Watts is an old friend of hers. 'Tis a relief in
one way; for Mr. Watts is a shrewd fellow--he's head of our factory at
Cossimbazar, and senior member of Council here--and he would have sent
the ladies away if he scented danger. Sorry I shall have to leave you; I
must dine with Mr. Holwell; he's our zamindar--judge of the Cutcheri
court and collector of taxes: a fine fellow, the most cool-headed man on
the Council. But the khansaman will give you something to eat: and I'll
be back as soon as I can. You can take it easy on the veranda, and you'll
find a hookah if you care to try it."
"No, thanks," said Desmond with a smile; "I've no fancy that way."
Shortly afterwards Mr. Merriman left the house in his palanquin, wearing
the short white calico jacket that was then de rigueur at dinner parties.
It was late before he returned. There was an anxious and worried look on
his face, but he said cheerily:
"Well, how have you been getting on?"
"I've been reading, sir: I found a volume of Mr. Fielding's Amelia, and
'twas a change to read after eighteen months without setting eyes on a
book. I hope you had a good dinner."
"'Pon my soul, I don't know. None of us knows, I warrant. We had too much
to talk about to think about our appetites. Two or three members of
Council were there, and Captain Minchin, the military commandant. Things
are looking black, Desmond. Alivirdi is dead, and, as I expected, his
scoundrel of a grandson, Sirajuddaula, is the new Subah.
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