In the end it was this — not loyalty or belonging or friendship — that swung the balance: the thought that someone as useless as myself might actually be of use.
I was silent for so long that Compton said: Ah Neel, neih jouh mh jouh aa? Will you do it or not? Or do you need more time to think?
I put down my teacup and shook my head: No, Compton; there is nothing more to think about. I am glad to accept Zhong Lou-si’s offer; I’d be glad to remain here in Guangzhou. There is nowhere else I need to be.
He smiled: Dihm saai — it’s all settled then?
Jauh haih Loi I said. That’s right — it’s all settled.
The costume that Mr Doughty had chosen for the Harbourmaster’s Ball was a simple one: a couple of loosely draped sheets, held in place by a few pins and brooches.
‘A toga, my boy! Best thing the Romans ever came up with! Nautches would be a nightmare without ‘em.’
The sheets and other accoutrements had been laid out in Mr Doughty’s dressing room. Following his host’s lead, Zachary stripped down to his drawers and banyan and then wrapped the sheets around his body.
‘Now bunnow that corner into a little flap and lagow it with a pin — yes, just like that. Shahbash!’
It took a good hour of tucking and folding before the toga was properly bunnowed and lagowed. By the time they stepped into the baithak-khana for a pre-dinner brandy-pawnee, Zachary and Mr Doughty were identically dressed, in costumes that were held together with pins and brooches and finished off, a little incongruously, with socks, garters and polished shoes.
At dinner they were joined by Mrs Doughty, who was dressed as Helen of Troy, in a flowing white robe and tinsel tiara. She blushed modestly when Zachary complimented her on her costume. ‘Oh, I shall be cast into the shade by the other Beebees,’ she said. ‘Why, I believe Mrs Burnham has decided to be Marie Antoinette!’
Here Mr Doughty flashed Zachary a wink: ‘I gather her corset alone is worth a tola or two of pure gold!’
After dinner they went downstairs and stepped into the hackery-gharry that Mr Doughty had hired for the night. It took them down Chowringhee to the Town Hall, on Esplanade Row, where the ball was to be held.
The building was one of Calcutta’s grandest, with massive columns and an imposing set of stairs in front. Music was already pouring out of the hall’s four wide doorways when the gharry stopped to deposit its passengers at the foot of the steps. As they joined the flow of guests, Mr Doughty whispered in Zachary’s ear, pointing out the notables: ‘That’s the Jangi Laat, General Sir Hugh Gough and that over there is Lord Jocelyn, dancing attendance on Miss Emily Eden, the Laat-Sahib’s sister.’
The Town Hall’s main assembly room had been cleared for the balclass="underline" gas-lamps blazed all around it and the ceiling was strung with bunting and coloured ribbons. One of the walls was lined with curtained alcoves where fatigued dancers could catch a little rest, on a chair or a chaise-longue. At the far end of the hall sat the band of a Highland regiment, costumed in kilts and sporrans.
On reaching the entrance, Mr Doughty came to a halt and gestured expansively at the whirling dancers, the glittering band, the lavish decorations and the brilliant lighting: ‘Take a dekko, Reid: it’s not often that you’ll see such a chuckmuck sight!’ And Zachary had to admit that the spectacle was indeed as splendid as any he had ever seen.
Scarcely had he had time to look around when Mrs Doughty took hold of his toga-draped elbow. ‘Come along now — I’ll introduce you to a couple of lassies and larkins.’
‘Oh but Mrs Doughty,’ Zachary protested. ‘I was going to ask you for the first dance.’
Mrs Doughty dismissed his offer with a laugh. ‘You can do your duty by us Beebees later. The missy-mems would never forgive us if we monopolized you from the start.’
It took only a few introductions for Zachary to discover that many of the missy-mems at the ball had read about him in the Calcutta Gazette and were keen to know more about his travels. He found partners aplenty, and between the punch, the music and the dancing, he was soon having a rollicking time.
But even so, when Mrs Burnham stepped into the hall, Zachary did not fail to notice her entrance: she was dressed in an unusual and eye-catching costume — a wide silk skirt, with a very narrow waist and tight bodice. Her lavishly powdered hair was piled high on her head, like a great white beehive.
Mrs Burnham was immediately swept off to the floor by Mr Justice Kendalbushe. After that Zachary caught only occasional glimpses of her within the whirling throng: although she gave no sign of having noticed his presence his eyes kept straying in her direction. Yet he would not have ventured to ask her for a dance if Mr Doughty had not suggested it: ‘Have you put your name on Mrs Burnham’s dance-card yet? It’s the tradition at the Harbourmaster’s Ball for the young Tars to give the Beebees a whirl. You’d better look to your duties, my fine young chuckeroo.’
It was not until midnight that an opportunity arose: during a pause in the music, finding himself elbow-to-elbow with Mrs Burnham, Zachary bowed: ‘I wonder if you would care to dance, Mrs Burnham?’
She looked at him with a frown and for a moment he thought he was going to be rebuffed. But then she shrugged in her usual imperious way. ‘Well I do not see why not: it is the Harbourmaster’s Ball after all, so one mustn’t be too particular.’
The band was playing a polonaise and they began to circle sedately to its rhythm. Although the tempo was slow, Zachary noticed that Mrs Burnham was not breathing easily; he soon became aware also of an odd, creaking sound, like that of bone scraping on bone. He had been at pains so far not to look at Mrs Burnham too closely, but a quick glance showed him that her bustline was even more ample than usuaclass="underline" he realized then that her corset had been pulled so tight that it was now creaking under the strain.
Averting his eyes, he said quickly: ‘It’s very crowded, isn’t it?’
‘Ekdum! A dreadful squeeze,’ she agreed. ‘And so frightfully hot! I can scarcely breathe.’
The band switched to a waltz now, forcing them to quicken their pace. After a few minutes of energetic whirling Mrs Burnham’s face became so florid as to cause Zachary some concern. He was about to suggest a break when she pulled her hands free and clasped her palms to her chest.
‘Oh Mr Reid! I’m suffocating!’
‘Shall I lead you to a chair, Mrs Burnham?’
‘Would you please?’
Zachary looked to his right and to his left, and finding no chair on either side he turned on his heel to see if there was one behind him. Instead he spotted a curtained alcove, only a step away: a tug on the curtain revealed an unoccupied chaise-longue inside, illuminated by a cluster of candles.
‘There’s a couch in here, Mrs Burnham.’
‘Oh thank heaven …!’ She hurried over to the chaise-longue and eased herself into it. ‘Please Mr Reid — would you be kind enough to draw the purdah? I wouldn’t care to be seen in this condition.’
‘Of course.’
Drawing the curtain across the entrance, Zachary turned to look at Mrs Burnham’s face: there were scarlet patches on her cheeks and she was still labouring to catch her breath.
‘Would you like me to fetch someone? Mrs Doughty perhaps?’ said Zachary. ‘Maybe she could help?’
‘Oh no, Mr Reid!’ cried Mrs Burnham. ‘I fear there isn’t time. What if I have a seizure while you’re gone?’
‘Is it as bad as that?’ said Zachary, in alarm.