What was the captain’s connection with that grand lady with whom the British people of Srinagar refused to become associated? Why was the child in the begum’s care?
Where was Annabelle’s mother?
Andrew Wyndham’s shoulder ached, his head ached, and he was bruised from the fall. Fury at the whole episode burned inside him; the nightmare of Annabelle’s brush with death today would live with him forever. And his heart ached for the beautiful mare. One false step, one unexpected depression in the surface where her hoof had struck. Damn, damn, damn! Half a yard to the left or right and there would have been no fall. It was his own blasted fault. He’d been riding like a madman.
He poured a brandy and stood at his window, staring out into the night and trying to make sense of the events. The sudden arrival of the young Englishwoman at the scene had been most fortunate, but what tale would she carry back to the gossips? Who was she, this green-eyed girl who’d shown such a cool head in the emergency? No, her eyes weren’t truly green, they were hazel—
Whoever she was, he should at least try to find her and express his gratitude. But how could he do that? Knock on every door in the cantonment?
He turned from the window and pulled off his jacket. Of course, he should have left Srinagar two years ago. That had been the original plan he’d made with the begum: she would raise Annabelle for a year or so, spending winter on her estate near Amritsar and summer on the houseboat in Kashmir where Andrew was able to pay regular visits. And during those twelve months, he was to have resigned from the regiment and found himself a position somewhere in the Indian Civil Service – some place where he, himself, could raise his child.
But now Annabelle was three years old and here he was, still procrastinating. The begum had been his salvation, but how much more could he ask of her?
In reality, though, where could he and Annabelle settle down quietly as father and daughter? He’d turned down a job in the Madras Customs Office last year when he was hit by panic at the prospect of spending his life sitting at a desk reading endless cargo lists. The position of Deputy Forestry Officer in Bangalore had sounded promising – especially as a bungalow was to have been provided. But when news came that the whole area was ablaze in a series of confused and bloody religious riots, he withdrew his application. Perhaps he could find a position in Calcutta with a merchant house? Or learn whatever skills were required to become a banker? Pity that his application for the position of manager of a tea plantation in Darjeeling had been turned down. Perhaps he should never have mentioned that he knew nothing about growing tea.
He turned away from the window and began to undress for bed. Damn it, the army had been his whole life. The regiment was the only family he’d ever known and he had no real desire to walk away from it.
But where in that masculine and often lonely world would there ever be a place for his motherless child? He had to look elsewhere to provide whatever Annabelle was going to require along her path to womanhood. Though, with his funds in such a sorry state, would he ever be able to provide enough?
He opened the safe and took a great ruby ring from its box. It was valuable and it would be Annabelle’s one day. When she asked him where it had come from, he would tell her the story of her beautiful Indian mother who lived in a far-away place called Gwalinpore.
The old ache for Ishana remained buried deep in his heart. Ishana, whose love had restored life to his broken body. Did she sometimes fret for the tiny, precious gift that she’d sent to him three years ago? In that time, had any of his messages reached her in the palace zenana? Had the healer relayed the news that her beautiful daughter was well and thriving?
Andrew realized that it would only be a matter of time before information filtered through to his father that he had been applying for a variety of civilian posts, and he seemed to be the only one in Srinagar who wasn’t surprised by General Wyndham’s unscheduled visit to inspect the regiment. The adjutants had barely sufficient warning to ensure that everything was in order before the general’s party was sighted.
Colonel Moncrief welcomed General Wyndham with full pomp at a dinner in the officers’ mess. All the grand regimental silver was put into service and the general was in fine form at the head of the table, brimming with affability, generous with his praise.
Wearing full dress uniform with rows of decorations on his chest, Gordon Wyndham sat like a victorious Roman caesar about to send in the lions to devour the one man in the room who had not earned his praise this evening.
Andrew was placed well down the table, far enough away to catch only snatches of his father’s conversation, but perfectly able to interpret his performance by watching the admiration glowing on the faces of the men around him. General Wyndham was a hero, the victor of great battles. To the men in the ranks, he was known as Wyndham the Widow-maker.
Andrew studied his father and felt all his old resentment resurfacing. The general’s handsome features were beginning to coarsen, but though his hair was almost white, it was still thick. His brown eyes – Andrew himself had inherited those eyes, and so had Annabelle. He smiled inwardly as he sipped his claret, imagining what a trump card he might play one day when his dazzling Annabelle had reached womanhood and he at last introduced the general to his granddaughter. You see, Father, now you can’t deny that I’ve achieved at least one success in my life.
At the end of the evening, during which the general had made a point of ignoring his son, he called Andrew to drive back with him to the guest bungalow where he was staying. And as Andrew had anticipated, that was when the general’s affability ended.
With his hands clasped behind his back, he stood rocking on his heels, frowning down at his son lounging in a chair with his long legs crossed at the ankles. The strained silence between them grew, until the general exploded. ‘My God! What a lily-livered disappointment you’ve proved yourself to be.’
Andrew’s brows lifted in mock surprise.
The general’s voice always rumbled deeper when he was furious. It made subordinates quake. ‘It’s to my everlasting shame that my only son should have inherited every one of his mother’s character flaws, all her weakness and sentimentality.’
‘But, sir, I well remember you whipping all that kind of nonsense out of me thirty years ago.’ His voice was flat. ‘And what a fine job you made of it.’
The general took the chair opposite Andrew’s and leaned forward aggressively. ‘Did I indeed? Then kindly tell me what has happened to your loyalty, pride, honour, fortitude? I’d like to know how long you think you’ll be permitted to fritter away your life here in Srinagar?’
Andrew continued to regard him dispassionately. ‘Well, what can I say, sir? Actually, I’m looked on here as something of a wounded hero for trying to save the little Raja of Gwalinpore from being blown to pieces by that assassin’s bomb four years ago. Didn’t succeed, of course, but the palace healer managed to keep me alive and, since then, I’m sure the regimental surgeon has informed you about each stage of my recovery.’
‘Ah, yes, Doctor Lovell.’ The general didn’t disguise his sneer. ‘He’s a good friend, I assume? Willing to keep you on the “Unfit for Active Duty” list for a little longer?’
‘Naturally, I follow his professional advice, sir.’
‘And that includes playing a great deal of polo and cricket?’ A little twist in one corner of his mouth always appeared when the general became sarcastic. ‘And that morning gallop around the lake is most beneficial, too, eh?’ His smile became a leer. ‘I understand that you come back into town each morning, positively brimming with fitness.’
Andrew saw the track that his father’s thoughts were taking. Nobody knew about his early morning visits to Annabelle on the begum’s houseboat, and it gave him a perverse pleasure to play along with the general’s hint that he was keeping a little bibi somewhere in the hills.
‘Well, sir, I seem to recall that you had a similar arrangement in Benares.’
The general gave a quick, knowing grin. ‘Hm
m. You were obviously more observant at the age of ten than I realized, but I can assure you that whatever time I spent on amusements, I never lost sight of my career. I was a lieutenant-colonel by your age, a full colonel by forty and a general at fifty!’ He poured himself a whisky, tossed it down and thumped the empty glass onto the table beside him.
Andrew braced himself for what he knew was coming: ‘Now give me one good reason, damnit, why you’re sniffing around for a job in the civil! Have you married some damned woman like your mother who refuses to knuckle down to army life? Or got yourself into a scrape with a female down on the plains?’
Andrew gave a cynical chuckle and shook his head. ‘Absolutely not! I keep telling you that I’m simply a wounded hero.’
His father scowled. ‘And I’ll lay a bet that you were fool enough to come away from that débâcle in Gwalinpore with empty pockets, too. Why didn’t you have the wits to tell your royal hosts that a contribution from the palace treasury would be the appropriate compensation for your injuries?’
Andrew kept a straight face. ‘But I’ve always been told that kind of thing is against regulations, sir!’ God alone knew how much his father had accepted in gifts and bribes over the years.
‘Lord, Andrew! Have you no ambition? No thought of what the future holds for you? It’s been ten years since you were made captain, and here you are, thirty-four years of age and still a bloody captain with the job of running messages between the soft-headed British Resident here and that lying old rogue of a maharaja up there in the fort! Military attaché, be damned! You’re nothing but a lackey!’ Now he was shouting.
Andrew held his temper and offered no denial. The general gave a huff of exasperation, pulled a cheroot case from his pocket and offered him one. For some time they sat facing each other, smoking in silence. His father rested his head on the back of the chair, brooding as he blew perfect smoke rings and watched them wobble their way towards the ceiling.
‘You’re a bloody fool, Andrew,’ he growled at last. ‘If you burn your bridges and leave the army, I’ll have done with you and you’ll get not one penny when I’m dead.’
When Andrew simply lifted one shoulder and said nothing, the general again lost patience. ‘Why the devil won’t you spare a thought for your career? Before that Gwalinpore business you were well regarded at the highest level, and with my influence you had every chance of getting a command of your own before long.’ He glared at Andrew, ground the stub of his cherooot into the ashtray and waited for an explanation. None came.
‘Listen to me! The North-west Frontier is still the place to see real action and make a name for yourself. I could have arranged your transfer into the Guides, y’know, and if you’d proved your worth with them, you’d soon have been given command of one of the forts they’re building along the border. Very likely, you’d have been promoted to lieutenant-colonel by forty.’
‘How splendid.’ Andrew gave an exaggerated yawn. ‘I’ll sleep on it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I must say goodnight.’
His father’s voice echoed in his head as he mounted his horse and rode back to his own quarters in the residency compound. Being accepted to serve in the elite Corps of Guides in Mardan was the goal of every ambitious officer, but if he should ever win a place with them, it was going to be on his own merits and not because he was Gordon Wyndham’s son. His mind played with the thought. What if he did apply now to join the Guides?
Challenging images of commanding a frontier fort filled his head as he prepared for bed. He could see it clearly: bringing his junior officers and the troops to the peak of readiness, settling quarrels and negotiating peace between the warring hill tribes. God! How he wanted to be given that kind of responsibility. And those forts were built with accommodation for the commander’s family.
He lay on his bed watching the moon shadows on the ceiling and wondering how the Corps of Guides on the North-west Frontier would view the arrival of an unmarried officer with a small daughter of mixed blood and her ayah?
It was impossible. Annabelle would never be accepted. He gave a grunt and heaved himself on to his side. The whole evening had left him with an aching weariness, and the sane part of his brain told him to forget about the Guides and go to sleep quickly. The other part kept him awake. Might there be some way to change the impossible?
After another hour of sleepless tossing he flung back the sheets and went to his writing desk. Why shouldn’t he put his name forward for a transfer to the Guides? Not through official channels at this stage, just a polite enquiry in a personal letter to Major-General Roberts at Mardan.
Andrew’s pen flew over the paper as he diplomatically reminded Bob Roberts of their meeting five years previously when his company had fought alongside the Guides at the Bolan Pass. Modesty prevented him from mentioning the medal he’d won in that action. In any case, he didn’t think that the major-general was a man who would forget the night that Lieutenant Wyndham, as he was then, had used his initiative to move his company out under cover of darkness, circle a hill, scramble up over rocks and boulders to rout a large force of hidden Pathans. It was an action that had prevented a surprise dawn attack on the main force.
Roberts himself had recommended him for the medal. ‘Just the sort of man we want for the Guides,’ he’d said at the time. So why shouldn’t Andrew see if that was still the case? But what would he do about Annabelle? Was there a kind-hearted woman somewhere who would be prepared to become mother to a soldier’s child and go out to the frontier with him? Hah! The only candidate for such a position would have to be a woman with lunacy in her family, and he already had enough of that running through his own.
Even with a stream of craftsmen at work throughout Pelham-sahib’s house, Duleep insisted on noise being kept to a minimum.
But next day, as Victoria sat reading in the last of the afternoon light in the garden at the side of the house, a great hullabaloo broke out indoors. A moment later, she was startled to see the orphaned child, Molly Collins come scrambling out of the drawing room window and dropping to the ground with something in her hand. The girl darted across the lawn and into the shrubbery, just as a young cavalry lieutenant along with two troopers pulled up in a flurry of dust at Nigel’s gate and ran to the front door.
Victoria could hear the officer speaking urgently with Duleep and a moment later, they turned the corner of the house together and strode across the grass in her direction. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Molly’s patchwork skirt moving amongst the bushes.
Until she learned what trouble Molly had got herself into this time, she was reluctant to give away the child’s hiding place.
‘Why, Lieutenant Woodley, this is indeed a pleasant surprise. Whatever has brought you here in such a lather?’ She stood quickly and walked towards the spotty-faced young man, wearing her brightest smile and hoping that this might divert his attention from the bushes beyond.
He pulled off his white helmet. ‘My apologies for disturbing you, Mrs Latham, but I’m searching for a child named Molly Collins. I have orders to take her back to the regimental chaplain.’
‘Oh! Does that mean he’s been able to locate her relatives in Ireland?’
‘No, ma’am. But she can’t stay any longer with Mrs Williams because the 24th Rifles have been ordered to Jaipur, and all the wives and families are packing up to follow them.’
‘Oh! But is there no other family here prepared to look after the poor girl?’
The young man blew a long breath between his lips. ‘Not Molly Collins, ma’am. She’s known to be too much of a handful.’
Those words send Victoria’s heart plummeting. ‘So what does the chaplain plan to do with her? Please don’t tell me that he’s going to put her on a boat and send her back to England on her own!’
‘No, I assure you that won’t happen, Mrs Latham. He’s made arrangements for her to be sent to a mission station outside Poona. The good Christians down there might be able to teach her to change the error of he
r ways.’ He lifted his high-bridged nose. ‘Are you aware that child has just stolen certain property from this house?’
That child. ‘The girl has a name, Lieutenant! It is Molly Collins and in the last twelve months she has lost her father and her mother, and even her two little brothers have been sent away to school. And, as you know, when they finish there, those boys are likely to serve the rest of their lives in the army, so when will she ever see them again?’ Victoria’s throat tightened and her voice became thin. ‘Don’t you agree that Molly must feel that the world has been very unfair to her? Perhaps she wonders how she is to survive if she doesn’t take matters into her own hands.’
The young officer’s face turned scarlet and Victoria took pity on him. After all, he was simply the messenger. She drew in a deep breath and changed her tone. ‘Well, thank you for telling me about the chaplain’s plans, Lieutenant. I’ll know what to do now if I should happen to see Molly.’
‘Oh, oh – thank you, Mrs Latham. Yes, if you do see her, please send a message to the chaplain’s office and he’ll – well, he’ll—’ He replaced his helmet quickly and adjusted the chin strap. ‘Good evening, ma’am.’
‘Duleep,’ she said, watching his dark eyes scan the shrubbery. ‘Not one word of that conversation is to leave this house. I will speak with Pelham-sahib as soon as he comes home, and then we will decide how best to handle the matter concerning the young person who is at this moment hiding in those bushes.’
She raised her voice a little and spoke clearly so that her words carried. ‘Tell me, Duleep, what did Miss Molly Collins take from this house?’
‘Pink velvet ribbon, memsahib. About two yards that the upholsterer had cut for—’
‘Oh, it was something pretty. I see. Thank you, Duleep, I’ll not keep you from your duties any longer.’ She sat on the chair again, opened her book and pretended to read until he’d walked back into the house.
Echoes of a Promise Page 11