Then he remembered the message.
‘Memsahib,’ he said, ‘while you were away, a letter came. A letter of a sort, wrapped around a stone.’
‘Letter? Wrapped around a stone? What on earth do you mean? Fetch it.’
He brought it from the bureau, from beneath the guarding figure of Buddha. Drinking the whisky, she read it. The signature — she had not understood one word until she came to that — was ‘Ernest Wilshaw’.
Her head spinning and a strange sensation gripping her bowels, she read the message again. And again and again, before she began to get its drift.
*
The ham-like hand of Regimental Sergeant-Major ‘Bosom’ Cunningham slammed to the salute, quivered for a moment, then snapped down to lie neatly alongside the kilt of the Royal Strathspey. It was a sweltering evening, the declining sun seeming to have left most of its heat behind to boil the men like so many kettles as it rose from ground and buildings. ‘Ma’am! I’m told you wish to see me.’
‘Yes, Mr. ‘Cunningham. It’s — important.’
‘Sit you down, ma’am.’ Cunningham came forward with a chair and motioned the Orderly Sergeant out of the office; he sensed that this was private. ‘You don’t look well, Mrs. Archdale. Will I get you a glass of water, or something?’
‘No, thank you, Mr. Cunningham.’ She took a grip on herself and came at once to the point. She produced the message, which she had soon seen was so clearly in James Ogilvie’s writing, and handed it to Cunningham. There was comfort in that large Scot, comfort even in the precisely waxed moustache. She was feeling better. She said, ‘Please read that. You’ll see it refers to yourself. At any rate, I can think of no other Cunningham. Do you happen to recognize the handwriting?’
He said, ‘I do. Mr. Ogilvie. I should say, Captain Ogilvie. Well, now, what does all this mean, I wonder? It’s signed Ernest Wilshaw.’
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Mr. Cunningham, it can only mean that certain rumours are the truth, and not rumours at all!’
‘Aye.’ Cunningham rubbed an end of his moustache between thumb and forefinger. He sat for a moment in deep thought, troubled thought. From neighbouring lines came the haunting throb of the pipes and drums as an Irish battalion, the Connaught Rangers, beat retreat. Something stirred in the R.S.M.’s heart; he had a strong feeling that very soon now the regiments would be on the march again behind those pipes and drums, beating into the hostile hills. This was a sorry business about Captain Ogilvie and he did not understand it. He said, getting to his feet, ‘Ma’am, we’d best go at once to the Colonel.’
*
‘Cryptic’s scarcely the word,’ Dornoch said. ‘What d’you make of it, Sar’nt-Major?’
‘Little enough, sir, except that I recognize Captain Ogilvie’s hand beyond doubt.’
‘So do I.’ The Colonel paced the room, hands clasped behind his back, his face grim now. Then he stopped and said, ‘Very well, now I’m going to tell you both the facts. They’re to go no further — you understand, Mrs. Archdale? I must tell you now, in order to prevent more rumourmongering — and positively to ensure your making no comment on the matter publicly. I want your assurance that you’ll respect my confidence, Mrs. Archdale.’
‘You have that, Lord Dornoch.’
‘I need hardly press the point with you, Sar’nt-Major.’ Dornoch smiled. ‘Now, then. It is the fact that Captain Ogilvie was sent into Waziristan on a secret mission. It appears that he has been taken by the enemy, though in the light of this —’ He broke off. ‘He was posing as the agent for an armaments firm. That’s all I can say. I don’t pretend to make head or tail of this message, but possibly it will convey more to the Political Officer. In any case, this is now a matter for Division. Thank you both for bringing it to my attention.’
‘Yes sir. Orders, sir?’ This was Cunningham.
‘Orders, Sent-Major?’ Dornoch’s mind was elsewhere.
‘For the regiment, sir. Pending word from Division.’
‘Ah — yes, I see! Will you be good enough to ask Captain Black to speak to me, and Major Hay? For your private ear in the meantime, Cunningham, I’ll be asking them to bring the regiment to immediate readiness to march.’
A swinging salute came from Mr. Cunningham and his body gave the appearance of swelling in anticipation. ‘I’ll have the two gentlemen here immediately, sir,’ he said, and turned about.
*
‘But what the devil d’you expect me to do?’ Fettleworth demanded excitedly, approaching a tantrum brought on by sheer indecision. ‘The blasted feller’s asking me to send arms to the damned natives — that’s how I read it!’ He fumed and fuzzed. ‘Never heard such a thing — never!’
‘There must be more in it than that,’ Dornoch insisted. ‘We must surely credit Ogilvie with enough commonsense not just to ask for weapons to be sent in—’
‘Not even to save his life?’
Dornoch coloured. ‘I resent that, sir, as a slur on my regiment — and an unworthy insult to a first-class young officer. I would be obliged if you would withdraw it.’
‘Oh, stuff-and-nonsense, I never —’
‘Instantly,’ Dornoch snapped.
Fettleworth opened his mouth again, angrily, saw Dornoch’s set expression, remembered that this was no ordinary Colonel but, as a Representative Scottish Peer in the last parliament, an aristocrat very close to the House of Lords and thus a man of much influence in the highest circles of the land. He changed what he had meant to say, ‘Oh, very well, very well, if it pleases you, I withdraw. Now. Tell me what you think I should do.’
‘Do as Ogilvie asks, sir.’
‘I’m damned if I’ll do that! What d’you take me for? Think I’m anxious to be Court Martialled — impeached even, I shouldn’t wonder — for sending help to the enemy? Bah!’ He hunched his shoulders in fury, and glared.
‘Then I can only suggest we wait for Major O’Kelly to turn up, sir. I think you’ll find he’ll discover something in the message that escapes us.’
In a frosty silence, they waited.
*
‘I’m awfully sorry, sir,’ O’Kelly said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t see the point. Why Cunningham, anyway? Who’s he?’
‘My Regimental Sergeant-Major,’ Dornoch said, ‘and that part’s obvious. He was to be used as a step on the way to me, and thence Division.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well, come on,’ Fettleworth said testily.
‘Cunningham will understand,’ O’Kelly murmured, deep in thought. ‘Did he, Colonel?’
‘No! I doubt if he was meant to.’ Breath hissed down Dornoch’s nostrils. ‘I think we can discard Cunningham from the point at which he brought the message to me — don’t you?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be too sure. He will understand. Then it says he’ll act in accordance with instructions. Colonel, what sort of man is Cunningham? Please answer carefully.’
‘Dependable — a tower of strength. He’s a fairly typical Sergeant-Major of the old school.’
‘Go on.’
‘What else can I say?’ Dornoch pondered. ‘Devoted to the regiment — has a high regard for Ogilvie, too. He’s a grand fellow, as a matter of fact. A real fighting soldier.’
‘A man of...attack?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘There I think perhaps we have it, sir,’ O’Kelly turned his sideways look half-left towards Fettleworth and stroked the monkey, Wolseley, perched on his shoulder. ‘It’s possible Captain Ogilvie was indicating in such ways as he could that an attack of some kind should be mounted...very likely under cover of his suggested arms delivery.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s the best I can do.’
‘What about all this business at the end — about Cunning-ham’s khel units?’ Fettleworth pushed distastefully at the much-handled piece of paper, which in truth smelt of its various native bearers. ‘What does all that mean — hey?’
O’Kelly confessed defeat. ‘I really couldn’t say, sir. It could perhaps be a blind to throw hi
s captors off the scent —’
‘Captors, man? Why captors?’ Fettleworth blew out his cheeks.
‘I’m making that assumption,’ O’Kelly said with another sideways look, as crafty as his marmoset. ‘Aren’t you, gentlemen?’
‘After reading this, I no longer think it follows,’ Fettleworth answered, ‘but if in your opinion it does...’ He gave Lord Dornoch an I-told-you-so look.
‘Yes, General?’
‘Oh, never mind. I was assuming he was still operating as an arms peddler, I suppose. Asking for stock, you see, to preserve his safe cover.’
‘Ah, but I think we have to read this message in conjunction with the earlier one, sir. I feel confident he’s a prisoner, and has been made to write this — made to disobey my orders, I might point out — and that naturally it was censored before despatch.’ O’Kelly screwed up his eyes, then metaphorically pounced. ‘Just one moment, sir. The message, if you please, and a blank sheet of paper!’
Fettleworth pushed them across, and waited. O’Kelly brought out a stylographic pen and wrote, pursing his lips. He scanned what he had written, looked pleased, and said, ‘I have it, by jove!’
‘What have you, O’Kelly?’
‘Sir, this last sentence — Am totally trusted and Cunningham’s khel units not deliberately endangering reception of caravan vehicles en route. We’ve agreed it doesn’t make sense, and it’s not intended to.’
‘Yes, yes —’
‘A moment, sir. If you put the first letters of each word together — you see, it’s a very primitive kind of code, the only one he could use — it reads attack under ocver.’
‘Under ocver? What’s ocver?’
‘Cover, sir. Under cover — presumably of the arms caravan. No doubt Captain Ogilvie had to accept the odd spelling — he probably couldn’t think up a sentence that quite fitted.’ The Political Officer coughed discreetly. ‘My first thoughts were correct, you’ll notice, sir.’
Fettleworth snorted in disparagement. ‘It’s a futile suggestion anyway, in my opinion! Might as well have saved his effort. What good could such an attack possibly do — hey?’
‘Little indeed, I imagine, sir. But there may be some deeper purpose yet.’
‘Deeper?’ Fettleworth laughed, irritably. ‘I’ve observed no depth at all so far.’
‘Ogilvie may be in possession of more information than he’s been able to get into a short message, sir. You’ll appreciate how difficult it will have been for him to convey his thoughts within such a compass. He will have had to leave a great deal to us. We must read his mind, sir.’
‘Yes, yes. What d’you think, then, O’Kelly, and do get that blasted animal out of the way of your face, no wonder they say you fellers are as artful as a cartload of monkeys.’ Fettleworth laughed; no one else did, but O’Kelly looked hurt and shifted Wolseley. ‘What’s this deeper purpose?’
‘Well, sir, he may intend to meet the arms delivery himself and pass more information verbally, or he may be trying to convey the necessity of a full-scale attack. He may be suggesting that a large expeditionary force should be sent in, to mount an offensive, rather than that we should wait to be attacked at a time chosen by the tribes themselves.’
‘Hm. That’s your considered opinion, O’Kelly?’
‘It’s by way of being a first reaction at the moment, but I doubt if I’ll find any reason to change it. I’ve had a good deal of experience of the Frontier, with respect, sir, and I think I can. say I know the tribal background. I would not be at all surprised if Ogilvie has come to the conclusion that we would have a better chance in an attacking action than in a defensive one.’
‘Why?’
‘You must remember the sadhu, the holy man. The influence of such men is enormous — so enormous that it is difficult for any Western people to appreciate it fully. Ogilvie will have seen for himself. If we attack in strength before the sadhu has completed his hot-gospelling, then Ogilvie may believe the effect, the psychological—’
‘Psychological pish.’
‘I apologize for the jargon, but it is something that is being discussed these days. Ogilvie may have come to believe the psychological impact could be really, really immense. I would not say he was wrong.’
He sat back, with a triumphant glance around the other officers in the group. Brains had solved a puzzle and had given their solution neatly, and now it was up to the men with the strong right arms. Fettleworth hummed and ha’ed for a moment, then uttered. ‘Of course,’ he said sagely, ‘I take your point, O’Kelly. But it’s a damn big thing, y’know, to send in an expeditionary force when one doesn’t know for certain that the tribes mean to attack us at all! I’m always against actually stirring up border trouble — there’s quite enough of it that needs no stirring. Yes, it’s a big decision, but,’ he added almost smugly now that he saw he was not called upon to act, ‘not one that I am authorized to take upon myself. This now becomes a matter for the General Officer Commanding in Murree. I shall refer it to Sir Thin Ogilvie forthwith.’
Dornoch asked, ‘And Captain Ogilvie, in the meantime?’
‘He, like I, must wait upon Murree now. That’s all, gentlemen.’
*
The wheels of command ground as fast as possible, which was all too slow. In Murree Sir Iain Ogilvie studied Fettle-worth’s fresh despatch and grew increasingly anxious. He found himself in agreement with O’Kelly, whose comments Fettleworth had faithfully and honestly set down in full, noting that there was sound commonsense behind them. But, like the Divisional Commander, the Army Commander’s hands were tied as well and by no means could he despatch an army corps to rescue his own son. To Brigadier-General Leith, Chief of Staff, Sir Thin said the only words he could say: ‘It’s beyond my powers, Leith. This has to go to Calcutta.’
*
In Calcutta the clerkly Civilians, duly consulted by the overall Commander-in-Chief in India, Sir George White, sat upon it hard. The British Raj defended itself — always. No dispute about that! But they did not attack, they did not stir up trouble, they did not oppress the natives — ever. This was an extremely serious proposal and, whilst due weight was naturally to be given to the opinions and advices of such distinguished soldiers as Lieutenants-General Ogilvie and Fettleworth, the final answer could be given only by the Viceroy, the noble Earl of Elgin himself — indeed, and more officially, by the Governor-General of India in Council. Such would take time; many many words would have to be spoken and written, many files of precedent consulted, many learned arguments listened to by the administration and the executive. Such a weighty matter might even have to be referred to the Secretary of State in far Whitehall, and he would have to consult the Prime Minister, who would have to consult the House, who would thereafter advise Her Majesty...
‘Please treat this matter as one of the greatest possible urgency,’ Sir George White pleaded. ‘If we do not act speedily and decisively, the whole Frontier will be in flames. Not least, a young officer remains in danger of his life while we talk, and talk, and talk...’ and the Civilians nodded, and agreed, and decided in their hearts what they would recommend to the Council.
*
‘It’s damnable!’ Dornoch burst out. ‘Utterly, filthily damnable!’ He paced his office, up and down like a tiger. ‘This time it’s not Fettleworth’s fault, unlikely though that sounds. It’s these damn popinjays in Calcutta, prinking themselves in their damn boudoirs and pimping around Viceregal Lodge, licking the Council’s collective backside...’ He paused in the angry flow of words. ‘I shouldn’t have said any of that, Cunningham. Forget it.’
‘Yes, sir. But begging your pardon, sir, it’s right. It’s what I’ve been wanting to say in the Sergeants’ Mess, sir.’
‘But haven’t?’ Dornoch eyes twinkled.
‘Well, sir — yes, I have, in a general way, without revealing what I know, of course, sir.’
‘Then good for you, Sar’nt-Major. And it is right, I agree.’
‘Aye, sir. It’s hard, to t
hink of Captain Ogilvie—’
‘Hard! It’s driving me mad.’
‘Aye, sir,’ Cunningham said again. ‘Of course, it’s not for me to say, and maybe no real good would come of it, but —’ He broke off, gazing down over his vast chest towards his boots.
‘Go on, man, go on, we’re old friends, you can speak your mind as I’ve spoken mine.’
‘Thank you, sir. There are times when a small force can achieve results out of all proportion to its size, sir. I think you’ll agree with that.’
‘I do.’ Dornoch looked hard at the R.S.M. ‘Cunningham, are you suggesting a cutting-out operation — a rescue?’
‘I am that, sir.’
‘You’re an old rascal, my dear Bosom.’
‘Why so, sir?’
Dornoch laughed; it was an edgy laugh. ‘Why, because you know as well as I do Division would never approve such a thing, so it’s pretty obvious what else you’re suggesting, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, sir, I suppose it is. But Nelson got away with it.’
‘In a somewhat different situation, yes. He was already in action. By God, Sar’nt-Major, I’d be with you like a shot if it wasn’t for one thing: Captain Ogilvie may be — must be — working to a plan. I can’t possibly risk upsetting it!’
‘No, sir, that’s true, of course. But I’m thinking his plan must be set around what he asks for in his message — that is, an arms caravan.’
‘He’s not going to get it, I’m afraid.’
‘Aye, sir, and if the arms are not to come, then his plan’ll go agley in any case, sir. And then, if I’m not mistaken, he’ll die.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d not like to stand by in Peshawar and hear of that happening.’
‘No more would I.’
‘Then you’ll get the drift of what I’m saying, sir.’
‘Damn it, man, we don’t even know where he is, other than all Waziristan!’
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