same regiment for close to twenty years.’

Mrs Burnham’s response startled Shireen; her lips began to tremble and she shut her eyes for a moment. ‘Yes you are right, Shireen dear,’ she whispered. ‘As a matter of fact I do know Mr Mee. Some day I will tell you how we met …’

And just then Baboo Nob Kissin appeared again to make another announcement: ‘Miss Paulette Lambert’s boat has arrived.’

Shireen stood back to watch as Mrs Burnham went to greet the new arrival.

Paulette was dressed in an old-fashioned black carriage dress, with a high collar, and her head was covered with something that looked like a widow’s bonnet. Her clothes sat awkwardly on her and her face too was not pretty in a conventional sense. Yet it struck Shireen that there was something about her that was arresting to the eye, a kind of luminosity.

From the other side of the maindeck Zachary was watching electrified: when Mrs Burnham and Paulette threw their arms around each other a strange oscillating jealousy took hold of him, ricocheting from Paulette to Mrs Burnham and back again. It was as if the two women represented the poles of his desires, one of them forthright, spontaneous and simple in her tastes; the other engimatic, sophisticated, wedded to luxury. The image of them together sparked an epiphany: he realized that different though they were, he would always be in thrall to both — but it didn’t matter, for he knew also that they were both forever lost to him.

*

Paulette too had caught sight of Zachary, from the corner of her eye, and was instantly thrown into a ferment: the wounds inflicted by his letter were still so raw that she could not bear the thought of speaking to him. Had she known that he would be at the levée she would not have come — but now it was too late.

Spinning around on her heel she headed almost blindly in the other direction, towards a companion-ladder. On reaching the top, she found herself on the quarter-deck where a sizeable company had already gathered: it consisted mainly of uniformed officers, most of them young. Stewards were circulating within the throng, bearing trays laden with beverages and refreshments. Although the sun had yet to sink below the horizon, brightly coloured Chinese lanterns were already alight, hanging in rows from the ship’s beams and rigging.

Almost at once Mr Doughty appeared at her side. ‘Oh shahbash, Miss Lambert!’ he cried out. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here — I am ekdum khush to see you! I’d heard that you were in these parts and have been looking out for you!’

Paulette too was glad to see a known face: ‘I am most content to re-encounter you here, Mr Doughty!’

Mr Doughty, in the meantime, had begun to reminisce about Calcutta and the dinners that he and Paulette had attended at the Burnhams’. ‘Oh they were fine old tumashers, weren’t they, those Burnham burra-khanas? Do you remember the ortolans, Miss Lambert? And the chitchkies of pollock-saug? Just to think of the Burnham table is enough to bring on a shoke for more.’

‘You have reason, Mr Doughty …’

At this point Paulette became aware that a figure had entered the edge of her field of vision: even without looking she knew it to be Zachary. A tremor went through her, as the shadow moved from the periphery of her vision towards its centre, yet somehow, by an effort of will, she succeeded in keeping her eyes focused on Mr Doughty’s face, grimly noting the details — the pores on his fleshy cheeks and the twitching hairs of his mutton-chop whiskers. Then, hearing an ominous clearing of the throat, she realized that Zachary was now attempting to enter the conversation. In an effort to pre-empt him, she began to talk at great speed, hoping to shake him off by prolonging her conversation with Mr Doughty: ‘And do you remember Mrs Burnham’s way of dressing a quail, all wrapped up in bacon? Like a cock in a capote, she liked to say.’

‘Oh yes, who could forget those? The very thought sets my jib a-twitch.’

‘And what of all the marvellous stews that were served at her table, Mr Doughty? I own that I have never had a better dumbpoke than in that house.’

Mr Doughty, who was still unaware that Zachary was looming behind him, responded enthusiastically. ‘And what of the relishes and condiments, Miss Lambert? Do you remember those? Would you not agree that if ever there was a chutney to be chartered it is Mrs Burnham’s?’

At this stage Paulette realized, with some relief, that her stratagem had met with unexpected success: Zachary had withdrawn a little and was hanging his head, as if in shame. His discomfiture, inexplicable though it was, heartened her and she would not have been averse to drawing it out still further — but this proved impossible for the talk of food had whetted Mr Doughty’s appetite. Spotting a steward with a laden tray, he sped away with an abrupt ‘Excuse me!’ leaving Paulette in exactly the situation that she had most wanted to avoid: alone with Zachary.

As Zachary cleared his throat, Paulette cast a panic-stricken glance around her. But there was no rescue at hand: all she could do was to look away, hoping that it would dissuade him from addressing her.

But the result was not as she had hoped: her averted face, far from discouraging Zachary, had the effect of transporting him back to the days when quarrels were his only means of coaxing her out of the shadows and into his arms. It was as though he had reverted to an earlier avatar of himself, when his ambitions had been simpler and Paulette had been the principal object of his desire. The carefully worded apology that he had composed, at Mrs Burnham’s behest, slipped his mind: all he could think of to say was: ‘Miss Lambert, there is something I need to tell you.’

Zachary’s all too evident discomfort gave Paulette the courage to answer with a sharp retort: ‘Mr Reid, your needs are nothing to me. I do not wish to know about them.’

Zachary ran a finger around his neck, to loosen his collar. ‘Please Miss Lambert—’

And at this critical juncture, when she was all but cornered, Paulette’s rescue was sounded by a gong.

‘Ladies! Gentlemen!’

The voice was Mr Burnham’s and it gave Paulette the perfect reason to turn her back on Zachary.

*

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Mr Burnham began, ‘a few words before we say a prayer for the success of the mission for which this expeditionary force has been assembled.’

Mr Burnham’s stance was like that of a preacher at a pulpit, with one hand on the binnacle, and the other on the lapel of his jacket.

‘As you may know,’ said Mr Burnham in his booming voice, ‘a fortnight ago Captain Elliot issued an ultimatum to Qishan, the new Governor-General of this province; he warned him that Canton would face an attack if our demands were not met. That ultimatum has long since expired and there is little likelihood that we will ever receive an answer. It is common knowledge now that the Emperor’s edict to his mandarins is to “annihilate the barbarians”.’

Here Mr Burnham paused to survey his audience, which was listening in hushed silence. His voice swelled as he continued: ‘Well, the Manchu tyrant shall have his opportunity soon enough. I have it on good authority that hostilities will resume very soon, possibly within the week. The outcome — which is not in the slightest doubt — will be of truly historic importance.’