by Peter Watt
Ian frowned. ‘I must confess that you have always been in my thoughts too,’ he said. ‘I would be under the stars in the silence of the Mesopotamian desert and I would see you there. Before we went into battle you were always my last thought. But I also know that your father could never accept me. I am not of your faith.’
‘Is that all you fear?’ Ella asked as the china cups and teapot were placed on the table by a young woman in a spotless dress. ‘We could leave England and go to one of the colonies to start a life together. I know you spent some time in the Australian colonies; we could go there where no one would care where we came from. My mother left me a substantial inheritance and I am independent of my father’s money.’
‘It is a wonderful dream, but I am a soldier.’
‘You could sell your commission,’ Ella said. ‘You are an intelligent man and I know you would be capable of finding other work.’
‘I cannot tell you why – and please don’t ask me the reason – but I must serve seven years more as an officer with the regiment,’ Ian said. ‘There are just too many reasons against us being together.’
‘Do you love me?’ Ella asked tearfully, trapping Ian in a position from which he could neither retreat nor advance.
‘My feelings for you are not the issue,’ he said gently. ‘You are a beautiful and intelligent young woman and any good man would wish to spend his life with you. In another seven years I will be in a position to resign my commission, but until then I am not the master of my own destiny.’
‘I cannot believe that,’ Ella replied, wiping away her tears with a delicate lace handkerchief. ‘You do not love me.’
Ian desperately wanted to tell her that this was not true, but he could not reveal the truth to her. All he could do was reach out and hold her hand. He felt awkward and uncertain. Facing the Russians had been easier.
‘I think you should return home,’ Ian said, and Ella withdrew her hand angrily.
‘I do not understand you.’ She flared. ‘I can see the desire in your eyes and yet you push me away. I never wish to see you again, Captain Forbes.’
Ella rose from the table and hurried outside to her carriage, leaving Ian caught up in a storm of emotions. It was obvious that she loved him, and he knew he loved her, but circumstances had conspired to separate them. Beyond the cosy tea house, the drums and bugles were even now calling him to yet another bloody campaign in a far-off country.
*
Dr Peter Campbell wrung out the wet cloth and applied it to his wife’s fevered brow. Alice was drifting in and out of consciousness and Peter fought back the tears as he desperately sifted through all the medical knowledge he possessed for something that might save her life. So many times he had watched patients with cholera die – and yet he had seen others miraculously live.
He remembered how the Khan had called his wife the daughter of the goddess, Kali, the ultimate warrior. Alice had to fight like Kali, and he whispered in her ear, ‘Daughter of Kali, I need you. Fight this thing with every breath you have.’
It was hardly logical, but Peter was desperate. Suddenly, Alice reached out to grip his hand and squeeze it. His hopes soared. She was alert enough to hear his voice.
‘Fetch boiled water laced with sugar,’ Peter ordered the Indian servant girl hovering in the room. ‘Bring more clean cloths.’
When the servant girl reappeared with the water she was accompanied by Scott.
‘How is Alice faring?’ he asked in a concerned voice.
‘I pray that she is fighting this insidious disease with all that she has,’ Peter replied, looking up at his brother dressed in his dusty field uniform. Scott took a chair a short distance from the bed that Alice occupied.
‘The word is filtering through that the mutiny has broken out across all of India. Unit after unit is deserting to form a rebellion in an attempt to declare independence from the East India Company. We are going to need reinforcements from England,’ Scott said wearily. ‘Your services here as a surgeon will be badly needed in the days ahead.’
‘As soon as Alice recovers and is well enough to travel, I intend to get her out of India and home to England,’ Peter said. ‘There are other surgeons in the Company.’
‘Not as good as you, little brother,’ Scott said gently, and Peter was surprised to hear Scott finally praise him for his medical expertise. It caught him off-guard.
‘Think about it,’ Scott said. ‘When Alice recovers, we can endeavour to have her return to England, but I know that she would want you to remain to minister to the sick and wounded here.’
Peter considered that the loss of their baby was bound to haunt his wife and it was his duty to be by her side to provide comfort. But he was also a surgeon and many lives might be saved in his hands. It was a dilemma, but his wife’s welfare was his priority.
‘I will think on your proposition,’ Peter said, deciding to keep his options open and returning his attention to Alice, who still lay in a fevered state. Peter knew that the next few hours were critical and also that the odds were against her surviving the deadly disease. He had been a witness to this terrible death countless times. Tears streamed down his face as he held Alice’s hand, feeling utterly helpless.
*
The doorman at the Pall Mall gentlemen’s club had his plan in place. He had paid a couple of street urchins to hang around the entrance, ready to deliver a message to Mr Field. Early one morning, a man arrived and requested any mail addressed to a Mr Ian Steele. The doorman recognised the man as Steele’s travelling companion.
The doorman passed a small pile of letters to James, who thanked him and quickly departed, leaving no time to detain him. The doorman quickly summoned one of the boys, instructing him to follow the man and report back where he went, whilst the second boy was to run to Mr Field’s office and fetch him.
It did not take long for Field to arrive in a hansom cab. Both men waited and finally the breathless young lad returned, delivering his news. He had followed the man to an expensive boarding house only three blocks away. Field tipped the boy a few pennies and asked him to take him to the residence, which he duly did.
‘’E’s in there, mister,’ the boy said, pointing at the building. ‘Saw ’im go in with me own eyes.’
Field dismissed the boy, who ambled away, gripping his precious pennies.
Field noted the address and mulled over whether he should enter to confirm that Mr Steele was inside. He decided against this in case the man turned violent. No, he would return with his partner, Paddington Pollacky, and armed with coshes, they would enter the building together.
*
‘Water.’
The croaky voice brought Peter out of his dozing slumber beside Alice’s bed. He sat upright in the chair then rose to lean over his wife.
‘Alice, my darling, did you ask for water?’
‘Yes,’ she replied in a weak voice, and Peter observed that the fever appeared to have broken, although Alice lay still against the sweat-drenched pillows.
Peter bade the servant girl fetch clean, boiled water laced with sugar. When the water arrived he helped Alice sit up and sip the drink. She slept again and when she woke seemed brighter and stronger.
‘As soon as you are well enough to travel, we will leave for England,’ Peter said. ‘My brother has asked me to remain as surgeon to the Company, but I will be informing him that getting you home comes before anything else.’
‘Peter, my love,’ Alice said, her voice sounding faint and shaky, ‘Scott is right. You must stay to be of help to so many who will need your skills. I wish to remain at your side until this terrible situation is resolved.’
Peter frowned. His love for this truly marvellous woman grew by the day. ‘It is too dangerous for you to be here,’ he protested. ‘I could never live a day if anything were to happen to you.’
‘It already has, and I am stil
l here,’ Alice replied with a wan smile, reaching out for her husband’s hand. ‘I am so sorry that I lost our child,’ she continued in a sorrowful voice.
‘It was not your fault,’ Peter said, gripping her hand. ‘Such things are in the hands of God, my love. Do not blame yourself.’
Peter was about to assist Alice from the bed, intending that she be helped to wash by the servant girl, when Scott arrived. His face broke into a beaming smile when he saw that Alice had begun her recovery.
‘Your brother has agreed that we should help in any way we can,’ Alice said, and Peter looked at her in sharp surprise.
‘Good,’ Scott said. ‘Because very soon we will be marching on the mutineers to give them a taste of cold British steel and lead.’
Thirteen
The knocking on the door of James and Samuel’s rooms in the London boarding house was loud and urgent.
The men glanced at each other and James went to the door and opened it a fraction. He peered through the small gap and was taken aback to see the rough bearded face of a very large man.
‘Who are you?’ James asked, just a little fearful of the ferocious-looking man.
‘Captain Forbes asked my boss to keep an eye out for you,’ the man answered. ‘I need to tell you that you have been recognised and that you have to leave London.’
James was slightly confused.
‘Let the gentleman in,’ Samuel called, and James opened the door.
When the man entered the room, it was his turn to be shocked by what he saw: a man dressed in women’s clothing! For a moment he stood blinking in silence. Egbert Johnson was an enforcer for Ikey Solomon, and his face reflected the scars of his work collecting debts from other hard men.
‘Cor blimey!’ he uttered. ‘What is going on?’
‘You mentioned Captain Forbes,’ Samuel said, ignoring the question. ‘You said he has hired your boss to look out for us.’
Egbert recovered his composure, staring at the man in women’s clothing. ‘My employer is Mr Solomon, and he had me keep an eye out for you two. I was watching this place when Field turned up and gave it the once-over.’
‘Who is this Field chap?’ Samuel asked.
‘He’s a private investigator, and a good one. I can only think that he was looking for you two. No other reason he would show any interest in this place. Which one of you is Mr Steele?’
Samuel identified himself and introduced James.
‘You ain’t got much time to get your stuff together and get out of here,’ Egbert said. ‘Matter of fact, that dress you are wearing might be a good idea when we get out on the street. Less chance of you being recognised.’
Samuel and James had to accept that the man was working in their interests so they quickly packed their possessions. They had been preparing to travel to Kent, to Herbert’s memorial – hence Samuel’s disguise – but their plans would have to change.
‘What do we do now?’ Samuel asked when they were ready to depart.
‘I go downstairs and hire a hansom cab to take you to a place Mr Solomon has near the docks. You should be safe there for a while.’
Egbert departed, leaving the two men alone.
‘Who is responsible for finding us?’ James asked.
Samuel slumped on the bed. ‘Don’t ask me how I know, but I suspect my brother Charles has a hand in this. Somehow my visit to London has got back to him, which can only mean Charles suspects Ian is an imposter.’
‘If your theory is correct, we need to get away from London and return to New York,’ James said, pacing the small room. ‘To remain will only put Ian’s freedom in jeopardy. Your contract with him will have little bearing on his defence if he is arrested.’
Suddenly they heard the heavy thump of boots on the stairway. The door opened and both men were relieved to see Egbert appear.
‘The good news is that I got you a cab downstairs and the driver has instructions to take you to the address at the docks. The bad news is that I just saw Field and another man turn up at the end of the street and they’re coming this way.’
Samuel and James followed Egbert downstairs to where a hansom cab awaited. Samuel cast a quick look at the two men approaching and recognised his brother, Charles.
‘Get in!’ Egbert hissed as Field and Charles were a mere fifty paces away, hurrying towards them.
Charles Forbes glanced at the man and woman boarding the hansom cab but returned his attention to the entrance of the boarding house.
The hansom cab moved away, leaving Egbert on the footpath. He saw Field and the stranger enter the boarding house and grinned through his thick black beard. It was obvious that fortune had been on his side today. Mr Steele – or whoever he was – had been made up so well as a woman that under other circumstances he might have been propositioned by the men in search of carnal pleasure. Egbert shook his head in disbelief and continued back to his employer’s office.
*
It was a glittering night of pomp and ceremony. Ian sat in the centre of the long table whilst Colonel Jenkins sat at the head. Candles threw their flickering light over the colourful uniforms of the officers, and the food and wine flowed. Ian noticed that there were a few new officers posted to the regiment, and they stared enviously at those more senior officers sporting the medals of their campaigns.
Beside him sat a young newly commissioned lieutenant.
‘Sir, I believe that your company was involved with General Outram’s river expedition in Persia,’ said the lieutenant. ‘You were most fortunate as the rest of the regiment was left out.’
‘The regiment was required to remain at our depot and guard against a possible Persian counterattack at Bushehr,’ Ian defended.
‘Oh, I am hoping that we see some action in the near future,’ the young officer sighed.
‘I think you will,’ Ian replied, suspecting what would be announced tonight.
When the president of the mess committee banged the gavel on the table, all fell silent. On cue, Colonel Jenkins rose to his feet.
‘Gentlemen, no doubt you have been following the tragic events in India in The Times. It is with great pleasure – and honour – that I announce our regiment has been ordered to India to assist the East India Company in putting down the mutiny.’
Before he could continue, a roar of approval went up around the room as the officers banged the table with their fists and forks. Jenkins smiled, waiting for the outpouring to die down, then raised his hand to quell the boisterous cacophony.
‘We are to ready ourselves and will be departing these shores late June,’ he continued. ‘Gentlemen, a toast to our Queen.’
All officers rose to their feet, lifting their goblets of port wine. ‘The Queen!’ they chorused, and those of major rank and above added, ‘God bless her.’
The royal toast over, the men resumed their seats and an excited chatter broke out amongst them.
‘Sir, what exciting news!’ the young officer sitting next to Ian exclaimed. ‘A chance to prove oneself.’
Ian could see the radiant expression on the young man’s face and was momentarily reminded of Herbert. Would this young man share the same fate as Herbert, dying before his life had even begun? Ian well knew that luck was about the only real decider on the battlefield. Maybe this time his own luck would run out.
*
The Indian soldier tried to resist the agonising pain from his knee, shattered by a lead ball from a mutineer’s musket. Beside him an ashen-faced British cavalry officer slouched in a chair, clutching his chest.
Dr Peter Campbell had converted a room in the Meerut house he had been allocated and set it up as a makeshift surgery, and it was to this that Scott had had the two wounded men transported.
‘We clashed with a rather large party of mutineers about three miles away,’ Scott said. ‘Captain Lockyer was shot in the chest.’
&
nbsp; The wounded sepoy lay on the floor bleeding, but Peter knew the officer would have to be examined first. He carefully removed the captain’s jacket until his bare chest was exposed and he could see the entry wound of the musket ball on the man’s lower right-hand side. There was little bleeding and when he ran his hand around to the man’s back he found what he was looking for. An exit wound.
‘The captain is fortunate,’ Peter said, looking up at his brother. ‘The projectile has entered his chest just under the skin, travelled along his ribs then exited. It has not hit any internal organs, so the task now is to ensure he does not get an infection.’
A look of relief swept Scott’s face. ‘Thank God,’ he uttered. ‘Captain Lockyer, you will be back in the saddle before you know it.’
Captain Lockyer groaned but flashed a weak smile, and Scott summoned a couple of sepoys to assist him next-door to a room that was to be used as a makeshift ward.
Peter turned his attention to the badly wounded sepoy.
‘Help me get him onto the table,’ he said to Scott, and both men lifted the soldier onto a stout wooden table Peter had procured. The two sepoys returned and looked uneasy at the sight of their comrade lying on his back on the table, moaning in pain.
Peter rustled through the bag of medical supplies he had been able to scrounge and noted that they were from the Napoleonic wars. Still, he had the basic tools. He retrieved a canvas ligature with a screw-like apparatus on top and applied it above the shattered knee, using the screw lever to apply pressure, cutting off the blood flow to the lower leg. He had been unable to find any form of anaesthetic, so he knew that the operation would have to be carried out without pain relief.
‘Get your men to hold the soldier down,’ he instructed as he retrieved a crescent-shaped blade from the medical kit. The men obeyed Scott’s instruction and grasped the patient. Peter was about to commence cutting when Alice appeared in the small room.
‘Alice, this is no place for you,’ Scott said, spotting her first.