The crowd that had moved back, murmuring, to let her pa.s.s, now pressed forward avidly. The Maharajah's hand stopped in midair as she offered him a full, breathless curtsy, her shaking knees locked together under her gown. Her ears rang. She had no idea what to say.

"'How shall I tell thee of myself?'" Still in her deep curtsy, she began quoting from a legend Munshi was teaching her. "'I cannot tell what has befallen me. I grieve day and night. Hunger and thirst have left me altogether. No joy by day; no sleep to my eyes. Heavy is my anxiety-'"

"What is she doing? What is she saying?" the Governor-General demanded loudly.

"Shabash! You have taught her Punjabi!" Still holding the coins, the Maharajah gave a high, wheezing laugh. He had fixed his eye on the decolletage of her low-cut gown.

Her cheeks blazing, she shot upright. The rest of the fable, and the point she was trying to make by reciting it, vanished from her mind, lost in a haze of fright and self-consciousness.

Searching her memory for something else, she found a Persian quatrain and began to speak again, ignoring the staring Governor General and the suddenly attentive Harry Fitzgerald.

"Last night at the tavern I called for the cup.'What lover,' I cried, 'leaves the last of the wine?'As I lay on the threshold afire with joy,Life came bearing gifts, saw my drunken state, and fied."

She looked up fearfully and saw the old king staring at her, his mouth ajar. Beside him, Miss Emily frowned furiously, pointing with little fiapping gestures at Mariana's overturned chair.

Miss f.a.n.n.y gazed from one face to another as if she were at the theater. Forced to translate Mariana's speech for Lord Auckland, Mr. Macnaghten seemed to be having difficulty with her Persian poem.

"Speak plainly, Bibi," ordered the Maharajah, impatiently, rattling the coins in his palm. "What do you want to say?"

Mariana glanced nervously behind her as the crowd of Sikhs began to edge forward. "How can I tell you that I am betrothed to another man?" she murmured.

There, now she had said it. Whatever else happened, surely the Maharajah must now abandon his pursuit of her.

Behind Lord Auckland's chair, directly in her line of vision, Harry Fitzgerald swayed from side to side, his eyes bulging.

The Maharajah's beard twitched. "What is this? To whom are you engaged? To whom is she engaged?" He turned to Lord Auckland and grasped him by the upper arm.

One of the officers behind Lord Auckland translated rapidly. Must she tell them?

"Speak!" commanded the Maharajah.

The crowd of courtiers rustled behind her in the waiting silence.

"I am engaged," she said clearly, "to Ha.s.san, the son of Shaikh Waliullah of the city of Lah.o.r.e."

Fitzgerald started so abruptly that he seemed to rise from the ground.

The lamps fiickered, throwing an eerie light over the scene. In the crowd behind Mr. Macnaghten's chair, Mariana caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Marks's horrified face. She tried hard not to squeeze her eyes shut. Surely she would awaken soon to find this had been a bad dream.

She swallowed and glanced over her shoulder. The entire court seemed to be staring at someone standing at the back of the crowd.

In front of her, Lord Auckland had begun to swell visibly. Color, a dangerous red, was returning to his face.

"Emily, we must must do something about George." Miss f.a.n.n.y's whisper carried easily to where Mariana stood. do something about George." Miss f.a.n.n.y's whisper carried easily to where Mariana stood.

"Governor Sahib," the Maharajah said in a voice they had not heard before, "you brought the girl for me and now you have accepted another proposal for her? Is this a joke?"

Lord Auckland put a hand to his brow and closed his eyes. Perspiration had run onto his stiff collar.

The British delegation stirred and murmured as comprehension filtered through their ranks.

Fear made Mariana reckless. She plunged on, just as Mr. Macnaghten drew breath to speak. "Maharaj, it was I I who accepted the proposal, on my own behalf. I did not consult Governor Sahib." who accepted the proposal, on my own behalf. I did not consult Governor Sahib."

The Maharajah turned, openmouthed, to Lord Auckland.

Mercifully, Mr. Macnaghten had seen his opportunity. "If," he said, "the lady has given her word, it is not within the power of our government to force her to break it. However, Maharaj," he added, glaring at Mariana, "you may be sure the young woman will be suitably punished for this mistake."

Mistake. Mariana stiffened. The mistake of speaking up, of saving herself when no one else would do it, of taking the blame on herself for not marrying the old, blind Maharajah and saving all their faces?

She tried to catch Fitzgerald's eye, but he had turned away.

The Maharajah sat without speaking. At his feet, the bearded Faqeer fiddled with his cloak, his dark eyes darting this way and that.

Deprived of their translator, the Eden sisters gestured excitedly for Mariana to come back and sit down. After a final trembling curtsy, she made her way past the Sikhs to her overturned seat.

"My dear girl, what do you mean by getting up and making a speech?" Miss Emily leaned past her sister, her eyes narrow. "What were you saying? What in the name of heaven is going on? It is quite clear that you have upset everyone, especially my brother."

Before Mariana could reply, the Maharajah broke the silence with a wheezing laugh that turned at once into a fit of coughing. Reaching to his right, he slapped the Governor-General on the leg, and held out his hand, palm up.

When Lord Auckland ignored his hand, the old king wiped his eye. "What a joke," he cried. "What a joke on us all! I tell you, Governor Sahib, there is no accounting for women. I have so many wives, and I tell you, the more wives you have, the more trouble you endure. You cannot imagine how my women fight with me."

Hiccuping, he thumped his black-bearded minister's shoulder. "Perhaps you have been wise, Governor Sahib," he gasped, pointing mirthfully at Lord Auckland, "to have no wives at all!

"Now," he went on in a businesslike tone, interrupting Mr. Macnaghten who was attempting to speak, "since we are all brothers, we will have a great show at the wedding. You haven't seen one of our weddings, have you, Governor Sahib? We will have a fine show, a very fine show!"

A wedding?

"Wedding, Maharaj?" Mr. Macnaghten blinked.

"Of course," replied the Maharajah, spreading his bony arms expansively. "The girl and Ha.s.san are already engaged. Why waste the wedding arrangements? We will celebrate the girl's marriage to Ha.s.san here at the Citadel in two days. I know the boy," he added, his face suddenly unreadable. "We will have a fine show, a fine show."

With a groan, a government secretary standing behind fainted dead away.

Mariana perched on the edge of her chair, her damp hands hidden in the folds of her skirts, as two officers carried the stricken man away. As they left, Mr. Macnaghten cleared his throat several times and then, slurring his words a little, recounted her speech in English for the benefit of the ladies. He spoke flatly, turning her poetry into odd-sounding English prose, translating her announcement to the Maharajah in the same tone he might have used to read a list of battle casualties.

Beside her Miss f.a.n.n.y drew in a tremulous, audible breath. The Maharajah, his eye moving from face to face, watched from his golden seat.

No one looked at Mariana, not even the Maharajah, who appeared to have lost interest in her. Lord Auckland stared gla.s.sily ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line, his face as brick red as the pattern in the Maharajah's carpet. Mr. Macnaghten, who had sunk into his chair after his translation, avoided her glance. Major Byrne, finally awake, gave an echoing honk.

Coming from the political secretary's lips, her speech had sounded all wrong-intimate, suggestive of liberties offered and liberties taken. She must explain her behavior before they thought ill of her; but her head whirled and her thoughts would not order themselves.

"So," the Maharajah announced gaily, "there is much to do, much to enjoy! But we have business to perform. Tomorrow we will sign your treaty. The day after tomorrow, we will celebrate the wedding."

So, the treaty was to be signed before before the wedding! Mariana's hopes lifted. Lord Auckland and Mr. Macnaghten exchanged glances. With the treaty out of the way, she could feign illness, even death, and avoid the wedding. In two days, the army would be on its way to victory in Kabul, and she would be having Christmas with the Governor-General's party as they traveled toward Calcutta, safe from further drunken evenings with the old king. She had done it! Having taken the blame on herself, she had prevented the Maharajah's using British faithlessness to back out of the treaty. She wanted to fan herself with relief, but refrained, fearful of drawing more attention. the wedding! Mariana's hopes lifted. Lord Auckland and Mr. Macnaghten exchanged glances. With the treaty out of the way, she could feign illness, even death, and avoid the wedding. In two days, the army would be on its way to victory in Kabul, and she would be having Christmas with the Governor-General's party as they traveled toward Calcutta, safe from further drunken evenings with the old king. She had done it! Having taken the blame on herself, she had prevented the Maharajah's using British faithlessness to back out of the treaty. She wanted to fan herself with relief, but refrained, fearful of drawing more attention.

"Excellent, Maharaj." Mr. Macnaghten's voice wavered, but his relief was plain. "We will sign the treaty, as you say, tomorrow." As he spoke, he seemed to savor every word.

She was a heroine, was she not?

Since her speech the Maharajah had not looked at Mariana, but she did not miss the speculative gaze of the bearded minister at his side. Why should she mind? There was no need to pay attention to these particular natives any longer.

She must write to the Shaikh thanking him for his proposal, explaining why she had spoken out at the dinner. What a good, kind man he was to have offered her such an elegant way to evade the Maharajah's wicked trap!

The evening was at last over. Permission for the Maharajah's guests to leave his presence had been asked and granted. The ladies got to their feet.

"I must tell you, Miss f.a.n.n.y," Mariana murmured as they made their way forward to offer their good-byes, "what happened to me the other night at Amritsar as we were-"

Miss f.a.n.n.y made a small but definite gesture for silence. "My dear," she said, holding up her hand, "do not speak of this. Whatever you say will only make your situation worse."

Worse? Beside her, Miss Emily moved forward, her sharp profile as still as if it were carved from ivory. There was no trace of color in her face. A chill crawled down Mariana's spine.

She gathered her skirts, preparing to climb the ladder into the howdah after Miss f.a.n.n.y. Surely it would be all right. Surely, when they understood about Saboor and the Shaikh and the rice test- "All I am able to do, Mariana," declared Miss Emily as she seated herself, "is to put your extraordinary behavior this evening down to the unfortunate effect of the Maharajah's wine."

She gestured for silence as Mariana tried to speak. "You have disgraced yourself and humiliated Lieutenant Marks. You have made us all look like fools."

Lieutenant Marks! "But Miss Emily," Mariana said, her voice sounding odd in her own ears, "I did it to save the treaty. Now that the treaty is to be signed, I can tell you what really happened at Amritsar after the fireworks display. One of the Maharajah's servants came running and handed me the baby, and I-"

"Baby?" Both ladies stared.

"Yes, the baby, the little hostage. I took him to my tent and kept him there until the night of the rice test."

She looked from one incredulous face to the other. "He is not yet two years old," she added, "and he was being ill-treated by the-"

"But my dear Mariana," exclaimed Miss f.a.n.n.y, "this is madness! We were there all the time! How could we not have seen you carrying a great two-year-old child from the Golden Temple? You must give up this preposterous story. What can the Maharajah's hostage have to do with your being secretly engaged to a native while you were encouraging Lieutenant Marks?"

"Encouraging Marks? But, Miss f.a.n.n.y, I-"

"Be quiet, Mariana! You have said quite enough." Miss Emily's voice held a chilling finality.

The remainder of the journey to the British camp took place in deep silence, with both Eden ladies staring fixedly into the distance, their chins held high.

Miss Emily spoke only when they had reached the entrance to the red compound. "Mariana," she said, after their blue elephant had dropped joltingly to his knees at the mounting stairs, "your behavior has put us all into a most distressing and awkward position. You are fortunate that my brother is a kind man. Whatever he may think of you, I am certain he will find a way to spare you the horror of actual 'marriage' to a native.

"I shall be very surprised if, by tomorrow afternoon, you are not already on your way back to Calcutta. But we shall say no more of this sad business now. Good night."

Without another word, she swept off in her best blond silk, leaving Mariana and Miss f.a.n.n.y to climb down from the silver howdah in silence.

"WHAT is wrong, Memsahib?" Dittoo was wringing his hands. "What has happened?"

Mariana looked up from where she lay facedown on her bed. "Oh, Dittoo," she wailed, "it's horrible. They want to send me away to Calcutta, and all because of what I did to save their treaty!"

"Send you away, Memsahib?" Dittoo's chin began to wobble.

"No one will listen to me. I cannot get them to understand." She struck her pillow with a balled fist. "If they were so clever, why did they not speak out when that horrid Maharajah tried to betroth himself to me? Why did Fitzgerald do nothing?"

"The Maharajah betrothed himself to you?" Dittoo's eyes widened until white appeared all the way around their brown centers. "Betrothed himself?" himself?"

"No, but he very nearly did. I I was the one who thought of a good excuse, so he would not be insulted and cancel the treaty. Now they all despise me." She sat up and wiped her face with her sleeve. was the one who thought of a good excuse, so he would not be insulted and cancel the treaty. Now they all despise me." She sat up and wiped her face with her sleeve.

"I know one thing," she went on as Dittoo rummaged through the clothes in her trunk, searching for a fresh handkerchief, "the Shaikh is a great man. He He understood the danger and sent his own proposal to be used as my excuse." She took a clean square of linen from Dittoo's fingers. "Of course," she added, blowing her nose, "he does not mean for me to marry his son." understood the danger and sent his own proposal to be used as my excuse." She took a clean square of linen from Dittoo's fingers. "Of course," she added, blowing her nose, "he does not mean for me to marry his son."

"Marry his son?" Dittoo's expression was now a caricature of bewilderment. "The Shaikh Shaikh wants you to marry his wants you to marry his son son?"

She glared at him. "Of course not. His daughter-in-law has just died. You told me so yourself. The Shaikh expects me to break the engagement on some pretext.

"The Shaikh is a marvelous, special native," she said as she rose to splash water onto her face from her washbasin. "I should never have doubted him."

Her towel in her hand, she moved to the open doorway. "Oh, Dittoo," she said, her eyes on the stars hanging in a bright web over the camp, "why am I not in Suss.e.x, having Christmas with Papa and Mama?"

"SO, the young lady is to marry your a.s.sistant." The Maharajah held back his arms for a servant to take off his vest. He nodded rapidly, his beard shaking as he spoke.

"So it seems, Maharaj." Faqeer Azizuddin nodded solemnly.

The servant lifted the Maharajah's beard aside and began to remove the gold b.u.t.tons from his silk tunic.

"Is this your doing, Aziz?" Ignoring the man working on his clothes, the Maharajah peered up at the Faqeer. "If it is, I will give you many villages." His b.u.t.tons removed, he fiung his arms upward and the servant pulled his shirt over his head. "I never expected that foolish proposal to bear such sweet fruit!"

Naked to the waist, the old king sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Ah, Aziz," he added, happily, "it is so easy to tease the British. Did you see Macnaghten's face tonight? What a tamasha, what a show! I had expected to confuse the British, but the lady's speech confused even me! But then I saw what she had done; saw the benefit to me from this engagement to Ha.s.san."

The Faqeer's face had stilled. The Maharajah smiled broadly as he received a starched cotton tunic. "These English are children! Do you not see, Aziz, the gift the Englishwoman has offered me? After the wedding, I will send for my Saboor. Of course," he added, waving a careless hand, "when he comes, some relative of his must accompany him, to see to his needs. That relative will, of course, be the Englishwoman, his new stepmother."

He raised his chin, allowing the servant to lift his beard out of the starched tunic. "Your friend Waliullah may think he is getting the English girl for his women's quarters, but he is wrong. It is I who will have her for my Jasmine Tower!"

"We must remember, Maharaj," the Faqeer put in smoothly, "that the British will do all they can to extricate the lady from this marriage."

"After she herself has announced her betrothal before a hundred witnesses? Have no fear, Aziz," the Maharajah yawned as he stretched himself out on his bed. "The English may think themselves clever, but I, too, am clever."

"Indeed you are, Maharaj," Aziz agreed solemnly, as the servant carried in the Maharajah's satin quilt. "Indeed you are."

ILL and light-headed, Lord Auckland and the other male members of the British party sat huddled in the dining tent of the British camp. It was past two o'clock in the morning.

"There's no way out of it now." Major Byrne pulled up the collar of his frock coat. "She must marry the fellow, whoever he is. I am sorry for her, but she has done this to herself."

"Marry a native!" Lord Auckland's face gleamed in the candlelight. "Are you mad? Has everyone gone mad?" He brought his hand down heavily on the dining table.

Side by side, Major Byrne and William Macnaghten wiped their foreheads, but said nothing.

"There shall be no marriage." Lord Auckland's jowls shook. "I shall not be a party to such a disgusting scene."

He stared from face to face. "Miss Givens, however low her actions, is a Christian and an Englishwoman. While it is true that she has behaved abominably, it is our duty to protect what remains of her honor."