In the Far Pashmina Mountains

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  He thought with frustration of the months of confinement stretching ahead. He should have returned with Colin while he had the chance. Why had he been so reckless and insisted on exploring as far as Ladakh? Deep inside he feared he knew the answer. In India he would always be at risk of running into Alice in one of the army cantonments; his life there would be full of reminders that she was another man’s wife.

  Here in the mountains he was free of all the painful associations of the past summer and his angry parting with Alice. There was no Company, no Simla gossip, no superiors ordering him about, just the freedom to ride and explore and pit his strength against the elements. Perhaps he had always intended to escape, leaving it too late to make the journey back.

  John mocked himself. Except he now had less freedom. Here he was in Leh, a prisoner to a benign captor, but a prisoner nonetheless.

  ‘We’ll just have to see what the astrologers have in mind for us,’ he told Rajban as they sat by their smoky stove and warmed themselves with a drink from John’s precious supply of brandy.

  A week later, the snow and winds came and turned the landscape into an icy desert.

  CHAPTER 19

  Calcutta, April 1837

  Please, Mrs Gillveray, will you tell us the story about Wellington the sheep again?’

  Alice smiled at the eager-faced schoolgirl. ‘Perhaps another day – if you work hard at your letters. But now it’s time for you to go home. I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow morning. Class is dismissed.’

  As they handed in their slates and chalk, Alice felt a wave of affection for her young Bengali pupils, whom she had got to know well over the past months. They left with a cheerful chorus of goodbyes. She smiled to herself as she returned the slates to the chest in the corner of the schoolroom and wiped her own chalky fingers. The school and its girls had been a lifeline for her that winter back in Calcutta.

  The cold season had been busy with social events and much entertainment at Governor’s House, instigated by Auckland’s gregarious sisters. Emily had thrown herself into it all with enthusiasm and insisted on Alice taking part in everything from picnics at Barrackpore Park to masquerades in Fort William.

  Alice had put on a brave face of enjoying Calcutta society, knowing that her friend was trying to make her forget the upset of losing her baby, but her heart wasn’t in it. George was equally tepid in his enthusiasm. Her husband had never much enjoyed dances or grand dinners, much preferring to stay at home sipping a brandy on the veranda and reading by lamplight after a busy day at the botanic gardens.

  Her fondness for George had returned and he had been full of concern and affection for her when she had suffered a further miscarriage – this one at only a few weeks – the knowledge of which they had kept to themselves.

  Alice had determined to find a way to fill her days with more purpose. George was completely absorbed in his work; she should do something more worthwhile too.

  Alice had turned to her friends Miss Cook and Mrs Meadows and volunteered her help once more at the school. What began as an assistant’s job of handing out slates and showing the younger ones how to thread needles soon progressed to teaching her own class in reading, writing and arithmetic. And stories. Alice smiled. The girls all loved stories.

  Now the hot weather was starting again and soon Auckland and his staff, including the Aytons, would be setting off on the long journey back up to Simla.

  That afternoon, Emily appeared at their bungalow to take tea, bringing baby Alexander with her. Alice’s initial pain at the baby’s presence had soon turned into affection. He was a sunny-natured infant with a shock of fair hair and a gummy smile. They laid him on a rug on the veranda and let him wriggle.

  ‘You will be coming with us to Simla, won’t you?’ Emily asked. ‘You know how ill you became staying in Calcutta last May.’

  ‘I have my duties at the school,’ Alice reminded her friend.

  ‘Surely the missionaries can cope without you for a while? They seem impervious to the heat.’

  ‘It depends on George,’ said Alice, sitting on the floor and letting Alexander stuff her finger in his mouth.

  ‘You could come ahead with us and he could join you later, couldn’t he?’

  ‘What could I do?’ George appeared on the steps. ‘Are you ladies plotting something?’

  Alice laughed and stood up to greet him. ‘Emily is always plotting. I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’

  ‘I thought we could go for a ride before it gets dark,’ said George, kissing her on the forehead.

  Alice smiled. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘I’m pleading with Alice,’ said Emily, ‘to come to Simla with us. Don’t you think that’s a good idea? Alexander and I will miss her far too much if she doesn’t. And you could join her later, couldn’t you?’

  ‘I could,’ George agreed. Alice could see his indecision. Few people could withstand Emily’s entreaties for long. She seemed so mild natured but was one of the most persuasive people that Alice knew. She usually got her way.

  ‘We’ll talk about it on our ride,’ Alice said, not wanting him to be browbeaten into a hasty decision.

  ‘Oh, do come!’ cried Emily. ‘Simla just won’t be the same without you.’

  Alice knelt down and tickled Alexander. ‘Your mama just won’t take no for an answer, will she?’

  The baby giggled and threw back his hands in delight.

  Alice and George rode across the Esplanade and watched the sun sinking behind the fort. The air was filling with the noise of birds and the call to prayer at a nearby mosque. They dismounted and went to sit by one of the water tanks; the orange sky was reflected in its tranquil surface.

  ‘Do you want to return to Simla?’ George asked.

  Alice thought back to the previous year and of how much she had hated Calcutta in the heat – how she had turned into a person she had disliked and George hadn’t recognised. It worried her that she might come across John in Simla – the place would be full of memories of him – but such a meeting was unlikely. She had picked up no rumours that he had ever returned from the mountains and, if he had, he would no doubt avoid Simla in case she was there.

  She had resigned herself to a life without John and her thoughts about him had lessened until she felt only a dull ache of disappointment when he came to mind. Alice hoped that wherever he was he was safe, but her life was with George and she would make the best of it she possibly could.

  ‘I do want to go to the hills,’ she answered, ‘but not without you.’

  What she wanted above all else was for her to be able to carry a child to full term and for them to be parents. But she didn’t have to say that aloud as she knew that George felt the same.

  ‘Your health is paramount,’ said George, taking her hand in his. ‘I don’t want to see you become sick again – and the air in Simla suits you. I’d be happier if you went with the Aytons rather than delaying and waiting for me. I have work I must finish at the gardens – the tea trials – before I could join you.’

  Alice knew it was no use arguing – as she had last year – that he had no need to work and that he could spend as much time in the hills as he wanted. For she understood that George’s work was what gave him purpose and that it would be selfish to insist that he travel with her.

  ‘I’ll go if you promise me you’ll join me as soon as you can,’ said Alice.

  He raised her hand and kissed it. ‘Of course I promise, my dearest.’

  On the eve of Alice’s departure, a letter arrived. It was from Colin MacRae. George looked visibly shaken as he read it.

  ‘Tell me what it says,’ Alice urged.

  He looked up, his face troubled. ‘It’s about Lieutenant Sinclair. MacRae has only recently heard the news because he has been moving about with his regiment.’

  Alice’s heart began to hammer. ‘What news? Is it bad?’

  ‘Sinclair sent a letter last October saying he was detained in Ladakh against his will.’

>   ‘Lieutenant Sinclair’s a prisoner?’ Alice gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘Then he can’t be accused of desertion.’

  George looked sombre. ‘He has got himself involved in some political plot between the Ladakhis and the Sikhs. He shouldn’t have been there. I don’t think the Company will look favourably on such recklessness, especially if it has embroiled them in trouble with the Sikhs.’

  Alice felt nauseated at the thought of John being captive.

  ‘Does it say under what conditions he’s being held? It would be terrible if he were suffering. Surely the Company will do something to have him released!’

  ‘I’m very sorry, my dear.’ George gave her a pitying look. ‘I know you hold him in high regard.’

  Alice flushed. ‘I just don’t wish to see any harm befall him.’

  She saw his eyes glistening with sorrow. ‘Alice,’ he said quietly, ‘I know who John Sinclair is.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her heart drummed uncomfortably.

  ‘He’s the young man you saved from the Berwickshire. I didn’t remember at first. But when I saw the two of you together I knew that you weren’t strangers to each other. Then it came back to me how fondly you talked of him when you spoke of the rescue – how you had nursed him out of danger.’

  Alice felt her insides twist. She put her face in her hands, unable to deny any of it.

  ‘I think John Sinclair holds an equally high opinion of you.’

  ‘Don’t, George,’ Alice whispered.

  ‘Was there an understanding between the two of you when you were younger?’

  Alice was going to deny it but the look of compassion on her husband’s face gave her the courage to admit it. George deserved the truth.

  ‘Yes, there was. But Thomasina and Danny withheld our letters to each other – out of spite and greed I believe – and so we thought the worst of one another. It was only in Simla that we found out what must have happened.’ She looked at him unhappily. ‘I’m so sorry, George. I never meant to hurt you. And John would never have come between us – he admires you and he doesn’t want to see me again.’

  ‘I don’t blame either of you,’ he said. ‘When you love someone you can’t help how you feel. It must have taken great willpower for the two of you to resist your attraction to one another. I will always be grateful for that, Alice – that you chose to stay with me.’

  ‘I would never have left you!’ Alice’s eyes smarted with tears. ‘I’m your wife, not his.’

  George said, ‘I hope he has not rushed into trouble because of finding you married to me. I would feel responsible for his plight if that were so.’

  ‘Oh, George!’ Alice looked at him in anguish. She held out her arms. He hesitated and then went to her.

  He encircled her in his wiry hold, his jacket smelling comfortingly of camphor and tobacco.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything before about knowing who John was?’ Alice asked.

  ‘I could see how hard you were trying to resist your feelings,’ George said frankly, ‘and I loved you for it. It’s enough that you are fond of me. At my time in life each day with you is a delight and a gift I don’t deserve.’

  Alice said tearfully, ‘I don’t deserve you. I couldn’t have asked for a better husband.’ She looked into his craggy face. ‘I do care for you very much.’

  He smiled. ‘I know.’ He kissed her brow and held her gently while she wept on his shoulder.

  Alice wasn’t sure if she shed tears for their marriage, which would always be one of companionship rather than passion – or for John in exile; the only man she would ever truly love.

  ‘It’s charming!’ Alice exclaimed as Emily showed her around Carrick Lodge, the house that Sandy had rented for the season in Simla. ‘And the views of the mountains from the veranda . . .’ She caught her breath at the sight of snowy peaks rising above the clouds like a fairy-tale island afloat in a pearly sea.

  ‘Much better than Daisy Cottage, isn’t it?’ said Emily.

  ‘Much better,’ Alice agreed.

  She was thankful that they weren’t returning to the cramped, damp cottage of the previous year with its painful associations. Daisy Cottage had been to the south of the ridge whereas Carrick Lodge was high on the Elysium spur to the north, with a breathtaking view of the Himalayas.

  ‘And it’s so close to Auckland House,’ Emily said, ‘so we’ll be handy for all of the Edens’ parties.’

  It wasn’t long before the round of social engagements began: picnics at Annandale, dances at the Assembly Rooms, musical soirées and dinners at Auckland House.

  Wherever Alice went, she tried to glean more about the situation in Ladakh and what might be happening to John. Both Alice and the Aytons were concerned about his fate and Sandy endeavoured to find out more through his position on Auckland’s staff.

  ‘Colin MacRae has been putting in a word on his friend’s behalf,’ Sandy reported, ‘but Auckland’s not very sympathetic.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’ exclaimed Emily. ‘Sinclair shouldn’t just be abandoned. Better to face a court-martial in India than a worse fate in Tibet or wherever he’s being held.’

  ‘It’s complicated, dear,’ said Sandy.

  ‘Please tell us,’ Alice pleaded.

  Sandy frowned. ‘There’s trouble stirring among the Afghans again – their amir, Dost Mohammed, is threatening to go to war with the Sikhs over Peshawar. The Afghans want it back. Auckland doesn’t want anything to upset our good relations with the Sikhs but he also wants co-operation from the amir. There’re fresh rumours that the Russians are behind unrest in eastern Afghanistan so we need the Afghans as allies too.’

  ‘What’s all that got to do with John’s plight?’ Emily asked in confusion.

  Sandy sighed. ‘I’m afraid that the capture of one solitary Company soldier, who had no business to be where he was, is just an extra irritation for the Governor General when there are far more pressing concerns demanding his attention.’

  Alice swallowed her disappointment, trying not to show how anxious she was for John. Perhaps if the Sikhs were being threatened by the Afghans then they would abandon their attempts to take Ladakh.

  Powerless to do anything for John, Alice threw her energies once more into helping with girls’ education. Alice went most days to the rudimentary schoolhouse close to the bazaar run by her friend, Miss Wallace, to teach sewing and basic reading and counting.

  She wrote to George telling him all about her work and enjoyed receiving his affectionate letters. As always he enthused about his experiments at the botanic gardens. She was glad that there was no bad feeling between them after their frank conversation about John.

  ‘When is he coming to join us?’ asked Emily.

  ‘He says at the end of August,’ Alice said, ‘when the worst of the rains are over.’

  ‘Well, at least there is no shortage of officers to partner you at the dances,’ Emily said. ‘George has only himself to blame for leaving you a grass widow when so many handsome captains are falling in love with you.’

  Alice winced at Emily’s unintended barb. Her friend knew nothing of George’s sadness at Alice’s love for John.

  ‘What nonsense,’ Alice retorted. ‘I’ve given no encouragement to anyone.’

  ‘No you haven’t’ – Emily laughed – ‘but Sandy says that many of Auckland’s staff talk of the pretty Mrs Gillveray. It piques them that you prefer to spend more time with native urchins than them.’

  Alice dismissed Emily’s chatter but she had noticed that Vernon Buckley was particularly solicitous towards her at social functions. Alice was cool with him, angered at his part in damaging John’s reputation among the British in Simla the previous year. Gossip saying that John had indulged in drinking and wenching and then run off with Company money was still circulating around the town a year later.

  So when Vernon asked her to dance, she would feign tiredness and stay seated. She got a s
mall flicker of satisfaction to see how his handsome, patrician face frowned in annoyance when she accepted the hand of other officers to dance. But her disdain for him had the opposite effect from that which she intended. Vernon remained attentive, bringing her refreshments and making flattering comments.

  ‘I’m full of admiration for your work with the native children,’ he told her.

  ‘Are you really?’ Alice replied, her tone disbelieving.

  ‘Of course. It’s very Christian of you and to be applauded.’

  ‘Then perhaps you would like to contribute to the school’s funding?’ Alice challenged.

  ‘I’d be delighted to,’ Vernon replied.

  Nobody was more surprised than Alice when Miss Wallace told her gleefully that Captain Buckley had sent over his tailor to make new shirts and tunics for the pupils.

  ‘You shouldn’t be so hard on poor old Vernon,’ Emily chided. ‘It’s just in his nature to want to please.’

  ‘In his nature to flirt,’ said Alice. ‘He knows I’m a married woman yet it doesn’t seem to make any difference to him.’

  ‘Has he done anything improper?’ Emily asked.

  ‘No,’ Alice admitted.

  ‘And he’s given generously to the school, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then is there any reason why you can’t allow him the occasional dance?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Alice conceded with reluctance.

  When Alice did agree to put Vernon on her dance card he was so pleased, blushing like a boy in excitement, that she found it almost endearing. He danced exceptionally well and Alice noticed the envious glances from the young unmarried daughters of staff officers eager to make a match with the eligible captain.

  But she treated him with mild indifference, not wanting to encourage any false rumours that might cause George embarrassment. She was puzzled as to why Vernon showed her attention at all.

  One day, as she was leaving the school to return home to Carrick Lodge, she found him waiting outside with a hired jampan.