He hadn’t slept well, either. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Victoria. Those of us who know you will never believe the lies that those women are spreading. Perhaps you should sue them for slander – or I’ll cheerfully strangle them both, if you’d like me to.’
She couldn’t help but smile at his ferocious expression. ‘I do appreciate the offer, Andrew, but there was probably a grain of truth in whatever they were saying about me. It’s their misinterpretation of everything that’s so cruel and wrong and I’ve been tossing all night thinking about what I should do about it.’
‘Are you going to have it out with them? I’ll come down to the residency with you now, if you like.’
‘That’s brave of you, my friend! Yes, when I got out of bed this morning that’s exactly what I thought I’d do. I wanted to face the Marchants and tell them that they’d been grossly misinformed about the matter and to – and to—’ The corners of her mouth took a downwards turn. ‘And that’s exactly the way my mother would have responded, so I know that an argument with the Marchants would resolve nothing. It’s all a game with them. They thrive on petty spats and they’d soon find some way to distort the facts of my case even further.’
She gave a long sigh. ‘Of course, my mother played exactly the same game and she went out of her way to humiliate Lady Marchant and Eloise whenever she found an opportunity. Last night’s little drama, I’m sure, was their chance to retaliate after my mother publicly snubbed them one day in Hyde Park after my sister’s engagement had been announced.’
‘Victoria, I’m completely lost. What has that—?’
‘Sorry. It would take a month to unravel the tit-for-tat nonsense that has been going on for thirty years between Lady Marchant and Lady Mary Woolcott, so let’s not try. No, I think it best if I simply turn my back on them and try to walk away with my dignity intact.’
He gave a grunt. ‘Well, I’ve made it clear to Lady Phillips that, of course, your marriage wouldn’t be recorded in any parish church because it took place at sea—’
‘Please, please, Andrew, don’t become involved in this ridiculous situation. I’ve learned exactly how this community thrives on fresh gossip and that’s why I’m packing up to leave tomorrow. I’m just on my way now to see if Thakur has finished the work on my elephant.’
‘Oh, Lord! Victoria, don’t let those witches drive you away. You have friends here who’ll stand by you. I can assure you that Sir Ian and Lady Phillips are quite disgusted with the Marchants’ gossip. And everything else about them.’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but the Colonel and Mrs Moncrief – and probably every man in the officers’ mess will be sniggering about me this morning.’
‘But you mustn’t go yet! What about Nigel’s wedding?’
‘Can’t you see that it’s Nigel and Kitty I’m thinking about? I’ve tried to warn Nigel about what he’s likely to hear today, but I don’t think he realizes just how damaging his connection to me could prove to be if I stay in Srinagar. No, Andrew, the sooner I go, the quicker the gossip will fade and dear, loyal Nigel and Kitty won’t have to go into battle every time my name is mentioned.’
He continued to frown down at her and, when she tried to step past him, he put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Wait. Stay here and go on with your packing while I ride down to collect the elephant. Wait for me, Victoria. Please just go back inside and wait.’
Kitty, with her boys and their ayah in tow, arrived shortly after he’d ridden away, and she was shocked to hear Victoria’s decision to leave.
‘Please don’t be so hasty, Vicky. You must stay here for our wedding. Yes, I’ve heard what some people are saying this morning, but I don’t believe a word of those lies.’
‘Thank you, Kitty, I know it’s all very petty and ridiculous, but I don’t want anything to spoil your wedding day. I really think it’s best for me to slip away and let all the nonsense simmer down as quickly as possible.’
‘Vicky, it won’t be the same if you’re not there in church. It’s just not fair. Besides, where will you go? Do you have friends to stay with – wherever it is that you’re going?’
At this point Victoria had given no clear thought about where she might go when she left Kashmir. The spectre of that unknown frightened her, so she pushed it out of her mind and went on with her packing.
By mid-afternoon, Andrew had still not returned with her elephant.
Nigel arrived home early from his office, puffing with indignation at the gossip about his cousin that was being magnified by speculation as it flew around the community. ‘How dare those women spread such lies—’
Nigel’s fighting spirit, once roused, was not easy to douse, and Victoria was still trying to explain the running feud between her mother and Lady Marchant, when Duleep announced the arrival of Captain Wyndham. He was carrying no box or parcel, and she was hit hard by a childish disappointment that brought her to the edge of tears.
‘Don’t worry, Thakur has finished the elephant and I know you’re anxious to see it. But I’ll deal with all that tomorrow, I promise. Sorry, but I had a more important errand to attend to today.’ From his pocket, he produced an envelope addressed to her in a bold, elegant script. ‘I’d like you to read this, Victoria.’
My Dear Mrs Latham
Please give me the pleasure of sharing your company on my houseboat before you depart from Srinagar. Come this evening with Captain Wyndham and join us for dinner. I will send my carriage to bring you around the lake to the Nagim Basin where I am at present moored.
It was signed Yolande, Begum Raziid Khan.
‘Oh, Andrew! This is – I know that this is all your doing. Thank you so much.’
He smiled at the relief in her expression. ‘The begum’s invitation is perfectly genuine, I assure you. She looks forward to making your acquaintance, and it will be simple enough to arrange for you to be brought across to the church on the day of the wedding.’
‘Oh, thank you! This is a wonderful solution.’ She beamed at him. ‘And you’re wonderful for arranging it.’ For one moment he thought that she was going to embrace him, but she turned away and threw her arms around Kitty instead.
The setting sun was painting the sky with a glorious salmon-pink glow as the melon-seller paddled away from the begum’s houseboat. He’d sold an extra melon there today. An English lady might be coming to stay, the cook had told him. He found that good news, indeed, for strict routines grew slack when visitors joined the household. The melon-seller was a patient man and his sack was waiting.
Each day he observed the girl-child playing under the canopy on the top deck of the houseboat, and sometimes saw her taken to the Shalimar Gardens in the begum’s shikara. Sometimes they drove off in the begum’s open carriage to visit the fort on the hill. And wherever they went they were escorted by the Sikh bodyguard with the black pistol in his belt.
The girl-child was flawless and would fetch a high price from the beggar-master in Calcutta, especially as she carried European blood. Now was the perfect age for such a child to be taken – not too young – for children of very tender years were likely to die before they reached their destination. Older ones could become difficult to handle on the journey south. The little blue bottle of sleeping magic lay ready in his sack, and he would be watching for the one chance he needed to succeed.
‘Papa! Papa!’ Annabelle squealed as she saw him approaching with Victoria sitting beside him in a shikara. She ran from the roof deck and, by the time they had pulled in to the steps leading up from the water, she was there on the top one, skipping with excitement while the Sikh kept a tight hold on the wide pink satin sash around the waist of her spotted muslin dress. ‘Papa! Papa!’
Andrew helped Victoria aboard the houseboat, before opening his arms to the child. ‘Belle!’ She flung herself at him and he scooped her up into a bear hug, then kissed her cheek. ‘Sweetheart, I’d like you to say hello to Mrs Latham.’
Annabelle looked at Victoria with little enthusiasm, mumbled her gree
ting, then threw her arms possessively around Andrew’s neck.
The begum was waiting to receive them in an opulent drawing room which ran across the width of the boat and was furnished with a triumphant blend of oriental and European tastes. Even the cobalt blue silk dress she wore today seemed an amalgamation of Indian and Parisian styles.
‘I am so happy that you are able to accept my invitation, Mrs Latham – or may I call you Victoria?’ the begum said, speaking English with a strong French accent. She came forward with her hands outstretched, even before Andrew had made the introductions.
‘The pleasure is all mine, madame,’ Victoria said, as the begum took her fingers firmly. ‘It’s most kind of you to offer me this sanctuary. I know that Andrew has told you about the awkward situation I’ve found myself in.’
‘Oh, my dear Victoria, you speak to one who has frequently been in awkward situations.’ Her voice was deep and melodious, her chuckle warm. ‘I live very quietly here on the lake, and I’d be delighted if you would stay as long as you wish.’
‘That’s very kind of you, madame. I have no fixed plans.’
‘Splendid! Andrew tells me that you’ve found no opportunity to understand the true ways of Kashmiri life so, perhaps, while you are here I could introduce you to some of my friends? I have a horse and vehicle stabled not far away on the shore, so we could pay some calls and perhaps make a few excursions to see a few of the interesting sights in this region.’
‘Thank you madame. I’m keen to see as much as I can before I leave.’
The begum turned to Andrew. ‘My dear, do take Annabelle up to the roof deck to eat her supper, while I show Victoria to her room.’
Later, when Andrew was rowed back to the city, he carried away a rare feeling of harmony. Victoria and the begum had taken to each other straight away, as he was sure they would. Annabelle? He grinned. Did a little jealousy lie behind the tantrum she’d thrown at bedtime?
Once home, he slipped off his jacket and glanced at the papers on his desk. A telegram lay on the top and his heart leapt as his eyes flew over the message from General Roberts in Mardan. It had come already! It was the offer of a post with the Guides, and if Captain Wyndham wished to accept the offer, he should apply for his transfer to the North-west Frontier without delay.
He gave a groan. This was just the news that he’d wanted to hear, yet he’d been dreading its arrival before he reached some decision about Annabelle’s care.
He swore. What the devil was he going to do now? It had been his father’s scathing words that had goaded him into writing prematurely to General Roberts, but this prompt reply was something he certainly hadn’t expected.
And neither had he expected any transfer to take effect immediately. It usually took time for these moves to be approved.
‘Oh, Lord!’ He groaned again and ran his fingers through his hair. If he took up the Guides’ offer he must find someone to be a mother to his daughter, a lady who’d be prepared to share a soldier’s life on the frontier. Damnit!
Images of the women he’d known during his misspent youth flew wildly around in his head, and after he’d deleted all those with a colourful reputation, or those already married or downright stupid, ill-humoured, opinionated, timid or weepy, he could think of only one lady of his acquaintance who’d be up to the task: Victoria Latham.
Oh Lord! Refined, elegant Victoria was the last woman in the world he could invite to share his uncertain life on the frontier. Anyhow, she’d be a fool to accept an offer from a man like Andrew Wyndham who had so little to recommend him. Until Annabelle’s arrival had brought him down to earth, he’d lived his life as if there was no tomorrow.
He drank a brandy and went to bed, but while he lay hovering on the brink of sleep, images of Victoria’s pink, smiling lips and supple body danced again and again through his mind. It didn’t take long for those thoughts to drift into the erotic, and that was a mistake which cost him a great deal of much needed sleep.
Ah, Victoria! If only – oh, dear God! If only he had more than just himself to offer her.
When the begum received a message from Andrew next morning to say that he was likely to be late arriving for dinner that evening, she suggested that they take a drive to an outlying village to watch the Lhori festival taking place.
‘I’ve never really understood what the celebration is all about, but on this day each year, young boys dress up as spirits, then form a long line and perform a chhajja dance as they wind their way around the houses to visit elders and newly-wed couples, hoping to be given sweets. It’s a very cheerful and rather noisy day, and I’m sure that Annabelle will enjoy it, too.’
Indeed she did, and when Andrew arrived that evening he was met by a tired little girl who refused to go to bed until she had attempted to tell him about all the exciting, noisy and confusing things she’d seen at the festival.
The rambling report of the three year old, was made even more incoherent because the child spoke to her father in a mixture of French-accented English, interspersed with what Victoria assumed must be Urdu.
Andrew himself seemed to be weary. His patience started to grow thin and several times he interrupted the child’s flow and asked Annabelle to repeat certain words, using his own standard English accent. It was an exercise that didn’t go at all well and before long cross tears were spilling onto the rosy cheeks. Andrew took her to her room and read to her until she fell asleep.
‘My apologies,’ he said stiffly when he joined the ladies waiting at the dinner table.
‘Not at all, my dear.’ The begum spoke matter-of-factly. ‘We all know that children are like little parrots who pick up the words they hear spoken around them, and Annabelle listens to far more Urdu being used by my servants than she hears English being spoken here.’ She picked up her soup spoon and kept her eyes on the bowl. ‘But now that Victoria has come to stay, I’m certain that will start to change.’
Andrew nodded to Victoria. ‘Thanks, I’d appreciate your help.’
The following day the begum suggested that they drive into the city to pay a call on her good friend, Vashti, the senior wife of a carpet merchant. ‘Annabelle loves playing with her grandchildren, and I know that Vashti will be delighted to show you how Kashmiri ladies run their houses.’
The dark eyes of the melon-seller narrowed as he peered across the lake to watch the begum set out in her grand shikara and head to the bank where her horse and carriage stood harnessed. The child was with her and she was accompanied only by the lady who’d arrived yesterday. No bodyguard travelled with her. The man smiled. His prediction had been correct: already the presence of a guest in the household was causing a crack to appear in the usual ring of protection around the English child. The sack lay ready on the floor of his craft.
The begum’s carriage set out for the city next day and, once there, ran along a lane leading behind a row of shops. Here, they entered the gates of a sprawling, two-storeyed brick and timber house with carved shutters on the windows, where they were welcomed effusively by a handsome, middle-aged woman. When the begum introduced Victoria, Vashti’s brown eyes lit up.
‘You are the very first British lady whom I have ever had the honour of meeting.’ The begum translated the Urdu and Victoria coloured.
‘In that case, I hope we may have many more meetings,’ she said to the woman, and held out her hand.
Vashti introduced her husband’s second wife, who was somewhat younger, and then the six daughters of the house. She insisted that the visitors must stay and join them for a meal of spiced lamb and lentils, which the ladies ate after the men of the household had been served.
Later, while Annabelle and Vashti’s small grandchildren played through the house and chased each other up and downstairs, she and the daughters led Victoria through the rooms. They proudly showed her the number of servants they employed, as well as the splendid carpets that had been woven in the family’s factory, as well as their collection of carved ivories, and tables inlaid with sem
i-precious stones. Hanging on the walls were the skins of tigers and leopards shot by the menfolk of the family.
The ladies opened jewel boxes for Victoria to admire their treasures, and displayed their chests full of fine silk saris.
Giggling, the daughters took out several saris and draped them, one after the other, across Victoria’s shoulder. Each seemed more vibrant than the last, and it wasn’t long before they’d persuaded her to remove the tight-waisted English dress she was wearing and replace it with a sari the colour of a golden-pink summer dawn.
When the yards of silk were draped and folded around Victoria’s body, the next step in her transformation was to pull the pins and combs from her dark hair and dress it in India style – parted in the middle with a jewelled ornament suspended in the centre of her forehead and ear-rings that almost touched her shoulders.
The younger wife slipped a gold bangle from her own wrist, one which was fashioned in the shape of a coiled snake, and placed it on Victoria’s
As she stood gazing at her reflection in a long looking-glass, she was swept by a sensation of having stepped into an unknown world. The begum smiled her approval.
‘Oh, madame, can you imagine the stir it would cause if I found the courage to appear in the cantonment dressed like this?’ She gave a giggle. ‘Lady Marchant would have a fit!’
When it came time for the begum’s party to leave the house, Victoria was once again dressed as a respectable English lady. And she was deeply touched by the insistence of Vashti’s family that she accept their gifts of the dawn-pink sari and the gold snake bangle.
‘Madame, would I be permitted to thank these ladies as I would do if they were my English friends? With a kiss on the cheek?’
When the begum translated her request to the merchant’s wives, their eyes widened in astonishment. ‘The ladies would be honoured, my dear,’ she said and Victoria stepped forward to take Vashti’s hands and touch her lips lightly to one cheek.
Echoes of a Promise Page 16