In the Far Pashmina Mountains

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘And why would they want to do that?’ Alice asked, resentment stirring.

  ‘Because they despise us as much as we despise them.’

  Alice itched to ask him if the reason he was so disliked by the Afghans was because he took advantage of their women. But she didn’t want to cause an argument on the eve of his going. She swallowed down her accusation with difficulty. Let him have his way for the moment. Once he was gone, he wouldn’t be able to control what she chose to do.

  At the end of August, the British force wended its way out of the cantonment and into the mountains of the Hindu Kush. Alice stood with the other women on the cantonment wall to wave them off.

  ‘The Lord help us if they’re not successful!’ cried Frances MacNaughten, clasping her husband’s arm.

  ‘Of course they will be!’ said Emily.

  They stood and watched for hours till their backs ached – and the convoy of uniformed soldiers was just a distant thread of red.

  CHAPTER 27

  Kabul, autumn 1840

  News reached them in late September of the Battle of Bamian in the Hindu Kush. The British superior fire-power had overwhelmed Dost Mohammed’s men and his Uzbek allies had fled the battlefield.

  ‘The cavalry pursued them,’ reported Sandy. ‘It was a rout. Vernon might get his promotion to major for this. You should be proud of him.’

  Alice nodded but her feelings were mixed. She was still plagued with dark thoughts about him; a small part of her secretly hoped that he wouldn’t come back. Guilt clutched her. How could she wish ill on the father of her beloved child?

  Later, they learnt that Dost Mohammed and his sons had managed to elude the pursuing British by fleeing on swifter horses. The fugitive amir appeared to have magical powers of escape.

  Sandy was optimistic. ‘He can’t do much harm now that his army’s defeated. One man with his sons is hardly a match for the British army. And the chiefs of the Kohistan in the Hindu Kush have agreed not to harbour him in the future – for a handsome price, of course.’

  ‘Goodness me,’ said Emily. ‘With the amount of treasure we’ve paid out to these tribesmen they should jolly well be our friends.’

  ‘John Sinclair has been negotiating on our behalf,’ said Sandy. ‘He appears to know the people of the Kohistan well.’

  Alice’s heart stopped at the sudden mention of John’s name. Heat flooded her face.

  ‘John Sinclair? Have – have you – are you in touch with him?’ she stammered.

  ‘Not in person,’ said Sandy, ‘but he’s been sending reports to MacNaughten.’

  ‘Is he in Kabul?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s been there for some time. I’ve never seen him. He travels in the mountains picking up intelligence. I believe it was Sinclair who first warned us of Dost Mohammed’s counter-attack.’

  ‘That’s brave of him,’ said Emily, giving Alice an awkward glance. ‘It sounds very dangerous. But then he knows these people well, doesn’t he, being married to one?’

  ‘That’s why he’s so useful to MacNaughten,’ said Sandy. ‘He can pass for a native – goes about dressed like one and lives the life of one, so I’m told.’

  Alice felt breathless. She had tried so hard to put John from her mind. But many times when she had looked towards Kabul – a forbidden city to her – she had wondered if he lived there and walked its streets daily. Did his family live with him or were they out in the countryside? Perhaps his wife was from the Kohistan and that was why John was able to be a negotiator between its chiefs and the British.

  She imagined him living a simple life in the mountains; he would be in his element among the hills with a pastoral people just like his own kind. Alice felt a wave of bitter longing. What if Vernon had lied to her about John? What if his poisonous words about John’s philandering and his disregard for her had been untrue? The men obviously detested each other and had been rivals since Addiscombe. Had Vernon said such things to make sure she extinguished any lingering thoughts of love for John? It was Vernon who was the womaniser if the rumours were true.

  Suddenly Alice had to know. She couldn’t continue to ignore the doubts that clawed inside and left her sleepless. The idea of visiting the city while Vernon was away had occupied her thoughts all month. Now that he might be on his way back, she was all the more determined to do so before he returned to prevent her. She had not defied him by riding out alone in the early mornings; the Aytons too had been aghast at the idea. But she wouldn’t be stopped from going into Kabul. She needed to see for herself the Balla Hissar and the places Vernon frequented. She had to find out the truth about his life there.

  Emily had changed the subject; she was talking about a firework display that was being planned in the cantonment. But Alice had only been half listening.

  ‘Is it safe to go into Kabul do you think?’ Alice interrupted.

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’ Emily asked.

  ‘We’ve come all this way but can only gaze on the city from afar,’ said Alice. ‘Aren’t you curious to see it too?’

  ‘I hear it’s crowded and dirty,’ said Emily, ‘so not really.’

  ‘I’d like to buy a present for Vernon’s return,’ said Alice, inventing a reason. ‘For Lotty to give him. And get some warmer clothing for the winter. They say it can be bitter here.’

  ‘Well, that might be a good idea,’ said Emily. ‘What do you think, Sandy?’

  ‘Would you take us?’ Alice pressed. ‘You know the city well from visiting Shah Shuja.’

  Sandy was easily persuaded once he could see that his wife wanted to go too.

  The following day, accompanied by Sandy and three of his men, they crossed the wooden bridge that the British had built over the river and rode towards Kabul. On the rocky slope behind the city, Alice noticed defensive walls and a crenelated parapet where guards were on duty. This was a well-defended capital.

  Riding through the gateway, they found themselves in a warren of lanes and open-fronted stalls. The streets grew narrower the further in they ventured. It was so crowded with people, animals and carts that their ponies could only go at a slow walking pace, two men in front of the women, two behind.

  Around them, a jumble of flat-roofed houses of differing heights seemed to lean over the lanes and block out the autumnal sunlight. Up they went, climbing towards the citadel. Alice was astonished by the size of the place. They passed numerous bazaars.

  ‘Wait till you see the Great Bazaar,’ said Jamieson, the young lieutenant accompanying them. ‘It’s even bigger. The locals call it the Char Chouk.’

  They dismounted when they arrived at the main bazaar. Sandy led them inside. It was a vast indoor market made up of four linking arcades, which stretched into the gloom. Its walls were decorated with brightly painted panels. Shopkeepers sat in front of huge displays of goods: heaps of fruit, spices and vegetables; displays of armour and weapons, cutlery and earthenware; stacks of sheepskins and bolts of cloth; piles of dead unplucked fowl; and hanging from hooks were deer with staring sightless eyes.

  For Lotty, Alice bought a quilted coat, a sheepskin hat and mittens, and brightly patterned woollen socks with leather soles. She bought herself a fur coat and hat. Unable to decide what to buy Vernon, she asked Sandy to choose.

  ‘What about one of those fine woollen waistcoats?’ he suggested. ‘He can wear it under his uniform or in the house.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Alice, ‘that’s a good choice. He’s always liked smart clothes.’

  Emily bought enthusiastically too. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t brought us here before, Sandy – it’s fascinating.’

  They had their purchases wrapped and left instructions to have them delivered to the cantonment.

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ declared Emily. ‘Can we get some refreshment before we go home?’

  Sandy led them to a teashop; the owner beckoned them in and to sit on his carpet. Alice held back.

  ‘With the time left I’d rather see the Balla Hissa
r,’ she said. ‘Perhaps Lieutenant Jamieson could show me?’

  Sandy was doubtful but the young lieutenant was an eager volunteer, happy to show off his knowledge of the city. They agreed to meet back at the teashop in half an hour.

  Alice and her escort wended their way higher, until they passed through the walls of the lower citadel where the amir’s wives were housed.

  ‘This is where we should have been staying if we hadn’t built the cantonment,’ said Jamieson, ‘but I bet you’re glad you’re not.’

  ‘No, I think this place has a certain charm,’ mused Alice.

  The houses were mainly of the same unburnt brick and mud roofs as elsewhere, but some had entrances of elaborately carved wood. Through them, Alice glimpsed sheltered courtyards with water tanks and fruit trees. The houses had enclosed balconies with shuttered windows running along the length of their upper storeys. She admired the intricate latticework. Some of the shutters were pushed open and veiled women leant out and watched them pass by.

  Alice grew tenser the further on they went; was one of these Vernon’s house? They passed into the main Balla Hissar; this was the fortress that crowned the city and where Shah Shuja had his palace. It was heavily guarded by Gurkhas and Afghan troops but they let the visitors pass through.

  Jamieson led her up to the very top of the citadel. Alice gasped at the view out over the rooftops. Not only could she see the whole of the city with its patchwork of mud roofs, balconies and domed mosques, but far beyond to distant forts on the road to Jalalabad. In the other direction – towards the Hindu Kush – the cantonment lay in full view, basking in the sun. Alice could even pick out her own house, so neatly laid out were the lines – like rows of children’s toy bricks. Kabul appeared impregnable; the army cantonment looked as if it could be swept aside by one swipe of a petulant child.

  A ridiculous thought, of course, Alice realised. The cantonment was just as heavily guarded as the city.

  ‘I’d like you to show me where Lieutenant General Burnes lives,’ Alice told her guide.

  He looked taken aback. ‘I’m not sure . . .’

  ‘Just out of curiosity.’ She smiled. ‘One hears so much about him. What’s the harm in looking?’

  Reluctantly, the young officer agreed. They doubled back the way they had come but once in the lower citadel they veered to the right along a street with substantial-looking houses surrounded by small mature gardens. The entrances were arched – in the ‘Turkish style’, as Jamieson pointed out. Balconies jutted over the street. There were teahouses and artisan workshops on the other side of the road. It all looked prosperous.

  ‘That’s the one,’ Jamieson said, nodding at one of the houses. Alice felt tension across her brow as she gazed up at the windows, wondering how often her husband had enjoyed himself behind its shuttered façade.

  She looked at the houses to either side. Was one of these where Vernon stayed? Did he rent a whole house or just part of one? Two women appeared on Burnes’s balcony; they were unveiled but when they saw her staring up, they pulled their shawls over their faces and dipped from view.

  ‘Have you ever been inside, Lieutenant?’ Alice asked. ‘You can be frank with me – I’m not going to tell anyone.’

  His jaw reddened. ‘Just once or twice. Burnes is very hospitable to us young officers. And he knows a great deal about Afghanistan – far more than the men in charge of our expedition.’

  Alice was surprised by his outspokenness. ‘So you think he was right in saying that Dost Mohammed should have been left in power?’

  He looked uncomfortable, perhaps regretting his candour. He dropped his voice. ‘Shah Shuja doesn’t seem to command the respect that the previous amir did. But we’re here to do the best job we can.’

  ‘Do you know my husband? Captain Buckley?’

  He gave her a guarded look. ‘Yes, he’s a good cavalry officer.’

  ‘And a friend of Burnes’s?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Yes, I believe so.’

  ‘Which is his house?’

  Jamieson went very red. ‘I’m not sure I understand . . .’

  ‘I think you do. My husband spends more time here than in the cantonment. I would like to know which is the house that he keeps here. You won’t get into any trouble for telling me, I promise.’

  Alice’s heart was thudding at her own audacity. She felt humiliated by having to ask but she was not going to leave until she knew.

  He hesitated, then pointed to a narrow building three houses down the street. It had a tall wooden door that was half ajar. Alice dismounted and hurried towards it.

  ‘Wait!’ Jamieson cried out. ‘You can’t go in there!’

  Alice pushed at the open door and found herself standing in a small courtyard with a fountain in the middle. There was a carpet laid out under an almond tree. A small baby was lying naked and wriggling on the carpet, half in shade and half in the warm sunshine. Alice dashed forward, her pulse drumming in her ears. The baby’s soft blond curls were glinting in the sunlight. It was a boy.

  There was a shout from the watchman who had been dozing in the doorway. A woman appeared from the house looking panic-stricken. She gaped at Alice, her shawl falling back from her head. She was beautiful, with a slim face and large dark eyes. Her breasts were engorged with milk. She looked very young.

  The girl snatched up the baby and tried to shoo Alice away.

  Behind, Alice could hear Jamieson trying to placate the watchman.

  ‘Is it Vernon’s baby?’ Alice asked, holding the young woman’s look. ‘Is it Captain Buckley’s baby?’

  She stared back at Alice with fear and incomprehension. Alice repeated her question in Hindustani but the young mother gabbled back at her in a language she couldn’t understand.

  ‘She’s speaking Pashto,’ Jamieson said, pushing past the old man.

  ‘Ask her for me,’ Alice demanded. ‘Ask her if that’s my husband’s child!’

  Jamieson spoke to her in halting words. The Afghan girl looked tearful. She answered in agitation and then, pulling her veil over her and the baby, she fled indoors with him.

  Alice grabbed Jamieson by the arm. ‘What did she say? Tell me!’

  ‘She said Captain Buckley is the father.’

  Bile flooded Alice’s throat. She thought she would be sick on the spot. She couldn’t bear the look of pity on the young officer’s face. Pushing past him, she ran out of the courtyard and back into the dusty street.

  CHAPTER 28

  Alice spent the next few days in a state of numbness. She could not speak of what she had seen – not even to Emily – and told no one about discovering Vernon’s mistress and baby. She did not want to get Lieutenant Jamieson into trouble for taking her but she couldn’t have found the words anyway; she felt as if she had been struck dumb.

  Every time she looked at Lotty and touched her fair curls, Alice was reminded of the infant lying on the Afghan rug in the dappled sunlight, his long limbs, his honey-blond hair and his round contented face. His hair and skin had been a shade darker than her daughter’s and his eyes may have been brown but he and Lotty looked like brother and sister – they were brother and sister!

  What was the baby’s name? How old was he? At a guess, Alice would have said he was about three months old – no more than four. He must have been born in early to midsummer at a time when Alice was despairing at Vernon’s lacklustre health and spirits. Perhaps Vernon wasn’t impotent at all; he just didn’t want to be intimate with her. Had he lain there in their bed thinking of his Afghan lover, longing to be with her instead?

  Did Vernon love this woman – this girl – who could be no more than sixteen or seventeen? Or was she just one of several mistresses? Was he like Burnes in keeping a harem of dependent women? And, if so, could there be other illegitimate children either born or on their way? Alice veered between queasy humiliation and bubbling anger. How little Vernon must think of her – or their daughter – to behave so callously. After two years of marriage Alice knew
for certain that her husband had been unfaithful for at least half of it.

  Who else knew about Vernon’s other household? Was it common knowledge among the British officers or only those few who kept houses in the city? Surely Sandy Ayton and others on MacNaughten’s political staff would not condone such behaviour? It would reflect badly on the British administration, just as Burnes’s harem did. The British of the cantonment put up with Vernon’s opium smoking and erratic behaviour in drink because he was a good cavalry officer. Would they be so forgiving if they knew about his Afghan mistress and child? Had Jamieson already told his fellow officers what they had discovered? Perhaps the men didn’t care – saw it as one of the spoils of war – as long as wives and families didn’t get to know.

  But now Alice did know. The knowledge of what Vernon had done was like acid in her stomach, nauseating and corrosive. She found it hard to sleep or eat. Alice kept picturing the young mother snatching up her baby and clasping him protectively to her swollen breasts. Had she feared that Alice had come to take her half-feringhi boy away from her? The Afghan girl had been petrified and yet fierce in her determination to fend off Alice.

  At first Alice had been full of resentment and anger at the other woman; Vernon chose to spend his time with her and her child rather than with Alice and Lotty. Yet the more Alice thought about the household in Kabul, the more she felt sorry for the Pashto-speaking girl. What bribery had Vernon used to lure her to him – what sweet promises and gifts? She must have gone against the wishes of her family, for the Afghans were renowned for defending the honour of their women and punishing those who transgressed.

  But what would happen to the girl and her bastard baby when the British left Kabul – an outcome that was bound to happen sooner or later? Would Vernon abandon his mistress as easily as he had taken up with her? Alice suspected that he would. She began to feel sorry for the young woman and her child. She despised Vernon for what he was doing. Whenever Alice thought of her husband now she felt revulsion. She had tried hard to love him and make his life happy but to what purpose? Vernon had tricked her into marriage by his relentless wooing of her after George’s death. Why had he bothered?