by Peter Watt
Jenkins stood now with two of his senior officers, and when Ian arrived he reluctantly saluted.
‘You wish to see me . . . sir,’ Ian said. Despite their mutual hatred, Ian had had no choice but to swear his loyalty to the man he knew was a coward. Jenkins was of a similar age to Ian, but that was where the similarities ended. Jenkins was slim and had the patrician looks of an English gentleman; in contrast Ian was broad-shouldered and had a face that was not handsome but was nevertheless ruggedly appealing.
One of the officers present was a major and the other a captain. Both served on Jenkins’ personal staff.
‘I was informed that you left your post last night without permission,’ Jenkins said in an accusing tone. ‘You have a history of running your own show without respect for the established role of an officer and gentleman.’
‘Sir, I had an urgent choice to make and did not have time to request your permission to temporarily hand over my command,’ Ian said.
‘Nothing can excuse your lack of obedience to your superiors, Captain Forbes. I will be –’
Jenkins did not get any further before a major from Lieutenant-General Outram’s staff interrupted him. ‘I am sorry to intrude, Colonel Jenkins, but I was informed Captain Forbes was at your headquarters. He is wanted by Sir James immediately.’
‘Of course,’ Jenkins replied, annoyed and confused as to why the legendary senior officer would want to speak with one of his company commanders. ‘He is dismissed to accompany you.’
Ian did not bother saluting but turned on his heel and followed the major to a tent where James Outram sat at a small field desk scribbling notes. He was alone and looked up when his staff officer approached.
The major saluted. ‘I have Captain Forbes, sir,’ he said.
Ian stood to attention before an impressive man in his mid-fifties. Outram had a strong face, neatly cropped black beard and a receding hairline.
‘You may relax, Captain Forbes,’ the British general said with a smile. ‘I summoned you here to express my personal thanks for your assistance last night. I suspect that if you and your sergeant had not found me, my head might have been stuck on the end of a spear for all to see when the sun rose. I did a stupid thing in riding out alone. I wished to ascertain the extent of the enemy opposing us, but I should have left that task to my staff. Your rescue cannot be mentioned in dispatches, although you deserve a mention. I pray that what happened will remain between you and I – and Sergeant Curry.’
‘Yes, sir, I fully understand, and I can assure you that Sergeant Curry will be discreet,’ Ian answered.
‘I have been informed of your remarkable record of service in the Crimea,’ Outram continued. ‘And I am aware that there is some animosity between you and Colonel Jenkins.’
‘Sir, despite my private opinions, he is my commanding officer and has my total loyalty.’
The general pushed himself from his desk and stood. ‘An excellent answer, Captain Forbes.’ He extended his hand to a startled Ian. ‘If in the future I can be of assistance to you, do not hesitate to make contact with me. This is my way of thanking you for your service last night.’ Ian accepted the handshake and felt the strength in the senior officer’s grip.
‘Oh, by the way, I have been informed that Colonel Jenkins had you summoned to remonstrate with you about your temporary absence from your post last night. Major Starke will inform your commanding officer that you were acting on secret instructions from my staff. I am sure Colonel Jenkins is wise enough not to question my authority.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Ian replied, letting go of the general’s hand.
‘You may return to your men, Captain Forbes, and I hope that one day you may join my staff. I need competent officers around me.’
Ian saluted and marched away, knowing that this was a man he would follow through the gates of hell if asked.
Ian did not bother to report to his commanding officer, who he guessed was now being told in no uncertain terms that Ian had been acting on Outram’s orders. Jenkins, for all his high-placed connections in England, would not dare question James Outram, a darling of the British government.
Ian was met at his tent by Conan, whose worried expression asked the question.
‘Sir James asked me to thank you for our service to him last night but would rather it remain between the three of us,’ Ian said.
Conan nodded. ‘I was told by the boys that Colonel Jenkins wanted to see you. Whenever the bastard asks for you it only means trouble.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Ian smiled. ‘Thankfully, a major from the general’s staff rescued me from an accusation that I had deserted my post. I don’t think Colonel Jenkins will raise the matter again.’
‘That bastard Jenkins is out to get you killed,’ Conan spat.
‘It’s not easy to kill us colonials,’ Ian said with a grin, glowing in the knowledge that his and Conan’s actions hours earlier had garnered the appreciation of the British force commander. He hoped that it would not be easy for Jenkins to cause him any further mischief in this campaign.
Two
A man in his early thirties stood with his hands clasped behind his back by the great window of a three-storeyed house. He was gazing down on a vacant area of swamp and bushy scrubland lightly covered in snow. It was said that the vast vacant plot in the middle of the sprawling American city of New York, originally established by Dutch colonial pioneers, would be developed into a great park.
Samuel Forbes was deep in thought when another man entered the room.
‘Samuel,’ the man said, noticing the disturbed expression on his friend’s face. ‘Are you unwell?’
‘No, James, but I have just received upsetting news from my dear friend Jonathan in London,’ Samuel replied. ‘It appears that Ian is in Persia fighting yet another campaign for the Queen.’
James placed his hands on Samuel’s shoulders. ‘Ian survived the worst of the Crimea and has proven to be a great soldier. You should not worry yourself about his welfare.’
Samuel detached himself from his friend, walking to the small polished teak table to retrieve the letter sitting next to a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin; or, Life Among the Lowly by Harriet Beecher Stowe. The letter was from Jonathan, a former schoolmate of Samuel’s. They had been in boarding school together and it was with Jonathan that Samuel had discovered a mutual attraction forbidden by the laws of England and the English Church. Jonathan had been able to remain close to Samuel’s family – especially his sister, Alice – and regularly reported on events from the other side of the Atlantic.
‘I do, though,’ Samuel sighed. ‘When we made our pact to exchange identities I did not give much thought to the fact that Ian would be constantly fighting in the British Empire’s wars. He still has another seven years left of the ten-year period I was supposed to serve in my grandfather’s regiment to be eligible for my inheritance. I feel that I was being absolutely selfish placing his life in jeopardy.’
‘You know that Ian was more than willing to serve the Empire as a soldier of the Queen. It was as much his burning desire as it was your ambition to seek revenge against Sir Archibald, your supposed father. Captain Steele is where he always dreamed of being.’
‘There is not a night that passes I do not have nightmares of Ian’s body lying on some godforsaken battlefield,’ Samuel said. ‘I feel the need to return to England and speak with him. He may wish to renege on our agreement.’
Samuel, however, was not telling the entire truth. He did wish to return to England, but Ian was not foremost in his thoughts. Privately, he agreed with James that the man was more than likely content where he was. But how could Samuel tell his partner in life that he still dreamed of the precious moments he had spent with Jonathan in his youth, and of the deadly consumption that now racked his former lover’s body? That he wished to see Jonathan – perhaps for the last time – and explore his feelings for his
old friend?
‘I doubt it,’ James scoffed. ‘From the little I learned of Mr Steele when we were in New South Wales, he was born to battle. His father fought at Waterloo and Ian expressed his overwhelming desire to follow the colours. If you return to London you might be recognised as the real Samuel Forbes, and that would incriminate Captain Steele as well. You have to consider that. You are by nature reckless and impulsive and I love you for that, but I fear your nature may one day get you into trouble you cannot escape.’
‘I feel guilty that I am enjoying this privileged life while Ian takes all the risks in my name,’ said Samuel.
‘Are you sure you do not wish to return to London to see Jonathan?’ James asked, his question tinged with a note of accusation.
‘No, no,’ Samuel quickly dismissed the idea. ‘I will love you to the day I die, dear James. I have grown to love this country as you do. But I am not Ian Steele.’
James fell silent for a few moments. ‘I will make a booking for us both to journey to London, then,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But you must promise me that you will not under any circumstances put yourself in a compromising situation with your family.’ From what Samuel had told him about his brother, Charles, and his father, Sir Archibald, nothing good could come of encountering them.
‘I promise,’ Samuel said, embracing James with affection. ‘Besides, my darling sister has married and is currently in India, so there is no reason for me to wish to contact my family. Although while we are in England I would like to visit the memorial to my late brother.’
James knew that Lieutenant Herbert Forbes had been killed fighting against the Russian army in the siege of Sevastopol, and understood why Samuel would wish to pay his respects. All that truly bothered James was that Samuel might renew his relationship with his old friend and lover, Jonathan. He reassured himself that it was his wealth that currently allowed Samuel’s extravagant lifestyle and that his lover would not jeopardise this arrangement – at least until he was able to claim his inheritance from the vast Forbes fortune.
*
The London home of the Forbes family, situated in the most desirable suburb of the great city, still had an air of mourning about it. Servants moved quietly around their master. Sir Archibald had taken the death of his youngest son badly. He spent hours staring blankly at a black-framed sepia photograph hung on the wall of the library. It showed a handsome young man still in his teens wearing the dress uniform of an infantry officer, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Charles Forbes secretly sneered at his father’s grief. Sir Archibald was growing soft and sentimental. For himself, Charles was overjoyed that the family fortune need not be shared by his youngest brother. All the more for him. If only his sister, Alice, would also disappear – perhaps she would die of some exotic disease in India – that would leave only Samuel, and he would meet a painful end on the battlefield if Charles’ plans with Clive Jenkins came to fruition. Then he would be the sole inheritor of the Forbes estates.
‘A terrible tragedy,’ Charles said to his father as they both gazed at the photograph.
‘It should have been Samuel,’ his father replied bitterly. ‘Not Herbert.’
‘Give the army time,’ Charles replied. ‘Officers on the Empire’s frontiers usually have a short life span.’
*
Alice Campbell was never bored with the exotic culture she encountered daily in the Bengali city of Murshidabad. From the palace grounds of the rich and aristocratic Indians, peacocks screeched as they spread their colourful fan-like tails amongst an army of gardeners tending to the lavish gardens. The markets were filled with the aroma of a rich variety of unfamiliar food, spices and fruits. The mango quickly became her favourite delicacy. Each afternoon she would return to her brother-in-law’s sumptuous villa with its beautifully manicured lawns and colourful shrubs and flowers, all surrounded by a high stone wall. Inside the villa high ceilings and marbled floors were a cool relief from the Indian sun. It was so different from the homes Alice knew in England. She felt herself being drawn into this exotic life in India.
However, there were plenty of reminders of the London life she had left behind. She and Peter would often attend tea parties at the homes of the British employees of the East India Company, where Alice found herself growing irritated at the patronising attitude towards the local Indian population. Not that she always disagreed with the British views, especially when she heard stories of wives sometimes being burned alive on their husbands’ funeral pyres – a tradition being stamped out by British justice.
It was during the third week of their visit that Peter was called upon by his brother to provide medical assistance to a British officer who had accidentally shot himself in the leg.
Peter packed his surgical bag and was escorted from the town by a section of four lancers from Scott’s squadron. He was warned that it would be a week before he returned.
Alice was alone and bored when Scott visited on the second day of Peter’s absence, reminding her of the tiger hunt that had finally been organised by a local Indian prince. Alice hesitated to go without Peter but Scott was persuasive, so very early the following day she was escorted by a tall Bengali trooper to a place outside of the town where ten elephants stood with baskets on their backs and handlers sitting forward on their necks. The sun was just above the horizon and Alice could see Indians milling around the elephants standing patiently in the dust. Scott was speaking with a richly dressed and rather handsome Indian with a jewelled turban and he broke into a broad smile when he saw her. Her brother-in-law was wearing his field uniform and carried a double-barrelled shotgun in one hand. He excused himself from the Indian and strolled over to her.
‘Ah, Alice, your opportunity to get a taste of the real India,’ he said. ‘We will be going into the jungle in pursuit of the vile creature that attacks and eats humans. We are guests of the local ruler of these parts, and you and I will share a howdah. I am sure you will have a tale to tell my brother when he returns. Shall we mount our beast?’
A ladder was brought for Alice who wore a long flowing white dress and a broad straw hat with a scarf tied under her chin. Alice climbed the ladder and sat down in the basket. Scott settled down beside her, producing a second weapon, a wicked-looking double-barrelled pistol that resembled a shortened version of his four-bore percussion elephant gun. Its barrels were also loaded with great lead slugs. ‘The pistol is just in case we need very close protection,’ Scott said. ‘Do you know how to fire it?’
‘I suppose that I simply point it and pull the triggers,’ Alice replied casually, causing a broad grin to break across Scott’s face.
‘That’s my girl,’ he said, and turned his attention to the mahout, speaking to him in Bengali. The man, wearing little more than a loincloth and holding a short rod with a metal spike, replied. Under the prodding of the Indian elephant controller the great beast lurched forward, as did the line of other elephants with their passengers, who comprised local royalty and a couple of Scott’s fellow officers.
The convoy of elephants left the town behind and soon entered a thick green jungle of giant trees and shrubs. Alice felt as if she was back on the ship that had steamed to India weeks earlier as the elephant seemed to pitch and roll in its heavy gait. They were following a well-worn track to avoid the heavy foliage of the forest. Birds shrieked and monkeys howled in the treetops as the elephants plodded on. There was an alien strangeness to this land that was so different from the cold, wet country of her birth.
Alice leaned back against the edge of the basket and took in the aromatic and earthy scents of the jungle, both pungent and sweet. Despite the heat and the sweat now running in small rivulets down the inside of her dress, she started to doze. Suddenly a great cry rose from the men of the convoy. Alice immediately came fully awake and looked around to see what had caused the commotion.
‘There!’ Scott shouted, raising the heavy-calibre wea
pon to his shoulder. Alice saw the flash of yellow and black in the shadows of the jungle. A tiger!
The blast of the elephant gun almost deafened her, leaving her ears ringing. Scott fired the second barrel and other guns opened fire at the tiger that had disappeared into the heavy undergrowth.
Scott was quickly reloading. ‘I think I got him,’ he said as he poured black powder down the twin barrels and dropped the heavy leaf balls after it. The percussion caps followed and he leapt from the howdah to the ground below, leaving Alice alone as the elephant shifted nervously. It was obvious that Scott was going to hunt the tiger on foot but it had all happened so fast that Alice had had no time to react or protest. She saw Scott disappear into the jungle, followed by others from the hunting party, leaving her and the mahout alone.
For a while all she could hear were the shouts of men stalking the wounded animal, but gradually she became aware that the elephant she was sitting on was shuffling to one side of the track. The mahout was shouting and using his stick in an attempt to bring the great beast under control. Alice gripped the edge of the howdah with all her strength, and suddenly the elephant trumpeted its fear. Disbelievingly, Alice saw that the wounded tiger had doubled back and, in its rage, it leapt onto the hindquarters of her elephant. Alice swivelled to see the tiger clawing its way up the great pachyderm towards her, and she realised that the elephant was now preparing to launch into full flight to shake the beast off.
Alice could see the head of the tiger only a few feet away. She was both absolutely terrified and mesmerised by its beauty as it snarled in wounded anger. Alice was vaguely aware through her terror that she could smell its pungent breath. In the distance she could hear the concerned shouting of men crashing back through the heavy undergrowth, and realised to her horror that the mahout had deserted his animal in his own desperate fear.
The tiger fixed her with its smoky eyes and Alice knew that she was close to death. The muscles in the tiger’s shoulders bunched as it prepared to make the last leap onto the back of the elephant, which now burst into full flight, smashing its way through small trees and heavy foliage.
