The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [248]
“I’d be most happy...another time, perhaps. I wonder would you mind asking one of your bearers to accompany me?”
Rayne shouted a command, but then he had to return his attention to Cutter, because he and Ford had just concluded an extravagant wager: namely, a dozen of claret that he and Beeswing could not spring from the compound over the verandah and in through the drawing-room window in one great leap Fleury said goodbye to the ladies and hurried away with Chloë frisking ahead; he was by no means anxious to witness this reckless feat.
4
Dark circles had appeared round the Collector’s eyes, and the eyes themselves stared more moodily than ever at other members of the congregation during evening service in the Church; at other times during the service he was seen to hold his head unnaturally still; it was as if his features were carved in rock, on which the only movement was the stirring of the whiskers in the breeze from the punkahs. It was evident that he was having trouble in sleeping for soon he ordered one of the bearers to seek a sleeping draught from the doctor. Dr Dunstaple happened to be away at the time so it was Dr McNab who found himself summoned to attend the Collector. He found him in his bedroom beside the open French window giving on to the verandah.
Dr McNab had only recently come to Krishnapur. His wife had died a couple of years earlier in some other Indian station; otherwise, not much was known about him, apart from what Dr Dunstaple supplied in the way of amusing anecdotes about his medical procedures. His manner was formal and reticent; although still quite young he had a middle-aged and melancholy air and, like many gloomy people, he looked discreet. He had never entered the Collector’s bedroom before and was impressed by the elegance with which it was furnished: the thickness of the carpet, the polish of the tables and wardrobes, the grandeur of the Collector’s four-poster bed, inherited from a previous Resident, which to a man grown accustomed to the humble charpoy appeared unusually impressive.
The Collector looked round briefly as Dr McNab entered, and invited him to come to the window, from where there was an excellent view to the south-west, over the stable yard, over the Cutcherry, to the recently built ramparts of dried mud baking in the afternoon glare.
“Well, McNab, d’you think they will keep out the sepoys if they attack us here as they did at Meerut?”
“I confess I know nothing about military matters, Mr Hopkins.”
The Collector laughed, but in a humourless way. “That’s a judicious reply, McNab. But perhaps you are better fitted to judge the state of mind of a man who builds a fortress in the middle of a peaceful countryside. Doctor, I’m well aware of what is being said about me in the cantonment on account of the mud ramparts down there.”
Dr McNab frowned but remained silent. His eyes, which had been on the Collector’s face, dropped to the fingers of his right hand which were too tightly clenched around the lapel of his frock coat in what would have been, otherwise, the calm and commanding posture of a statesman posing for his portrait.
“If no trouble develops in the end, Mr Hopkins, no doubt you will look a fool,” he said, then added grimly: “But perhaps it is your duty.”
The Collector looked surprised for a moment. “You’re quite right, McNab. It’s my duty. I have a duty towards the women and children under my protection. Besides, I myself am a family man...I must think of protecting my own children. Perhaps you think that I give too little thought to my children? Perhaps you think that I don’t have their welfare sufficiently at heart?” He stared at McNab suspiciously.
“Mr Hopkins, I know nothing of your personal life.” This was almost true, but not quite. A short time earlier McNab had happened upon the Collector’s children in a velvet brood being escorted by their ayah along