For a moment Kesri was tempted to sign on as a balamteer. ‘Really, sir?’
‘Ekdum!’ said Mr Mee with a smile. ‘I’ve outrun the constable long enough: this may be my last chance to pay off my debts. Between the prize money and the travel battas I should be able to square things with everyone, including you. So what do you say, havildar? You think you might want to cut a caper abroad?’
Suddenly Kesri came to a decision. ‘No, sir, too tired now. Sorry.’
The captain pursed his lips in disappointment. ‘That’s too bad, havildar — I was counting on you. But think about it; there’s time yet.’
Zachary was careful to make an early start for his appointment with Mrs Burnham.
Bethel, the Burnham residence, was in Garden Reach, a distant suburb of Calcutta where many of the city’s wealthiest British merchants had built palatial homes. The area lay to the south of the dockyards of Kidderpore, on a stretch of shore that overlooked the Hooghly River.
The Burnham estate was one of the grandest in Garden Reach: the house was vast, surrounded by a compound that sprawled over two acres of riverfront. Zachary had been inside the mansion twice before, as a dinner guest. On both occasions, he had been ushered in through the front doorway, by a magnificently uniformed chobdar, and his name had been announced in ringing tones as he stepped into the Burnhams’ glittering sheesh-mull.
But his fortunes had been on the rise at that time: he had just been appointed second mate of the Ibis and he had also been in possession of a trunkful of finery. Since then he had come a long way down in the world, and the change in his circumstances was made amply clear to him from the moment he presented himself at the estate’s gate. He was taken around to a servants’ entrance, where he was handed over to a couple of veiled maids who led him through a series of narrow corridors and staircases to Mrs Burnham’s sewing room — a small sunlit parlour, with sewing boxes stacked on the tables and embroidery hanging on the walls.
Mrs Burnham was seated at one of the tables, dressed austerely in white calico, with a lace cap on her head. She had an embroidery frame in her hand, and did not look up from it when Zachary was shown to the door.
‘Oh, is it the mystery? Send him in.’
Mrs Burnham was a tall, Junoesque woman, with reddish-brown hair and an air of imperious indifference. At their previous meetings she had addressed hardly a word to Zachary which was just as well perhaps, for he had been so thoroughly cowed by her distant, languid manner that he might have found himself at a loss for an answer.
Now, without stirring from her seat or glancing at him, she said: ‘Good morning, Mr …?’ ‘Reid, ma’am. Good morning.’
Zachary took a step towards her, with his hand half-extended, but only to beat a hasty retreat when she failed to look up from her embroidery. He understood now why Mrs Burnham had elected to receive him in her sewing room rather than in one of the many reception rooms on the ground floor: she wanted to impress on him that his position in the house was that of a servant, not a guest, and that he was expected to behave accordingly.
‘Mr Reid, I gather you are a trained mystery?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I apprenticed at Gardiner’s shipyard in Baltimore.’
Mrs Burnham’s eye did not waver from her embroidery. ‘Mr Doughty has no doubt explained the job to you. Do you feel that you will be able to refurbish the budgerow to our satisfaction?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll certainly do my best.’
She raised her eyes now, and looked him over with a frown. ‘You appear rather young to be an experienced mystery, Mr Reid. But Mr Doughty speaks highly of you and I am inclined to trust his word. He has also told me about your financial difficulties; he has led me to believe that you are deserving of our charity.’
‘Mr Doughty is very kind, ma’am.’
Mrs Burnham carried on as if he had not spoken: ‘My husband and I have always endeavoured to be sympathetic to the poor whites of this country. There are sadly too many such in India — they venture out from England in the hope of making their fortunes but only to end up in difficulties. Mr Burnham feels that it is incumbent upon us to do what we can to prevent these unfortunate creatures from becoming a blight on the prestige of the ruling race. We have always made an effort to be generous to those who need it — I am inclined therefore to offer you the job.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Zachary. ‘You will not regret it.’
Her frown deepened, as if to indicate that his thanks were premature.
‘And may I ask, Mr Reid,’ she said, ‘where you intend to reside if I hire you for this job?’
This took Zachary by surprise and he began to stutter. ‘Why, ma’am … I’ve been renting a room in Kidderpore—’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said sharply, cutting him off. ‘That will not do. Those Kidderpore boarding houses are known to be dens of disease, iniquity and vice. I cannot allow it, in all conscience. Besides, the budgerow needs to be guarded at night and I have no chowkidar to spare.’
It occurred to Zachary now that she was hinting that he should live on the budgerow. He could hardly believe his luck: to be given a chance to escape the flea-bitten flop-houses he had been living in was as much as he could have hoped for.
‘I’d be glad to move into the budgerow, ma’am,’ he said, trying not to sound too eager. ‘If you have no objection, that is.’
Now at last, she put her embroidery aside but only to subject him to a scrutiny that made his forehead pucker with perspiration.
‘It must be clearly understood, Mr Reid,’ she said, her voice growing sharper, ‘that this is a reputable house and we have certain standards to uphold. While living on this estate you will be expected to comport yourself with the utmost propriety at all times. On no account will you be permitted any visitors, male or female. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Clearly understood.’
Her frown deepened. ‘This month I shall be away for a while,’ she said, ‘because I must take my daughter to my parents’ country estate, at Hazaribagh. I trust there will be no laxity in my absence?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘If there is, you may be sure that I shall learn of it. I know that you have been at sea and I confess that this is a cause of considerable concern to me. I am sure you are aware of the deplorable reputation that sailors have earned in the eyes of respectable people.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You should be warned, Mr Reid, that you shall be under observation at all times. Although the budgerow is moored at a good distance from this house, you should not imagine that the distance is enough to conceal unseemliness of any kind.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Now falling silent, she transfixed him with a glare that was as sharp as the needle in her hand: it seemed to go right through his clothes and into his skin. ‘Very well then,’ she said, as he stood squirming in his shoes. ‘Please start at your earliest convenience.’
*
Kesri’s hopes of receiving a letter from home were so much buoyed by Pagla-baba’s prediction that he spurred his horse into a full gallop as he rode to the camp.
He was only a few minutes away when he spotted his servant, Dhiru, running towards him.
Havildarji! Subedar Nirbhay Singh has asked you to go to his tent. At once.
Reining in his horse Kesri said: What does the subedar want? Do you know?
He’s received a letter from his village, said Dhiru. I think it is bad news, havildarji. You’d better hurry.
Kesri gave him a nod and again nudged his horse into a gallop.
By the time Kesri entered the camp dozens of men were filing towards the subedar’s tent. Most of them were close relatives of the subedar’s, and Kesri could tell from their demeanour that there had been some kind of bereavement in the family. He was mildly flattered to be included in this gathering.