‘You know I don’t.’
‘In your bedroom?’
‘You can open the window when you leave.’
He took his tobacco pouch from his pocket and unclipped it. ‘I don’t have to ask if you’re worried about Peter. Remember what I told you before Nasiriyeh, sis. Peter’s a survivor. He’ll be fine.” He saw no point in upsetting her by relating the rumours he’d heard about conditions in the besieged town.
Her eyes were dark, anguished. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I know Peter.’
‘So do I, and better than you. It’s easy for us to be blasé about what Peter and the others are suffering in Kut from the comfort of this mission and the certainty that Mrs Butler’s table will groan with food every mealtime. But the troops in Kut are starving. I’ve heard they’ve been reduced to eating mules and horses …’
‘The Relief Force will get them out before they die from malnutrition, Angela,’ Theo interrupted.
‘How can you be so sure?’ Her voice rose precariously. ‘Even if they break through it will mean more fighting. Peter could be wounded or killed like Harry. Even if he survives the fighting, he could get fever like Major Mason …’
‘Or he could be back here with you within a few days. You have to stop worrying about what might never happen, Angela, and start taking care of yourself. If you don’t, you’ll wear yourself to a shadow and Peter will have no one to come back to. Try to rest.’
‘I’m not ill. I can’t possibly lie in bed all day and do nothing.’
‘Then go and sit in the garden with Maud and enjoy the last few dry days. The rainy season will be upon us before we know it and that will put an end to walks and sitting outside.’
‘I suppose I could spend some time with Maud. She asked me to help her find a house she could rent – or possibly even buy.’
‘In Basra?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought she’d want to go back to England.’
‘She’s never been there. She was born in India and stayed there with her parents until her father was posted here. I suppose that’s why she’s reluctant to leave. With John dead, he’s all the family she has and until the siege is raised …’
‘Stop thinking about Kut, Angela,’ Theo lit his pipe and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. ‘When the siege is raised, they’ll all be back here. Peter, Maud’s father … all of them.’
‘Not all of them, Theo. Not Harry, Stephen Amey and John, and all the others like them who’ve been buried in an early grave.’
Kut al Amara, Friday 7th January 1916
Peter narrowed his eyes and closed his fists as he faced John. ‘You want me to leave you – all of you, now of all times when you’re penned like rats in a trap waiting for the rat-catcher?’
‘The point of this mission is to deflect the rat-catcher. The brigadier and Crabbe asked me if you were fit enough’
‘They only asked because they know I’m ill. They want to send me downriver so I can be put out to grass like a lame mule. Don’t they?’ Peter demanded suspiciously.
‘They asked for my opinion because you’re the obvious choice for the job. You can find your way around our defences blindfolded at night thanks to your morale-boosting trips to the front lines with Crabbe. You know Major Sandes’s defensive avenues better than the back of your hand. You can report on the state of mind of our troops, British and Indian, but most important of all you know Mitkhal. You trust him because Harry trusted him. You know how he thinks and how he’ll react under fire.’
‘I thought …’
‘You’d been chosen because you can’t stop coughing and your wounds aren’t healing?’
‘Frankly, yes.’
‘Your cough is one of the reasons that makes you the perfect courier.’
‘Because you want to send me to the hospital in Basra?’
‘Because the Turks will assume you’re infected with tuberculosis and give you a wide berth. We’re hoping that, accompanied by Mitkhal, who can do the talking for both of you, and dressed in Arab robes you’ll be waved through Turkish lines.’
‘The brigadier really believes I’m the best man for the job?’ Peter still sought reassurance.
‘If you were in his position, who would you send?’
‘A political officer who speaks fluent Arabic, and understands, thinks and behaves like a Bedouin.’
‘Harry’s dead and Leachman and Wilson are in Ali Gharbi. You’re all we have, Smythe. Will you do it?
Peter walked away from the window. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Do any of us in this man’s war? But that’s enough philosophy. Shall we go and tell Crabbe and the brigadier that you’ve volunteered?’
Crabbe was in the brigadier’s office when the corporal who’d been ordered to escort Mitkhal to the Norfolks’ stables staggered in with the assistance of two sappers who’d found him unconscious, lying on a dung heap behind the stables. As soon as they’d brought him round he’d asked to be taken to the brigadier’s office. Before he finished speaking, Crabbe sent a message to Sergeant Lane, ordering him to meet him at the Norfolks’ stables with two dozen armed Dorsets.
Leaving the brigadier to assemble his dispatches, Crabbe sent the injured corporal to the hospital and headed for the stable.
The square thickset sergeant was lounging in the doorway. He snapped to attention when he saw Crabbe. ‘This stable has been requisitioned by the Norfolks … sir. It’s been declared off limits to all other regiments.’
‘An Arab visited here earlier. A high-ranking emissary of the brigadier who sent him to examine the horses. He was accompanied by a corporal.’
‘I don’t know anything about any Arab – sir.’
‘How long have you been on duty here?’
‘Since six this morning – sir.’
‘Then you were here.’
‘I could have been in the tack room or checking the grain supplies.’
‘Who else was on duty here?’ Crabbe questioned.
‘Perkins and Lamb – sir.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘I don’t know – sir.’
Crabbe stepped up to the sergeant.
The escort of Dorsets arrived and assembled behind him. Sergeant Lane ordered them to present arms. The sergeant retreated into the stable.
‘Sergeant Lane. With me.’ Crabbe entered the stable.
‘Sir, I protest …’
‘Protest all you like, Sergeant …’ when the sergeant didn’t answer, Crabbe pushed his face very close. ‘Your name?’
‘Pickering, sir.’
‘Remember that name, Sergeant Lane.’
‘I will, Major Crabbe, sir.
Crabbe checked the lines of officers’ mounts. There were three greys, none of which resembled Dorset or Somerset. ‘There were two other greys stabled here a few days ago. Where are they now?’
Pickering stammered, ‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Sergeant Lane, take twelve men and escort Sergeant Pickering to the brigadier’s office. Tell the brigadier I’ll be along presently.’
‘Sir.’
‘I don’t know where Colonel Perry took the horses or the Arab, sir …’
‘You admit that the Arab and the horses were here?’ Crabbe asked.
Sergeant Pickering fell silent as Sergeant Lane and his men closed around him.
Crabbe turned to the remaining men. ‘Accompany me to the Norfolks’ mess.’
‘Pleasure, sir,’ a corporal answered.
Private Evans muttered, ‘It’s lovely watching our betters fall out.’
‘One more word from you, Evans, and you’ll find yourself in one of the mud huts with iron bars for windows.’
‘Yes, Major Crabbe.’
‘Move!’
Chapter Twenty-four
Kut al Amara, Friday 7th January 1916
Mitkhal groped slowly into consciousness. Pain sliced through his head when he moved. Something was hanging over his face cu
rtaining his vision. His muscles ached and there was an agonising gnawing in his stomach. He retched and wiped his face. When he drew his hands away they were wet, sticky. He blinked, forced his eyes open and saw that his fingers were covered in blood.
A narrow strip of grey light shone high above his head, marking the line between wall and ceiling. He was lying on a damp floor, slimed with stinking sewage. He crawled to a corner. Fighting pain he leaned against the sodden mud brick wall.
He remembered Perry ordering a platoon to drag him from the stable. He pictured the thickset, bullnecked sergeant, laughing at his pain, saliva dripping off his chin as he spat at him. The whoops of excitement when the ranks obeyed the order to beat and kick him. The sense of impotence as he attempted to fight off a dozen men single-handed.
He rubbed his eyes, made an effort to focus and take stock of his surroundings. The thin strip of light and the damp suggested he was in a cellar. On the wall opposite was a wooden door heavily studded with massive metal nails. There was a keyhole but no latch. He tried and failed to stand upright, which left him no option but to crawl. It seemed to take forever to reach the door. When he did, he pushed at the base. It was stuck fast.
Exhausted, he turned his back to the door, stretched out his legs and leaned against it. It was dry in comparison to the wall.
He flexed his muscles, explored his damaged body and considered his predicament. He reached inside his abba. He was in luck. They hadn’t thought to search him. He pulled out a wooden baton and pressed a concealed button at the base. A slim stiletto blade sprang out. He eased it back into the handle and tucked it inside his gumbaz. He had one surprise in store for whoever opened the door.
Crabbe marched his escort to the Norfolks’ mess and halted them.
‘Corporal, inside with me. The rest of you, wait here.’ He turned to the guard on duty. ‘Step aside.’
‘Sir, this is the Norfolks’ mess …’
‘I’m aware of the location. I’m on official business.’
The man stepped aside.
Crabbe walked into the dining room. Colonel Perry was sitting at a table playing bridge with a major and two colonels.
‘Major Crabbe,’ Perry stared at Crabbe. ‘To what do we owe this intrusion?’
‘I am here to escort you to HQ, sir.’
‘As you see I’m busy.’
‘Too busy to answer a summons from the brigadier? He’s questioning a Sergeant Pickering from the Norfolks’ stables about a pair of grey horses you stabled there.’
‘The only horses I stabled with the Norfolks were my own.’
‘Sergeant Pickering was under the impression they were Lieutenant Colonel Downe’s horses, sir.’
‘Lieutenant Colonel Downe is dead,’ Perry snapped.
‘The brigadier is aware that fact, sir. A representative has arrived from his widow to claim his horses.’
‘Those horses were given to me in recompense for my polo ponies, which Downe used in our campaign in the Hammar Marshes.’
Crabbe remembered Harry using Perry’s polo ponies to swim in the marshes. He also remembered the horses surviving. ‘You have documented evidence to that effect, Colonel Perry?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Gentlemen don’t need documented evidence. But then a man of your low antecedents wouldn’t realise that.’
‘In which case would you please come with me, sir? The horses are missing and the brigadier is anxious to find them.’
‘Tell the brigadier I’ll be along shortly.’
‘The matter is urgent, sir.’
‘I said I’ll be along presently.’
‘Shall I inform the brigadier and General Townshend that you consider a game of bridge more important than military matters, sir?’
‘I’m off duty …’ Perry hesitated. ‘General Townshend?’
Crabbe strayed into the realms of fiction. ‘Is overseeing the matter personally, Colonel Perry.’ He waited while Perry left his chair. ‘After you, Colonel Perry.’
He followed him out of the mess.
Lansing Memorial Mission, Basra, Friday 7th January 1916
‘Letter for you, Ma’am Mason.’ The maid handed Maud an envelope. She turned it over and glanced at the address on the back.
‘I’ll leave you to read it and get us some tea.’ Angela rose from the garden bench.
‘It’s from Reggie Brooke so it’s hardly personal. He probably forgot to mention some boring bit or other about the annuity. I know I should be more interested in my affairs, but I’d rather sit on an ant hill than look at a column of figures.’
‘I don’t know about sitting on an ant hill but account books send me to sleep,’ Angela agreed. ‘My father insisted I study basic bookkeeping so I’d learn to manage my own finances and never spend more money than I had. He needn’t have bothered. Growing up as the daughter of missionaries meant I rarely saw a penny that wasn’t destined for essentials. Not that I’m complaining. Peter’s captain’s pay was riches compared to what I was used to living on, but after uniform and mess bills have been paid there’s very little surplus to enter into our accounts. It certainly saves worrying about investments we can’t afford to make. Would you like cake or biscuits with your tea?’
‘Cake would be nice. I saw the cook putting a lemon drizzle out earlier to cool.’
Maud waited until Angela disappeared through the kitchen door before opening the envelope. As she’d expected from Reggie’s smiles, winks, and the pressure of his fingers on hers whenever he handed her a document, it wasn’t a business letter.
Dear Maud,
Thank you so much for seeing me earlier today. I trust you found the meeting beneficial. If you require any more assistance, I can always be found at 1.00 p.m. on a Monday afternoon in number 6 private room above the Parisienne Ladies’ Fashion store.
I look forward to meeting you there, and await such a time as you can make it.
Reginald Brooke (Major)
When Maud re-read the letter she had to concede Reginald was more careful and discreet than his younger brother Geoffrey. When she’d had an affair with Geoffrey in India, he’d thrown caution to the wind. Sending her daily missives protesting his love and doing all he could, short of shouting out his feelings for her publicly, to persuade her to leave John and run off with him. She presumed, given that it was wartime, for as long as the war department would grant him leave.
If Reggie’s letter fell into the wrong hands, someone who didn’t know any better might assume he was doing no more than offering to help organize her personal affairs. As for the Parisienne Fashion Store, it was managed by a Frenchwoman whose knowledge of France extended only as far as that country’s colonies. She’d heard rumours that Madame Odette rented out the rooms above the shop by the hour before she’d moved into the Lansing. After she’d moved, Mrs Butler took care that no scurrilous rumours of any kind were aired in the mission.
She considered her position carefully. Thanks to John’s foresight, she was now financially secure, although she felt guilty for taking her husband’s money after the cavalier way she’d treated him and her marriage vows.
The world, as the saying went, ‘was her oyster’. She had enough money to go wherever she chose, and rent or buy a house. John had made provision for her to withdraw a lump sum from the annuity provided it was used for a house purchase, but there wasn’t a single person or place in the world that would welcome her and her bastard.
British military society was small and claustrophobic but its tentacles reached far, wide, and deep in Britain. No matter how small or remote a village she settled in, she knew that sooner or later rumours about her infidelity and Robin’s birth would surface. India was out of the question after her adulterous affairs, affairs that given the constant exchange of army personal between the two posts had become common knowledge in Basra.
‘I brought you tea.’
Theo set a tray on the garden table.
‘Only two cups, I thought Angela was making it?’
‘That’s good of him.’ She made an effort not to sound sarcastic.
‘Peter’s popular and you know how it is. Officers tend to look out for their brother officers’ wives.’
‘I remember,’ she snapped.
He recalled the gossip in Basra when Charles Reid had dragged Maud back to Basra from India and let the subject drop. ‘I called back to get overnight things for myself and Dr Picard. We’ve decided to sleep in the hospital in case Turkish POW casualties are already on their way downstream.’
‘Surely if hostilities have just broken out they’ll take at least three or four days to reach here.’
‘That depends on where there’s been fighting. If the Turks have occupied the marshes and attacked Qurna, wounded could arrive at the Lansing within the next few hours.’ He sat next to her on the bench. ‘I asked Charles if he’d like to join us but he wanted to talk to Angela privately.’
‘He hasn’t brought bad news, I hope,’ Maud said anxiously.
‘No, I checked with him before I took him to Angela. Anyway,’ he poured two cups of tea and handed her one. ‘I’m glad I have you to myself, there’s something I’d like to ask you.’
‘If you want me to resume my nursing career in the Lansing, the answer has to be no. Much as I liked nursing and was tempted to try to make a career of it, Mrs Butler is right. I can’t risk carrying infection back to my child.’
‘I agree.’
‘That was a short discussion.’
‘On one topic. Angela said you’re thinking of renting or buying a property in Basra.’
‘Hopefully renting. I don’t want to stay here indefinitely.’
‘You want to stay until Kut is relieved and your father returns?’
‘With everything that’s been happening I’m ashamed to say I haven’t given my father a thought, other than in my prayers that he’ll survive the siege at Kut. Whatever the outcome of the fighting upriver, or for that matter the war, my father will want to continue his military career. He’s always enjoyed life in the mess more than domestic life. The one certainty I have is that he won’t want to live with me.’
Winds of Eden Page 23