The Command

by Christopher Nicole

  She was very nervous, which was understandable, but not as nervous as Ralph. Murdoch remembered how furious Lee had been at having to be ‘vetted’ by the colonel’s wife when he had proposed marriage, and wondered if this girl was secretly angry underneath. But she was an army daughter, and would understand army ways.

  Lee was superb, as ever, dispensed tea and carried the conversation on her own — she had asked Philippa not to appear, because Philippa was a rather awe-inspiring woman. As Murdoch was an awe-inspiring man; Jennifer kept staring at his medal ribbons and obviously relating them to tales told her by her father. Murdoch realized that she probably knew as much about his history as anybody, and had clearly never imagined she would ever sit down to tea with him.

  Her accent had a pleasant but unmistakable burr, but she was clearly by no means either simple or totally uneducated; she expressed a desire to see No, no, Nannette, which was all the rage in London, stroked the dogs without fear, and admitted that she was fond of riding — astride.

  ‘I think she’s absolutely delicious,’ Lee said, after they had left.

  ‘So I’m to support the whole thing?’

  ‘Well, the decision must be yours, of course...’

  His turn to throw a cushion at her.

  Colonel Ramage was as taken aback as Murdoch had been when the situation was put to him. So was RSM Yeald. But with the endorsement of the Colonel-Commandant they accepted the idea. The War Office was more querulous, but also accepted Murdoch’s recommendation.

  More difficult was John Manly-Smith, of Manly-Smith and Partners, who descended on Broad Acres in his Rolls-Royce. ‘They tell me you’re Ralph’s CO,’ he announced after the briefest of introductions.

  ‘Not exactly. I’m his CO’s CO.’

  Manly-Smith glared at him, and Murdoch smiled back. Lee had made him promise to keep his temper.

  ‘Well, you’re responsible for what’s happening, eh?’

  ‘Now that depends on what you’re talking about,’ Murdoch said. ‘Shall we sit down?’

  ‘I am talking about my son’s asinine wish to marry some corporal’s daughter.’

  Murdoch sat down and crossed his knees. ‘Ever read any Kipling?’

  ‘Now, don’t give me any nonsense, Brigadier.’

  Murdoch decided that, as he was dealing with an habitual bully, he was going to disobey Lee and lose his temper after all. ‘I am not a brigadier, Manly-Smith. And as we happen to be in my house, I shall give you any damned nonsense I please. Now, either sit down and discuss this like a gentleman, or get out.’

  Manly-Smith’s head jerked, and his face flushed. But then perhaps he recalled that this was the man who had led three famous cavalry charges and was one of Britain’s best-known soldiers. He sat down.

  ‘George,’ Murdoch told Reynolds, who had retired from the army to become his butler-cum-valet. ‘Two whiskies. With water, Manly-Smith?’

  ‘Ah, soda.’

  ‘Soda, George.’

  George placed a tray with the two glasses, and the soda siphon, between them. Murdoch drank his neat. Usually he took water, but this afternoon he intended to overawe the enemy. ‘Have you met Jennifer?’ he asked.

  ‘Good Lord, no.’

  ‘And you have no intention of doing so. That would be a mistake. She is an extremely attractive, quiet, well brought up young lady. She is the daughter of the regimental sergeant-major incidentally, not a corporal, and one of the best men it has ever been my privilege to know, much less fight alongside. But even if she were the daughter of a private, she is the woman your son loves, she is to be the mother of his child, your grandchild, Manly-Smith, and I have no doubt at all that she will make him an admirable wife.’

  ‘My son...’

  ‘Is one of the privileged few. He is, however, behaving like a gentleman.’

  Manly-Smith stared at him. ‘Are you trying to insult me, sir?’

  ‘I am trying to bring you down from that impossibly high horse you seem to have mounted.’

  They gazed at each other for several seconds, then Manly-Smith lowered his gaze. ‘My wife will never accept it,’ he muttered. ‘She says she will never speak to Ralph again, if he goes through with it.’

  ‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean that.’

  ‘You don’t know my wife.’ He raised his head. ‘And what about the boy’s career? Won’t this kill it?’

  ‘It won’t help it, to be sure. But we’ll do what we can. I think what you want to remember is that your son is no longer a boy, Mr Manly-Smith. He became a man some time ago. And he is now acting like a man. I suggest, as you’re down here, you meet Jennifer, and judge for yourself.’

  Manly-Smith shook his head. ‘No. I couldn’t do that. My wife would be furious.’

  ‘Have you ever tried being furious with your wife?’ Murdoch asked.

  *

  But the Manly-Smiths did not attend the wedding of their only son. It took place in the regimental chapel, and was a small affair. The Yealds and their relatives were there in force, but Ralph Manly-Smith had only one of his lieutenants, Bobby Franklin, as best man, and Lieutenant-Colonel Peter Ramage, Major John Lowndes, and Colonel-Commandant Murdoch Mackinder as guests. Peter and Murdoch were accompanied by their wives.

  Once again Murdoch made a speech, toasting the happy couple. Afterwards Yeald took him aside. ‘I didn’t know what to do, sir,’ he said. ‘I know it’s not right. But in all the circumstances...’

  ‘In all the circumstances, it had to happen, Sergeant-Major,’ Murdoch told him. ‘And who’s to say it won’t be all right? They very obviously love each other.’

  ‘But his career, sir. Does he still have one?’

  ‘If I have anything to do with it, yes,’ Murdoch told him.

  *

  Murdoch had anticipated being in official disfavour for some time after his intervention in the Manly-Smith affair, and he was indeed trying to come to terms with being one of the forgotten men of the British army when his forty-third birthday approached and he continued to spend his time training his light cavalrymen. The year 1923 was disturbing, too, as Europe came close to war again, with the French occupation of the Ruhr because Germany had not been fulfilling her reparations payments, and the decision of the German Government to deflate the Deutschmark. They started something they couldn’t stop, and soon the most horrendous tales were coming out of that beleaguered land, of how an entire wheelbarrow load of marks wouldn’t buy one loaf of bread.

  With Lee’s encouragement Murdoch wrote the Regers to find out how they were faring, and received another adoring letter from Margriet in which she reassured him that they, as landed gentry, were doing all right, although there was a great deal of distress among the middle, or rentier class, whose cash investments had disappeared as if burned. She reiterated her invitation for him, and Lee if need be, to come and stay with them.

  The letter arrived just before Christmas, when Murdoch was attempting, like so many people, to reconcile himself to the fact that, Stanley Baldwin’s Government having suffered disastrous losses in the General Election just completed, Britain was to be governed by the Labour Party for the first time in its history. As the leader of the Party, and thus the Prime Minister Elect, was Ramsay MacDonald, who had suffered imprisonment during the war for his pacifist views, the outlook for the armed services was distinctly gloomy.

  ‘You’ll have to retire after all, and be a country gentleman,’ Lee told him.

  But on the morning of 1 January 1924, all of that changed. Murdoch found himself a Knight Commander of St Michael and St George.

  *

  ‘I can’t imagine why this hasn’t happened before,’ King George confided after the accolade. ‘What on earth have you been doing these last four or five years?’

  ‘Soldiering, sir.’

  ‘But with precious little to show for it, eh? Well, Mackinder, you have something to show for it now.’

  There were the usual press cameramen waiting in the palace yard. Murdoch had n
ever felt such a fool in his life, with his white knee breeches and white silk stockings, and his long blue cape with its red lining, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the boys, who were now thirteen and fourteen, and both at Wellington College, thought of it all. But the huge heavy collar and seven-pointed star overawed them. Only Helen, an eleven-year-old pigtail-and-braces pupil of Cheltenham Ladies’ College, was inclined to giggle.

  Lee was over the moon. ‘I’m a lady,’ she said. ‘You know, I never expected to be one?’

  ‘That worried me when we got married,’ Murdoch confessed, and she bit his ear.

  The next morning, after all six of them had been to see Douglas Fairbanks in Robin Hood, Murdoch had an appointment with the Earl of Cavan, who had succeeded Sir Henry Wilson as CIGS. He had met Cavan in South Africa, but their paths had taken different directions since then; the Earl had begun the war as commander of the Guards Brigade, and had finished it commanding a British army bolstering the Italians in the valley of the Po.

  He was an alert man who wore the moustache still fashionable amongst British officers — a sartorial habit Murdoch had never adopted.

  ‘Sir Murdoch,’ he said with a smile. ‘Sit down. We should have had this meeting long ago.’

  Murdoch waited.

  ‘As of today,’ Cavan went on, ‘you are gazetted Major-General.’

  Murdoch opened his mouth and then closed it again; there was really nothing to say.

  ‘That too should have happened long ago,’ Cavan observed. ‘But you see, you refused promotion in 1915, to stay with your regiment. I’m not blaming you. I wish more of us had that attachment to our people. But the fact is that once passed over, other fellows got in ahead of you. Still, you remain our most famous fighting soldier, and I’m delighted that you are at last on the ladder of top command.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Murdoch murmured.

  ‘It follows, therefore, that you should be where there’s fighting to be done. So you’re posted to India.’

  ‘India?’

  ‘A famous hunting ground for the Mackinders.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Murdoch said absently.

  ‘There isn’t any actual fighting going on there right this minute, of course, since the Mahsuds have been pacified, but we are hearing disturbing rumours that the Russians, now that they have themselves organized to a certain extent, are again sending missions to Kabul, and that sort of thing. Well, as you know, our historic mission in India has been to keep the Russians out of Afghanistan, and frankly, it can do no harm to let them know that we still intend to carry out that mission. You will be stationed in Peshawar, and you will have approximately a division under your command. Mainly Indian troops, of course, but we thought that you could do with a regiment of British cavalry...so the Royal Westerns are also being sent out.’

  ‘Now that is good news,’ Murdoch said without thinking. ‘You mean the rest isn’t?’

  ‘By no means, sir. But if I had any regrets, apart from leaving my family, of course, it would be leaving the Westerns.’

  ‘My dear fellow, this is 1924. We are living in a civilized world. Or we like to pretend that we are. You may take your family with you. Such of them as you wish.’

  *

  ‘India!’ Lee shouted. ‘Yippee! I’ve always wanted to go to India. And to be on service with you. Oh, Murdoch, it just gets better and better. I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ he told her. He was still trying to get his thoughts straight. Going to India, the North West Frontier, involved so many things.

  ‘And with you a major-general,’ she said. ‘Oh, it’s all too wonderful for words. I’ll start packing.’

  ‘Hold on. We don’t leave for a couple of months. We have some long leave coming first. To say goodbye to England. Maybe for a few years. What would you most like to do?’

  She was suddenly serious. ‘Go to Germany.’

  ‘Germany? Whatever for?’

  ‘I’d like to visit the Regers. See Margriet. And see Paul. Both Pauls. Heck, they keep asking us, don’t they?’

  Chapter Seven: Germany, 1924

  Murdoch was amazed. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not?’ Lee demanded. ‘You’re not still carrying a torch for her, are you?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. But...’

  ‘I’d like to meet her. I’d like to meet young Paul. Come to think of it, I’d like to meet old Paul as well.’

  ‘There are several other children, I believe,’ Murdoch said. ‘Or there were.’

  ‘Well, great, I want to meet them too.’

  ‘I’ll write,’ he promised.

  He found himself looking forward to the visit as well. Equally he was looking forward to seeing some more of Germany than just the Rhineland; as Lee had said, having fought against the Germans for four years it was senseless not to try to understand them.

  And presumably Reger would have got over the shock of having lost the war by now.

  But Murdoch had a great deal more on his mind than Margriet. He was going to India. He was going to the North West Frontier, specifically. Everything was peaceful up there, and he was not being sent to start a war. Besides, now there was most definitely not a single man in his command who had ever served there. But it had been the comrades of these men, even if unknown to them, who had been murdered by the Pathan women. By Chand Bibi. Would he be able to see her again and not want to throttle her? Or rape her?

  Of course, he was hardly likely to encounter her at all. After writing that confession of guilt — and of intent — she would hardly take the risk. He wished he could believe that.

  And found himself wondering if he was afraid of her.

  *

  Preparations for their departure for India went ahead with preparations for their visit to Germany. Murdoch took the opportunity to take care of Ralph Manly-Smith, by asking for him as his ADC; Lawrie was anxious to get back to regular soldiering. Ralph was delighted, and Jennifer also seemed pleased at the idea of seeing something of the world.

  As Lee had never been allowed to accompany Murdoch on an overseas posting before, Broad Acres had been under her care since Florence Mackinder had made the house over to her son, immediately following his marriage, in order to avoid death duties. Florence was now sixty-nine, and although in good health, disinclined to resume the day-to-day running of the establishment. Philippa, however, was more than happy to do so.

  She would also look after the children during the school holidays, and see Harry settled at Wellington when the time came, in two years. The boys were taken aback at the prospect of a three- or possibly six-year separation from both of their parents.

  ‘In three years,’ Ian said, ‘I’ll be at Sandhurst.’

  ‘If you pass all your exams,’ Lee pointed out. ‘And we’ll be home in three years, at least on long leave. Now you be sure to write every month...all of you,’ she said, looking over the other three anxious faces.

  ‘Can’t we come out to see you in India?’ Helen asked. ‘The North West Frontier,’ Fergus said. ‘That would be wizard.’

  Lee looked at Murdoch.

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be practical,’ he said. ‘Sorry, chaps. You’ll just have to do without us for three years. But as your mother says, write regularly. And so will we.’

  *

  ‘I feel such a wretch,’ Lee confided as the train took them from London to Harwich, where they would catch the boat for the continent; Margriet had replied in rhapsodies at the idea of their visit, and had expressly added that Count von Reger was looking forward to it, too. ‘About leaving them at all. But especially about running off like this, all on our own.’

  ‘I think we’re entitled to a little private holiday. We haven’t had one since our honeymoon, save for your visit to Germany in 1919 — and I was on duty then.’

  ‘That’s why I feel a wretch. I’m so happy. Oh, Murdoch my love...’ She gazed at his grey Savile Row suit. ‘I hardly recognize you in mufti. And India...if
you knew how excited I am about it...’

  ‘You do realize that the North West Frontier can be a dangerous place,’ Murdoch pointed out.

  ‘I know. I want to experience a little danger. With you. Because you always win, don’t you, Murdoch?’

  ‘Not always,’ he said, thinking of Chand Bibi. The concept of Chand Bibi and Lee ever coming face to face was incredible.

  ‘Don’t you like your wife to hero-worship you?’

  ‘I love my wife to hero-worship me, my dearest girl. But I have no intention of letting you expose yourself to any danger. The first sign of trouble, and it’s you for home.’

  ‘Oh, Murdoch...’

  ‘You’ll want to see the kids, anyway,’ he told her.

  *

  They second-honeymooned across the North Sea to the Hook of Holland — the sea was calm although it was February — where they caught the train that would take them to Berlin. Now some of Lee’s excitement was beginning to get to Murdoch as well. And some understanding of his achievement. That was taking a long time to sink in. He was a major-general, and a KCMG. Great-grandfather Ian, the hero of the charge against the Baluchis, had wound up as a major-general and a KCMG. So, he had at last equalled the family’s most famous member. Only he was now the family’s most famous member. He was the only one with the VC. It was a thought to make a man light-headed.

  And as a major-general, he would have full command of a large body of troops for the first time. He almost hoped the Soviets would encourage the Afghans to start something. But there would be no more leading charges, he thought with a smile; he’d be sitting behind the cavalry giving the command to charge, from safety. Well, perhaps three times in a life were enough — he’d been damned lucky to get away with all of them.

  The train took them past the growing port of Rotterdam, and thence across the flat Dutch plain, through a country of canals and windmills and apple-cheeked, smiling people — unaffected by the war. From Rotterdam they swung north through Gouda and then east for Utrecht, north-east for Amersfoort and Apeldoorn, thence Deventer, Almelo and Henglo before reaching the German border at De Poppe.