The Coming Conquest of England

A >> August Niemann >> The Coming Conquest of England


"Georgi--you here!" he exclaimed with surprise. "And in this dress?"

He had indeed reason to be surprised, for he had not again seen the
handsome, blonde page, to whom he chiefly owed his life, since their
meeting on the way to the place of execution.

When on the evening of that for him so eventful day he asked Prince
Tchajawadse about Georgi he had received only a short, evasive reply,
and the Prince's knitted brows showed such evident anger that he well
perceived that something must have taken place between them, and so it
appeared to him to be best to him not to mention again the name of the
Circassian girl.

When the detachment started he had in vain looked for the page who had
hitherto been inseparable from "his master," and only the anxiety for
Edith, which was so much nearer his heart, was the cause that he had not
thought much about the inexplicable disappearance of the disguised girl.

He had certainly least of all expected to find her here, so far from the
Russian headquarters, and in woman's dress to boot. But the Circassian
did not seem inclined to give him detailed information.

"I have begged you to come out to see me, sir," she said, "because I did
not want the Prince to see me. I met your Indian servant. And he told me
about the English lady whom the Maharajah of Chanidigot has carried off
from you."

"He did not carry her off from me, Georgi, for I have no claim upon her.
She only placed herself under my protection, and therefore it is my duty
to do all that I can to set her free."

The girl looked at him, and there was a glance as of suppressed passion
in her beautiful eyes.

"Why do you not speak the truth, sir? Say that you love her! Tell
me that you love her and I will bring her back to you--and this very
evening."

"You, Georgi, how in all the world will you be able to manage that? Do
you know then where the lady is to be found?"

"I know it from your servant, Morar Gopal. She is there, in that tent
of the Maharajah of Chanidigot, before whose door the two Indians are
standing sentry. Take care and do not attempt to force your way in, for
the sentries would cut you to pieces before allowing you to put a foot
in the tent."

"It may be that you are right," said Heideck, whose breast was now
filled with a blissful feeling at having at last learned with certainty
that the adored woman was close by. "But how shall you be able to get to
her?"

"I am a woman, and I know how one must treat these miserable Indian
rogues; the Maharajah of Chanidigot is ill, and in his pain he has
something else to think of than of the joys of love. You must make use
of this favourable moment, sir! and in this very night whatever is to
happen must happen."

"Certainly! every minute lost means perhaps a terrible danger to Mrs.
Irwin. But if you have a plan for saving her please tell me--"

The Circassian shook her head.

"Why talk of things that must be first accomplished? Return to the
banquet, sir, that no one may suspect of you. At midnight you will find
the English lady in your tent, or you will never set eyes on me again."

She turned as if to go; but after having taken a few steps came back
once more to him.

"You will not tell the Prince that I am here, do you understand? It is
not time yet for him to learn that."

With these words she disappeared, before Heideck could ask another
question. Little as he felt inclined after what he had just experienced
to return to the mad riot of the banquet, he perceived that there
was scarcely anything else open to him, for any interference with the
unknown plans of the Circassian would scarcely be of any advantage to
Edith.

But if the minutes had hitherto appeared endless, they now crept on with
quite intolerable slowness. He scarcely heard or saw anything that was
taking place about him. The rajah who had the next place to him tried in
vain to open a conversation in his broken English, and at last, shaking
his head, abandoned the silent stranger to his musings, which in the
middle of this riotous festivity must certainly have appeared very
strange to him.

Shortly before midnight, before Prince Tchajawadse and his other
comrades thought of moving, Heideck once more left the state tent of the
Maharajah and turned his steps towards the Russian camp, which was far
away visible in the red glare of the bivouac fires, around which the
loudest merriment was also taking place.

In reality he entertained very little hope that the Circassian would
be able to fulfil her bold promise, for what she had taken upon herself
appeared to him to be absolutely impracticable. Yet his heart throbbed
wildly when he thrust back the linen sheet that covered the entrance of
the tent which had been assigned to him.

On the folding-table in the middle of the little room were two
lighted candles beside a burning lantern. And in their light Heideck
discerned--not Edith Irwin, but instead, the handsomest young rajah who
had ever crossed his eyes under the glowing skies of India.

For a moment Heideck was uncertain, for the slender youth, in the silken
blouse tied round with a red scarf, English riding-breeches and neat
little boots, had turned his back to him, so that he could not see
his face, and his hair was completely hidden under the rose-and-yellow
striped turban. But the blissful presentiment which told him who was
concealed beneath the charming disguise could not deceive him. A few
rapid steps and he was by the side of the delicate-limbed Indian youth.
Overpowered by a storm of passionate emotions, he forgot all obstacles
and scruples, and the next moment clasped him in his arms with an
exultant cry of joy.

"Edith! my Edith!"

"My beloved friend!"

In the exceeding delight of this reunion the confession which had never
passed her lips in the hours of familiar tete-a-tete, or in the moments
of extreme peril which they had endured together, forced its way
irresistibly from her heart--the confession of a love which had long
absorbed her whole life.




XXI

EDITH'S ADVENTURES


It was a long time before the two lovers were sufficiently composed to
explain to each other fully the almost fabulous events that had lately
occurred.

Heideck, of course, wanted to know, first of all, how Edith had
contrived to escape without making a disturbance and calling for the aid
of those about her. What she told him was the most touching proof of her
affection for him. The Maharajah's creatures must have heard, somehow or
other, of Heideck's imprisonment and condemnation, and they had reckoned
correctly on Edith's attachment to the man who had saved her life.

She had been told that a single word from the Maharajah would be
sufficient to destroy the foolhardy German, and that her only hope
of saving him from death lay in a personal appeal to His Highness's
clemency. Although she knew perfectly well the shameful purpose this
suggestion concealed, she had not hesitated, in her anxiety for her
dear one's safety, to follow the men who promised to conduct her to the
Maharajah, full of hypocritical assurances that she would come to no
harm. She had had so many proofs of the revengeful cruelty of this
Indian despot that she feared the worst for Heideck, and resolved, in
the last extremity, to sacrifice her life--if she could not preserve her
honour--to save him.

The Maharajah had received her with great courtesy and promised to use
his influence in favour of the German who had been seized as a spy and
traitor by the Russians. But he had at the same time thrown out fairly
broad hints what his price would be, and, from the moment she had
delivered herself into his hands, he had treated her as a prisoner,
although with great respect. All communication, except with persons of
the Maharajah's household, was completely cut off; and she was under no
delusion as to the lot which awaited her, as soon as the Prince again
felt himself completely secure in some mountain fastness unaffected by
the events of the war.

Feeling certain of this, she had continually contemplated the idea of
flight; but the fear of sealing the fate of her unhappy friend, even
more than the ever-watchful suspicion of her guards, had prevented her
from making the attempt.

Her joy had been all the greater when, the same evening, Morar Gopal
appeared in the women's tent with the Circassian, to relieve her from
the almost unendurable tortures of uncertainty as to Heideck's fate.

The cunning Hindu had managed to gain access to the carefully guarded
prisoners for himself and his companion by pretending that the Maharajah
had chosen the Circassian girl to be the English lady's servant. He had
whispered a few words to Edith, telling her what was necessary for her
to know for the moment.

After he had retired, it roused no suspicion when she asked to be left
alone for a few moments with the new servant. With her assistance, she
made use of the opportunity to put on the light Indian man's clothes
which the Circassian had brought with her in a parcel. The guards, who
were by this time intoxicated, had allowed the slender young rajah, into
whom she had transformed herself, to depart unmolested, and Morar
Gopal, who was waiting for her at a place agreed upon close at hand,
had conducted her to Heideck's tent, where she might, for the moment at
least, consider herself to be safe.

"But Georgi?" asked the Captain with some anxiety. "She remained in the
women's tent? What will happen to her when her share in your flight is
discovered?"

"The idea also tormented me. But the heroic girl repeatedly assured me
that she would find a way to escape, and that in any case she would have
nothing to fear, as soon as she appealed to Prince Tchajawadse."

"That may be so; but that hardly agrees with her wish to keep the
fact of her presence in the camp a secret from the Prince. The girl's
behaviour is a complete riddle to me. I do not understand what can have
induced her to sacrifice herself with such wonderful unselfishness
for us, who are really only strangers to her, in whom she can feel no
interest. Certainly she was not actuated by any thought of a reward. She
has the pride of her race, and I am certain that she would consider any
offer of one as an insult."

"I think the same. But perhaps I can guess her real motives."

"And won't you tell me what you think?"

Edith hesitated a little; but she was not one of those women who allow
any petty emotion to master them.

"I think, my friend, that she loves you," she said, with a slight,
enchanting smile. "Some unguarded expressions and the fire that kindled
in her eyes as soon as we mentioned your name, made me feel almost
certain of it. The fact that, notwithstanding, she helped to set me
free, is certainly, in the circumstances, only a stronger proof of her
magnanimity. But I understand it perfectly. A woman in love, if of noble
character, is capable of any act of self-denial."

Heideck shook his head.

"I think your shrewdness has played you false on this occasion. I am
firmly convinced that she is Prince Tchajawadse's mistress, and, from
all I have seen of their relations, it seems to me inconceivable that
she would be unfaithful to him for the sake of a stranger, with whom she
has only interchanged a few casual words."

"Well, perhaps we may have an opportunity of settling whether I am wrong
or not. But now, my friend, I should first of all like to know what you
have decided about me."

Heideck was in some embarrassment how to answer, and spoke hesitatingly
of his intention to send her to Ambala with Morar Gopal. But Edith would
not allow him to finish. She interrupted him with a decided gesture of
dissent.

"Ask of me what you like--except to leave you again. What shall I do
in Ambala without you? I have suffered so unutterably since you were
carried off before my eyes at Anar Kali, that I will die a thousand
times rather than again expose myself to the torture of such
uncertainty."

A noise behind him made Heideck turn his head. He saw the curtain before
the door of the tent slightly lifted, and that it was Morar Gopal who
had attempted to draw his attention by coughing discreetly.

He called to the loyal fellow to come in, and thanked him, not
condescendingly, as a master recognises the cleverness of his servant,
but as one friend thanks another.

The Hindu's features showed how delighted he was by the kindness of
his idolised master, although there was no alteration in his humble and
modest demeanour even for a moment. As respectful as ever, he said: "I
bring good news, sahib. One of the Maharajah's retinue, whose tongue
I loosened with some of your rupees, has told me that the Maharajah of
Sabathu is going to give the Russians forty horsemen to show them the
best roads to Simla. The country here is under his rule, and his people
know every inch of ground to the top of the mountains. If the lady joins
these horsemen to-morrow in the dress of a rajah, she will be sure to
get away from here unmolested."

The excellence and practicability of this plan was obvious, and Heideck
again recognised what a treasure a lucky accident had bestowed upon him
in the shape of this Indian boy. Edith also agreed, since she saw how
joyfully Heideck welcomed the proposal, although the prospect of being
obliged to show herself in broad daylight before everybody in man's
dress was painful to her feelings as a woman.

She asked Morar Gopal whether he had heard anything of Georgi in the
meantime. He nodded assent.

"I was talking to her half an hour ago. She had escaped from the women's
tent and was on the point of leaving the camp."

"What?" cried Heideck. "Where in the world did she intend to go?"

"I don't know, sahib. She was very sad, but when I asked her to
accompany me to the sahib, she said she did not want to see him and
the lady again; she sent her respects to the sahib, and begged him to
remember his promise that he would say nothing to Prince Tchajawadse of
her having been here."

Heideck and Edith exchanged a significant look. This singular girl's
behaviour set them riddles which for the moment they were unable to
solve. But it was only natural and human that in their own affairs they
very soon forgot the Circassian.

Edith had to consent to Heideck leaving his tent at her disposal for the
rest of the night, while he himself spent the few hours before daybreak
at one of the bivouac fires. But Morar Gopal was to take up his quarters
before the entrance to the tent, and Heideck felt confident that he
could not entrust his valuable treasure to a more loyal keeper.

. . . . . . .

Fortune, which had reunited the lovers in so wonderful a manner, still
continued favourable to them. Very early on the following day, Heideck
had purchased a neat little bay horse, already saddled and bridled, for
Edith's use. When the troop of Indian horsemen, who were to serve as
guides and spies for the Russians, started on their way, the boyish
young rajah joined them, and no one made his strange appearance the
subject of obtrusive questions. The Indians probably at first thought
he was a very youthful Russian officer, who wore the native dress
for special reasons, and on that account preserved a most respectful
demeanour. Tchajawadse, who accidentally found himself close to Edith
before starting, said nothing, although he certainly looked keenly at
her for a moment.

The bad reports of the health of the Maharajah of Chanidigot, which
spread through the camp, were sufficient explanation why he made no
attempt to regain possession of the beautiful fugitive. He was said to
be suffering from such violent pain and fever, caused by his wounds,
that he had practically lost all interest in the outside world.

Having taken a hearty leave of their Indian hosts, the Russian
detachment advanced further into the hilly country, and at noon spies
reported to Prince Tchajawadse that the English had completely evacuated
Ambala and had set out on the march to Delhi. Probably the strength of
the Russian division, whose advance had been reported, had been greatly
exaggerated at Ambala, and the English had preferred to avoid a probably
hopeless engagement.

With a woman's cleverness, Edith managed, without attracting
observation, to keep near Heideck, so that they often had the
opportunity of conversing. Her tender, fair skin must have appeared
striking amongst all the brown faces, but the will and caprice of
Russian officers demanded respect, and so no one appeared to know that
there was an English lady in the troop wearing the costume of a rajah.
Besides, the march was not a long one. The hunting-camp was only about
150 miles from Simla, situated below Kalka. On the next morning the
column arrived before Simla and found that Jutogh, the high-lying
British cantonment to the west of the far-extended hill city, had been
evacuated.

Prince Tchajawadse quartered his infantry and artillery in the English
barracks, and marched with the horsemen into the crescent-shaped bazaar,
the town proper, surrounded by numerous villas, scattered over the hills
and in the midst of pleasure-gardens. He at once sent off patrols
of officers to the town hall, the offices of the Government and
Commander-in-Chief, while he himself made his way to Government House, a
beautiful palace on Observatory Hill.

Although it was spring, Simla still lay in its winter sleep. It had been
deserted by the lively, brilliant society which, when the intolerable,
moist heat of summer drove the Viceroy from Calcutta, enlivened the
magnificent valleys and heights with its horses and carriages, its
games, parties, and elegant dresses. Only the resident population, and
the servants who had been left to look after the buildings and keep them
in good order, remained, English Society being kept away by the war.

The hills were about a mile and three-quarters above the level of the
Indian Ocean, and frequent showers of rain made the climate so raw that
Heideck rode with his cloak on, and Edith flung a dragoon's long cloak
over her shoulders to protect herself against the cold.

The officers were commissioned to search the Government buildings for
important legal documents and papers, which the English Government might
have left behind in Simla, and which were of importance to the Russian
Government.

Heideck had to examine the seven handsome blocks of Government offices,
especially the buildings set apart for the Commander-in-Chief, the
Quartermaster-General, the general railway management, and the post and
telegraph offices.

He found none but subordinate officials anywhere until he came to the
office of the Judge Advocate General. Here he found a dignified
old gentleman, sitting so quietly in his armchair that Heideck was
involuntarily reminded of Archimedes when the Roman soldiers surprised
him at his calculations.

As the officer entered, accompanied by the soldiers, the old gentleman
looked at them keenly out of his large, yellowish eyes. But he neither
asked what they wanted, nor even attempted to prevent their entrance.
Heideck bowed politely, and apologised for the intrusion necessitated
by his duty. This courteous behaviour appeared to surprise the old
gentleman, who returned his greeting, and said that there was nothing
left for him but to submit to the orders of the conqueror.

"As there seems nothing to be found in these rooms but legal books and
documents," said Heideck, "I need not make any investigation, for we are
simply concerned with military matters. I should be glad if I could
meet any personal wishes of yours, for I do not think I am mistaken in
assuming that I have the honour of speaking to a higher official, whom
special reasons have obliged to remain in Simla."

"As a matter of fact, my physicians were of opinion that it would be
beneficial to my health to spend the winter in the mountains. You
can imagine how greatly I regret that I took their advice--I am
Judge-Advocate-General Kennedy."

"Is your family also in Simla?" asked Heideck.

"My wife and daughter are here."

"Sir, there is an English lady with our column, the widow of an officer
who was killed at Lahore. Would you be disposed to let her join your
family?"

"An English lady?"

"She is the victim of a series of adventurous experiences, as to which
she can best inform you herself. Her name is Mrs. Irwin. Would you be
disposed to grant her your protection? If so, I should certainly be the
bearer of welcome news to her."

"My protection?" repeated the old gentleman in surprise. "My family
and I need protection ourselves, and how can we, in the present
circumstances, undertake such a responsibility?"

"You and your family have nothing to fear from us, sir. On the contrary,
we intend to maintain quietness and order."

"Well, sir, your behaviour is that of a gentleman, and if the lady
wishes to come to us we will offer no objection. Can I speak to her,
that we may come to an understanding?"

"I will make haste and fetch her."

In fact, he did not hesitate for a moment. As he expected, Edith was
very grateful to him for his friendly proposition.

Mr. Kennedy was extremely astonished to see a young rajah enter the
room, and did not seem quite agreeably impressed by the masquerade.

"Is this the lady of whom you spoke?" he asked in surprise. But his
serious face visibly cleared when Edith said, in her sweet, gentle
voice--

"A countrywoman, who owes her life to this gentleman here, and who has
only escaped death and dishonour by the aid of this disguise."

"Mrs. Irwin, if you decide to join Mrs. Kennedy," said Heideck, "I will
send your belongings to Mr. Kennedy's house. I must now leave you for
the present. I have other official duties to perform, but I will return
later."

"In any case I am glad to welcome my countrywoman," protested the old
gentleman. "You can see my house from the window here, and I beg you
will call upon me when your duties are over."

It was not till after sunset that Heideck called at Mr. Kennedy's house.
He stood for a moment at the garden-gate and saw the snow-clad heights
glowing in the fire of the evening light. Long chains of blue hills rose
higher and higher towards the north, till at last the highest range on
the distant horizon, bristling with eternal glaciers, mounted towards
the sky in wondrous brilliancy.

Mr. Kennedy lived in a very imposing villa. Heideck was received with
such friendliness by the master of the house and the ladies that he
recognised only too clearly that Edith must have spoken warmly in his
favour. She must also certainly have told them that he was a German. She
was dressed as a woman again, and had already won the hearts of all by
her frankness. Mrs. Kennedy was a matron with fine, pleasant features,
and evidently of high social standing. Her daughter, about the same age
as Edith, appeared to have taken a great fancy to the visitor.

Heideck sat with the family by the fire, and all tried to forget that he
wore the uniform of the enemy.

"I wish we could manage to leave India and get back to England," said
Mrs. Kennedy. "My husband wants to remain in Calcutta to perform his
duties, but he cannot stand the climate. Besides, how could we get
to Calcutta? Our only chance would be to obtain a Russian passport,
enabling us to travel without interference."

"My dearest Beatrice," objected her husband. "I know that you,
like myself, no longer care what happens to us, at a time when such
misfortune has overtaken our country. Amidst the general misfortune,
what matters our own fate?"

"I should think," interposed Heideck politely, "that the individual,
however deeply he feels the general misfortune, ought not to give way
to despair, but should always be thinking of his family as in time of
peace."

"No!" cried Mr. Kennedy. "An Englishmen cannot understand this
international wisdom. A German's character is different; he can easily
change his country, the Englishman cannot. But you must excuse me," he
continued, recollecting himself. "You wounded my national honour, and I
forgot the situation in which we are. Of course, I had no intention of
insulting you."

"There is some truth in what you say," replied Heideck, seriously,
"but allow me to explain. Our German fatherland, in past centuries, was
always the theatre of the battles of all the peoples of Europe. At that
time few of the German princes were conscious of any German national
feeling; they were the representatives of narrow-minded dynastic
interests. Thus our German people grew up without the consciousness of
a great and common fatherland. Our German self-consciousness is no older
than Bismarck. But we have become large-hearted, generous-minded, by
having had to submit to foreign peoples and customs. Our religious
feeling and our patriotism are of wider scope than those of others.
Hence, I believe that, now that we have been for a generation occupied
with our material strength and are politically united, our universal
culture summons us to undertake the further development of civilisation,
which hitherto has been chiefly indebted to the French and English."