“Indeed!” was again the only word which
Hartley could utter.
“Ay, indeed,” answered Esdale. “The
duel is an old story now; and it must be allowed that
poor Middlemas, though he was rash in that business,
had provocation.”
“But his desertion—his accepting
of command under Hyder—his treatment of
our prisoners—How can all these be passed
over?” replied Hartley.
“Why, it is possible—I speak to you
as a cautious man, and in confidence—that
he may do us better service in Hyder’s capital,
or Tippoo’s camp, than he could have done if
serving with his own regiment. And then, for
his treatment of prisoners, I am sure I can speak nothing
but good of him in that particular. He was obliged
to take the office, because those that serve Hyder
Naig must do or die. But he told me himself—and
I believe him—that he accepted the office
chiefly because, while he made a great bullying at
us before the black fellows, he could privately be
of assistance to us. Some fools could not understand
this, and answered him with abuse and lampoons; and
he was obliged to punish them, to avoid suspicion.
Yes, yes, I and others can prove he was willing to
be kind, if men would give him leave. I hope to
thank him at Madras one day soon—All this
in confidence—Good-morrow to you.”
Distracted by the contradictory intelligence he had
received, Hartley went next to question old Captain
Capstern, the Captain of the Indiaman, whom he had
observed in attendance upon the Begum Montreville.
On enquiring after that commander’s female passengers,
he heard a pretty long catalogue of names, in which
that he was so much interested in did not occur.
On closer enquiry, Capstern recollected that Menie
Gray, a young Scotchwoman, had come out under charge
of Mrs. Duffer, the master’s wife. “A
good decent girl,” Capstern said, “and
kept the mates and guinea-pigs at a respectable distance.
She came out,” he believed, “to be a sort
of female companion, or upper servant in Madame Montreville’s
family. Snug berth enough,” he concluded,
“if she can find the length of the old girl’s
foot.”
This was all that could be made of Capstern; so Hartley
was compelled to remain in a state of uncertainty
until the next morning, when an explanation might
be expected with Menie Gray in person.
The exact hour assigned found Hartley at the door
of the rich native merchant, who, having some reasons
for wishing to oblige the Begum Mon treville, had
relinquished, for her accommodation and that of her
numerous retinue, almost the whole of his large and
sumptuous residence in the Black Town of Madras, as
that district of the city is called which the natives
occupy.
A domestic, at the first summons, ushered the visitor
into an apartment, where he expected to be joined
by Miss Gray. The room opened on one side into
a small garden or parterre, filled with the brilliant-coloured
flowers of Eastern climates; in the midst of which
the waters of a fountain rose upwards in a sparkling
jet, and fell back again into a white marble cistern.
