Mariana sighed. Did this song, too, describe the soul's longing for G.o.d, or was she allowed to give it her own meaning?

"She says her thoughts have wandered everywhere in pursuit of her beloved. It is a poem."

Miss Emily sniffed. "How they do exaggerate. It would have been quite enough to say she was pleased to see George."

How well Mariana understood those plaintive words! For all his nearness, Fitzgerald might have been a thousand miles from her.

"I am both close to Thee," her own poem had read, "and immeasurably far away-"

"Ah," Miss Emily said later, nodding with satisfaction toward the dancing girls and their musicians, "that must have been the final song. See, they are all going away. We shall leave soon, thank heaven."

As the last of the entertainers drifted away, a small servant appeared at the Maharajah's side, carrying a baby boy. The child in his arms, he followed the Maharajah toward the waiting elephants. Mariana stared after them. How curious these people were, letting such a tiny child stay up until midnight! Why would the Maharajah want to have a baby with him now? The child's eyes drooped with exhaustion, but, strangely, he turned his head, searching the crowd as if he were looking for something important.

"I have invited Lieutenant Marks to dinner, Mariana," Miss Emily announced the following evening, smoothing her blond satin skirts with her palm, "in hopes that he will see the need to show his hand. There is not much time left before we sign the treaty and the army leaves for Afghanistan."

Mariana felt her toes curling inside her boots. "Show his hand, Miss Emily?"

Miss Emily opened her fan with a little snap. "If he is interested, he should say so. And since a little compet.i.tion might be encouraging, you are to have Peter Edwardes on your other side. Edwardes has been pestering me about it for days."

The breeze from Miss Emily's fan carried a hint of violet water. Mariana bit her lip. Colin Marks, Peter Edwardes, the White Rabbit- they were all the same to her. Let Miss Emily marry them herself.

"The girl needs to be pushed," Miss Emily whispered loudly, as she and Miss f.a.n.n.y walked toward the dining tent with Mariana close behind. "Marks is the most suitable of them. I know his uncle. There is no point in her waiting, now that Fitzgerald has been disqualified. She should choose someone someone before they all leave for Afghanistan. A number of them are quite eager...." before they all leave for Afghanistan. A number of them are quite eager...."

As they entered the tent several young officers stopped talking and bowed in their direction.

"There you are, my dear." Her skirts rustling, Miss Emily turned. "You remember Lieutenant Colin Marks of the Queen's Buffs." She nodded toward the little man who bowed elaborately beside her. "I have put him on your left this evening."

Marks's ears were not only large, they were hairy. Behind him, also bowing, was Harry Fitzgerald's curly-haired friend from the Waterloo dinner.

Fifteen minutes later, as conversations rose and fell around the table, Marks bent toward her, his soup spoon in his hand. "I fear, Miss Givens," he said, favoring her with a patronizing smile, "that I sit here under false pretenses."

"False pretenses, Lieutenant Marks?" This was agony. Mariana stole a glance toward Peter Edwardes on her right. He was Fitzgerald's friend. How much did he know of the past?

"Yes." Marks lowered his voice confidentially. "My name is not Colin, it is actually Bartholomew Bartholomew Colin. I wish you to know Colin. I wish you to know everything everything about me." about me."

The hair sprouting from his ears appeared thicker than ever. His shin was within reach of Mariana's booted foot. She crossed her ankles decisively under the table.

It was another full hour before the table turned. At last, her face stiff from trying to smile, she turned to her right in time to see Lieutenant Edwardes tip back his head and swallow half a gla.s.s of wine in one gulp.

"Good evening." He inclined his head. "Glad to sit beside a woman who knows military strategy. Heard you talking about Waterloo some time back. You agreed with Fitzgerald. Good man, Fitzgerald." He nodded several times.

Mariana pushed bits of vegetable around her plate. Her appet.i.te had long since vanished. "Have you and Lieutenant Fitzgerald known each other long?" she asked cautiously.

"Since I came out here. Must be three years now. We are the best of friends," Edwardes added, nodding significantly.

Three years! Mariana put down her knife. "And were you in Calcutta a year ago?"

"I was."

"Then you must know what happened with the young lady, his ?ancee?" She held her breath.

He swayed toward her, red-eyed in the candlelight. "You have heard ill of him," he said in a stage whisper, "and you want the truth." His head bobbed up and down. "Thought you would ask."

This was madness. The man had clearly had too much to drink.

"I'll tell you, then, but you, Miss Givens, must keep it to yourself." Edwardes wagged a finger in her direction. "People know you are fond of Fitzgerald. If you repeat this story, they will, if you will excuse me, think you are stupid with love."

Stupid with love! Mariana s.n.a.t.c.hed up her knife and fork and attacked her roast venison.

"Two years ago," Edwardes began, ignoring her scowl, "a young lady came out from England. Exceptionally pretty she was. Miss Owen was her name. Several men took a liking to her, Fitzgerald among them. I was not in Calcutta at the time, so I missed his marriage proposal."

Edwardes glanced at her. "Are you all right, Miss Givens?"

"Yes," she snapped, so loudly that the White Rabbit glanced up from across the table.

"Harry and Miss Owen became engaged," Edwardes went on, "not officially, of course, as they had not yet had permission from his commanding officer or her guardian. Only one or two of us knew."

He took another gulp of burgundy, then wiped his mouth, trailing his napkin in the gravy on his plate as he did so. "By the time I returned to Calcutta and met Harry and Miss Owen at the usual dinners and b.a.l.l.s, she had begun paying attention to another man. This man, you see, was to inherit a little money, while Harry has no prospects of that sort. When Harry found them together, he understood her game, and broke the engagement."

"Game?" Mariana repeated.

"Miss Owen had been using Harry for safety while she pursued the other man, who naturally dropped her when he learned what she was doing. She returned, husbandless, to England." He snorted. "Served her right."

A pair of finely wrought silver peac.o.c.ks stood opposite Mariana in the center of the table. She stared past them at the tent's open doorway. The woman had been an adventuress! How could Fitzgerald have been taken in?

The White Rabbit giggled at someone's joke. Edwardes yawned behind his stained napkin. "Later, to save face, Miss Owen told people that Harry had jilted her for someone with a better income."

Mariana picked up her winegla.s.s, then put it down again.

"Harry took it well, good man, and never revealed the truth, but life in Calcutta was difficult for him afterwards. The Afghan Campaign was a G.o.dsend for him. Got him out of there. But now, of course, everyone here knows, so it's all the same." Edwardes shrugged.

"Does everyone everyone in Calcutta know?" in Calcutta know?"

"Oh, yes. Her Her version." He sighed. "Poor Harry." version." He sighed. "Poor Harry."

Mariana pushed away her uneaten food. In her mind's eye, Fitzgerald rode his gray horse, stood guard at the howitzers, kissed her. "Why doesn't he tell the real story now?"

"Who would believe him? It is too late."

THE fruit had been taken away. The men stood as the Eden sisters and Mariana rose from the table and made their way out of the dining tent's back entrance, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy.

"Well, Mariana," began Miss Emily as she subsided into a basket chair positioned between the tents, "I observed you deep in conversation with Lieutenant Marks over the fish."

Over the fish, Marks had given Mariana a scrupulously detailed account of trout fishing in Galway with his rich uncle.

"Colin Marks is well suited to you, my dear," said Miss f.a.n.n.y warmly. "According to everyone, he is an able young officer, and he stands to inherit property. It is thought he will go far in the army."

Miss Emily shook out her skirts. "Now we shall see whether he offers to see you to your tent."

Unable to contain herself, Mariana let out a great, noisy sigh. Both sisters frowned.

An hour later, sounds faded inside the dining tent as the dinner guests began to leave by the main doorway. Servants shouted to each other across the compound. Jimmund, the servant of Miss Emily's dog, came out of Miss Emily's tent with Chance under his arm. The Eden ladies rustled quietly.

"Ah, here comes someone," said Miss Emily with satisfaction.

A figure emerged from the dining tent's back door.

"May I have the honor of seeing Miss Givens to her tent?" inquired a swaying Peter Edwardes.

She was to be spared Colin Marks. Mariana made no effort to contain her broad, delighted smile.

As she and Edwardes started away, she looked over her shoulder to see the Eden sisters gazing after them in the semidarkness.

"Sorry I took so long," Edwardes muttered, when they had rounded a corner of the tent. "Had to outfiank that fool Marks. I have a surprise for you, Miss Givens."

Waiting in the shadow of the dining tent, a finger to his lips, stood Harry Fitzgerald.

"Are you surprised?" he asked quietly as they watched Edwardes weave his way toward the main entrance.

"Yes," she whispered. She looked over her shoulder, her heart thumping. "You have taken such a risk!"

"It doesn't matter," he said. He looked strained, but his hand felt warm and strong when he squeezed her fingers. "I could bear it no longer. Yesterday evening you were not seven feet from me, and I could scarcely look at you for fear Miss Emily would see. And Marks has been puffed up for days."

"I hate hate Colin Marks," she whispered. Colin Marks," she whispered.

Fitzgerald's uniform was unb.u.t.toned at the neck. Mariana drank in his profile as he walked beside her. "What has Peter told you?" he asked, after a moment.

"Everything," she replied.

Her heart was still racing as they reached her tent. She stopped, antic.i.p.ating Fitzgerald's embrace, but before she could close her eyes he grasped her by the shoulders and kissed her awkwardly, his teeth banging hers.

"Oh, Mariana ..." His breath thickened as he fumbled at the front of her gown.

"Stop! What are you doing?" She took a step backward and glared at him. "I do not like that at all all."

Still breathing hard, Fitzgerald peered at her in the shadows. He dropped his hands. "I'm a clumsy fool," he muttered. "Forgive me, Mariana. I've been miserable without you."

His bra.s.s b.u.t.tons gleamed in the starlight. He was was clumsy, and he clumsy, and he had had been duped by Miss Owen in Calcutta, but he had not jilted her, and Peter Edwardes had called him a good man. Best of all, he had been miserable without her. been duped by Miss Owen in Calcutta, but he had not jilted her, and Peter Edwardes had called him a good man. Best of all, he had been miserable without her.

"Well," she offered, "other people can be clumsy, too. Last Monday I fell off my horse in front of everyone."

He returned her smile, then wrapped his arms about her and gave her the kiss she wanted.

Nine days, Macnaghten." Lord Auckland stopped partway up his elephant ladder to look balefully down at his political secretary. "Nine days and nights of drinking, dancing girls, bawdy jokes, fireworks, lavish costumes, and potted plants. Nine days of gifts given and received, and not one hour of real facts. Not one moment's one moment's discussion of the Afghan Campaign. We discussion of the Afghan Campaign. We must must get Ranjit Singh to come to terms over the campaign and sign this treaty." get Ranjit Singh to come to terms over the campaign and sign this treaty."

He climbed into the howdah, sat down on the narrow satincovered seat, and rested a hand gingerly on his waistcoat. "I did not sleep at all last night after his dinner party. Never mind the poisonous food-whoever drew up the regulations on durbars and native princes should have been warned about the man's wine wine. Englishmen should be expressly forbidden to drink the stuff." He sighed. "I had at least three gla.s.ses of it. I was forced to keep one foot on the fioor all night to stop my bed from turning somersaults. I suppose, Macnaghten," he added, as his political secretary climbed up, puffing, and took his seat, "as you were sitting on the Maharajah's blind side, you you were able to pour were able to pour your your wine onto the ground." wine onto the ground."

"I was, my lord, yes," replied Macnaghten apologetically. "I poured it away all evening."

Lord Auckland stared glumly down at the honor guard below. "The old goat did not take his eyes from my cup. Someone told me his wine is made from raisins and ground pearls. Tell me, Macnaghten, when you poured it away, did it actually burn a hole in the carpet?"

The political secretary would have preferred to ride, as he usually did, with his dear friend Major Byrne, but this time there had been no escaping the Governor-General. "My lord," he said, gripping the howdah's railing with unnecessary tightness, "I have attempted every possible stratagem to get the Maharajah to come to terms. I have exhausted my store of compliments. At today's meeting I had just started off with some nonsense about the sun shining down a hundred years from now on the glories of both England and the Punjab, when the old man actually interrupted interrupted me to say in that irritating way of his that the two nations, hand in hand, would conquer Afghanistan, that it would be a 'great show.'" me to say in that irritating way of his that the two nations, hand in hand, would conquer Afghanistan, that it would be a 'great show.'"

Lord Auckland gave a wan smile. "A 'great show'! What a waste of time this is!"

THE next day's meeting had already consumed two hours. Outside the Maharajah's grand reception tent, the sun had shifted. It gleamed down nearly vertically on the rows of potted crotons and chrysanthemums along the pathways, shrinking the shadows of pa.s.sing men and horses.

From his seat beside Lord Auckland, the little Maharajah spoke animatedly in a combination of Urdu and Punjabi, his good eye on Lord Auckland's expressionless face. Behind his throne, Sikh grandees, three deep, murmured their approval.

"I see," William Macnaghten translated without infiection. "The colors of the silks are meant to show the ident.i.ties of the owners. Wah, wah Wah, wah, how clever!"

Lord Auckland smiled politely at the Maharajah, then turned to his political secretary. "Macnaghten, this must stop. I will not not discuss horse racing." discuss horse racing."

The baby on the Maharajah's knee watched them listlessly. On the carpet before the Maharajah's feet, Chief Minister Azizuddin smiled knowingly.

Catching the man's expression, Lord Auckland blinked and straightened. "Ask the Maharajah how long it will be before his army starts for Afghanistan."

The Maharajah replied to Macnaghten's question in his soft, rapidfire voice, his hands waving.

The political secretary folded his own fingers over his dove-colored waistcoat. "He says that it will be soon, but that when they go, they will cross rivers. He, of course, will have bridges of boats built for the crossings. He wishes to know how many stone bridges England has, and how they are constructed."

"I do not know!" Lord Auckland's jowls shook. "Tell him anything. I cannot bear any more of this. I have never been so suffocatingly bored in all my life. What is the old fool saying now?"

"He wants to know," Macnaghten replied, "the difference between a Sikh temple and a Christian church."

"Macnaghten, you must ask him how many of his troops he intends to commit to the campaign," Lord Auckland said later, taking advantage of a conversation between the Maharajah and his Chief Minister. "And ask when he intends to send them." He shifted irritably in his seat. "It must must be soon. He cannot mean to send an army to Kabul in deep winter, when the mountain pa.s.ses are full of snow. None of our troops except the Gurkhas are accustomed to the cold. be soon. He cannot mean to send an army to Kabul in deep winter, when the mountain pa.s.ses are full of snow. None of our troops except the Gurkhas are accustomed to the cold.

"And tomorrow," he added with determination, "we will discuss laying our supply lines and moving our troops across his territories."

The frail baby had fallen asleep facedown on the Maharajah's lap. "That child looks even feebler than the Maharajah," murmured Macnaghten.

"Why are they all in such bad health?" asked Lord Auckland querulously. "The Maharajah pretends to be in the peak of condition, but anyone can see the man's as weak as a cat. As for that child-" he made a face while pretending to cough. "How unpleasant it is to deal with such poor-looking people. And the Chief Minister," he added, his eyes on Faqeer Azizuddin, "now, there there is a man is a man not not to be trusted." to be trusted."

Outside the tent, people moved to and fro. On the Maharajah's lap the child lay motionless. Resting one hand on the tiny back, the Maharajah beckoned with the other to one of his courtiers.

"Please," murmured Lord Auckland, as the Maharajah spoke animatedly to the thin, dark-skinned man who stood before him, a hand over his heart, "let the old man not be sending for wine!"

After the dark-skinned man had gone, the Maharajah poked a small brown finger into Lord Auckland's uniformed side. "Governor Sahib," he announced, jerking Lord Auckland to startled attention, "I have great news!"

Sitting back in his throne he threw out an expansive arm. "Tomorrow," he declared, as Macnaghten translated, "we will all go to Amritsar. I wish to show you and your party the Golden Temple, the seat of our Sikh religion, before we travel on to Lah.o.r.e to enjoy further entertainments."

Amritsar, Lah.o.r.e. Lord Auckland sat up. "Is this a good sign?" he whispered to Macnaghten.

"Yes, my lord," replied Macnaghten, "I believe it is!"