The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

Esmie shook her head. ‘He would probably have helped anyway. He’s a man of principle and faith trying to do the right thing.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I knew what had happened to poor Zakir. The mullah doesn’t know what became of him after the raid on Kanki-Khel last year.’

  Tom gave her a tender look. ‘Esmie, is there anyone in the world you don’t care for or worry about?’

  Esmie gave a bashful smile and turned away to speak to her orderly. ‘Malik, let’s give the old uncle his daily massage.’

  It was late morning before the chief and the mullah returned. Lydia was not with them. Esmie, who had insisted on staying with Tom and Malik, felt queasy with apprehension.

  ‘Why haven’t you brought Mrs Lomax?’ Tom demanded.

  Mirza Ali gave him a disparaging look. ‘My kinsman doesn’t trust the feringhi,’ he said. ‘He will not allow your wife out of his sight until he hears the prisoners are on their way from Taha.’

  ‘Are those his terms or yours?’ Tom accused him in frustration.

  ‘Tom, don’t,’ Esmie warned.

  The chief snapped, ‘Is it any surprise that Baram Wali is suspicious? Feringhi soldiers come here for only one reason and that is to kill.’

  ‘I’m here to rescue my wife,’ Tom protested. ‘I intend no harm to anyone. I have given up my life as a soldier.’

  ‘So you would not attempt to slay your wife’s kidnapper if you had the chance?’ he mocked. When Tom said nothing, the chief gave a grunt. ‘I thought not.’

  ‘Sirdar,’ Esmie addressed the angry Otmanzai respectfully, ‘we have come in peace and put ourselves in your hands. We want no harm to come to any of your people. All we ask is that Lomax Mem’ is returned to us. If this happens then there will be no need for any vengeance on behalf of the British.’

  Mirza Ali nodded, looking mollified. ‘On that we can agree.’ He exchanged looks with the mullah.

  For the first time Mullah Mahmud looked Esmie in the eye as he spoke. ‘Baram Wali has said he will allow you to see Lomax Memsahib – to prove that she has been well treated.’

  Esmie’s heart leapt. ‘Will he? When?’

  ‘Today if you wish.’

  ‘Of course! Where?’

  ‘At the house where she is being held.’

  ‘No,’ Tom said at once. ‘It must be here or at a neutral place – Mullah Zada’s home.’

  Before the mullah could answer, Mirza Ali said, ‘He could not be persuaded to bring her here because of your presence. And the women cannot be allowed near the holy site.’

  Tom looked at Esmie beseechingly. ‘Then you cannot go.’

  Esmie’s insides churned. ‘I have to,’ she answered. ‘I can’t bear the thought of her enduring another day of purgatory when there’s a chance of me seeing her. Surely you want that too?’

  Tom’s face was harrowed. ‘At least wait until Baz returns and can protect you.’

  ‘No,’ said Mirza Ali. ‘He wants no feringhi lovers. Just the nurse.’

  Tom glared. ‘Then she won’t go.’

  ‘I will take Guthrie Mem’,’ the mullah said quietly. ‘Allah will protect us both.’

  Esmie marvelled at the young man’s quiet bravery. When everyone else was at the end of their tethers with worry, he remained calm and reasoned. She saw the compassion in his dark brown eyes and knew she could trust him with her life.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘I accept your offer to go with me.’ She ignored Tom’s appalled look and turned to the chief. ‘And I ask that my orderly comes with me too in case I have need of his medical help.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Mirza Ali gave his agreement. Esmie knew her fate was now in his hands.

  Within the hour, with her medical bag packed, she was riding out of the Gardan fortress beside Malik and the mullah, accompanied by three of Mirza Ali’s men. Tom’s helpless frustration was palpable. She could hardly bear to look at him in case her courage faltered. So she forced herself to look ahead and prayed that she would live to see him again.

  Chapter 39

  Avoiding passing the saint’s tomb so as not to upset Mullah Zada, Esmie and her companions circumvented the village by riding on a steep path up the north-facing cliff. The ponies slipped on the icy ground and sent stones bouncing down to the valley below.

  Esmie’s whole body was tense with fear, her dread of coming face-to-face with Baram Wali again making her skin crawl. She remembered his venomous look and vitriolic outburst at Kanki-Khel. There would be little to stop him taking his revenge against her; her only protection was the words of a gentle mullah. Despite Mirza Ali’s assurances, she didn’t trust his men to favour her over their fellow Otmanzai if they had to choose. But she had known the risks from the start. McCabe had warned her that she might be taken prisoner too but what option did she have? She couldn’t have lived with herself if she had shied away from the chance to save her friend – or at least bring her comfort and the hope of rescue.

  Whatever Lydia’s faults and however much their friendship had been tested in recent months, Esmie still cared deeply about her. Their friendship had been forged years ago in the pain and grief of her father’s death. Lydia had stood by her then and she would stand up for Lydia now. The thought that she would be seeing her so very soon gave Esmie a renewed sense of purpose.

  Esmie was surprised by how soon they arrived at the gang’s hideout. It was half an hour’s ride beyond Gardan. But soon she realised that this was not the place. A youth with a wispy beard appeared and approached the mullah, clasping his hand in deference. Esmie was reassured by the gesture. He told them to dismount and said they would be going the rest of the way on foot.

  They toiled onwards and upwards, Esmie finding it hard to catch her breath in the thin air. The sun was at full strength and she was perspiring in her woollen jacket. Malik was carrying her medical bag as well as his rifle but she arrived exhausted outside a crumbling tower house near the top of the slope. Its walls were scorched from fire and looked half derelict. As they circled to the back, Esmie could see no doorway.

  The youth whistled and shutters creaked open overhead. Another youth looked out, then disappeared again. A moment later, a rope ladder was thrown out of the window. Esmie watched in alarm. The youth nodded at them to climb.

  ‘Is this the only way in?’

  ‘It would seem so,’ said Malik.

  ‘Can you manage?’ asked the mullah.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said. She wasn’t going to tell them of her fear of heights. It seemed insignificant to the terror she felt inside at the ordeal ahead. She didn’t trust Baram Wali not to keep them captive too. So Esmie turned to one of Mirza Ali’s guards and said, ‘If we don’t reappear by tomorrow, please send for your chief to have us released.’

  The mullah went first. When he’d scrambled into the opening above, Esmie seized the rope and began to climb, thankful that she was wearing Pathan trousers and not a constricting dress. She swayed and gritted her teeth, forbidding herself to look down. In a couple of minutes she was at the window ledge and a youth with a squint was pulling her through.

  With hammering heart, she looked around. They were standing in a tiny guardroom or lookout with hardly enough space for the three of them. Malik, his rifle taken from him, hauled himself in too. Neither the guide nor any of their escort followed and the boy in the tower pulled up the rope.

  Esmie tried not to cry out when he pulled the shutters half-closed and they were plunged into semi-darkness. The cross-eyed boy opened a hatch in the floor and pointed down. In the gloom, Esmie could see rough steps of crumbling mud disappearing into the dark. The stoical mullah reached out and took her hand.

  ‘Perhaps I can help you down?’

  Esmie felt her throat tighten at the kind gesture. He sensed her fear and was putting aside his diffidence towards a feringhi woman to help her.

  She smiled and they stepped cautiously onto the uneven stairs, feeling their way down. By the time Esmie reached the bottom, her heart was racing painfull
y. They appeared to be in almost pitch-blackness. Once Malik had joined them, the youth brushed past Esmie and she heard him lift a heavy latch. They were standing by a large wooden door. He pushed it open and bid them follow.

  Esmie peered into a high-walled room like a large dungeon, except part of it was roofless and open to the elements. It was almost bare save for a low table and a couple of rugs on the earthen floor where three men were sitting and sharing a water-pipe around an open fire. They stared at the newcomers. A wiry fourth man with a prominent nose was standing waiting for them. Esmie tensed in recognition: Baram Wali.

  Karo’s husband gave her a sneering look but said nothing to her, turning instead to greet Mullah Mahmud. He beckoned for the mullah to sit with the others but Mullah Mahmud remained standing.

  ‘First the lady-nurse must be allowed to see her friend,’ he said. ‘That is the purpose of our visit, brother.’

  Baram Wali looked displeased. ‘The feringhis can wait a little longer while you have tea and share a pipe.’

  The mullah said, ‘Do not forget your promise to me that the nurse be allowed to see the memsahib. This place is no longer secret and Mirza Ali’s men stand waiting outside. It is important you keep to your side of the bargain so that your kinsmen in Taha go free. That is what you want, is it not?’

  Argument broke out among the men on the floor. An older man gesticulated at Karo’s husband and told him not to be weak, while a round-faced younger one tried to calm him. Esmie held her breath. Baram Wali scowled but gave a reluctant nod. He barked an order and a youth in rags and a filthy cap scrambled from the shadows.

  ‘Bring the feringhi woman here,’ he commanded. ‘Then our guests can see how well we have been treating her.’

  The youth pushed unkempt black hair out of his eyes. Esmie gasped in shock. ‘Zakir?’

  The young man stared at her in suspicion. Esmie pulled her shawl away from her head. ‘I’m Guthrie Mem’. Don’t you remember me?’

  Recognition lit in his dark eyes. His mouth fell open in astonishment. The next moment he was throwing himself at her feet and clinging on to her.

  ‘Get away from her!’ bellowed Baram Wali. The other men stood and began to crowd around, demanding to know what was going on.

  But Esmie crouched down and encircled Zakir in her arms. ‘It’s all right. Don’t be frightened.’ She stroked his head and murmured, ‘I’m so happy to see you.’

  The older gang member started remonstrating with Baram Wali. ‘That boy should be whipped! He is too soft on the infidels.’

  Baram Wali raised his hand to strike the boy. Esmie braced herself but didn’t let go. Swiftly, Mullah Mahmud intervened.

  ‘No, brother, don’t hit him. He’s one of Allah’s children.’

  ‘He’s no better than a wild animal,’ said the older kidnapper, spitting on the ground.

  Baram Wali hesitated, not knowing who to please. He muttered, ‘He has his uses.’ Prodding Zakir with his foot, he said more forcefully, ‘Get up and fetch the feringhi like I ordered. Go!’

  The youth scrambled to his feet, shaking with terror. Esmie held on for a moment and said gently, ‘Thank you, Zakir.’

  Esmie’s chest was tight with fear; the atmosphere was volatile. Mullah Mahmud was trying to calm the gang and get them to sit down with him. Baram Wali assumed control again and ordered the youth with the squint to bring tea and grapes. The mullah indicated for Esmie to join them but the aggressive man protested at this and she stayed standing with Malik at her side, staring at the door through which Zakir had gone. The wait seemed interminable but could only have been a couple of minutes.

  Suddenly the door opened and Zakir was there with Lydia. She was still dressed in the clothes she had been wearing ten days ago and her hair was limp and straggling. Her face was pale and her expression anxious.

  Esmie rushed to her. Lydia’s eyes widened in alarm.

  ‘Lydia; it’s me, Esmie!’ She held out her arms.

  Lydia looked confused and then recognition dawned. She gaped at Esmie in disbelief. ‘Esmie?’

  ‘Yes.’ Esmie smiled.

  All at once, Lydia let out a sob and was groping towards her. They hugged each other tight. Lydia was crying so much she couldn’t speak.

  ‘We’re going to get you out of here,’ Esmie murmured, guessing that only Malik could understand what they were saying. ‘There’s a rescue party working for your release. Tom’s here in Gardan too.’

  ‘T-Tom?’ Lydia stammered.

  ‘Yes, he’s a few miles away. They wouldn’t let him come here in case it aggravates your gaolers but I’m allowed to see you – check that you’re unharmed.’

  Lydia shuddered and glanced around. ‘These awful people. They’re savages,’ she hissed.

  ‘That’s enough feringhi talk!’ Baram Wali cried. ‘You can see that we have not hurt your friend. Now she must go back to her room.’

  Esmie stood her ground. ‘I need to check her over in private. I shall go with her. And I need my orderly too.’

  ‘No,’ Baram Wali said.

  The mullah stood up and greeted Lydia politely and then turned to her captors. ‘Brothers, there is no need to frighten the women. The lady-nurse must be allowed to examine the memsahib and she cannot do so in front of us.’

  The four Otmanzai captors began to argue and gesticulate at each other.

  Baram Wali looked annoyed but said to Esmie, ‘You can go but not your servant.’

  ‘Please let Malik stand at the door with the medicine bag in case I need him,’ Esmie bargained.

  ‘That sounds reasonable,’ said the mullah. ‘Don’t you agree, brother?’

  Baram Wali gave a dismissive wave of the hand. Quickly, before he changed his mind, Esmie steered Lydia towards the door, saying to Zakir, ‘Please show us the memsahib’s room.’

  Zakir led them through a disused room and then another. There was a faint charred smell and some of the walls were blackened. It appeared that the place must have been burned in recent times – perhaps during the war with Afghanistan two years ago. They went down a short flight of spiral stone steps and through another empty room. Zakir pushed aside a makeshift curtain revealing a chamber whose walls had not been damaged by fire. Esmie was surprised to see it had a charpoy with a colourful blanket for sleeping, a rug on the floor and a high window that let in daylight. On a roughly hewn table was a bowl with the remains of some scrambled egg and bread. Her hopes lifted; Lydia had not been as badly treated as she’d feared.

  Lydia caught her look. ‘Not exactly the Savoy Hotel, is it?’

  Esmie gave an astonished laugh, delighted at this spark of humour from her friend. Lydia’s spirit had not been broken.

  ‘Better than where I’m sleeping in the zenana,’ Esmie replied.

  ‘He brings me little comforts,’ Lydia admitted.

  ‘Baram Wali, your kidnapper?’

  ‘No, that half-wit boy,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think the others know he does it – they never come in here – but somehow he finds things.’

  Esmie turned to Zakir who was hovering by the doorway with Malik.

  ‘Zakir, thank you for being kind to my friend.’ The youth gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Can you stay beyond the curtain with Malik until I’ve had a few minutes with Lomax Memsahib?’

  Zakir nodded and slipped out of the room. Esmie was encouraged to know that he understood her words.

  As Malik handed over the medicine bag he said to Esmie, ‘I’ll have a quick look around. It seems to me this place is badly guarded by a couple of boys.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Esmie pleaded.

  When they had both gone, Lydia said, incredulous, ‘You sound like you know that savage boy?’

  Esmie explained how she’d treated him in Kanki-Khel the previous year. Then she asked, ‘Tell me how they have treated you. Do you have any injuries?’

  ‘My feet are blistered,’ Lydia complained, her eyes welling with tears again. ‘They made me walk at night and hide during the da
y – I kept tripping in the dark. My ankle’s sore and my shoes fell to bits. But the worst thing was not knowing where they were taking me or what they planned to do . . .’ She clamped a hand over her mouth and stifled a sob.

  Esmie was quick to put her arms around her in comfort. ‘It must have been terrifying,’ she sympathised. ‘Have they hurt you physically?’

  Lydia bristled. ‘I’d have died fighting rather than allow them to touch me!’

  Esmie squeezed her close. ‘I knew you’d be strong.’ She kissed her lank hair. Lydia pulled away.

  ‘I must stink. I don’t know how you can bear it.’

  ‘I’m a nurse; I’ve smelt far worse.’ She gave her a wry smile. ‘I’ve brought a change of clothes for you.’

  ‘I’ll not put on native dress like you,’ Lydia said stubbornly. ‘The boy offered me pantaloons and a shirt but I refused to put them on.’

  ‘It would just be until we get you out of here.’

  ‘No.’ Lydia was adamant. ‘I’d rather stay in dirty clothes. At least in these I still feel like an Englishwoman.’

  Esmie, deciding not to press her, delved inside her bag. ‘Harold packed treats for us – chocolate and biscuits.’

  Lydia’s expression softened. ‘Harold is here too?’

  Esmie shook her head. ‘He’s stayed in Taha. The brigadier and police forbade any other British to be involved in trying to find you. It’s thanks to the brave mullah I came with that I’m here at all. He’s done everything in his power to track you down and negotiate with the kidnappers.’

  Lydia looked dazed. ‘A mullah? I don’t understand.’

  Esmie broke off a piece of chocolate that had melted and rehardened, and handed it to Lydia. ‘Eat this and I’ll explain.’

  Lydia sat clutching the squares of chocolate, staring at Esmie as if she still couldn’t believe she was sitting on the charpoy next to her. As briefly as she could, Esmie began to tell her everything from the time Lydia had disappeared up to the moment Esmie had arrived at the hideout less than an hour ago.

  Lydia, chocolate melting between her fingers, blinked away tears.

  ‘I’ve been so frightened. I hoped that the army or police were out looking for me, but I was beginning to think no one would ever find me here . . .’ She swallowed down a sob. ‘I didn’t even know where I was – this place you call Gardan – or how far away I was from fellow British.’