‘So you definitely think Mrs Lomax is still alive?’ Esmie asked in hope.
Baz said grimly, ‘If they had wanted to shed blood, they would have left the memsahib for us to find.’
Esmie was nauseated by the thought of Lydia butchered and left for dead. Harold read her expression and said, ‘Take courage, my dear. Lydia is worth more to them alive than not. That’s your opinion, isn’t it, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, sahib,’ he agreed. ‘We expect a ransom demand soon.’
‘The not knowing is unbearable,’ said Esmie.
‘The police are doing their best,’ Harold reminded her. ‘All we can do is pray for safe delivery.’
Baz said encouragingly, ‘You must not worry, Guthrie Mem’. The Superintendent is bringing Captain Lomax from Kohat. Then my superior will speak to the Brigadier and devise a plan for the rescue of Lomax Memsahib.’
Esmie was in awe of how many people were becoming involved in Lydia’s plight. It would be the talk of every cantonment from here to Lahore before long. She feared the consequences of a large-scale rescue.
When Baz had gone, Harold said, ‘One of us should be here to receive Tom. I think it best if I go to the hospital – I’m of more use there.’
Esmie’s insides twisted with nerves. They had hardly spoken a word to each other since their midnight confessions. She wanted to say something to break the awkwardness between them – some reassurance that their marriage wasn’t dead – but couldn’t find the right words. He looked so miserable that her heart swelled with pity. Yet they couldn’t deal with the implications of Harold’s shock confession while Lydia remained in danger. She was their first priority.
‘I’ll come back at lunchtime,’ he said. ‘Or you can send for me if you need me.’
Esmie nodded. After her husband had gone, she could settle to nothing. Sensing anxiety in Sarah and Karo too, she organised them into a morning walk with the children to the cantonment maidan, an open stretch of yellowed grass fringed by trees that was sometimes used for games of cricket or military parades. The October sunshine was warm and the sky clear. Gabina relished tottering around the field, stopping to pick up a twig and present it to Esmie.
But the outing was only a temporary distraction from the constant nagging worry about what was happening to Lydia. Were her captors treating her well? Was she feeling very afraid and alone? Was she longing for Dickie or Tom to rescue her? At the thought of Tom, Esmie led them all home. She didn’t want him to arrive to an empty house.
Harold came back for a snatched lunch but there was no sign of Tom. Esmie noticed that he was wearing a smaller bandage on his wounded hand. She felt bad for not thinking to redress his cut herself.
‘Are you managing to operate all right?’ she asked.
‘It’s fine, thank you,’ Harold said over his shoulder as he hurried back to his work. ‘Hardly aware of it at all now.’
It was mid-afternoon when a police motor car drew up outside the bungalow gate. Esmie went out onto the garden path, stomach churning. Tom climbed out of the back, followed by another man dressed in police uniform.
Esmie licked her dry lips and went forward to greet them. Tom, his blue eyes ringed with dark smudges, looked like he hadn’t slept for two days.
They clutched each other by the hands and held on.
‘Esmie!’ His voice was croaky with dust.
Esmie could hardly speak for the lump in her throat. ‘Tom, I’m so very sorry . . .’
She saw pain in his expression. He swallowed hard. ‘We’ll find her.’
He let go of her hands and stepped aside for his companion, a wiry man with a trim moustache and a crooked nose that must have been broken in some fight or sporting match.
‘This is Mr Rennell, Superintendent of Police.’
Esmie shook his hand and invited them in. Rennell excused himself. ‘Brigadier McCabe is waiting for me. We have much to discuss.’
‘Of course,’ Esmie said. ‘You will keep us informed, won’t you?’
‘We’ll be in touch very soon, Mrs Guthrie,’ he promised.
She told Ali to bring in Tom’s luggage and then to go and fetch Harold. As Rennell drove away, she led Tom inside.
‘You’ll want to see Andrew,’ she said. She could tell Tom was finding it hard to speak. He nodded, his eyes glinting with emotion.
On the veranda, Esmie had fixed up a swinging basket like the one Tom had made at Linnet Cottage in Murree. Andrew was lying in it as Sarah pushed him. Tom went straight over, plucked his son from the swing and hugged him. Tears welled in Esmie’s eyes to see the joy and relief on Tom’s face. Andrew blew a raspberry and Tom blew one back. He kissed the boy’s head and looked over at Esmie.
‘Thank God she didn’t take him,’ he murmured. ‘What on earth was she doing driving out there on her own?’
Esmie tensed. Had the police not shared her suspicion that Lydia was on her way to see Dickie? Perhaps they had thought it irrelevant once it was discovered that Lydia wasn’t at Razmak and there was no proof that that was where she was heading.
‘She was behaving out of character,’ Esmie admitted. ‘Or an exaggeration of her character – wildly exuberant one minute and deep in the doldrums the next. I couldn’t get her to talk to me about what the problem was. I’m sorry; I should have kept a closer eye on her.’
Tom, still clutching Andrew, shook his head. ‘She was the same in Pindi. I should never have let her travel here but she was so insistent on coming. To think how I could have put Andrew’s life at risk. What if she’d decided to take him with her?’
‘But she didn’t,’ said Esmie. She glanced across at the ayah, ever ready to see to the baby’s needs. Esmie smiled at her fondly. ‘I doubt if Sarah would have let her – she’s very protective of him.’
Tom nodded at the nanny. ‘Thank you, Sarah.’
‘Why don’t I take Andrew while you freshen up?’ Esmie suggested. ‘You can use Harold’s room.’
He gave her a sharp look and Esmie flushed. She hid her embarrassment by hurrying to take the baby and going to order refreshments. By the time Tom had washed and changed, Harold had arrived.
Esmie watched the men grasp each other with firm handshakes but she could tell that Harold was being more reticent with Tom. As they took tea, Harold said little, letting Esmie answer Tom’s questions. Esmie felt overwhelming pity for her husband. He must surely regret unburdening his secret to her because it lay between them, an invisible but widening gulf. It could never be unsaid and he would always now live with the fear that she might tell Tom of Harold’s depth of love for him. She wanted to reassure Harold that she never would but that was for a future conversation. As it was, she also found it hard to be natural with Tom in front of Harold, for he knew the strength of her feelings too.
Their awkwardness was saved by the arrival of Sergeant Baz.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, sahib,’ he said, ‘but Superintendent Rennell and Brigadier McCabe wish for you to come to the Brigadier’s house.’
‘Now?’ said Harold.
‘Yes, sahib.’
Tom jumped up. ‘Is there news?’
‘A plan, sahib,’ said Baz.
Tom looked eager as he grabbed his topee.
Harold turned to Esmie. ‘I’ll go with Tom. Will you be all right here on your own?’
Baz said, ‘Sorry, sahib, but Guthrie Memsahib is to come too. The Brigadier was very insistent.’
They all exchanged looks. Esmie’s insides tightened with nerves as she nodded and they followed Baz to his car.
They were shown into the brigadier’s study, where McCabe and Rennell awaited them. They were seated around a table where a map was spread out. A bearer offered around glasses of sherry or whisky.
‘Thought we might need a tipple to fortify us,’ said the brigadier.
Esmie’s stomach knotted as she reached for a sherry, trying to keep her hand steady. Tom took a whisky but Harold refused a drink. She could see the perspiration on his brow and kne
w her husband was as agitated as she was.
The brigadier took command of the briefing, Rennell nodding in agreement from time to time. In the last couple of hours they had received intelligence that a white woman had been seen inside Otmanzai country thirty miles north-west of Kanki-Khel and over the border. McCabe pointed it out on the map.
‘Here at Gardan. It’s a well-fortified place with the tomb of a holy man.’
Tom gasped. ‘I served with an old subahdar from there – Tor Khan – a fine man. He talked proudly about the tomb of a Sufi saint.’
McCabe gave him an astonished look. ‘Do you know if he’s still alive?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ said Tom. ‘He retired just before the War but he was as fit as a man half his age.’
Rennell said eagerly, ‘We must make contact with him at once. A Pathan who has been loyal to the British could be invaluable to our cause. We’ll need the permission of the Gardan headman, Mirza Ali, to enter his territory, so an ex-Peshawar Rifleman might help persuade him to cooperate. We’ll send a message to Subahdar Khan on your behalf.’
‘I’ll take it myself,’ Tom said stoutly. ‘And I’ve brought money for a ransom too.’ Esmie wondered if he had borrowed money on the value of the hotel, knowing he had no private income left.
McCabe shook his head. ‘We know that if you show willingness to pay so easily that they will double or triple the amount. It also sets a precedent for kidnapping other British. Besides, we’ve received no ransom demand yet.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Tom demanded. ‘That we leave Lydia to her fate? I would pay any amount to have her safe.’
‘I’m sure you would, Captain Lomax,’ said McCabe. ‘But we can’t encourage their lawlessness by doing so.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’ Harold asked. ‘Rescuing her by force? Would that not put her life in greater jeopardy than paying a ransom?’
‘It would,’ McCabe conceded. ‘That is why we are not planning a military intervention either. The situation in Waziristan is very volatile and the peace is paper-thin. If the army sent an expedition into independent tribal territory it would immediately provoke a hostile response and escalate tensions in the border region. The Otmanzai have tribal links across the border in Afghanistan and they would simply spirit Mrs Lomax further into the mountains. It would be nigh on impossible to rescue her from there.’
‘So?’ Tom prompted, his brow furrowed.
McCabe exchanged glances with Rennell and the Superintendent nodded.
McCabe continued, ‘From our police sources, we think that the kidnap was a rash, unplanned action by Baram Wali and his henchmen without the knowledge of the mullahs or other Otmanzai leaders, such as Mirza Ali. We think—’
‘Good God!’ Tom exclaimed. ‘Isn’t Baram Wali that monster who hacked off his wife’s nose? To think he might have Lydia in his clutches . . .’
Harold put a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘We don’t know for sure. Let’s hear the brigadier out.’
Tom clenched his teeth and nodded.
McCabe continued. ‘We think that if we get the mullahs on our side then they could put pressure on the kidnappers to release Mrs Lomax. That way, there would be no need for a ransom or violent intervention.’
‘How would you do that?’ Tom asked.
‘By appealing to their conscience,’ said McCabe, ‘and reminding them that it is against their Muslim law to mistreat a woman by kidnapping her.’
Tom looked sceptical. ‘I don’t see how . . .?’
Rennell elaborated. ‘Sergeant Baz says there is a very influential priest, Mullah Zada, who looks after the holy tomb in Gardan. He must be persuaded to negotiate with the kidnappers.’
‘So you are planning a police expedition?’ Harold asked.
‘Of sorts,’ said McCabe.
‘Meaning?’ Tom queried.
With a nod from the brigadier, Rennell explained. ‘We are planning a low-key foray into the mountains – no more than three or four people with the help of local guides. This way we hope to attract as little attention as possible. Sergeant Baz will be in charge.’ He paused. ‘What we need is a British civilian – a person of courage and resourcefulness – to bargain on behalf of Mrs Lomax. Someone who speaks passable Pashto and won’t be seen as a threat.’
‘Non-military?’ Harold asked.
Rennell nodded.
‘Send me,’ said Tom at once.
‘You are ex-army,’ said McCabe.
Again, McCabe and Rennell swapped glances. The superintendent said, ‘We also think it would be invaluable if the envoy had medical experience in case Mrs Lomax is in need of treatment.’
‘I will go then,’ said Harold.
Rennell shook his head. ‘You are too well known as a missionary, Dr Guthrie, and a Christian. The rescue party must be made up of Muslim Pathans – with the exception of the one person we have in mind.’ He turned his assessing gaze on Esmie.
‘Me?’ She gaped at him in astonishment.
‘Mrs Guthrie, if you put yourself into the hands of Mullah Zada he would be bound by his code of honour to protect you while you are under his roof.’
‘You can’t be serious?’ Harold gasped.
‘Certainly not!’ Tom cried. ‘What’s to stop them taking Esmie too? You told me yourself that the brigands who took Lydia might have mistaken her for Esmie.’
Esmie, heart pounding, raised her hand to silence them. ‘Let the superintendent explain.’
She saw Tom scowl as he bit back his words. Harold looked pale and sweating, his brow etched in anxiety.
Rennell addressed Esmie directly. ‘Baz tells me that you and the good doctor treated a young mullah from the Otmanzai tribe and that you helped a lunatic boy from among his kin?’
Esmie said, ‘Not lunatic. I think Zakir was suffering from shell shock. With care, I believe he would have recovered.’
Rennell nodded. ‘The point being that, according to my sergeant, you made a good impression on Mullah Mahmud.’
Esmie said, ‘I’m not sure about that. He was a gentle soul but shy in my presence. I wasn’t able to persuade him to take care of Zakir.’
‘But you showed your concern,’ persisted Rennell, ‘and Baz says that the mullah was overheard speaking about the feringhi nurse with admiration. That may be why he has been preaching in the village mosques condemning the kidnap.’
Esmie was surprised by this. She glanced at Harold, who gave her a fleeting smile.
The police chief continued. ‘It’s through Mullah Mahmud that we have heard about the sighting of Mrs Lomax in Gardan and he has agreed to accompany Baz to Gardan and seek a meeting with Mullah Zada. We think that the young mullah could be crucial to the negotiations, especially if he can influence the senior holy man.’
‘It’s far too risky,’ Tom fretted.
McCabe answered, ‘It certainly has its risks. Mrs Guthrie, you would have to face the possibility that they might exchange you for Lydia or they might keep you both. We can’t force you to do this.’ He looked at her with his steady gaze. ‘But I know you are a brave and resilient woman – you wouldn’t be working here in Taha if you weren’t – and I’ve come to admire you greatly. I believe intervention by you offers the best chance of getting Mrs Lomax freed and brought back to Taha alive. Any British man venturing into the tribal territory might be seen as a provocation but a lady nurse with a reputation for treating Pathans would be given respect and, we hope, protection.’
Esmie was sick with fear at what he was asking. Yet, the thought of Lydia not being rescued filled her with a greater dread. She felt responsible. It was her duty to do all she could to help her friend – and those who loved her.
Rennell added, ‘Of course, you must have time to think it over—’
Esmie cut him off. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll go.’
‘Esmie! We should discuss this first,’ Harold exclaimed.
Esmie appealed to her husband. ‘The longer we talk about it and del
ay doing anything, the worse the situation becomes for Lydia. It’s already three days since she was taken. You must let me go.’
Harold looked desolate but nodded in acceptance.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Tom insisted. ‘She’s my wife and my responsibility.’ He glared at the other men, defying them to argue back. ‘I know the Frontier well and speak Pashto – I can help defend Mrs Guthrie and your officers. I can go in disguise and pass for a Pathan – I did it on occasion with the Rifles.’
The police chief frowned. Esmie realised she was holding her breath, willing Rennell to say yes.
‘I can’t allow it,’ said Rennell. ‘If you’re discovered you would put Mrs Guthrie and my men in greater danger – and you would probably never see your wife again.’
Tom appealed to McCabe. ‘But I could make contact with Subahdar Khan.’
McCabe wavered. ‘You can go as far as the border with the rescue party. We’ll try and arrange for this subahdar to be part of Mrs Guthrie’s escort. But I can’t allow you to go into Otmanzai territory. You mustn’t jeopardise the mission, Lomax.’
Tom looked about to argue further when he caught Esmie’s look. She shook her head. Tom sighed and nodded in agreement.
Esmie felt tension grip her forehead. She tried not to show her dismay that Tom would not be allowed to travel all the way to Gardan with her, but consoled herself with the thought that he would be with her as far as Kanki-Khel at the very least.
‘When do we leave?’ Esmie asked.
‘As soon as possible,’ said Rennell. ‘Tomorrow or the day after if you need time to prepare. The whole operation depends on swift action so the kidnappers don’t have time to disappear further into the mountains or become more emboldened.’
‘In the meantime, Mrs Guthrie,’ said McCabe, ‘I assure you that we shall be recruiting a militia of Pathans in readiness for an attack should that become necessary.’
Esmie felt sick at the implication; the army would only send such a force if she should also become a prisoner – or worse.
‘Let it be tomorrow,’ said Esmie. ‘Any more waiting would be unbearable.’ She held Rennell’s look. ‘And, if he agrees to it, I’d like to take my assistant Malik with me. He’s a competent orderly and has a cool head.’
The Emerald Affair Page 41