The Maharajah's General Read Online Free PDF

calling of the vast multitude of insects that prowled and fluttered through the darkness. He closed his eyes as he tried to summon the willpower to face the company that had assembled to greet the newly arrived officer.
    The polite cough of the khansama forced him to open his eyes. Jack smiled as he saw the discreet servant looking back at him. As much as he would wish it differently, it was time to play the part he had chosen. So, like an actor striding from the wings, he nodded to the patient servant and walked towards the gathering with as much determination as he could muster.
    ‘Danbury! Welcome.’ Proudfoot stood at the top of the steps that led up to the porch at the front of his large bungalow. As cordial as his words were, Jack detected a trace of annoyance in his commander’s voice, as if he had been waiting with growing impatience for his new captain to belatedly appear.
    ‘Do come in. I have a number of people anxious to meet you.’
    The major held out an arm, ushering Jack inside the brightly lit bungalow. Proudfoot had once again eschewed military attire, favouring a close-fitting dinner jacket of the deepest red with an intricate web of gold thread swirling over the breast. A thick white cravat was wrapped tightly around his neck, forcing his chin upwards so that he peered down his nose as Jack strode quickly up the steps and into the light.
    ‘Welcome, Danbury, welcome,’ repeated Proudfoot, shaking Jack warmly by the hand, his grip dry and cool despite the heat. He held the handshake and leant forward to speak softly into Jack’s ear. ‘The regimentals are all well and good in Calcutta, Danbury old man, but out here you really must look to adapt. I’ll set you up with my tailor. He’s a fine chap, for a local. We’ll have you kitted out properly in a jiffy. Now,’ he pulled back and smiled, all trace of his former irritation gone, ‘let’s get on with it, shall we?’
    The sea of faces turned in unison as Jack was led into the bungalow’s generously proportioned drawing room. With its high ceiling, the room felt airy and cool, an effect enhanced by the tint of green added to the whitewash that had been meticulously applied to the walls. The windows had been covered by the sort of thin wire-mesh screens more usually seen in a butcher’s shop back in England, a defence against the multitude of insects drawn by the room’s bright lights. Jack was surprised to see no grass tatties at the windows, yet the room felt surprisingly cool, although the air was ripe with the pungent perfume of the few ladies present, the heady aromas vying for dominance with all the vigour of a Russian skirmish line.
    A pair of strange contraptions had been built around two of the drawing room’s windows; Jack supposed these were a pair of the new-fangled thermantidotes that were all the rage for cooling the air in the more fashionable homes in Calcutta. The clever combination of air funnels, fans and water-soaked screens did not come cheap. Proudfoot was clearly a man of means.
    Jack did his best to hide his nerves as he looked around the small congregation, bobbing his head in acknowledgement of the attention directed towards him. Disappointingly, the strangers were just as he had expected. The flushed and rounded faces of the officials, their chins bulging over starched collars that constricted their wide necks and forced their spare chins into thick ribbons of flesh under their jaws. The confident appraisal of the junior officers as they sized up the new arrival and wondered what competition they faced. The guarded eyes of the women as they surreptitiously inspected his lean body, any desire hidden behind a dignified facade of insouciant respectability.
    He let himself be led into the throng, his heart beating faster. He knew that the challenge of maintaining his deception would be at its greatest with people born into the world into which he had intruded. He had declined the invitations he had received whilst