The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  Rennell nodded. ‘I’ll notify Sergeant Baz.’

  ‘Bravo, Mrs Guthrie,’ McCabe said with an expression of relief.

  While Harold went to the hospital to fetch a saddle bag of medicines and dressings for Esmie to take, Karo helped her prepare a small bag of clothes and her bedroll. Sergeant Baz had suggested she take Pathan clothing to attract less attention. Karo talked about her husband’s kin. She knew of Mullah Zada. The priest had no love for the British but Karo thought he might be annoyed with Baram Wali for acting rashly and kidnapping a memsahib. It placed him in a tricky position.

  ‘He won’t want to appear weak among his fellow Otmanzai by giving into the demands of the feringhi,’ said Karo, ‘but neither will he wish to provoke the British authorities unnecessarily. No Waziri who has seen the steel birds dropping fire from the sky will ever forget it.’

  Esmie, knowing how petrified Karo had been by the RAF bombing, hugged her. ‘I know. But you are safe here – and so is Gabina.’

  Karo looked sorrowful. ‘My heart is heavy,’ she said. ‘If I hadn’t stayed here, Lomax Mem’ might be safe and you would not be putting your life in danger.’ Her dark, almond-shaped eyes filled up with tears.

  ‘None of this is your fault. It’s the actions of bad men,’ Esmie insisted.

  At this, Karo grew agitated. ‘You must beware of my husband’s chief, Mirza Ali. Don’t trust him. He will do what he thinks will give him advantage, even if it is the wrong thing. You must only deal with Mullah Zada, who is a man of honour.’

  Esmie tried to smother her fear at her servant’s words. ‘I’ll be careful. And I want you to stay strong and look after Dr Guthrie for me. Promise me you will?’

  Karo nodded. ‘And I shall pray to Allah for your safe return.’

  Tom didn’t linger long at the bungalow but left with Alec after an early supper, so that Esmie and Harold could be alone. Harold had been subdued since returning from the meeting at the brigadier’s but once their friends had gone, he grew agitated.

  ‘I should be coming with you,’ he said unhappily.

  ‘I know you want to,’ said Esmie, ‘but we have to accept what the police advise.’

  ‘I’ll worry about you the whole time you’re away,’ he said. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’ She gave him a wistful smile.

  His hazel eyes were glassy with tears. ‘Esmie, do I disgust you? After what I told you last night . . .’

  She was aghast. ‘No, Harold; you mustn’t think that!’

  ‘But I’ve made you unhappy – tricked you into marrying me. I thought being married might help me overcome my – my feelings.’

  Esmie put a hand on his arm. ‘You didn’t trick me into anything. I wanted to come to Taha and work here alongside you. That hasn’t changed.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Harold, I don’t know what will happen in the long run – neither of us do – and freeing Lydia is all I can think of at the moment. If—’ She checked herself. ‘When I get back, we can talk about the future.’

  He nodded in agreement but she could see how upset he was. Gently, she asked, ‘Will you let me lie beside you tonight? I don’t ask anything more than that. I just want to feel you next to me, Harold. It gives me such comfort.’

  His eyes watered. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice croaky. ‘I’d like that too.’

  That night, they lay together on top of Harold’s bed, a blanket thrown over them and Esmie snuggled in under his arm.

  She was terrified of what lay ahead. Her heart thumped anxiously in her chest. But she drew strength from Harold’s warm body.

  ‘Will you read to me?’ she asked.

  He gave a grunt of amusement. ‘Old Mortality?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ She smiled as he reached into his bedside drawer. It was the novel that they had returned to on several occasions since the first night of their marriage.

  Harold began to read, in his deep, sonorous voice. Esmie rested her head on his chest. Her racing pulse slowed and calmness stilled her anxious mind. Her eyelids grew heavy. She would always love her husband’s reading voice. It was the last thought she had before succumbing to sleep.

  Chapter 36

  Kanki-Khel

  Esmie and Tom spoke little on the journey to Kanki-Khel as they took it in turns to sit in the front of the truck with Sergeant Baz and his driver, Hasan, or in the back with Malik and another guard. Swaying in the back of the truck, gripping on to a hard wooden bench, made Esmie travel sick – or that was her excuse for keeping her distance from Tom – and she spent most of the time up front staring rigidly out of the vehicle, trying to keep calm.

  The journey was a painful reminder of her trip the previous year with Harold, when she had gone with such excitement and anticipation for the work that lay ahead. Now she was in dread of what was to come. What state would Lydia be in? What if they couldn’t find her? What if the vengeful Otmanzai seized her too and had no intention of making a deal with the British? She might never make it back to Taha.

  Then she looked at the stoical face of the Pathan police officer and was encouraged. Baz was a brave and wise man who was prepared to risk his own life for all their sakes. But he must also believe that they had a chance of success or he would not be undertaking such a hazardous task. Sitting beside him gave Esmie reassurance. She felt a renewed strength of purpose – and something else that reminded her of the times she had nursed in dangerous situations during the War – a surge of courage.

  After a long tiring drive, in which Esmie felt every bone in her body had been jarred and jolted, they arrived in Kanki-Khel and disembarked inside the police outpost. Esmie was queasy and wondered if it was partly due to her being back in the place where she and Harold had lived for those short, intense but happy weeks before they had had to flee. Looking back, Esmie could see that relations between them had never been the same after Kanki-Khel; awkwardness had crept into their marriage and Harold had been more distant.

  At the time she had thought Harold was disappointed in her for causing trouble over Zakir and not being as whole-hearted about the aims of the mission as he was. But now she knew how he must have been struggling with the physical side of their marriage – willing himself to love Esmie in the way she wanted but finding the whole act repugnant. While she had longed for bedtime and thought their intimacy was a sign that they were growing closer, Harold must have dreaded it. To him, the night time must only have brought upset and the realisation that he would never be able to love his wife. No wonder he had returned to separate rooms in Taha with such speed and relief.

  Esmie thought of her parting from Harold that morning and her eyes stung with tears. They had said little, their words and assurances banal.

  ‘Take good care, my dearest,’ Harold had said, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

  ‘Of course I will,’ Esmie had replied. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in a few days, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘I’ve packed some chocolate and biscuits among the medicines – I know you and Lydia have a sweet tooth.’

  ‘Thank you, Harold. What a kind thought.’

  He’d looked glassy-eyed with emotion but she hadn’t wanted to linger or draw out their goodbyes so she’d kissed him on the cheek and left swiftly to the awaiting truck.

  Now she was being shown in to the same small room with the large charpoy that she had shared with Harold nearly a year ago. She plonked down her bedroll and went out into the arcaded courtyard, not wanting to linger in the gloomy interior.

  Tom was waiting. He gave her an anxious smile. ‘Are you all right, Esmie?’

  She nodded. ‘Just feel a little travel sick from the journey.’

  ‘Can you manage some dal and chapatti? It smells good.’

  Esmie shook her head and grimaced. ‘Not just yet. Tea would be nice though.’

  That evening, at Esmie’s insistence, they ate with Malik and their police escorts. They were all in this together and it seemed absurd to keep to the rig
id social code of the cantonment at such a time. They sat on bolsters under the courtyard arcade and Esmie forced herself to eat a small portion of the simple meal of curried potatoes, dal and chapattis. Then the men sat back and smoked and drank more tea.

  Baz went over the plans. ‘I’ve sent word to Mullah Mahmud and asked him to meet us here. I’m hopeful he will bring Subahdar Khan with him – I’ve asked him to. We’ll have to wait until they come before our next move. It’s too risky just to turn up at Mullah Zada’s home in Gardan. And we need a guarantee of safe passage from Mirza Ali before we set off.’

  Esmie felt a stirring of unease at the mention of the Otmanzai chief whom Karo had told her not to trust.

  ‘And you think Gardan is where Lydia is being held?’ Tom asked, not for the first time.

  ‘It’s most likely, sahib,’ said Baz, ‘but as I’ve said, we can’t be certain.’

  ‘Can’t you find out where she is first?’ Tom said. ‘Rather than go off on a wild goose chase. We don’t want Mrs Guthrie to be at any more risk than she already is.’

  ‘Sahib, Mullah Zada will deal with any ransom demand or negotiation, so we must go through him. Getting the holy man’s cooperation is of prime importance.’

  Seeing how Tom was growing agitated, Esmie decided not to raise her doubts about trusting Mirza Ali. Instead she said, ‘I’m sure Sergeant Baz is right about this. We just have to be patient.’

  Tom sighed. ‘Sorry, you’re right of course. I’m just not good at sitting around and waiting.’

  Esmie excused herself and went early to bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep but she found it even harder being near Tom and having to act normally. She didn’t really know what he was thinking, yet she knew he was acutely worried over Lydia and would do anything to get her safely back. They were both feeling guilty at not having taken Lydia’s increasingly volatile moods seriously.

  She climbed into her bedroll and lay listening to the murmur of men’s voices in the courtyard. Eventually they fell silent. Esmie imagined Tom lying down just yards away from her under the arcade where he had unrolled his bedding. Was he sleepless like she was? Was he thinking of Lydia and Andrew? That morning he had come early to the bungalow to see his son. Esmie had been tearful at the sight of Tom holding his son tightly in his arms and murmuring, ‘I’ll bring your mother back, I promise.’ Then he’d kissed the baby goodbye and handed him over to Sarah. Perhaps at that moment, he had vowed to save his marriage to Lydia for his son’s sake and that was why he was all the more determined to find his wife.

  The next day, Esmie found the waiting almost as unbearable as Tom obviously did. No word came from Mullah Mahmud or any further news of Lydia’s whereabouts.

  That afternoon, Baz allowed them to take a walk outside the fort as long as Malik went as protection. He advised them not to wander far or attract too much attention. Esmie and Tom skirted the village and walked along the riverside. The poplar trees were turning golden and the air was sharp compared to Taha. A farmer went by on a mule and two grubby-faced children came up asking for matches. One carried a swaddled baby on her back. Tom fished out a box of matches and gave it to the boy. The children beamed and hurried away. Tom stared after them with a wistful look.

  ‘Shall we sit for a bit?’ Esmie suggested, reluctant to return to the fort.

  Tom hesitated, as if movement was the only thing stilling his feverish thoughts. He nodded. They sat on flattish stones that Esmie presumed were used by dhobis for the scrubbing of clothes. Malik stood a discreet few paces away and kept guard.

  Tom lit up a cigarette. Esmie watched the spiral of smoke rise into the still air. He regarded her.

  ‘Before we left, Alec Bannerman let slip that Lydia had taken one of his maps as well as his car – that she’d quizzed him about the road to Razmak and the Frontier.’

  Esmie’s heart jolted but she said nothing.

  ‘Do you think that’s where she was going?’ he pressed her.

  ‘She wasn’t thinking straight,’ said Esmie.

  ‘Or she was thinking of Dickie Mason,’ Tom said with a bleak look. ‘Why do I get the impression that everyone has been trying to keep me in the dark about where Lydia was going? Don’t I have a right to know?’

  Esmie avoided his look. ‘We don’t know where she was going – only that she was kidnapped. Lydia is the one to answer your questions when we find her.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry – it’s just going round in my head trying to work out what was going on.’

  He carried on smoking, his expression tense. Esmie gazed at the way the sun sparkled on the tranquil river, feeling bad about not being open with Tom. But what use was it to feed his suspicions over Dickie when their focus should be on securing Lydia’s release?

  ‘You don’t have to answer this,’ Tom said, ‘but how are things between you and Harold?’

  Esmie felt her insides flutter. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘You both seemed . . . not yourselves.’

  ‘The past couple of weeks have been a strain,’ Esmie said.

  ‘I understand about that – Lydia’s visit turned into a nightmare for you both – but that’s not what I mean.’ He squinted at her through cigarette smoke. ‘I see how you live at the bungalow, like brother and sister.’

  Esmie’s cheeks burned. ‘Harold doesn’t want us to have children.’

  The stark words hung between them. Saying them aloud made the unhappy situation real, the decision final. She felt a wave of desolation to think she would never become a mother.

  Swiftly, Tom ground out his cigarette and pulled out a handkerchief. Until he handed it to her, Esmie hadn’t realised she was crying.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his look tender. ‘I know how much you love children. I can’t imagine why Harold should feel that way.’

  Esmie wiped at her tears. Tom had obviously not guessed that his friend was homosexual. She wanted to protect her husband. Better that Tom thought Harold didn’t want a family rather than admitting that he couldn’t physically bring himself to have sex with her.

  ‘The mission is his life,’ she said. ‘He would worry too much if we had a family here. I’ve come to accept it.’

  She was about to hand the handkerchief back when something caught her eye; the initials E.McB. were embroidered on one corner. She looked at it in confusion. It was one of her old handkerchiefs from before she was married. Esmie looked at Tom. ‘How . . .?’

  His jaw had reddened. He stared back at her intently.

  ‘You dropped it in the churchyard at St Ebba’s. I picked it up, meaning to give it back to you but . . .’

  Esmie’s heartbeat began to quicken. ‘But what?’

  His look was almost fierce. ‘I kept it so I had something to remind me of you. Wherever I was, I carried it with me so I would feel close to you, Esmie.’

  She stared at him. The pulse in her throat made her breathless. She swallowed. ‘You shouldn’t have.’

  ‘I know, I shouldn’t.’ Tom took her hand and gripped it. ‘But I think even then, I knew deep down that I was in love with you.’

  ‘Tom don’t—’

  ‘Let me finish,’ he interrupted. ‘We’ve both made our choice of partner in life and we can’t change that. I would never do anything to betray my friend Guthrie. But you’re in this dangerous situation and I might never get the chance to tell you this, if I don’t do so now.’ He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. ‘I want you to know, Esmie, how much I love and admire you. I’ve never known a woman with more beauty and courage – not even my first wife, Mary, is dearer to me now. I’m filled with sorrow that you are married to a man who doesn’t love you in the way you deserve – but full of admiration that you would put everything you have at risk to go and save your friend.’

  The tender look he gave her made Esmie’s heart ache. Her eyes were welling again with tears.

  ‘My dearest Esmie,’ Tom said. ‘I wish I could undo time and go back to when we sat by the wa
ll of St Ebba’s Church. If I could, I would ask you to marry me.’

  Esmie stifled a sob. She held his passionate look. This moment, however fleeting, was theirs alone. It might be the only chance she would get to be truthful to Tom about her feelings too. She was frightened of what was to come. Yet, sitting here under the autumnal trees beside the man she held dearest in the entire world, she felt brave. The thought of his love for her would sustain and support her through the ordeal. What happened after that – if they all survived – she would just have to accept.

  She squeezed Tom’s hand in return. ‘And I would have said yes, Tom. I can’t deny that I love you with all my heart too. I spent a long time trying to convince myself that I didn’t, but it was like trying to turn back the tide – impossible to defeat. I married Harold so that I could do something worthwhile with my life and come to India to nurse where there was a great need for women medics. But I only said yes to him because I couldn’t have the man I truly loved. That is why I have come to terms with the platonic marriage that I have. I don’t want your pity, Tom. My life is enriched by other people’s children – including wee Andrew. That’s the life I’ve chosen.’

  Esmie swallowed the tears in her throat. ‘So when we go from here, we must never speak of this again or show our feelings for each other. It’s enough for me to know that I’m loved by you, Tom. But you have Andrew’s happiness to consider and he needs his mother. I accept that too.’

  Tom’s face was taut with sorrow. She saw him struggling to speak, yet his jaw clamped down on the words he wished to say. Better that he left them unsaid. Instead, he lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips, kissing it firmly and with sweet desperation. Esmie shook with emotion. For a long time, he simply held her hand and gazed at her with his handsome blue eyes. She wanted the moment to last forever, to never have to let go his hold. But she forced herself to do so.

  ‘Keep this,’ she said softly, pushing the handkerchief into his hand.