In the Far Pashmina Mountains

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘I wish you could come,’ her friend said to Alice. ‘I will miss you and Lotty a great deal. But I understand how you can’t leave Vernon.’

  ‘I’ll miss you Aytons too,’ said Alice, pulling Alexander into a hug and tickling his tummy. The boy squealed to be let go and then came back for another tickle.

  On the eve of the move to Jalalabad, Alice walked back from the cantonment hospital lost in thought about Vernon. She knew he endured great pain but he was more querulous and demanding with each visit, ordering her to bring him brandy and criticising her for not staying longer. Never once did he ask after Lotty.

  His arm wound was healing well but his leg was giving the doctors concern. The wound was weeping and they were fighting to make sure it didn’t become gangrenous. Away from her husband’s hearing, they were talking about amputation. Alice knew Vernon would never cope as an invalid; he prided himself on his manliness and being a soldier.

  As she reached the mission compound, Alice was brought up short by the sound of a familiar voice and laughter in the half-dark.

  ‘Colin MacRae, is that you?’ she called out in astonishment.

  The uniformed lieutenant stepped out from the shadowed archway. ‘It is indeed.’ Colin grinned, coming forward and kissing her hand.

  ‘I didn’t know you were in Afghanistan,’ Alice said in delight.

  ‘Arrived a few days ago. I’ve been with the horse artillery in the hills – came up from Kandahar during the summer.’ He smiled. ‘You are looking well. Marriage to Buckley must be suiting you after all.’

  Alice flushed. She remembered how Colin had warned her about Vernon and disapproved of the match. How right he had been.

  ‘My husband is severely wounded,’ said Alice by way of an answer. ‘I’ve just come from the hospital.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, his smile fading.

  Alice was suddenly aware of a movement in the shadows. A tall turbaned figure loomed out of the dark, a dagger glinting in his belt. She gasped. ‘Colin, careful!’

  Colin half turned. ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘I know that tribesman well.’

  The Afghan stepped into the dusk light. ‘Mrs Buckley,’ he said with a curt bow.

  She looked into his swarthy bearded face and knew him at once. The familiar green eyes made her heart lurch. So he knew about her second marriage.

  ‘Lieutenant Sinclair,’ she said, her mouth drying.

  For a moment, all three stood in a tense silence. There seemed to be so many questions hanging in the air between them that no one knew what to say.

  ‘I – I saw you ride in with Dost Mohammed,’ Alice blurted out.

  John’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You did?’

  ‘I didn’t know it was you, of course. Not with you dressed like that. But I saw your arrival with Sandy and MacNaughten. I was watching from the walls.’

  ‘She’d make a better spy than you, John,’ teased Colin.

  Unexpectedly, John laughed. ‘So she would.’ He scrutinised her. ‘Do you make a habit of wandering about the town after dark? I’m surprised your husband allows it.’

  Alice was wounded by the remark. She wondered how much John knew about Vernon’s double life – probably a great deal.

  ‘He’s in no position to tell me what to do,’ said Alice. ‘He’s fighting for his life in the hospital.’

  John glanced away. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of his injuries. And I didn’t mean to offend you, Mrs Buckley.’

  Alice’s chest tightened. His formality was worse than his mockery. She had dreamt of the moment when she would see him again and find out about his new life, but now they eyed each other warily like strangers. Too much had happened since their last meeting. Their emotional farewell in Simla seemed a lifetime ago.

  ‘Can I offer you both some refreshment?’ she asked, suddenly desperate to spin out this moment together.

  ‘That’s kind,’ said Colin, ‘but I’m on my way to dine with Sturt and Jamieson.’

  Alice felt herself reddening further at the mention of Jamieson, the young officer whom she had forced into revealing where Vernon’s Kabul house was.

  ‘And I must return to the city,’ said John. ‘There is much to do before we set off tomorrow.’

  ‘You are going to Jalalabad too?’ Alice asked, unable to keep the dismay from her voice.

  ‘I’m to help smooth the way with the unruly natives,’ he said dryly.

  ‘When will you return?’ she asked.

  He gave her a sharp look. ‘That’s not for me to say. Perhaps in the spring.’

  Alice swallowed a lump in her throat. She felt suddenly very alone.

  ‘That’s a long time to be parted from your family,’ she said. ‘No doubt you will miss them.’

  He gave her such a fierce look that Alice wished she hadn’t mentioned them. Of course he would miss them; she was the unhappily married one, not he.

  ‘Perhaps you will both come and dine with me – with us – when you are next in the cantonment?’ she said.

  ‘I doubt if Captain Buckley would want that,’ said John.

  Alice ignored this, glancing at Colin instead. ‘Will you be stationed here now, Lieutenant MacRae?’

  ‘For the short term,’ he replied.

  ‘Then I look forward to seeing something of you. You must come and meet my daughter Lotty – she’ll be lost without young Alex Ayton to play with, so any distraction over the winter would be a help.’

  Colin smiled. ‘I’d be delighted to.’

  The two men bowed at her as she made her way past. ‘Good luck, Lieutenant Sinclair,’ she murmured.

  As she turned towards her house, she was aware that they watched her. She could hear them talking to each other in a rapid language she didn’t understand – probably Gaelic. John’s voice sounded angry, Colin’s placatory. She could only imagine how John was saying something contemptuous about her being Vernon’s wife and Colin was possibly defending her. Alice couldn’t reach her door quickly enough. She hurried in and went in search of Lotty for comfort.

  The girl was washed and ready for bed. Gita was singing her lullabies while Lotty sat on her knee having her wavy hair brushed. Both the songs and the rhythmic brushing soothed Alice’s restless daughter. She sucked her thumb and gazed dreamily into space.

  Lotty spotted her mother and scrabbled to her feet. Alice put out her arms and swung her up into a loving embrace.

  ‘You smell so sweet I could gobble you up!’ Alice said, kissing her cheeks.

  Lotty giggled and thrust her fingers into Alice’s hair, pulling at its loose coils. At eighteen months, the girl was parroting her words.

  ‘Gobble you up.’ She laughed and sucked on her mother’s hair.

  Alice buried her nose in her daughter’s neck and breathed in her scent. Why had she mentioned Lotty to Colin? Was it because she wanted John to know that she was a parent too – that she was happy as a mother if not as a wife? He’d made no comment. Perhaps he didn’t care. There was nothing in their short conversation that had indicated any interest on his part about her life. And why should he? They were both married to others and their lives had diverged so completely that there was no longer any common interest.

  So why was it that her heart ached anew for John? Just seeing him again – looking into his lively green eyes – had made her deeply buried longing erupt inside like molten lava. How could she bear to see him again? How could she bear not to? As she hugged her daughter tight, Alice thought it was just as well that John was leaving for Jalalabad with the dawn. If this was the emotional turmoil she felt when meeting him then at least she would be spared it for the next few months.

  CHAPTER 29

  Kabul, spring 1841

  Lotty learnt to skate that winter on the frozen river. She was a sturdy walker and was happy to slide and skid across the ice, holding on between Alice and Dinah Sale. Dinah was full of excitement about her wedding plans. Johnny Sturt had promised her that
it would be this summer.

  ‘As early as possible,’ said Dinah. ‘I can’t wait for him to get back from Jalalabad.’ She gave Alice a coy look. ‘And we both want to get started on a family. I’d love to have a child as gorgeous as yours.’

  Alice smiled. ‘You will make wonderful parents. Lieutenant Sturt is such a kind young man.’

  Alice had been grateful for the company of Dinah and her mother over the winter months. They had joined in or spectated at the cantonment activities of riding, horse racing, duck shooting and evening charades. Twice a week, Alice helped out at the cantonment school, giving lessons to the children of non-commissioned officers. She kept as busy as she could and away from the house as much as possible, where Vernon barked orders ill-temperedly from a truckle bed by the fire.

  The doctors had saved his leg from amputation but Vernon could not hide the constant pain it gave him. He routinely drank brandy to dull it. It had aged him. He looked drawn and thin-faced, his eyes sunken and dark-ringed. His other leg had withered with lack of use and he needed the servants’ help to get him up and onto the commode.

  Recently, the news that Major-General Elphinstone (son of the Elphinstone who had wooed the Afghans into an alliance a generation previously) was to be their new commander in Kabul had galvanised her husband into making an effort to get out of bed and try to walk again. It was a surprise appointment for the elderly Elphinstone; though a hero of Waterloo, he had not served in India before.

  ‘He knows nothing of India let alone Afghanistan,’ Vernon fulminated. ‘What are those useless politicians doing in London? I bet it’s just because his father was a director of the Company. They say he’s riddled with gout and can hardly walk.’

  This seemed to be the impetus Vernon needed to prove that he was still soldier material. ‘I can’t wait to get back in the saddle,’ he declared, with a lascivious look at Alice.

  She ignored his double entendres, thankful that as yet his suggestive remarks had not been put into practice.

  Alice had been sad that Colin MacRae had never come to visit. Either he had kept away because Vernon was always there or he had been sent out on duties elsewhere, for she had not seen him all winter.

  Alice’s life was largely confined to the cantonment, though as the snows receded and the spring flowers spread across the riverbanks, she started to take Lotty for picnics with other young officers’ wives and their families. Some of the officers would attend too; once or twice Vernon came along. As his strength returned and he was able to ride again, he liked to flirt with the other women and teach cricket to their young sons. He walked with a slight limp, which provoked sympathy among the women, while his stories of battle drew admiration from the boys.

  Vernon made a big show of being affectionate to Alice and Lotty in front of others, whereas behind the closed doors of their home he either ignored them or was coldly critical.

  Lotty thrilled at the times her father made a fuss of her, giggling when he lifted her up to ride in front of him or when he gave her titbits of food from his meal.

  ‘Me play ’ricket too, Daddy! Me too!’ she would squeal, longing to join in the games of the older children.

  ‘Girls don’t play cricket, Lotty,’ he would say with an indulgent smile. ‘You just watch like a good girl.’ If his daughter got in the way too much, Vernon would give Alice a sharp look. ‘Keep an eye on her – don’t want her getting hurt, do we?’

  Alice’s heart ached for her daughter; the little girl was baffled by her father’s moods, which veered between affection, irritation and indifference.

  In May, Lotty turned two. Alice held a birthday picnic at which Vernon distributed lavish presents to the other children and made a fuss of his daughter. Lotty was so excited she was sick. Afterwards, Vernon berated Alice for allowing such rich food and then disappeared back to the citadel for the rest of the week.

  He seemed to be able to come and go as he pleased. His new commander Elphinstone’s control was lax; the genial but ageing general was largely housebound with rheumatic fever and his second-in-command, Brigadier Shelton, often countermanded his orders. Or so Florentia told Alice. Sale was obviously irked at being caught in the middle.

  As the heat of the summer grew intense, Alice resumed early morning riding, partly to enjoy the cooler air and partly to ease her frustration with being cooped up in the cantonment. She felt hemmed in by life in the mission compound. While Vernon was away indulging himself in Kabul she would do as she pleased, she decided. Their syce, Ravi, would ride out with her for protection.

  Alice relished cantering out across the plain as the dawn light spilled over the eastern mountain tops, and she was reminded of her carefree life long ago at Tolland Park riding with her father before breakfast. She went as far as the King’s Gardens, a pleasant oasis of trees and water tanks between the cantonment and the city, before turning back. She still took pleasure from the simple things in life, such as the wind in her face and the sight of a rushing river, and for that she was thankful.

  As she was returning one early morning, Alice became aware of hoof beats behind. She glanced back and saw a lone turbaned rider gaining on her. She kicked her horse into a gallop and Ravi did likewise. But before she could reach the safety of the mission compound the rider had caught her up. Ravi turned to defend his mistress, raising his sword.

  ‘I mean no harm to Mrs Buckley!’ the man called out in Hindustani.

  A jolt went through Alice. She reined in her horse. ‘Lieutenant Sinclair?’

  ‘Aye,’ he answered, pulling up beside her. ‘What are you doing out here with just one servant for protection?’

  She could hardly breathe at his sudden nearness, let alone speak.

  He frowned. ‘It’s too risky. What is your husband thinking of?’

  Alice was piqued. ‘My husband couldn’t care less what I do and he isn’t here to stop me.’

  She immediately regretted her words. His look changed from concern to pity.

  ‘Well, he should care,’ said John. ‘There is much unrest in the countryside. You could be a target for kidnap and ransom or worse. You are being very foolish, Mrs Buckley.’

  Suddenly she couldn’t bear his censure. It was bad enough being constantly criticised and belittled by Vernon but John had no right to tell her what to do.

  ‘You exaggerate my importance,’ she retorted, throwing him a defiant look. ‘But it’s a risk I’m prepared to take. I can only bear the rest of the day being in the stifling cantonment if I can feel the dawn breeze on my face. Not that it’s any concern of yours.’

  This momentarily silenced him. He held her look and then said, ‘Not my concern at all. But you have a child. For her sake you should not take such risks.’

  Alice was stung by the rebuke; all the more so because she did feel pangs of guilt at leaving Lotty to go riding. What would happen to her daughter if some accident befell Alice? Would Vernon palm the girl off on another family or send her home to England to relations she had never met? Either fate for Lotty distressed her.

  Alice answered him hotly. ‘Don’t lecture me on how to look after my daughter. She is the one person in the world that I would walk through fire for. I will never let harm come to her and I don’t intend leaving her motherless.’ She saw him flinch but carried on berating him. ‘Look to your own family, Lieutenant, and their welfare – but don’t you dare lecture me about mine!’

  She pulled on her reins to turn her horse away but he grabbed her gloved hand. ‘Wait! Forgive me. I didn’t mean to lecture you. I’m just troubled to see you out on your own.’

  ‘Not on my own,’ Alice pointed out. ‘Ravi is with me.’

  John nodded at the syce in acknowledgement. ‘True, but one groom is hardly protection against marauding Ghilzais.’

  Her hand was hot in the glove under his touch. He leant so close that she could see the pulse beating in his throat. The green of his eyes looked all the more vivid against his sun-darkened skin. Alice swallowed.

 
‘Surely you exaggerate the danger? I’ve heard MacNaughten dismiss such talk as gloomy nonsense. He says the only trouble in the country is infighting between the tribes – it comes with the hot weather, and is not aimed at the British.’

  ‘And I’ve come to try to warn him that he is wrong,’ John said grimly. ‘There is much resentment building against the British.’

  ‘But why?’ Alice asked.

  ‘As many reasons as there are tribes.’ John let out a sigh. ‘The Ghilzais have been subjected to unprovoked attacks and now see their ancient forts being taken over and rebuilt by foreign invaders. The Douranee chiefs around Kandahar do not see why they should pay extra tribute to the King when they are already loyal to him. The Kazilbashis are furious; they were told that they would get paid for helping fight against Dost Mohammed but all the promises have been broken.’

  ‘I thought we had paid them handsomely? Sandy certainly said so.’

  ‘But I bet he didn’t say that the Kohistan tribes had to raise taxes on their own people in order to fund that payment,’ John said scathingly.

  Alice blushed. ‘That doesn’t seem fair.’

  ‘It’s not,’ said John. ‘And it’s time the British sat up and listened to their grievances – that’s if they ever want to leave Afghanistan. Some of the chiefs are beginning to think the British have no intention of leaving.’

  ‘You talk about the British as if you are no longer one of us,’ said Alice. ‘Is that how you feel?’

  ‘I’m first and foremost a Highlander,’ he answered, with a wry half-smile, ‘and then a soldier of the East India Company. That is where my loyalties lie.’

  ‘And not to your Afghan family? It seems to me that you are very sympathetic to the Afghan point of view.’

  Abruptly, he pulled away, his smile vanishing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I have no right to assume such a thing.’

  ‘I will see you back safely,’ he said curtly.

  They trotted back in silence, Alice berating herself for raising the subject of John’s family. He obviously resented her prying, yet she longed to know more about them. Ravi followed. Alice wondered how much Gita’s husband had understood of their exchange. But she trusted him not to tell Vernon of the encounter. Ravi felt more loyalty to her than to Vernon; she was a better employer to him and Gita than Vernon could ever be.