Echoes of a Promise

by Ashleigh Bingham

  CHAPTER TEN

  Andrew’s hopes of finding the time to ride out one day soon with Victoria Latham rapidly faded when he saw the list of duties waiting for him in the next week.

  Colonel Moncrief required him to attend a briefing on the intelligence that had just come in concerning a Russian scouting party having been intercepted while they were surveying mountain trails through the Hindu Kush. The rumblings of unrest were growing louder along the North-west Frontier – broken alliances, tribal skirmishes and jehads which seemed to have been deliberately ignited by an outside interest: Russia.

  Which way would the maharaja jump if the tsar’s force reached the borders of Kashmir? Captain Wyndham was instructed to gain this information from His Highness on the hill – by threats, by wheedling, by offering inducements.

  And if this wasn’t enough to keep Andrew busy, the Resident wanted him to be available to act as an escort for a lady and her daughter who were coming to spend a holiday at the residency.

  The ladies were acquaintances of Lady Phillips’s sister in London, but if it had been the Queen herself arriving, poor Lady Phillips could not have been in a greater flurry of anxiety about the visit.

  ‘No, not those dishes – I said I wanted to use the Minton service! And please put the new quilts on the beds. Oh, do make haste to change those carpets!’

  Andrew groaned when he was given his list of escort duties in the week ahead. Lord, if he didn’t soon move out of this job, he really would turn into the lackey that his father had accused him of becoming. At least it was a relief to know that the general had gone up to the mountains to hunt bears and leopards, and wouldn’t be here to witness the kind of work that his son was being required to perform.

  At the conclusion of his official inspection of the regiment, Gordon Wyndham had surprised everyone by going off into the mountains with a hunting party which also included Mr and Mrs Cooke, visitors from Bombay.

  There’d been winks and nudges in the officers’ mess when the general had announced a change of plans and delayed his return to Delhi after meeting the enticing Beatrice Cooke at dinner one evening. Wyndham was a master of any sport which involved guns or women, but Andrew didn’t pause to wonder what success his father might be having in this current game of hunting another man’s wife. Even if he captured the lady, it wouldn’t last. These affairs of his never did.

  Andrew sent a note of apology to Victoria, expressing regrets that his free time this week had been eroded, and hoping that there would be an opportunity for their picnic next week. In quiet moments, he often thought about her. She was quick witted and perceptive; a woman with no artifice, affable without being effusive, a woman with whom a man would find it possible to form a true friendship.

  And one night before he dropped off to sleep, he came to the conclusion that her hair wasn’t truly brown at all: in the sunlight, it became the colour of newly-sawn mahogany – auburn, chestnut, copper, bronze.

  One afternoon, as he rode down at sunset from the fort, following one more long, inconclusive audience with the maharaja, he felt far too weary to spend another evening in the company of Lady Phillips’s visitors from London.

  Both mother and daughter were painfully self-important and patronizing, and his own meagre supply of social chit-chat had been exhausted during the first fifteen minutes in their company. Sir Ian’s new young aide, he decided, would have to perform the expected niceties that night at the dinner table.

  So, instead of reining in at the residency compound, Andrew rode on to Nigel Pelham’s house. It was over a week since he’d parted ways with Victoria and the impulse to see her again had been growing stronger in him all day. How much time remained before she packed her bags and left Srinagar? After he’d knocked on the door and asked to see Mrs Latham, he stood slapping his riding crop impatiently against his riding boot. Once she was on her way back to England, their paths were unlikely to ever cross again.

  ‘Andrew!’ The taffeta skirt of her cream dinner gown rustled as she hurried down the stairs, smiling. ‘How good it is of you to call. Do come into the drawing room; we actually have some chairs ready to use again.’

  He caught a pleasant scent about her like fruit and flowers. ‘Thank you, but no, I can’t stay. Sorry. I just wanted to give you my apologies for having failed to honour my promise to—’

  ‘I won’t hear another word,’ she scolded gently. ‘I know you have a busy schedule, and you know that I’ll be glad to see you at any time.’

  The warmth in her voice made his weariness fade, and he was hit by an uncharacteristic and utterly irresistible impulse. ‘Victoria, I know it’s short notice, but I’d like to take you for that picnic in the hills tomorrow, if you have no other engagement. There’s a lot to see up there, interesting places to visit.’

  She gave a laugh of surprise. ‘Oh, yes, but you do remember, don’t you, that I’ve never ridden a horse? We’ll have to go very slowly. Shall I come down to the stables? What time would you like me there?’

  He felt like a schoolboy thumbing his nose at the detention given by a bad-tempered headmaster. Young Wyndham was going to climb from the schoolroom window tomorrow morning and escape for the day. Damn the old maharaja playing spiteful games in his hill-top fort, damn the Russians marching towards the border, and damn Lady Phillips’s painful visitors! Let them all stew for a day, he thought wildly. Sir Ian’s poor young aide could have the wretched duty of escorting the London ladies to a regimental band concert tomorrow afternoon because Captain Wyndham would be in the mountains, enjoying the company of the delightful Victoria Latham.

  ‘Is nine o’clock too early for you to be at the stables?’

  ‘Not at all! And thank you again, Andrew. I look forward to it.’

  Andrew grinned to himself as he rode back to his house in the Residency compound. He claimed pressure of work when he sent his apologies to Lady Phillips and called for dinner to be brought to his study.

  Ah, yes, tomorrow. He was about to share a whole day with a woman who was like no other he’d ever known. In the short time he’d spent in her company, he’d found her to be warm and open, with no whiff of coquetry in her manner. It was ridiculous to be feeling like a schoolboy at his age, yet each time she came into his mind, she roused a dangerous longing within him – and one that was not entirely carnal.

  He drew in a deep breath and steadied his breathing. Then, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, he rallied his concentration and settled down at the desk to write the day’s reports and open his correspondence. Most of what lay before him were routine matters, and he found his mind drifting back to Victoria. There was a well-behaved black horse in the stables which would suit her perfectly – tall, but with easy gait, mouth as soft as butter and—

  He opened the next envelope. It was from the Intelligence Office in Simla and contained the annual report on the political and military activity in various independent states throughout the country. As these provinces were beyond the reach of British law, the princely states frequently became involved in tangled dynastic power struggles, complicated by long-running, bloody wars with their neighbours.

  Inevitably, all this confusion made it a fiendishly difficult task for the officers who were assigned to collate the information, and their reports were usually well out of date by the time they were distributed.

  Andrew turned the pages quickly. His interest lay in one state only – the little kingdom of Gwalinpore far away on the edge of the Rajasthan desert. He skimmed the page for any mention of—

  His heart lurched. That name. It couldn’t be – yet, there it was! He sat staring at the blunt words disbelievingly and read the report again. The breath left his lungs and, for a split second, the pain of the news was like a red-hot steel whip slashing across his soul. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the scene in his mind. Dear God! It hurt almost more than he could bear. No, no, no!

  He swept the papers from his desk, folded his arms on it, and gave way to emotion.

 
The other occupants of the residency were still at breakfast when Victoria arrived at the stables next morning. Andrew’s greeting was a little distant, she thought, and he looked as though he’d had very little sleep.

  A syce led two saddled horses from their stalls and, without another word, Andrew cupped his hands to boost her onto a tall black mount. His expression softened when he saw her look of alarm.

  ‘It’s all right, Victoria. I know he’s big, but Rex is a perfect gentleman who’ll give you no trouble, I promise.’

  She took a deep, nervous breath as he swung her up onto the lady’s saddle. She settled her leg over the knee rest and arranged her skirt while he adjusted the length of the stirrup, then handed her the reins. She wriggled to test her balance on the high seat. ‘Will you stay close and tell me what I should do?’

  ‘Of course.’ He sprang onto his grey. ‘Now, just loosen your reins and nudge your heel gently into his flank. He’ll understand.’

  Her heart thumped wildly, but Andrew was right. The tall, well-mannered animal responded to her signals and they moved off at a fast walk along the road that wound its way out of the city.

  ‘That’s it. Keep your back straight, elbows in and your hands low. Excellent.’

  She concentrated fiercely until she grew familiar with the horse’s gait. Only then did she allow herself to relax a little and look around at the scattered farms they passed, the fields of flowering saffron and mustard, the orchards of quince and almond trees.

  Andrew was not an easy man to read, and today he seemed to be lost in his own deep thoughts. For some time neither spoke. ‘I’m sorry to be so dull this morning,’ he said suddenly, turning to look at her, ‘but I had—’ He frowned and broke off.

  ‘You don’t have to keep me entertained, Andrew. I’m enjoying this tremendously – and what a splendid view of everything you get from up here on the back of a horse. I should have taken up riding years ago. And look what’s coming down the road towards us now! How wonderful – a family setting off for somewhere on their elephant. What a sight to write about in my next letter to Emily and Martin.’

  He gave a murmur of agreement, and they rode on in silence again for some time. His dark mood puzzled her, but it was easy to ignore that when all her concentration was needed on this new experience of horse riding. She tried to relax further and leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked suddenly, and she nodded. ‘Then let’s pick up the pace a little now and try a slow canter along this stretch. Just keep the ball of your foot in the stirrup.’

  Her heartbeat rose as Rex surged forward at the touch of her heel and the road seemed to fly beneath his hoofs. But within minutes she had settled herself to the steady rhythm of his stride and gradually began to enjoy the excitement.

  The long road wound its way upwards, until at last the deserted stone buildings of the Pari Mahal, the old royal observatory, came into view, standing out high on a distant spur. It took them another hour’s riding to reach it and, when they did, Andrew dismounted and stood beside her while she eased her leg over the knee rest and slipped her foot from the stirrup.

  ‘Slide down now.’ He raised his arms to help her to the ground, and continued to hold her by the waist until she’d regained her balance. ‘You’ve done very well this morning,’ he said, as she gave a groan and stretched to ease her muscles. ‘We’ve a lot more to see this afternoon, so I hope I haven’t tired you too much.’

  ‘Thanks, I’m perfectly fine. At least I think I am – but I’m sure to feel even better after I’ve rested a little.’

  He tethered the horses and took a canvas square from his saddle-bag to spread on the edge of the spur at a point from where Victoria had a vista of mountains, trees and sky that seemed to stretch to the end of the world.

  ‘How wonderful!’ she sighed, settling herself on the ground. ‘Thank you, Andrew, it’s absolutely perfect.’

  There was no wind to stir the trees, no sound to be heard from the waterfall and the racing torrent in the gorge far below. Nothing moved. It was as if the whole world was standing still and holding its breath.

  She glanced across at Andrew. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing brown arms knotted with lean muscle. She was momentarily discomposed by an impulse to run her hand up his forearm as she would have touched some piece of bronze sculpture, just for the pleasure of feeling its shape.

  She looked away quickly, drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

  Andrew was stretched out on the grass a few yards away, propped on one elbow, and gazing out into the distance with his mind clearly miles away. His mouth was tightly set and there were dark hollows of weariness under his eyes.

  She shifted position and let her own thoughts drift to the fast-approaching end of her holiday. How much more she’d now have to tell Martin and Emily about her time in Srinagar. What would she say about the enigmatic Captain Andrew Wyndham? Who was the real man living behind that wall of reserve? The devoted father of Annabelle? The bitter son of a British general? Certainly a man she would like to have known better, if time had allowed it.

  She threw another glance at him. He was still leaning on his elbow, but now he was watching her. For a long moment their glances held before he ran his tongue over his lower lip.

  ‘Victoria, I’m sorry to be such a deadly bore today, but – you see, I discovered only last night that Annabelle’s mother had died.’ His jaw tightened. ‘Actually, it happened almost two years ago, but I had no idea until I read about it in an official report.’ He sat up quickly.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Oh, Andrew, I’m so terribly sorry. Of course, I know how you must be feeling, and—’

  ‘No, you don’t know, Victoria! You can’t possibly know!’ His harsh tone jolted her; a little nerve began to pull at one corner of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry – but she didn’t just die – Ishana committed suttee on her husband’s funeral pyre.’

  For a few moments Victoria could only stare at him and shake her head. ‘But I – I thought that kind of thing didn’t happen any longer.’

  ‘Yes? Well, the British have tried to ban it in areas that are under our control, but very few of the old ways have changed in the princely states – like Gwalinpore.’ He clenched his jaw and turned his head.

  She sat motionless. Her heart ached for him and, when he turned back to her, she saw the misery in his eyes.

  ‘They say, of course, that the act of committing suttee brings great honour to a woman – to her memory. Of course, they claim that no coercion is used on the lady, that she is given no drug, that she feels nothing but elation when she— But how could they—?’

  He bowed his head and held it between his hands. ‘Victoria, what in God’s name will I tell my daughter when she’s old enough to ask about her mother? How can I ever explain that the beautiful lady who created her, the woman I adored, was Ishana – the raja’s favourite wife – and that she had thrown herself on to his funeral pyre to die in the flames? How can I tell her?’

  Victoria felt her head spin. She stared at him wordlessly while her imagination tried to picture that scene of unspeakable horror; it forced her to take a number of deep breaths.

  ‘Let me ask you a question, Andrew,’ she said at last, quietly. ‘Why should Annabelle ever need to know the truth about the way her mother died?’

  He swung to her sharply. ‘Because she’s going to ask me about her mother one day, so what must I do? Lie?’

  ‘Well, please look at it this way for a moment. You’ve taken your daughter away from her mother’s world where you say that such an unthinkable act is viewed with honour. Now Annabelle is growing up to look at the world through the eyes of a little English girl – a girl with a father who loves her dearly, a father who’s prepared to protect her by slaying every dragon that might come wandering across her path through life.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘In this instance, though, I think that kno
wing the truth about her mother’s death is likely to become a dragon of such monstrous proportions that not even the strongest and most loving father would be able to kill it. That monster could stalk a little English girl for the rest of her life. And perhaps devour her one day.’

  His forehead creased and he scrubbed a hand across his chin. ‘So?’

  ‘So, perhaps, when she asks about her mother, you need to tell Annabelle only a few simple facts – construct a fairy-tale about how you and Ishana met and fell in love. Let your daughter know how dearly her mother treasured her beautiful baby, and how sad you were when Ishana became ill and died. That’s all Annabelle needs to know, Andrew. Just simplify the truth.’

  He dropped back on to his elbow and broke off a long stalk of grass to twirl in his fingers before he looked up at her and shook his head slowly. ‘The truth, Victoria? Where do I begin? I don’t know how the truth could ever be simplified because this is a tale of India, remember?’

  ‘Very well. Tell me, and I’ll put aside my English ears.’

  He gave her a half-smile. ‘In the first place, what was I doing in Gwalinpore? Well, our government might consider that princely state to be an unimportant, insignificant place, but it’s vital for us to keep on good terms with whoever is ruling there because it sits directly on the army’s swiftest route into Afghanistan.

  ‘There was another dynastic upheaval in Gwalinpore four years ago, and a lot of blood was spilt before a new raja – just a boy – was chosen to sit on the throne. I was given the wretched duty of transporting the British Government’s gift to the new Highness – a hideously ornate black marble clock decorated with gilded cherubs and draped in the Union Jack. It was to have been presented during the coronation ceremony.

  ‘Well, the palace officials were most impressed when they saw me arrive with it. They assumed that I must be the personal emissary of Queen Victoria and that she, herself, had placed the royal clock in my hands. That fable seemed to add a little more significance to my presence in the palace, so I didn’t disabuse them.’ He turned his gaze to the tips of his riding boots.