‘There’s a backlog of cases,’ Harold sighed. ‘They come such a distance and are worse for all the travelling. We need to get the clinic in Kanki-Khel going again so they can be treated nearer home.’
‘I quite agree,’ said Esmie. She glanced at Rupa, who was on the point of leaving. ‘Harold, there’s this woman from beyond Kanki-Khel with a sickly baby that I want you to have a look at. The baby stopped breathing earlier in the day. The woman’s been attacked by her husband and hounded out of her village. She’s nowhere to go. Can we take her and the baby home tonight?’
She saw Rupa’s eyes widen in surprise. Harold was swift to scotch the suggestion.
‘I’m afraid we can’t do that – it would be showing favour. There are scores of women and children in need – we can’t take them all home. Besides, their menfolk wouldn’t allow it.’
‘I’m not saying we should,’ said Esmie. ‘Just this one mother and her daughter who have no one to protect them.’
‘My dear, you don’t understand the ways of these people,’ Harold said. ‘They are proud and take offence easily if they think you are interfering in their domestic affairs. We know nothing about this unfortunate woman—’
‘We know that her husband hacked off half her nose!’ Esmie retorted.
Harold looked shocked. Rupa spoke up.
‘It’s true, Dr Guthrie. She needed treatment too. Perhaps you could just check the baby over to put Mrs Guthrie’s mind at rest.’
Harold reddened at her gentle reproof. ‘Of course. Where are they?’
Esmie gave Rupa a grateful look and then led Harold to the hidden part of the veranda. Even though the baby’s dirty clothing had been taken away and burnt, the space behind the curtain smelt rank. The baby was whimpering, which Esmie found oddly reassuring; at least she wasn’t too listless to cry.
‘This is Karo,’ said Esmie.
Karo looked at Harold in alarm and quickly covered her bandaged face. Esmie tried to reassure her. Harold spoke to her gently in Pashto and after a moment’s hesitation, Karo handed over her daughter.
‘She’s called Gabina,’ Esmie told him. ‘It means honey.’
Harold gave her a brief smile. ‘Yes, I know that.’
After examining the girl, Harold confirmed what Esmie suspected.
‘She’s very underfed and dehydrated. Possibly the mother isn’t producing enough milk. The baby might have a chest infection too.’
Esmie put a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Harold,’ she said quietly, ‘what if it was Jeanie and wee Norrie? We’d do our best for them, wouldn’t we? Let’s look after this poor woman – even if it’s just for a few days until her baby’s life is out of danger. We can’t save every child brought to us here but we can save this one. Karo has no one else to turn to.’
She saw him struggling with his conscience, his brow furrowed. Yet there was compassion in his hazel eyes. After a long pause, he nodded and said, ‘Very well. We’ll find a room in the servants’ compound.’
Esmie smiled in relief. ‘Thank you.’
‘But we can’t make a habit of this,’ he added as if already regretting his decision.
Esmie ignored this. ‘Can you explain to Karo what’s happening?’
As Harold did so, Esmie determined she would redouble her efforts to learn Pashto fluently. After this incident, it felt more important than ever that she could speak to their patients in their native tongue.
Chapter 16
Taha, October
After a fortnight at the mission hospital, Esmie found it hard to believe that it had once felt strange and frightening. The time flew by and her admiration for Rupa and the orderlies grew daily. The widow was unflappable and the men did their work with a mixture of earnestness and cheerfulness. They bantered among themselves and from the amused looks they gave her, she suspected they often joked about her.
In the main hospital building, Harold strove to treat the myriad ailments, from resetting broken bones to removing burst appendixes. Beds were still being taken up by army troops who were recovering from war wounds, while the women’s ward – being set apart from the main building – was housing fever patients among the military.
Esmie, concerned for the Waziri women, went to Alec for help. She persuaded the former army padre to galvanise the army into providing a makeshift shelter for the women. Within a couple of days, a working party of sepoys set about building a structure of mud bricks and sacking in a corner of the compound that was shaded by trees.
To Esmie’s surprised delight, Brigadier McCabe, in charge of the garrison, came to oversee it. He was a dapper man with a dimpled chin and greying at the temples. According to Rupa, he had a timid wife who chose to stay at the regimental headquarters in Rawalpindi rather than accompany her husband on tour.
‘You do a grand job here at the mission,’ pronounced the brigadier, ‘and we’re grateful that you allow us to use your hospital. It won’t be forever, I assure you. Your husband tells me the numbers of fever patients are already dropping.’
Esmie didn’t like to point out that the mission had had little choice as the army had commandeered twenty of their thirty beds. Still, she liked him for his concern.
‘You must come round and have a meal with us,’ Esmie offered, thinking he might be lonely without his wife and missing home comforts.
‘How kind,’ he said, looking pleased. ‘I would like that very much, Mrs Guthrie.’
She thought Harold might baulk at her issuing the invitation – he was always tired-out by the end of the working day – but he encouraged the idea.
‘As a bachelor it was all too easy to fall into a solitary home life here,’ he confessed. ‘You must invite whoever you want, my dear. I want you to be happy and feel at home in Taha.’
‘Then we must have a few more furnishings,’ Esmie said. ‘Number Ten is about as comfortable as a schoolroom.’
Harold looked concerned. ‘As long as it doesn’t require a lot of expense. My mission stipend isn’t generous.’
‘Then it’s just as well you married someone as frugal as me who can magic up almost anything on my sewing machine.’ Esmie smiled and almost added ‘and not as extravagant as Lydia’ but stopped herself in time.
Esmie had received several letters from her old school friend; happy letters full of her new life in Rawalpindi and the joys of sharing it with her parents.
‘. . . We Templetons are a definite hit at the Club! We’re there practically every day – playing bridge or tennis (in the evenings when it cools off a bit) – and of course there are dinner-dances. The etiquette seems to be that you get invited round to someone’s house for dinner first and then you go on with your dinner guests to the dance, where you either stay with that group or join up with another dinner party to make a larger group. Either way, it’s huge fun and it means one is never short of dancing partners!
People are beginning to drift back from Murree and the hill stations now that the worst of the heat is over. I can’t wait for the cold season and all the social events here once the army are back in full swing. Cold season! Listen to me, sounding like an old India-hand already!
Daddy took Mummy and me up to Murree for a few days when the heat was still bad – it gets so humid in Pindi! Obviously, Tom couldn’t come as there was too much to do at the hotel. It needs heaps spending on it but I’ve told Tom to go ahead and use some of my allowance from Daddy. Old Colonel Lomax is being as stingy as ever to Tom and won’t give him a penny towards his new business.
Goodness me; what a lot of flirting goes on in Murree – it’s as much a summer sport as tennis or cricket as far as I can see!
Tom’s been an absolute darling about having my parents here – Pa and Ma he calls them – isn’t that sweet? He’s agreed that they can stay on another month so that they can enjoy Pindi when it’s not so horribly hot.’
Later, Lydia had written reproachfully about Esmie and Harold passing through Rawalpindi without stopping to see them.
‘. .
. I simply can’t believe you swanned through Pindi station and didn’t come to stay! I would never have done that to my best friend. Mummy and Daddy were very disappointed too. You simply mustn’t let that happen again. When will you come and visit? Can you do so before my parents leave at the end of October? At the very least you MUST MUST come for Christmas and New Year. I’m told that they celebrate Hogmanay in Pindi as if they were in Scotland!’
Esmie was glad that Lydia was settling so well into her new life in India, although it worried her how her friend would cope once her parents sailed for home. She sounded very dependent on them for her social life and general happiness. She wondered about Tom and the hotel – Lydia hardly mentioned the place – but it all seemed a world away from life in Taha. Esmie was glad she was kept busy every waking hour so that she didn’t have time to dwell on her feelings for Tom Lomax. She knew from the twist she felt in her stomach from just seeing his name written that her hankering for him hadn’t gone away.
Her own marriage had settled into a routine of sorts. She and Harold rose early and breakfasted together on the veranda, discussing the jobs for the day. They would be out at the hospital until late, having lunch brought to them, and return after dark for a simple supper. It was then that she would slip round to the side of the veranda that faced the servants’ quarters and wait for Karo to appear with Gabina, so she could check up on their welfare and practise speaking Pashto. Despite her difficulties, Karo had retained a sense of humour and would sometimes let out a raucous laugh at Esmie’s attempts to speak her language. The Waziri woman even joked darkly about her husband’s attempts to disfigure her. ‘He is just half a man – he manages to cut off only half my nose.’
Now that Karo was being fed regular meals, her milk had increased and the baby was suckling properly again. Gabina no longer whimpered feebly or produced watery faeces. She was growing in strength daily and her gurgles of contentment touched Esmie’s heart. She was a pretty infant with soft curls of black hair, big brown eyes and a pink bud of a mouth that creased into a smile of recognition when Esmie appeared.
Karo’s presence in the compound had caused consternation at first. Draman had gone to Harold and protested.
‘Sahib, she is bad woman,’ the bearer had declared. ‘She brings bad fortune to Guthrie Sahib.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ Harold had said. ‘She is homeless and the baby is sick. It’s our Christian duty to look after them until they are well again.’
‘Sahib, she is from a bad tribe,’ Draman had persisted. ‘It will bring trouble. Ali and his parents are from rival tribe. They fear attack because you bring bad woman here.’
Esmie could see that the usually jocular bearer was fearful but she didn’t want to interfere. It was up to Harold to deal with his old retainer. To her relief, her husband managed to calm Draman down.
‘Karo will only stay as long as is necessary and no more,’ Harold assured him. ‘But while she is here, I expect all the staff to be kind to her. Perhaps she can help you. You could give her a job peeling onions or some such.’
Draman had looked aghast at this suggestion. Shaking his head, he had hurried away and never mentioned Karo again.
A month on, Karo and Gabina were still living in the compound. Draman’s distaste for the Waziri interloper had lessened once Karo had proved herself to have a knack for getting the hens to lay twice as many eggs as usual. Without saying anything, Karo had quietly taken on the role of feeding the hens. With Gabina strapped to her back, she would sing to them while she fed them grain.
The baby grew more alert and would smile and giggle at anyone who showed her attention. Even Ali, who at first had kept well away from the Waziri woman, was charmed by the sunny-natured Gabina. Esmie sometimes noticed him pulling faces and making her laugh. By late October, no one was mentioning sending Karo and her daughter away. Esmie was thankful for this; she was growing so fond of mother and child that she knew it would be a wrench if they left.
Esmie started to teach Karo how to use her sewing machine – the young Waziri was fascinated by it and clapped her hands in glee at what it could do. Her slim dextrous fingers were quick and her work accurate. Esmie never had to show her anything twice and she wondered if, in time, she could set Karo up as a seamstress so that she could earn her own living. Would a woman be allowed to set up in business in this most conservative of places? All the Indian tailors – darzis – that Esmie had come across were men. Nevertheless, it was a skill that would be useful to Karo whatever she did next.
As the evenings grew cooler, Esmie and Harold took to sitting indoors at the table and, by the light of a kerosene lamp, he would read while she worked her sewing machine, making clothes for Gabina or comfortable loose-fitting dresses for herself.
One chilly evening, Esmie was making some half-veils for Karo to hide her face-wound out of soft silk that she’d asked Draman to buy from the bazaar. It had been a particularly tiring day. Esmie sat back and rubbed her eyes.
‘Harold, will you read to me? I don’t think I can concentrate on sewing another stitch tonight.’
‘Of course, my dear.’ Harold looked pleased to be asked. He picked up a volume of Scottish poetry that he knew she liked and began to read.
Esmie moved to a more comfortable chair beside him and relaxed back into the cushions. There was something very calming about her husband’s voice.
She was full of admiration for his skills at the hospital; no one was more dedicated to his patients or amiable with his staff than Harold. The only thing that marred her contentment at being his wife was his absence from her bed. He had never once come seeking comfort with her or given her the slightest encouragement for her to slip into his room at night.
Looking at him now, his square face and expressive mouth lit by lamplight, Esmie felt a tug of longing. Despite feeling exhausted she was filled with a need for his physical touch. The long day at work had not rid her of such a hunger. Was it the same for Harold? Should she make her desire for him more apparent? He was so inhibited in his shows of affection; perhaps he just needed more encouragement from her.
Tonight she wanted to lie in his arms and fall asleep with the feel of his solid body beside her. When he got to the end of a fourth poem, he closed the book and glanced up, catching her looking at him.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
Her heartbeat quickened. ‘How much I admire you.’
Even in the soft light she could see him redden. ‘And I, you,’ he said.
‘I adore your voice,’ she said softly, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it.
He smiled but she could feel him tensing ever so slightly.
‘Harold.’ She held on to his hand. ‘Will you kiss me tonight?’
He hesitated and then stood up, still holding her hand. Leaning over he gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead.
‘Harold, that’s not what I meant—’
He disengaged his hand and patted her shoulder.
‘I can hardly keep my eyes open. I’ll see you at breakfast. Sleep well, my dear.’
Esmie sat swallowing down her frustration. She was suddenly overwhelmingly tired and it was several minutes before she had the energy to haul herself to her feet. She retreated to her solitary room, determined that sometime soon she would find a way of seducing her husband.
On Sundays, their one day off work, Esmie would invite people for lunch after church. Brigadier McCabe, Alec Bannerman and Rupa all came. The brigadier was a witty man and Alec had a fund of stories from his time in the army and Esmie was pleased to see Rupa relax and enjoy their company too.
She remembered how Alec had been concerned about some young homesick officers, so she made an effort to invite them along to Sunday lunch too. Alec was delighted by this and told Esmie, ‘Number Ten is gaining a reputation among the young single officers for its hospitality. I hear them talking about the welcoming Scottish doctor and his attractive young wife.’
Esmie laughed with embarrassment.
‘Well, we like having their company.’
Her favourite was a fair-haired cavalry officer, Lieutenant Dickie Mason. He was charmingly polite and solicitous and seemed popular among his peers. She was surprised to hear from Alec that Dickie had been the most homesick of them all when he’d arrived in the North-West Frontier.
‘He’d been quartered in Bombay before that,’ said Alec, ‘where life was far more sociable. Just before he was transferred here, he got word that his sister had died of influenza. Hit him hard, poor boy.’
‘How terrible,’ said Esmie. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘I think perhaps he looks on you as a caring older sister,’ said Alec.
She redoubled her efforts to be kind to the young lieutenant.
Sitting around a simple table sharing food and lively conversation reminded Esmie of the early years of the War when she and her fellow nurses had eaten with the Serbian soldiers. It made her think of Tom and wonder whether he ever missed his life in the Peshawar Rifles and the camaraderie that came with living together and serving alongside his fellow men. Was running a hotel dull in comparison, despite being the life he’d chosen?
Then she chided herself for thinking about him. Try as she did, she could not banish Tom from her thoughts completely. Whenever she received another letter from Lydia, her equilibrium was disturbed. She didn’t encourage the correspondence – she hardly had time to write these days – but Lydia’s letter writing was increasing. Her most recent letter sounded less fulsome.
‘. . . you ask about the hotel. Well, to be frank it’s not exactly the Ritz. It’s far from the most glamorous in Pindi – not a patch on Flashman’s which is where all the best people stay. But Tom is trying his hardest to bring it up to scratch. It’s all a bit shabby still – the old boy who had it before hadn’t spent a rupee on it in years as far as I can see. And we have the legacy of a rather erratic manager – he’s Anglo-Indian (that means mixed blood, to you and me) and although perfectly charming, he seems to spend more time talking to Tom about archaeology than menus. Tom’s far too soft on him – and won’t hear of sacking him as Daddy suggested – and his wretched family live in the hotel compound so if we did tell him to go, then they’d all be out of a home too. It’s all a bit embarrassing but Tom will have to sort it out sometime.
The Emerald Affair Page 18
