THE MAN WHO DISAPPEARED.
The day following had been appointed by the King for the state
reception of the Mission, and Sir Dugald and his staff left
headquarters early for the Palace, each man arrayed in the most
gorgeous garments in his possession. The occasion was a purely formal
one, consisting chiefly of the presentation of the different members
of the Mission to the King by name, followed by a little ceremonial
conversation between his Majesty and Sir Dugald. The King’s questions
concerned chiefly the personal and family history of Queen Victoria,
although he was also interested in the past services of the Envoy
himself. It was not considered correct for Sir Dugald to originate any
remarks, when once the courteous messages with which he had been
charged by his Government were delivered, and conversation did not
flow very freely, although, thanks to the necessity for interpreting
everything that was said, the time was fairly well filled up. The King
was obviously ill at ease, asking every now and then sudden questions
as to the object of the Mission, and the intention of the Government
in sending it, with the evident aim of disconcerting Sir Dugald. But
the shrewd dark eyes scanned the face of the Envoy in vain for any
signs of confusion or surprise, and his tranquil and unhurried manner
seemed gradually to disarm the King’s suspicions. For Sir Dugald to
succeed in maintaining his air of careless calm was no slight triumph
under the circumstances, since he noticed many things which assured
him of the correctness of the information given by Mr Hicks. Rustam
Khan was nowhere to be seen; but the little Antar Khan, a boy of about
eleven, robed in bright blue satin and decked with jewels, occupied a
seat at his father’s side, and was allowed to interpolate remarks of
his own into the conversation in a way that showed him to be high in
favour. Moreover, the King made no allusion to the eager request he
had sent to England for a lady doctor who might examine his wife’s
eyes, and it seemed as though Georgia’s journey to Kubbet-ul-Haj would
be useless, since she could not visit the royal harem without an
invitation. The Amirs who stood round the throne appeared interested
in all that passed, but their faces expressed no conspicuously
friendly feeling; while one of their number, whom the staff identified
at once with the Jahan Beg described by Mr Hicks, showed himself
ostentatiously inattentive to all that went on. Still, when the
members of the Mission left the Palace and returned to their
headquarters to reassure the anxious hearts of Lady Haigh and Georgia,
they were able to suggest some reasons for hopefulness. At any rate,
the Mission had been graciously received, and that at once, and the
King seemed to be in a state of suspended judgment, rather than of
settled hostility, while no parade had been made of the presence of
the Scythian envoy in the city.
Once more the party at the Mission met on the terrace after dinner to
discuss coffee and things in general, and once again Chanda Lal
interrupted the harmony of the group. Stratford was in the midst of a
description of some political crisis which had occurred at Czarigrad
during his residence there, when the bearer mounted the steps and made
his way noiselessly to Sir Dugald’s side.
“Highness, in the court there is an old man wrapped in a mantle, who
wishes to see you. He says he is the Amir Jahan Beg.”
Low as were Chanda Lal’s tones, the rest of the party heard the words,
and a thrill of excitement ran through them. Why should this
notoriously anti-foreign ruler come disguised and under cover of night
to see Sir Dugald? Surely the situation promised fresh developments?
But Sir Dugald was neither flattered nor interested.
“This is beyond endurance!” he exclaimed, wrathfully. “It was bad
enough to be disturbed in the evening by that American fellow; but for
a native it is a little too much! The door is shut, bearer.”
“I bring a message to the Queen of England’s Envoy from Rustam Khan,”
said a crisp, penetrating voice in Ethiopian; and the startled hearers
turned to see an elderly man with a grey beard standing on the steps
behind them, his head and shoulders still shrouded in his cloak. “Let
the Envoy bid the servant depart and I will do my errand.”
“You can go, bearer,” said Sir Dugald. “By the bye, we shall want Mr
Kustendjian,” he added, and rose to call back Chanda Lal, but the
stranger stepped before him, and laid a hand upon his arm.
“There is no need of an interpreter,” said Jahan Beg in English.
“Haigh--Dugald Haigh--have you forgotten me?”
“Good heavens!” cried Sir Dugald, stepping back. “Can it be possible?
You are John Bigg--the man who disappeared?”
“Exactly,” said Jahan Beg. “The man who disappeared, and made a nine
days’ wonder for his friends at Tajpur, every one of whom had a
separate discreditable theory to account for his disappearance.”
“That was quite unnecessary,” returned Sir Dugald, “for any one who
knew you and knew Beatrice Wynn.”
“As you did? Well--by the bye, what has become of Beatrice Wynn?”
“Dead, years ago. Typhoid--in Assam somewhere.”
“And for years I have been dead in Ethiopia. Young men”--he turned
suddenly to the staff, who had been endeavouring, with indifferent
success, to get up an interest in conversation among themselves--“let
me give you a warning. Never throw up everything for a woman’s sake.
Never spoil your lives because you have been disappointed in love.
There is not a woman on earth that’s worth it.”
“Present company always excepted, of course,” said Fitz, with a bow to
Lady Haigh and Georgia. Jahan Beg looked at him with a grim smile.
“No woman will ever spoil your life,” he said, “though I don’t
necessarily think the better of you for that. As for the rest of you,
you are beyond the impressionable age, I think. You begin to see that
there is something else to live for besides love. I was twenty-three
when I threw aside as good prospects under the Public Works Department
as a man need want, and cut myself off from my friends and my country,
and all for the sake of a woman who had never cared a scrap for me.
She was only amusing herself with me for a while--it’s a way they
have. I can see now that she painted and dyed, and that she was years
older than I was--she was a widow--but I didn’t see it then. I thought
her as beautiful as an angel, and as good--heavens! how I did believe
in that woman--and when she married the Commissioner, I chucked
everything and left.”
“Leaving your friends to get your servants brought into court on
suspicion of having made away with you, and your enemies to look for
discrepancies in your accounts,” said Sir Dugald.
“It was all a long time ago; but I hope no one was hanged,” said Jahan
Beg.
“No; there was no possible evidence against any of the servants, and
people began to talk of suicide, and to accuse the fair Beatrice under
their breath of driving you to desperation. In self-defence she let it
become known that your last letter to her had talked much of going to
the dogs and of a ruined life, but had contained no threats. Then
public opinion veered round again to a certain extent; but the
Commissioner accepted another post before very long.”
“And for that woman’s sake,” said Jahan Beg, fiercely, “I have lost
everything. It is enough to make a man’s blood boil, Haigh. I am an
alien and a renegade all the rest of my days on account of a woman for
whom I have not now even a kindly thought.”
“We have all made fools of ourselves at one time or another,” said Sir
Dugald, soothingly. “You have paid heavily enough for that madness of
yours, Bigg, and now you can come back with us when we leave this
place and get into the world again.”
“Not quite. I have given hostages to fortune, you see.”
“What? Oh, you have married a native?”
“Yes. My wife is the King’s cousin. She was a widow when I married
her, and very rich--for this part of the world. She showed a slight
disposition to exact a very rigid etiquette at first--expected me not
to sit down in her presence without being invited, and so on, which
might have led to friction if I had not explained my views clearly at
once. We have never quarrelled since, and we never interfere with one
another.”
“You have no children?” asked Lady Haigh.
“I have one daughter. She is married to Rustam Khan.”
“An English girl married to a native?” cried Georgia.
“She is only half English, at any rate.”
“But isn’t Rustam Khan a Mohammedan?”
“Of course; so is she, so is my wife, so am I--in so far as I am
anything. I told you that I was a renegade, and now you know the worst
of me.”
“But how did you find your way here, Bigg?” asked Sir Dugald, while
Georgia was silent in dismay.
“You know I was always fond of disguising myself and going about among
the natives. Well, when I left Tajpur I made up my mind to wander
about for a time as a _fakir_, and at last I got into Khemistan.
Things were not so settled there then as they are now; St George
Keeling was hard at work pacifying the country. I fell among
thieves--that is, among the hillmen--who would not believe me when I
said I was an Englishman, but were afraid to kill me lest it should
turn out to be true after all. They compromised matters by making me a
slave, and gave me a wretched time of it. At last the Ethiopians made
a raid upon their villages, and I was so glad to see the tables turned
that I joined the invaders, and helped them to get possession of the
various strongholds. The hillmen were wiped out, and when the fighting
was over the Ethiopians thought of me. They never imagined I was an
Englishman, and I didn’t tell them. Well--I may as well make a clean
breast of it--they offered me lands, and so on, and a command in their
army if I would turn Mohammedan, thinking that I was an idolater, like
the hillmen, and I had had time to recover a little from the knockdown
blow Beatrice gave me, and life seemed worth living again, and I
consented. It’s a sordid affair enough, you see--just a bartering of
one’s conscience against life and wealth--and it was not worth it. I
have tried it, and I have come to the conclusion that one’s wretched
life is a poor exchange for country and religion. Another warning for
you, young men.”
“Then you rose to power after all?” said Sir Dugald.
“I did. It doesn’t sound a moral arrangement--to any one who only
looks on the surface. My lands lie near the frontier of the Scythian
sphere of influence, and before my day they were always liable to
incursions from the tribes under Scythian protection. I put a stop to
that, and my fame spread. One Ethiopian chief after another made
alliance with me, until I was at the head of a confederation extending
all along that frontier. Then it was that the King acknowledged my
power. Old Fath-ud-Din, who had taken a dislike to me from the very
first, pointed out to him that the position I had built up for myself
was a menace to the throne. Consequently his advice was that I should
be summoned to Court and quietly put out of the way. Fortunately for
me, however, the King took some one else’s advice that time. He knew
that I was the only man that could hold that frontier, and he
preferred to consolidate my power and attach my interests to his own
by offering me his cousin’s hand. I knew better than to refuse, and
from that time I became generally known as the Amir Jahan Beg, one of
the pillars of the state. At least I can say that I have done my best
for my district. The people are better governed there than anywhere
else in the kingdom, and the chiefs under me have taken to copying
some of my ways. That is something, but I can’t pretend that the game
is worth the candle. I used to feel it more than I do now, especially
when my daughter was a child. There was so much that was English about
her that it nearly broke my heart to think of her growing up and
leading the life of an Ethiopian woman. I used to plan to take her
with me and make a dash for liberty through Scythian territory, but it
seemed mean to go away and leave my wife, and I shouldn’t have known
what to do with her if I had got her to come too. Then Rustam Khan,
who was a delicate boy, and pined in the city, came to live with us,
and I grew as fond of him as if he had been my own son. He is the only
person here who knows that I am an Englishman, but I have taught him a
little English, and we talk it together sometimes. When he grew up, he
wished to marry my daughter, and though I knew it would make
Fath-ud-Din and all his crew my open enemies, instead of merely my
ill-wishers, I could not refuse him, for he promised to take no other
wife if I would give her to him.”
“Then is that the origin of the rivalry between Rustam Khan and
Fath-ud-Din?” asked Sir Dugald.
“No, it has merely aggravated it. Rustam Khan is the son of the King’s
first wife, but Antar Khan’s mother, the Vizier’s sister, has royal
blood in her veins through her mother, and no one can decide which of
the two sons has the best right to succeed. Consequently the King
gives them each a turn of favour, and plays them off one against the
other, to prevent either of them from forming a party. Just now, Antar
Khan, which of course means Fath-ud-Din, is uppermost.”
“And that bears seriously on our position here?”
“It does; for Rustam Khan is the strongest advocate of the English
alliance, while Fath-ud-Din, out of pure contrariness, has fanned the
hopes of the Scythians. There is a wretched Jew fellow, supposed to
have been intrusted by the Scythian and Neustrian Governments with a
secret mission, in the town now, but he is kept in the background
until the King has made up his mind about you. Whatever Fath-ud-Din
can do against you he will, you may depend upon that, and he is
all-powerful just now. Rustam Khan finds it advisable to remain at
home and pretend to be ill. He would have come to see you before this
if he had only had himself to please, but he knows that his visit
would be at once represented as part of a plot to dethrone his father
and place himself on the throne. Even I have to be careful. Naturally
I have spoken in favour of the English alliance, and joined with
Rustam Khan in doing all I could to further it, but Fath-ud-Din has
begun to smell a rat. He can’t dream that I am an Englishman, but I
believe he thinks I have been in British territory and brought
dangerous ideas into Ethiopia with me, and he would ruin me if he
could. That is why I am bound, while supporting the object of your
Mission here, to appear indifferent or even hostile to yourselves
personally, and why I dare not be seen coming to your house. There is
a horrible Yankee journalist about the place--have you come across him
yet?--who tried to draw me, but I put on the very haughtiest oriental
airs, and sent him away with a flea in his ear. I dare say he means me
no harm personally, but I know he is very thick with Fath-ud-Din, and
that is enough for me. He has not got much change out of Jahan Beg.”
“Mr Hicks has already presented himself here,” said Sir Dugald. “What
with him, and Fath-ud-Din, and the Neustro-Scythian agent, and your
precarious position in the country, Bigg, it would appear to a Western
mind that our prospects of success were rather cloudy.”
“I will do what I can to help you,” returned Jahan Beg; “secretly, of
course. In public you must expect to find me slightly troublesome in
weighing your proposals, and rigid in exacting the full pound of flesh
and an ounce or two extra; but such hints as I can give you privately
I will. Don’t tell me what your instructions are; I don’t want to know
them. I only say, don’t insist on the reception of a permanent British
resident with an escort at Kubbet-ul-Haj, for you won’t get it, and
you will be playing into the hands of Scythia. The Jew agent has
assured the King already that you are sure to make that demand, and
that such an arrangement would be the first step towards annexing the
kingdom. If you must be represented here, stand out for a
Consul-General at Iskandarbagh, the big town you passed just after
crossing the frontier, with a native _Vakil_ at the capital. Then
don’t demand any territory. The Scythians have damaged their case
already by hinting at a rectification of frontier. A reciprocal
commercial treaty you are empowered to conclude, I suppose; but you
must agree that no foreigner shall enter Ethiopia without the King’s
passport. There will be difficulties, too, about the legal status of
foreigners----”
“Excuse me, Bigg, but would you not prefer to discuss these things
with me in the office? They are a little technical to form an evening
entertainment for the ladies. Mr Stratford, perhaps you will kindly
accompany us?”
“The ladies must excuse me, remembering that it is a long-desired
relief to talk English once more to any one who can understand it
properly. You have not presented me to your wife, Haigh.”
Sir Dugald performed the ceremony briefly, and then introduced the
guest to Georgia, explaining that she was St George Keeling’s
daughter.
“And you are the lady doctor?” said Jahan Beg. “I have one thing to
ask of you, Miss Keeling. It is possible that at the Palace you may
see my daughter, Nur Jahan, Rustam Khan’s wife. Have pity upon her,
and don’t make her discontented with her life. She must stay here all
her days, and she is happy with her husband and her baby. You need not
describe to her English life and the Christian position of women, and
all those other luxuries of civilisation of which you are the
culminating product, need you? It could do no possible good, and it
certainly would do a great deal of harm, for things of that kind are
absolutely unattainable here.”
“I will try not to put new ideas into her head, if they would only
make her unhappy,” said Georgia, rather doubtfully; “but surely you
have told her about England?”
“I have told her nothing. ‘Where ignorance is bliss’--you know the
rest. Although I have married her to a Mohammedan--and roused your
indignation by doing so--I did what I could to keep her happy as his
wife. She does not know that I am an Englishman, and I have never even
taught her English; although for years I used to hold long
conversations with myself or with imaginary friends when I was alone,
that I might not forget my own language.”
And Jahan Beg went on his way, leaving Georgia oppressed with a
sense--which was by no means new to her, but had never made itself
felt so clearly as to-night--of the complexity of life. She sat
looking out over the Moslem city, and pondering the various problems
which the Amir’s words had started in her mind, while Lady Haigh and
Fitz settled down to a game of halma, and North carried off Dr Headlam
to show him a new kind of locust, which one of the servants had caught
and brought to him. The doctor welcomed the discovery with rapture,
and conveyed the insect in triumph to his own quarters, while Dick
returned to the terrace. Georgia turned to him impulsively as he
mounted the steps close beside her.
“What is your opinion of compromises? Can they ever be morally
justifiable?”
Now it was more than a month since Dick and Georgia had exchanged any
conversation but the merest commonplaces, and Dick was so well
satisfied with this state of affairs as to vow to himself every day
that he would take care their acquaintance remained on this somewhat
restricted footing for the future. Yet although he felt that Georgia
had not intentionally appealed to him in preference to any one else,
and would have attacked Sir Dugald or Stratford on the subject, if
either of them had appeared at the moment, as readily as himself, he
sat down near her, and hastily collected his views on the question of
compromise.
“It rather depends upon the nature of the compromises, doesn’t it?” he
asked--“whether they refer to essentials or non-essentials, I mean.
For instance, one’s whole existence is a series of compromises.”
“In the sense in which all social life is a compromise between the
demands of the individual and those of the race?” said Georgia. “Yes,
but those refer to non-essentials, of course.”
“Non-essentials to the race now; but I dare say they seemed essential
enough to the individual at one time. For instance, in the district in
India in which I served first, the natives thought it essential to
offer human sacrifices every year. Their crops depended upon it, they
said. But we have taught them otherwise, and now they compromise
matters by sacrificing goats.”
“But that was not really an essential matter; it was only that they
thought it so. What I want to know is, how can one tell, in questions
of right and wrong, where conciliation ends and compromise begins?”
“That is the office of all great leaders and statesmen, I suppose; to
point out a path which shall conciliate as many people, and compromise
as few principles, as possible. On the whole, the world is on the side
of compromise, I think--when it is called conciliation. The people who
object to both the name and the reality generally become martyrs.”
“Martyrs!” said Georgia, slowly. “It is easy enough to say the word;
but think what it means!”
“Ah! I see that it is our friend Jahan Beg’s story which has awakened
your sudden interest in compromises.”
“Not exactly his story, but what he said to me. It made me wonder
whether I had done right in coming here. Perhaps you don’t know that
when I agreed to come it was expressly stipulated that I was to make
no attempt to introduce Christianity into the King’s household?”
“That seems a very obvious and necessary precaution,” said Dick,
delighted to find Georgia talking to him so frankly. “You could do no
good, as Jahan Beg said; but you might do a great deal of harm, both
to the poor women and to the Mission.”
“But it almost seems to me that I was wrong in reasoning in that way.
It is like hiding one’s colours--nearly as bad as doing evil that good
may come.”
“Not doing evil, surely, Miss Keeling? As a medical missionary, half
your work is concerned with the bodies of your patients. You can do
that half still, and you are not forbidden to answer questions if the
ladies ask them.”
“But I know they won’t ask me questions of that kind. My Khemistan
experiences have shown me that they will only talk about the merest
trivialities, or else ask me for poisons.”
“Then it can’t be your fault. At any rate, you will make friends with
the ladies, and perhaps the memory of your visit may prepare the way
for a regular missionary when the country is opened up later on,”
suggested Dick, the fluency of his reasoning astonishing himself.
“I am afraid I looked upon Kubbet-ul-Haj too much as a stepping-stone
to Khemistan. I thought perhaps the Government might allow me to
settle on the frontier and practise there if I accomplished this
business successfully.”
“Well, do you know, I think that was rather a good idea, Miss Keeling.
You might even itinerate into Ethiopia if the King was well-disposed
towards you, and there could be no mistake as to your status then. But
you are not thinking of refusing to treat the poor Queen now that you
are here, and leaving her to go on suffering until a lady doctor with
a more elastic conscience can be sent out?”
“No, of course not; it would be cruel as well as absurd. Besides, it
would be breaking my word. But don’t you ever feel puzzled about your
duty, Major North, or afraid that in some particular case you may have
acted wrongly?”
“I don’t think so,” returned Dick, meditatively. “Not that I am a very
good judge, for things have always been pretty clear for me. I have
been under orders a good deal, you know, and then my only business was
to obey, and when you are thrown on your own responsibility, you only
try to do your duty, and act on the square. You know your father’s
motto, Miss Keeling? Two or three of his Khemistan men have told me
that he gave it to them when they began to work under him. This was
the way it usually went: ‘You are here for the honour of your country
and the good of the natives,’ he would say when they joined. ‘Never
desert a friend, never disown an agent, never deceive an enemy. You
will go on duty to-morrow, and may God bless you.’ I wish I had known
him. It is a distinction to have served under such a man.”
“Highness,” said a voice at Dick’s elbow, before Georgia could answer,
and they both turned to see Chanda Lal, who had mounted the steps
noiselessly with his bare feet, standing beside them, “there is
another old man in the court, wrapped up in a mantle, and he says he
is the Grand Vizier, Fath-ud-Din. He asks to see the _burra sahib_,
and he will not be turned away.”
“Good gracious!” cried Dick. “We shall have all Kubbet-ul-Haj here
before long. It only wants the King and Rustam Khan to make things
lively. But if Fath-ud-Din meets Jahan Beg, there’ll be murder done.
Miss Keeling, while I go and parley with this old wretch, do you mind
warning the Chief to get rid of Jahan Beg? I shouldn’t wonder if we
have to let him down through a window into the street behind, for it
won’t do for him to pass through the courtyard.”
He ran down the steps, and Georgia hurried to Sir Dugald’s private
office, where she found him in earnest confabulation with Jahan Beg.
The state of affairs was quickly explained, and Stratford hastened the
visitor away to the back of the house. Here, when the new-comer was
safely closeted with Sir Dugald, Dick joined him, and together they
succeeded in letting Jahan Beg down into the lane, where he alighted
softly on a convenient rubbish-heap, and whence he made the best of
his way home.
It was not until the rest of the party were thinking of going to bed
that Sir Dugald was able to get rid of his visitor and return to the
terrace. He smiled grimly as he glanced at the expectant faces which
awaited him.
“The worthy Fath-ud-Din has prepared a very pretty little plot,” he
said, “which is meant to remove both Jahan Beg and Rustam Khan from
his path, and we are expected to help.”
“We shall get into trouble,” remarked Lady Haigh, oracularly, “if all
the conspirators in Kubbet-ul-Haj make this house a rendezvous when
they want to plot against one another.”
“We shall,” agreed Sir Dugald; “and it is a mystery to me what these
good people see in our faces that leads them to think we shall be
willing to forward their schemes. I suppose it is only natural that
Bigg should wish to utilise us as a means of getting his son-in-law
acknowledged as heir to the throne; but I did not expect Fath-ud-Din.
It seems that he has for a long time suspected Jahan Beg of being an
Englishman, and the suspicion became a certainty yesterday, owing to
his ostentatious lack of interest in our entry. Jahan Beg thought that
his bearing showed how patriotic an Ethiopian he had become; but
Fath-ud-Din argued that such disregard of such a show could only be
due to his having often seen similar sights before.”
“I hope you taxed Fath-ud-Din with being an Englishman on the same
grounds,” said Lady Haigh.
“Certainly not,” replied Sir Dugald. “You forget that he was ill. His
illness may have been diplomatic and momentary; but it has to be
accepted as a fact. Well, Hicks supplied the next link in the chain.
It seems that Fath-ud-Din granted him the interview which Jahan Beg
refused, and in the course of conversation asked him casually what he
would think if he heard that a solitary Englishman had lived in
Ethiopia disguised for years. Hicks replied, as most men would
naturally do, that he should conclude he had done something which had
made British territory too hot to hold him, and had run away from fear
of the law. That struck Fath-ud-Din as a bright idea, and he came to
tell me of his suspicions, and to suggest that I should invite the
King to give up Jahan Beg as an escaped criminal. He assured me that
he and his party would give me all possible support, which I could
well believe; and he let out that he anticipated that Rustam Khan
would be involved in his father-in-law’s downfall. That would leave
the way clear for Antar Khan, to whom Fath-ud-Din hopes to marry his
daughter. A suitable _bakhshish_ was also understood, and in return
for these various boons, Fath-ud-Din would be good enough to further
the objects of the Mission, and guarantee its success.”
“And I hope you kicked him down the steps?” said Lady Haigh.
“No, Elma; I did not. I should have thought you knew by this time that
my disposition was eminently a peaceful one. I merely told Fath-ud-Din
that I knew of no criminal answering to the description of Jahan Beg,
but that if he could find out what he had done, and it was
sufficiently heinous, I would apply for his extradition with pleasure.
With that he had to be content, which leaves us a breathing-space.”
“I suppose you will be able to get the treaty concluded while he is
hunting about for proofs of Jahan Beg’s guilt?” said Georgia.
“That is what we must hope to do. I was most careful to make
everything hinge on his own efforts. It was necessary to avoid like
poison anything that might sound like offering him help in his quest,
or he would have understood it as a definite pledge to assist him by
fair means or foul to ruin Jahan Beg.”