Part 41 (1/2)
”This slave belongs to a family of cooks,” he said calmly, when I questioned him as to where he had learnt to make ”_Pet.i.ts Timbales de foie gras a la Belle Eugenie_.” ”Therefore the wisdom of all the ages is at his disposal. When a slave's mind is set on serving his master, nothing is impossible.”
And nothing seemed to be. My Inspector-General was a gourmet. He breakfasted with me in camp one morning, and after that it is surprising how often his meal times tallied with mine. So, in the course of a few days, the fame of my cook became noised abroad; especially when the Crowned Head started on a shooting tour and had to leave his French chef behind him; the latter not feeling equal to camp fires.
Then the Subst.i.tute came to the fore, and once or twice when I had the honour of dining at the Royal table, I noticed dishes which I could have sworn my man had prepared. Knowing the curious bond of brotherhood which exists in India between one cook-room and another, I knew this was quite possible.
We had some hard marching, and at the end of a week, I noticed that my subst.i.tute was palpably older. The _surma_ had worn off his eyes; there was a fringe of grey beard above the purple black; yet still he looked magnificently starched as he stood behind my chair on the frequent occasions when the suite messed with royalty. Then we arrived at a Hill Rajah-s.h.i.+p where there had been some trouble during a long minority between Palace-Women and a Council of Regency; neither being oversatisfied with the Resident. But our Royal visit was to inaugurate a new regime under a new young Rajah, and great were to be the rejoicings; amongst other things a State Dinner in the Palace.
We were a bit late coming in from a shoot after black partridge, and I had a good many preparations to make, as I was in police charge, so that it was almost dark ere I returned to my tent to dress for dinner.
To my surprise I found the Subst.i.tute immaculate one inside. He was immaculate as ever, but he looked old and frail and worn. Still it needed one of those sudden enlargements of personality, which are so puzzling, to make the shadows of the tent bring what the light of day had denied to me--recognition of the old man I had met amongst the latticed Tombs of Kings--the man who had lost his tombstone.
”You old scoundrel,” I said. ”Why didn't you tell me before who you were.”
He salaamed a trifle furtively as he replied, ”It is nothing to the master who his servant is, so that the servant be faithful, and I am that. My grat.i.tude is bound to the Huzoor for ever and ever. So I came to ask what Tasters have been appointed for the Earth-Cherished-One this evening.”
”Tasters?” I echoed. ”What the deuce do you mean? Tasters!” Then it flashed upon me that he was alluding to the old ”Tasters for Poison”; and I looked at him curiously. In the semi-darkness he seemed to have shrunken, to be inconceivably old and frail, so I went on more kindly.
”There's no need for them nowadays, old man. They belong to the past.
The King--G.o.d bless him!--is safe from that sort of thing. Thank Heaven.”
I was throwing off my shooting togs vigorously, and the answer came out of the corner of the tent, as it were, vaguely.
”So said Firdoos Makani, the Sainted Babar in Paradise, yet he had to live a full month on lily leaves, and the Heaven-Nestled One the Emperor Humayon was also--”
”Look here! old chap!” I said, divided between haste and the desire to tap these old stories. ”You shall tell me all that to-morrow. At present I must be off to the Palace to see all is right.” Then I laughed. ”Other days other manners. Ah! descendant of Mahmud the King's Cook! we have to look after bombs, not poisons, nowadays.”
The answer came faintly to me, ”The wickedness of men's hearts is ever the same, Huzoor!”
I do not think I ever saw a prettier entertainment. The long-eyed lazy-looking young Rajah must have had the blood of past sybarites in his veins, for he had enhanced Oriental splendour with Western refinement to perfection.