The Maharajah's General Read Online Free PDF Page B

waiting for his transport to be arranged for precisely that reason, unwilling to test his ability to carry off his assumed identity, even in the transient society of Calcutta. Now that he was in Bhundapur, such situations could not be avoided, and he did his best to look composed even as his bowels twisted with apprehension. He might be able to convince officers on campaign, or passengers on a Peninsular and Oriental steamer, that he knew what he was about, but this was the first time he had encountered such a social gathering. He would rather face a column of Russian infantry than converse with a middle-aged spinster, who would seize upon any lack of social grace with relish. A drawing room of ageing Englishmen and women was as much of a threat to his continued survival as a battlefield, and twice as complicated.
    He pushed the fears away and fixed his expression into what he hoped was a friendly smile, doing his best to acknowledge the greetings directed towards him. The faces passed in a blur, the nods and smiles merging into one. Among the surging throng he caught a glimpse of a younger face, belonging to a blonde girl who stood out like an eagle in a pigeon coop. A pair of green eyes matched his appraisal with a confident, mocking stare before she was hidden from view by the meaty shoulders of the matronly figure being ushered towards him on the arm of a portly, grey-bearded gentleman dressed in full regimentals.
    ‘Danbury, let me introduce you to Major Dutton.’ Proudfoot took Jack by the elbow, propelling him towards the commander of the contingent from the 12th Bengal Native Infantry.
    ‘Dutton.’ The major’s handshake was as curt and abrupt as his introduction of his wife. ‘Hilary.’
    ‘Danbury. I am pleased to meet you both.’ Jack hoped his words conveyed an enthusiasm he did not feel. The major’s wife had an ample bosom, artlessly displayed by a shoulderless dress of vivid scarlet that clung precariously to her many folds and creases. Jack had enough time to notice Proudfoot slipping away as the introductions were made before he was forced to cock an ear in what he hoped was a sign of encouragement as Mrs Dutton started to speak.
    ‘How was your journey, Captain Danbury? It is such a long way from Calcutta.’ Dutton’s wife smiled as she spoke, but there was no hiding the salacious appraisal she gave or the sparkle in her eyes as she savoured what she saw.
    ‘Enough of your mothering, my dear.’ Dutton interrupted his wife, saving Jack from a meaningless reply about heat, bullock carts and interminable delays. He took an immediate liking to the blunt officer. ‘The man will have had his fill of damned travelling, is that not so, Danbury?’
    ‘Indeed,’ Jack replied politely, doing his best to smile reassuringly at Mrs Dutton as she shrank away from the conversation, her husband’s authority clear.
    ‘Ready for some real soldiering, I expect.’ Dutton smiled wolfishly at the notion, revealing an array of discoloured teeth. ‘All this shilly-shallying around takes its toll on a man, what?’
    ‘Quite true.’
    Dutton leant forward to speak in a confiding whisper. ‘I could see you were a man of action as soon as I clapped eyes on you. How was the Crimea? Did you see much action?’
    ‘A little.’
    ‘Say no more. I can see it in your eyes. I have not had the occasion myself. Not been that lucky.’ Dutton failed to hide his obvious disappointment at having been denied the opportunity to hear the guns roar in anger on a battlefield.
    Jack did not know how to reply. Was the major unlucky not to have fought a battle, or simply fortunate? The horror he himself had experienced at the Alma should have made that an easy question to answer. Yet he could well remember his own desire to fight, to experience the hardest challenge a soldier could face. He might wish with all his soul that the battle had not happened, but he could not deny the pride he felt at having taken part.
    Dutton watched him