‘Mourn you?’ she asked. ‘Why did you come back? Do you think I will come with you into the mountains?’
He grinned. ‘No, no, my Laura. You may remain here. I have come back on a mission for Prince Akbar.’
Laura frowned at him; Akbar was Dost Mohammed’s eldest son. ‘What mission?’
‘To alert our people, here in Kabul, that the time is nearly ripe. Oh, the British may suppose that they have set this Shuja on our throne, but they know nothing. Shuja is hated throughout the land. When the time is right, we shall rise up and deal with him, and all of his supporters. Including the British.’ His teeth gleamed at her. ‘It will be war! War such as I have always dreamed of. And you will be at my side, my Laura.’
Bombay, 12 August 1840
I have been forced to abandon Laura! I hope and pray this may be only temporary. But even a temporary separation after the joys we shared last winter is a harrowing experience.
In the New Year, I was filled with the happiness of fulfilment. Oh, any man who has lived and not held Laura Dean naked in his arms has never lived at all!
As it happens, many have known that sublime happiness. But they are all dead. I am alive.
I cannot pretend our liaison has made me immensely popular with my compatriots, but that means nothing to me. Nor have my constant letters insisting upon her innocence and demanding her forgiveness by the Company, her acquittal of all charges — of which she is entirely innocent — made me very popular with my superiors. But that means nothing either.
And now this peremptory recall to duty.
I was tempted to remain in the softness of Laura’s arms. But Laura would not permit me to take so desperate a step, and on reflection I must admit that she was right. She has no more desire to end her days in Kabul than have I, and her only hope of escaping that foul place is for me to arrange for a pardon for her, and a triumphal return to Bombay.
This I certainly intend to do. If I fail, well, at least I know where she is, and that she is waiting for me.
In Afghanistan, it all seems very settled. We gave them a good drubbing outside Ghazni, and of course several of their leaders were killed. The rest seem anxious to make peace, and a good number of the hill chieftains have entirely submitted to Company rule. Just to make sure of their loyalty, we are paying them each a kind of retainer as Company servants, so long as they keep the peace in their villages.
Best of all, of course, Dost Mohammed is in our hands. He simply presented himself for surrender, being tired of the whole business. Naturally Shah Shuja wanted his head, his eyes, or some other even more important portion of his anatomy, to make sure he could not change his mind at some future date, but John Company does not deal in such barbarities, and the ex-amir has been sent down into India and perpetual imprisonment. It is a pity that his equally rascally son Akbar remains at large, but we are assured that his credit with the Afghans is now very low, and the chances of his mounting a counter-offensive slight indeed.
Naturally there are born pessimists like old General Nott, whom we left in command of the garrison at Kandahar, who writes in all directions imploring for vast reinforcements to be sent. Otherwise, he says, not a man of us will ever see Bombay again. This is clearly an absurd point of view. We simply have not got the men to spare; it would be a waste of time and money; in any case, these people are thoroughly cowed. As McNaghton says, they are like a bunch of unruly but essentially timid schoolboys; send one to stand in a corner and the rest fall immediately to heel.
There is even talk of reducing the garrison next year. Afghanistan seems certain to become yet another province of the Company, and we shall all thumb our noses at the Russians.
Meanwhile, here I am back in Bombay, after a journey through the worst of the monsoon. I arrived dripping wet and in rags. Not for the first time I find myself the cynosure of all eyes, but although my military reputation has never been higher, thanks to Keane’s despatches, the glances I receive are now entirely disapproving.
The most disapproving glances of all emanated from my dear wife. Yesterday she took ship for England to rejoin her parents, having moved out of my bed the moment I moved into it. Divorce proceedings have already been instituted. I shall have to fabricate some evidence of my own wrongdoings. Well, this is as it should be, and as I desire it. To many it will appear that my life is irretrievably ruined, but I know better. I love, and am loved. No man in that happy position, providing only that the object of his adoration is worthy of it, can ever be less than enormously wealthy.
I seem to be becoming a philosopher in my old age! Ramjohn is out looking for a new dog. ‘Thus I shall have company, and my dreams, and much to look forward to.
10 The Massacre
Batraj’s return left Laura in a state of terror, partly that his presence would be discovered and the whole family arrested, and partly because of his threats against the occupying forces. During his stay she never left the house, and had to decline several invitations to take tea.
But his departure left her in a greater quandary than ever. To betray him was to risk her death and that of Sivitraj, but how could she allow him to plot unhindered against her own people, even if they had rejected her? She could not help but realise that the only way she would ever be rehabilitated as an Englishwoman was to prove her loyalty.
She was handicapped by knowing nothing of what Batraj had in mind; she could not even understand what he could do, with the British so firmly in control of the situation. She did raise the matter in a tentative fashion with Lady Sale, whom she regarded the most intelligent and perceptive of the memsahibs, not mentioning Batraj by name and still pretending to be a widow, but allowing herself to wonder aloud if the Afghan chieftains were as cowed as the British commanders thought them.
‘Oh, they are absolutely reconciled to their defeat,’ Florentia told her. ‘They have discovered that Sir William McNaghton is no man to cross. But of course, my dear, you know that.’
Laura felt she could do nothing more for the time being, and had to assume that both the envoys and the military were in as full control of the situation as they assumed, and that Batraj’s survival was a personal misfortune with which she would have to cope. In any event, soon after Batraj’s reappearance winter set in, the passes both north and south became blocked, and Kabul was totally isolated from the outside world.
The English community, few of whom had any experience of weather of this sort, began to turn in on itself. Laura found herself, with her knowledge of Afghanistan winters, in much demand at the supper parties which replaced the race meetings and polo matches. Her beauty and sophistication, as well as her reputation and the hideous crimes which were attributed to her, made her very much a celebrity, and she supposed she must have reached the pinnacle of success when she was actually invited to dine at Sir William McNaghton’s house.
Sir William was courtesy itself, but when soon afterward she wrote to him asking if her position could not be reviewed and her return to Bombay considered, she received only a note from his secretary to the effect that thanks to the efforts of Major Bartlett the whole business had been taken out of His Excellency’s hands, and he could no longer offer an opinion on the matter.
Laura all but despaired.
*
In the new year Batraj re-appeared, and with him came a dark-visaged and heavily bearded man: Akbar Khan.
‘By Allah, you have grown in beauty, Highness,’ Akbar said. ‘Do you not remember me?’
Laura swallowed.
‘It is a privilege to have you in my house,’ she lied. ‘But I fear for your safety, and that of my husband.’
Akbar took her hand and led her to a divan. ‘Who will betray us? You, Highness?’
He made her sit beside him.
‘You know better than that,’ she told him.
‘My father has spoken to me of you,’ Akbar said. ‘He said that to mount you is like taking a step towards paradise.’
Laura gasped and looked at Batraj, who was smili
ng.
‘I will leave you,’ he said. ‘The Amir has matters to discuss.’
‘Do you mean to prostitute me to the whole Afghan nation?’ she asked in English.
Batraj continued to smile. ‘All of those who are of use to me, certainly, my dear Laura. You are living gold. And remember that if you betray me, I will cut off your nose, and the boy’s.’
‘What does she say?’ Akbar inquired.
‘That she is unable to believe her good fortune, my lord amir.’
He closed the door behind him.
Akbar smiled at Laura. ‘We will make much good fortune together, Highness, as you did with my father.’
Laura could think of only one last defence. ‘I fear, my lord, that for a son to couple with his father’s mistress may he against the ruling of the Koran.’
‘What care I for the Koran?’ Akbar asked, as he slipped the sari from her shoulders.
*
Batraj and Akbar stayed three days, leaving the house by its side entrance, wrapped up in the meanest of goatskin coats, to mingle with the common people, and tramping through the snow to the Bala Hissar where they met with their spies and agents.
Once again Laura was in a quandary, even more so than usual. For three days she had virtually been shared between the two men, had almost feared they would assault her together, but this at the least was not acceptable under Muslim law. Remarkably, Akbar was a man of considerable refinement beneath his rough exterior, far more so than his father or Batraj. He never treated Laura with anything less than extreme courtesy, was gentle in his love-making and often witty and sophisticated in his conversation.
Yet of his hatred of the British there could be no doubt. Akbar was no mere bandit. He was the son and heir of a long line of mountain chieftains, and regarded Afghanistan as his by right of conquest. His father had lost the kingdom to the British, and he had every intention of getting it back, and of settling with Shah Shuja as well. All of this he told Laura, without imparting any plan he might have to achieve it. Once again she felt obliged to drop hints to McNaghton and Burnes and Sale and his wife, only to be met by polite smiles at her naivety, especially when she suggested that far from being in hiding in the mountains Dost Mohammed’s son might actually be close at hand. What they might have said were they to discover that she had actually entertained the prospective Amir in her bed did not bear consideration.
During the winter she had become friendly with one of the army surgeons, Dr John Bryden. Bryden was no mere time-server, but was deeply interested in both tropical medicine and in the effects of frostbite. As Laura, during her long stay in Kabul, had gained considerable knowledge of both, he frequently sought to pick her brains. This was gratifying, and she even suggested she actually view the stricken men, but this the doctor would not permit.
‘Hospitals are no places for ladies, Highness,’ he told her.
That seemed ridiculous, after her experiences. ‘I am sure you are the only English person in Kabul who actually so considers me,’ she pointed out.
He smiled. ‘Then the rest of us are singularly unobservant.’
After that their friendship grew, and when she had failed to make any impression upon the command, she ventured to mention the matter to him. He listened to what she had to say, stroking his chin. When she was finished, he remarked, ‘You speak almost as if you knew something was going to happen, Highness.’
‘I speak only from my knowledge of the Afghans, doctor,’ she insisted.
But he was too intelligent to treat her simply as a silly woman, and he knew her too well.
But for the time being she was forced into inactivity, while as the snows melted and the sun shone, the British settled down to a great deal of sporting activity of their own, watched with wonder by the natives.
The big event of the summer was to be the marriage, in August, of the Sales’ daughter to Lieutenant Sturt of the Engineers. Also, the Company had now been occupying Afghanistan for nearly two years, and it was felt that it was time to rotate the troops. Thus it was announced that Sale’s Brigade would be replaced by that commanded by Brigadier Shelton. To reassure everyone it was pointed out in the Gazette that the composition of the new Brigade would be the same, one all-British regiment, the 44th, and four Sepoy battalions. At the same time, Sir Willoughby Cotton was being returned to duty in the south. In addition, McNaghton himself had been promoted to the governorship of Bombay, and would be leaving with Sale’s Brigade when it marched out. It was thus essential to hold the wedding before the departure of the parents of the bride; Lieutenant Sturt was not one of those being relieved.
All of this was thoroughly disagreeable news to Laura. Not only was Florentia the nearest thing she had to a friend amongst her own people, except perhaps for Bryden, but with McNaghton in command in Bombay she had no idea how she or Guy were ever going to achieve anything. She was further depressed by the arrival of the first of Guy’s letters since the winter; he was obviously at a low mental ebb, relieved only by having found himself another dog, which he had called Rufus the Second, and which he claimed was even larger and fiercer than Rufus the First.
How she wished she could be with him, enjoying such simple pleasures as walking the dogs on the beach.
But just as she was feeling her very worst, while attending race meetings and tea parties and even the Sale wedding with a bright smile and glittering in jewels, she heard that Cotton’s replacement as military commander in Afghanistan was to be Major-General William Elphinstone, who had been in command in the south.
This was the best news Laura had heard for a very long time, for the new commander was a distant cousin of Mountstuart Elphinstone, who had been such a good friend to her during her marriage to Sitraj. He was also, Lady Sale told her, a most distinguished soldier, who had so covered himself with glory at Waterloo that he been made a Commander of the Bath, a Knight of the Order of William of Holland, and also of St Anne of Russia. Since then he had served mainly in England, until being sent out to Bombay as military commander of the Benares division of the company army in 1839, from whence he had been appointed to succeed Cotton.
All of these moves took time, and the year was well advanced before Elphinstone actually reached Kabul, escorted by Shelton’s Brigade. As usual, all the city turned out to see the ceremonial entrance of the Company army. This was a far grander display than the last time, for of course Sale’s Brigade had not yet left, and was also on parade, while the regimental band vied with each other in playing military marches.
Laura joined the crowds with Sivitraj, who was now fifteen and very anxious to join an army. For all her careful education of him, Laura could not be entirely certain which army he had in mind, for while he clearly admired the brilliant uniforms of the British, he also undoubtedly found his stepfather’s dreams fascinating.
At the moment, however, she was far more concerned with the arriving troops and their commanders, and felt an icy hand clutch her heart.
The procession was led by a squadron of cavalry. The band followed, and then General Elphinstone rode alone. He hardly presented a dominating figure, for he slouched in his saddle as if he found riding an intolerable burden, and gazed straight ahead of him, eyes half-closed against the fierce sun.
Behind him, Brigadier Shelton also rode alone, and suggested an entirely different personality. His head was high, his eyes darting from left to right, as if warning the onlookers that a soldier had come amongst them. This was reassuring, but studying his face as best she could — she no longer had Batraj’s spyglass — Laura saw only a disturbing mixture of sullenness and arrogance. His right sleeve was pinned armless to his breast, for he had lost the limb during the Peninsular Campaign in Spain against the French more than thirty years before.
Even more disturbing was the demeanour of his troops, for if the Sepoys presented a reasonably military appearance, the English soldiers of the 44th marched in a most slovenly fashion, seeming to take little heed of their officers, and openly ogling the Afgh
an women and girls who lined their route.
Maybe, Laura told herself optimistically, they were simply exhausted at the end of a very long march.
*
The next day she presented herself at Elphinstone’s head-quarters.
She had written a note, in which she said, ‘Your cousin did me the great honour of being my friend, and I hope and pray that friendship may be extended by Your Excellency.’
She was kept waiting for some time, and was then showed into an inner room, where to her distress she saw the general, in his dressing gown and with one foot on a chair, lacking a shoe but apparently with more than one stocking pulled over it. This was at eleven in the morning.
‘You’ll forgive me not rising, Highness,’ Elphinstone said. ‘I am afflicted with this damnable gout.’
Laura reckoned he was afflicted with more than that; his face was grey and his eyes dull.
‘I am sure you will find the climate in Kabul most agreeable, sir,’ she ventured.
‘I doubt it, madam, I doubt it. I am too old for this posting. I told them so, but they would have it. Now, what can I do for you? You’ll not be importuning me about returning to Bombay, eh? It won’t do, madam. Think of the scandal. That damned fellow Bartlett is a scandal all by himself. Add you to him, and the place will never be the same again.’
Laura was speechless.
‘I know you were a friend of my cousin Mountstuart. But he is a damned peculiar fellow. Damned peculiar. We come from different branches of the family. Now tell me, madam, what did you wish of me?’
‘Why, nothing,’ Laura said coldly. ‘Save to inquire after your health. As that appears irremediable, I will wish you good day, sir.’
*
Laura was cast again into despair. Judging by what Elphinstone had said, Guy was unlikely to be able to achieve anything of value. Her only relief was that Batraj had not been in Kabul since the spring, but at the same time she could not tell what he was up to.
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