Through that time Kesri was aware of very little, having been given massive doses of morphine. But once, during a brief period of lucidity, he realized that Captain Mee was standing by his cot, looking down at him.
When the captain saw that Kesri had opened his eyes, he said, in a shaky voice: ‘Havildar — how are you?’
‘I’m alive, Kaptán-sah’b,’ Kesri whispered.
‘I’m sorry, havildar …’
‘You should not be sorry, Kaptán-sah’b. I am here today — I did not think I would be.’
‘I might not have been here either,’ said the captain, ‘if it weren’t for you. The Cameronians probably wouldn’t have found us in time if you hadn’t got those guns to work. Who knows what would have happened?’
‘We were lucky, Kaptán-sah’b.’
‘It wasn’t just luck,’ said the captain. ‘It was what you did with those muskets that saved us. You should know the CO’s recommended you for a citation, for bravery in the field.’
‘Thank you, Kaptán-sah’b.’
‘Tomorrow we’ll be going back to our transport ship at Whampoa,’ said Captain Mee. ‘From there you’ll be evacuated to Hong Kong. You’ll be well looked after there — I’ve asked them to give you a room to yourself. And the gun-lascar, Maddow, will be accompanying you; he’s specifically asked to go.’
‘Thank you, Kaptán-sah’b. I’m grateful.’
‘It’s no more than you deserve.’
The captain gave Kesri a pat on the shoulder. ‘I’ll come to see you as soon as I get back to Hong Kong. It shouldn’t be too long.’
‘Yes, Kaptán-sah’b. Thank you.’
After that, for several days, Kesri was aware of very little but of Maddow’s constant presence at his side, changing his clothing, cleaning his stump, clearing away his bedpans, giving him his morphine.
One day, in a moment of consciousness, Kesri said: Batavela — tell me, why do you look after me like this? Why did you come back for me that day, when I was cut down? It’s not your job — you’re not a soldier. Didn’t you know you could have been killed?
Several minutes passed before Maddow answered.
Kesri Singhji, he said at last: I did it for your sister’s sake. I knew that if I didn’t I would never again be able to look her in the face.
My sister? Do you mean Deeti?
Yes. Deeti.
It was all clear now; as Kesri drifted out of consciousness again, Deeti’s face appeared in front of his eyes and he knew that she had once again taken charge of his destiny.
*
It was thought at first that Mrs Burnham’s body had been trapped inside the Anahita and would be unrecoverable. But two days after the storm, on the very afternoon that Mr Burnham returned to Hong Kong, the corpse was found at the eastern end of the bay.
Mr Burnham being prostrate with grief, the arrangements for the funeral were made by Zachary and Mr Doughty. It was decided that she would be buried at the Protestant cemetery in Macau. A coffin was quickly bought and the body was transported the next day. The interment was in the late afternoon and a large number of people attended.
Through the ceremony Zachary kept careful watch for Paulette. But it was only at the end that he caught sight of her: she was at the back of the graveyard, sitting on a mossy tomb, with her face buried in a handkerchief. He stole up on her quietly, so that she would not have time to make an escape.
‘Miss Paulette?’
Removing the handkerchief from her face she looked up at him.
‘Yes?’
‘May I sit down, Miss Paulette?’ he said.
She shrugged indifferently and he saw that she was past caring. She buried her face in her handkerchief again, and after waiting a while he cleared his throat: ‘Miss Paulette, it was Mrs Burnham’s wish — she told me this herself — that you and I should be reconciled.’
‘What did you say?’ Whipping away the handkerchief, she shot him a puzzled glance.
‘Yes, Miss Paulette,’ Zachary persisted. ‘She specifically said to me that I should take care of you.’
‘Really, Mr Reid,’ she retorted. ‘But to me she said something else.’
‘What?’
‘She said I was your only hope and that I should look after you.’
They were quiet for a bit and then Zachary said: ‘May I at least come to take a look at your garden?’
‘If that is what you wish,’ she said. ‘I will not prevent it.’
‘Thank you, Miss Paulette,’ said Zachary. ‘I am sure Mrs Burnham would be pleased.’
*
Kesri did not see Captain Mee again until the Bengal Volunteers were sent back to Hong Kong.
By that time Kesri had spent a week in the island’s newly built military encampment. He was dozing one evening, with a candle flickering by his bed, when the door flew open. At first Kesri thought that it was Maddow who had stepped out to fetch something. But then he saw that the silhouette in the doorway was Captain Mee’s: he was bare-headed, swaying slightly on his feet; in his hands was a leather satchel.
It was a hot day and Kesri had thrown off his sheet. Now, wanting to spare the captain the sight of his exposed stump, he began to grope around, trying to cover himself. The sheet eluded his grasp and in the end it was Captain Mee who found it and draped it over him.
‘I’m sorry to barge in like this, havildar.’
His words were a little slurred and Kesri could smell liquor on his breath.
‘It’s all right, Kaptán-sah’b,’ said Kesri. ‘I’m glad to see you.’
Captain Mee nodded and sank into a chair beside the bed. The candle was close to him now, and when its light fell on his face Kesri saw that the captain was haggard, his eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. Pushing himself a little higher, on his pillows, Kesri said: ‘How are you, Kaptán-sah’b?’
To Kesri’s surprise there was no answer; instead Captain Mee fell forward in his chair and buried his face in his hands, planting his elbows on his knees. After a minute or two Kesri realized that he was sobbing. He sat still and let him continue.
Presently, when the captain’s shoulders had ceased to heave, Kesri said: ‘Kaptán-sah’b, what is it? What has happened?’
At that Captain Mee looked up, his eyes even redder than before. ‘Havildar, I don’t suppose you’ve heard — about Cathy … Mrs Burnham …’
‘What about her, sir?’
‘She’s dead.’
‘No?’ cried Kesri, recoiling in shock. ‘But how did it happen?’
‘During the storm — she was on a ship that went down. That’s all I know.’
Fumbling for words, Kesri said: ‘Kaptán-sah’b — I don’t … I don’t—’
Captain Mee cut him short with a brusque gesture. ‘It’s all right — there’s no need to say anything.’
Turning abruptly to his side, Captain Mee picked up the satchel he had brought with him. ‘I have something for you, havildar.’ ‘For me?’
‘Yes.’ He thrust the satchel into Kesri’s hands. ‘Open it.’
The satchel was very heavy for its size and as he was undoing the buckle, Kesri heard the scraping of metal on metal. Captain Mee held up the candle as Kesri looked in.
At first glance Kesri thought his eyes had deceived him and he looked away, in disbelief. Then he looked again and his gaze was again met by the glitter of gold ornaments and the sparkle of silver coins.
‘What is this, Kaptán-sah’b?’
‘Some if it is booty — my share of it. And yesterday we were given our arrears of pay and battas — that’s there too. As for the rest, don’t ask.’
‘But Kaptán-sah’b — I cannot take this.’
‘Yes you can. I owe it to you.’