WILLIAM DAVEY
Then, with no preamble, the two women embraced. Georgiana, as stalwart and firm as any woman I had ever met, even betrayed a tear or two as they reunited.
I remembered the Bengali woman from Eliza’s account. She had been a gatherer of information: someone to whom everyone talked; she and Georgiana had been close. As I was not presumed to know all of this, I assumed the proper air of bafflement as the two women hugged each other in front of me.
At last, Kajari pulled away, wiping her hands on the apron she wore over her long dress.
“I am so glad to see you, Memsahib Georgiana,” she said. “I have missed you.”
“And I have missed you, my dear friend,” Georgiana said, “more than almost anything in Hooghly. There have been some difficult times between then and now. My husband—”
“Yes, I know. Now we are both widows,” Kajari said, looking away. “The wheel of dharma has taken them away from us—but we do not choose sati.”
“Certainly not. Not in any way. I am so sorry to hear about Mádhab—he was a good man.”
“He left me two sons—and I have Janu as well, my sister’s grandson. She, too, has no husband, and her son was in Delhi during the events.”
During this exchange, I remained silent, without context as to the details of the events being described—except the realization that these two women’s lives had been caught up and twisted by the Sepoy Rebellion, the event that had redrawn the map of India.
“You have done well,” Georgiana said, looking around the shop. It was a small place, but neat and clean, its walls crowded with knickknacks and little pictures from Indian legend.
“We were very careful with our savings,” Kajari said. “When the government stopped permitting us on the hospital grounds, we made other arrangements. Hooghly is not what you remember, Memsahib Georgiana.”
“No,” Georgiana answered, glancing at me, “it is not. Tell me,” she added as casually as you please, “is Doctor Noboo still working at the hospital?”
Kajari’s brows furrowed, as if the question made her suspicious, but quickly covered it with a gentle smile. “No, he was dismissed—or resigned his position, I don’t recall which—during the troubles. I believe he practices medicine in the country now.”
“In the country?”
Kajari’s face became stony. “The soldiers that fought the sepoys took pleasure in leaving destruction in their wake. They had heard stories of what was done to whites. Some of the stories were even true—but as a result, anyone with brown skin, and anything built or kept or raised by people with brown skin, was fair game for them.
“Doctor Noboo decided that his duty was to be a doctor, Memsahib. To find those who needed him and to care for them, whether they had an anna to their name or not. Most did not.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Why do you want to know, Memsahib Georgiana?”
It seemed to me that Georgiana had not expected to be asked that precise question. It was clear that she had an old and established friendship with Kajari—the Bengali woman was clearly happy to see her, and they were clearly kindred spirits—but I suspect that my ally thought that her questions would be readily answered, either from courtesy or simple deference.
It was sufficiently surprising that Georgiana did not have any ready reply.
“I wish to speak with Doctor Noboo on an extremely important matter,” I said, the first words I had offered to the conversation.
“Georgiana Memsahib,” Kajari said quietly, “you have not presented me to your companion.”
“Why, you are exactly correct,” she said. “Kajari Kaurá, allow me to present Reverend William Davey.”
“Davey,” Kajari said, her eyes narrowing.
“A pleasure,” I said, offering a small bow.
“You were a friend of the Doctor Sahib,” she said. “A fellow doctor, perhaps. Someone from whom he received letters.”
“That is true.” Fellow doctor was as benign a category as I could have expected.
“He has come all the way from England to speak with Doctor Noboo,” Georgiana offered.
Kajari did not answer at once, but seemed to examine me closely, as if considering what cut of meat I might be. Then she said, “I must look at the oven. Please excuse me for a moment,” and turned away and walked into the kitchen.
Georgiana, usually the picture of decorum and composure, seemed a trifle discomfited by the exchange. She looked at me, a little surprised at how the interview had proceeded.
“She knows who I am,” I said quietly. “She was a gatherer of information, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, of course, but—” She looked at me sideways. “Have we discussed Kajari? I didn’t realize that you knew about her.”
I did not answer; my knowledge of Kajari had not come from her, but from Eliza, and I had just inadvertently revealed that fact.
“She knows who I am,” I repeated.
“There is no way to be sure of that. And even if true, I am not certain whether that affects her disposition toward us. Toward me.”
“You flatter yourself, Georgiana,” I said. “We may have to find this Noboo ourselves. We—”
Kajari chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron once again. I do not know for certain whether she had heard the entire exchange: to be honest, I would have been surprised if she had not.
“The country is not like the cities, Memsahib,” she said to Georgiana. She did not look at me at all. “There are no soldiers or government bureaucrats there—only natives. You might find that you would not be welcomed.”
“The matter is urgent,” Georgiana said. “Doctor Noboo has information that is very important.”
“What sort of information?”
“Something important enough to bring me all the way to India. Mrs. Kaurá,” I said, catching her eye and spreading my hands apart, “I was a friend of Doctor Esdaile—the Doctor Sahib, I believe you called him. He left some things with Doctor Noboo, things that were very important and that I am here to recover.”
Kajari did not respond at once, but she was—to my surprise—remarkably receptive to the simplest of mesmeric passes. I saw the slightest tinge of anger colour Georgiana’s cheek: she had clearly not expected me to resort to the Art. I, on the other hand, was not disposed to let the situation spiral out of control merely to satisfy Georgiana’s excessive inclination to propriety.
“Doctor Noboo was a good friend to the Doctor Sahib,” Kajari said. “He did not want him to return to England.”
“Doctor Esdaile spoke well of him. He even mentioned him in his book describing his time here in Hooghly.”
“The Doctor Sahib respected the abilities of native doctors,” Kajari said. “The Doctor Sahib was not a well man—he often complained of being tired. I told him he needed to eat more, but he did not listen to me. Perhaps his new wife takes better care of him.”
“Doctor Esdaile died two years ago,” I said. “I am sorry to bring you this sad news, Mrs. Kaurá.”
“Died.”
“Yes,” I said. “He was not, as you say, a well man. His wife took care of him for eight years. I was with him when he died.” That statement was true, of course: but I did not intend to explain why I was with James Esdaile that particular morning.
“If you are here to tell Doctor Noboo of the Doctor Sahib’s death, Sahib,” she said to me, “you could have just sent a letter.”
“Into the country?”
“Word would have reached him. But there is something you want from him.”
“There is,” I said agreeably. Kajari Kaurá was focusing directly on me now; I could tell, without looking away, that Georgiana was watching this exchange with annoyance, at the very least. “I would not trouble you—or trouble him—but it is a matter of great importance. I am certain that you can help me.”
I offered her my best absent-minded-English-scholar smile, and added a subtle gesture that was sufficient to make her take a step forward. At any moment, I expected Georgiana to interrupt my work, but she did not.
“Doctor Noboo is in Awadh somewhere,” Kajari said. “I cannot say exactly where, but I have a cousin in Cawnpore who might help. But it is not a safe place for whites: General Havelock Sahib made many enemies as he searched for mutineers.”
“I am no soldier,” I said.
“You are a Christian priest,” Kajari said. “The people in the country believed—some of them still believe—that the English were here to take away their gods and turn them all into Christians. What do you think they will believe when they see you?”
“I will conceal my profession,” I said. “I am not here to change anyone’s faith.”
“Including mine, or Doctor Noboo’s.”
“No,” I agreed. “No one, including you and Doctor Noboo. That is not why I am here.”
We left Hooghly with a letter for Kajari’s cousin and more warnings about the danger of travelling away from the cities.
As we stood on the railway platform, Georgiana—who had remained silent as we concluded our visit to Kajari Kaurá—rounded on me furiously.
“You subjected her to mesmeric persuasion, William. She will not even know what information she provided you.”
“She was prepared to dismiss us entirely.”
“She is under no obligation to assist us. And as for your ‘friendship’ with Doctor Esdaile—none of this would have happened if it had not been that he feared for his life, from you and your Committee.”
“All of this would not have happened, Georgiana, if it had not been for the being in the statue we are going to find. This long ago stopped being about a particular disagreement between Esdaile and myself, or between Esdaile and the Committee. The soi-disant scholar James Fergusson handed Esdaile an object containing a being more powerful than the ones we met out on the Indian Ocean.”
“You mesmerized Kajari—”
“Yes. And I will mesmerize Noboo as well, madam, if that is what is required to procure the statue.”
“He is a practitioner of the Art.”
“He will not be more skilled than I am—of that I am confident.”
“I am surprised you have not attempted such with me,” she said. “I presume that you do not consider me your equal—and it is clear to me that you have not taken me completely into your confidence.”
“Nor have you done the same for me.” I turned away from her and walked down the platform, then returned. “Georgiana, I will thank you to refrain from troubling me with your trifling scruples regarding assistance, however obtained. I know that it is customary to refrain from manipulating those unskilled in the Art without their consent: but the stakes are too high. My need is too great.
“Your friend was ready to turn us out. She knew that I was someone who knew Esdaile; she no doubt remembers that he left quickly, in the company of a wife he had just met. She may know about the statue, or what is within it. I do not know all she knows.”
“But you clearly know about her.”
“Eliza told me.” I did not intend to elaborate. “If you have any information that I need, I may have to practice the Art upon you as well.”
“You would not dare.”
“Do not mistake what I might and might not dare, Georgiana. This is not a parlor game. Even if it played only a minor role, the being within the statue contributed to the Great Rebellion here in India. Esdaile believed it; Eliza believes it. So do I.
“Do not get in my way.”
“Is that a threat, sir?”
“I do not trouble myself with idle threats.”
We stared at each other for quite some time; the lady clearly was unsure what I might do next. I rather preferred that.
“You are a rather different man than I originally thought, William. I shall not be mistaken again.”
To that I had no answer. At last, after some considerable silence, we heard the whistle and huff of a locomotive approaching, to take us away from Hooghly.