Abruptly, the passage ended and they were inside a barrel-roofed cellar. It smelt damp and musty and the walls dripped with water. But Esmie gulped with relief. Despite the dankness, the air tasted sharper, fresher and very cold.
‘Where are we?’ whispered Lydia. ‘Please God, don’t say we have to go back up that tunnel.’
‘I think it’s an old ice-house,’ Esmie guessed.
Zakir crossed the cellar. Esmie could see no windows or openings but they all pressed on behind him. They rounded a corner and then ahead of them were half a dozen stone steps leading up to a small solid wooden door. Esmie’s hopes leapt. Zakir went ahead, cautioning them with a hand to stay back. He jumped up the steps and felt with his hand along the top of the doorframe. After a moment, he found what he was looking for: a large rusty key.
She could hardly breathe as he fumbled with it in the lock. Please let it open! To have to return in defeat would be unbearable. Despite Zakir’s warning, they all rushed towards the steps to help. Malik got there first, adding his strength to wrenching on the key. Finally, the lock turned. They scraped back two more bolts, pushed against the long unused door and heaved it open. From the bottom of the steps, Esmie felt a blast of icy air rush in.
‘Please stay there, memsahibs,’ said Malik. He and Zakir disappeared beyond.
Resisting the urge to rush after them, Esmie clung to her friend in the darkness and tried to control her ragged breathing. Where did the door lead to?
‘Why are they taking so long?’ Lydia hissed.
‘To make sure it’s safe,’ Esmie whispered.
A minute – that felt like ten – passed and then Malik was returning with the torch.
‘Please come,’ he urged.
The steps were slimy and Lydia slipped, nearly toppling them both. But the mullah grabbed hold of her and stopped her falling. The next moment, they were all scrabbling through the doorway and into the night. They emerged amid a thicket of trees. Esmie could feel thorns catching at her clothes.
In a hushed voice she asked, ‘Where are we?’
Zakir took her by the sleeve and pointed up the hill. There was enough light from the night sky for Esmie to see the forbidding outline of the old tower. They were about a hundred feet below it and on the far side from the window entrance.
Zakir gave her a look of triumph. He struggled to speak. ‘No guard here.’
Esmie grabbed him in a hug of relief. ‘You clever boy!’
When she let go he was grinning.
‘We must hurry, memsahib,’ Malik said. ‘Zakir will show us the best way back to Gardan, avoiding Baram Wali’s house.’
Together, they set off down the steep slope, skidding and slipping in the dark. It was too dangerous to use the torch for fear of attracting attention. Lydia managed the first downhill slope but when they began to follow the circuitous route of undulating tracks, she soon tired.
‘I must sit down,’ she panted. ‘I can’t walk a step further.’
Esmie took charge. ‘We’ll carry you between us.’ She showed Zakir and Malik how to make a chair-lift with their arms to support Lydia. ‘Go on, Lydia; put your arms around their necks.’
After a moment’s hesitation, she did as she was told. They made slower progress and every so often, the men would stop to rest.
‘I can help too,’ offered Mullah Mahmud.
Esmie felt a wave of gratitude to the young man who was still risking his life for people that many Otmanzai would call their enemies.
Thanking him, Esmie took a turn with the mullah to carry Lydia and give the others a short respite.
They were almost past the place where they had left their ponies the previous day, skirting below it, when they spotted movement.
‘There’s someone behind that wall,’ Esmie gasped.
Suddenly, shadowy figures were rushing down the slope, rifles in hand. Esmie’s knees buckled. Lydia let out a wail as the men put her down. In a futile gesture of gallantry, the mullah pushed forward to protect them. But they were five unarmed fugitives against at least a dozen armed brigands.
Esmie felt a strange calm as they faced them. She had done her best. It had not been enough but at least she had tried to save her friend. Now all they could do was plead for mercy or a swift death.
Chapter 40
A shout rang out in the dark, ordering the fleeing party to halt. Men swarmed around them, shouting in excitement. Lydia clung to Esmie, too shocked to move.
A bearded, turbaned man pushed his way through. On seeing the mullah, he threw up his hands and said, ‘Allah be praised!’
Esmie’s breath stopped in her chest. ‘Subahdar Khan?’
He peered at her in the dark and his craggy face creased in a smile. ‘Guthrie Memsahib, you are safe too, Allah be thanked.’
The next moment, another Pathan was striding into the circle. ‘Esmie?’ he cried.
Esmie let out a sob of relief. ‘Tom!’
He was about to catch her hand when he saw Lydia there too and stopped. ‘Lydia!’
She stared at him in confusion. ‘Tom, is that you?’
‘Yes.’
For a long moment they stared at each other and then Lydia flung herself at him.
‘Oh, Tom,’ she cried. ‘I thought I’d never see you again!’
She collapsed into his arms. Tom held her as she wept, murmuring comforting words. ‘You’re safe now. It’s over. The subahdar and the men of Gardan were coming to free you.’
Lydia was sobbing so hard she couldn’t answer back. Esmie was weak with relief.
‘Thank you, Subahdar,’ she said, her eyes stinging with tears.
‘But how did you manage to escape?’ Tor Khan asked.
‘Thanks to Zakir,’ said Esmie, putting her hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘He showed us a way out – the hideout was his old home.’
The mullah spoke. ‘Zakir was as much a prisoner as we were. We must look after him now. I thought I could reason with those men but I was wrong. They are not true Muslims.’
‘They will be punished,’ growled the subahdar. ‘I’ll see to that. But first we must get you to safety. You will stay at my house for the rest of the night.’ He turned and started issuing orders.
Within minutes, they were being helped onto ponies. Tom took Lydia on his horse. Esmie stifled the memory of how he’d held on to her in the same way during their journey to Gardan. She avoided his look, too exhausted to work out her jumble of emotions. They were all alive and that was what mattered most.
They spent the short night at the subahdar’s, the two women bedding down under a thick blanket in a tiny room off the courtyard. Lydia scratched and couldn’t sleep and complained that she should be with Tom.
By the next day, events were moving rapidly. Mullah Zada, on hearing how Mahmud and the women had been mistreated, demanded that the kidnappers be brought before him. Mirza Ali, now denouncing them with vehemence, sent a force to capture them. But by the time they reached the tower, the kidnappers had fled.
All this Esmie heard from the subahdar when he handed over her medicine bag which, to her relief, had been retrieved.
‘I don’t trust Mirza Ali not to have let them escape over the border to Afghanistan,’ he grumbled. ‘That man faces both ways. But at least Baram Wali and his brothers have gone and if I have anything to do with it, they will never return to Gardan.’
A message arrived from Sergeant Baz that the prisoners in Taha were being released and would start out the following day.
‘Why should they?’ Lydia, her confidence reviving, was indignant. ‘The kidnappers have run away so there’s no need to give in to any of their demands now.’
‘We’re still in Otmanzai country,’ Tom cautioned, ‘and these men have kinsmen. We should keep to our side of the bargain and give them no reason to doubt our word.’
‘Our word is never in doubt,’ Lydia retorted. ‘It’s these Pathan devils who have shown that they can’t be trusted.’
‘Lydia, your life ha
s been saved by a host of brave and kind Pathans. Don’t forget that,’ rebuked Esmie.
‘Some of them, maybe,’ she conceded. ‘But they started it by kidnapping me in the first place.’
Esmie caught Tom’s look and saw his reluctance to argue. She bit back the accusation that Lydia should never have attempted to drive to Razmak at all. But it no longer mattered and it wasn’t her concern any more. Such things were between Lydia and Tom.
Tom said, ‘The good news is that we will start back for the border tomorrow.’
‘Thank God!’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘As soon as we get back to civilisation, I’m going to burn every piece of my clothing. I don’t want to keep anything that’ll remind me of this terrible place.’
‘And you’ll see Andrew again,’ said Tom, his look brightening as he mentioned his son.
For a moment she looked puzzled and then she smiled. ‘Yes, of course. I’ve missed him terribly.’
It struck Esmie that it was the first time she’d heard Lydia mention the boy. Not once had she asked about him. It filled her with sorrow. Poor Andrew!
Esmie got up from where they were sitting in the courtyard. ‘I’m going to find Zakir,’ she said and left them alone.
The following day, after an early breakfast of curds, raisins and almonds, they prepared to leave. Both the subahdar and Mirza Ali’s son were providing an escort to see them to the border and oversee the exchange of prisoners. Lydia said she was well enough to ride her own pony and that way they would make more speed.
Mullah Mahmud and Zakir came to say goodbye. Esmie was delighted that her young friend was to become part of the mullah’s household; it was what she had wished for in Kanki-Khel when she’d first come across them.
Tom shook hands with the mullah and thanked him for his help. Lydia nodded in agreement and went to mount her pony.
‘I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us,’ Esmie said, her eyes stinging with tears of gratitude.
The mullah took her hand in a gentle clasp. ‘You have been a brave and loyal friend to Lomax Memsahib. And I hope you will count me as your friend too. You are one of us now. May Allah protect you and be with you all of your days.’
Esmie was overwhelmed; he couldn’t have said anything kinder. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and nodded in thanks. What an unlikely friendship they had struck – the Otmanzai holy man and the British nurse – but she knew that both of them would be the richer for it.
She turned and looked tenderly at Zakir. Yesterday she had helped cut and groom his tangled hair. The boy wore fresh clothes, and his cap – the one Esmie had given him a year ago – had been washed.
She smiled. ‘Dear Zakir.’
Abruptly, he threw himself at her feet and clung on to her. She crouched down and stroked his head. ‘Don’t be upset. You have a new family now.’
He looked up at her with sad eyes as if he couldn’t understand why she had to leave him again. She cupped his face with her hands and kissed his forehead. ‘We will always be with each other in our hearts.’
Standing up, the mullah gently pulled Zakir away.
On the spur of the moment, Esmie said, ‘Wait.’ She fished inside the pocket of her woollen jacket and pulled out her electric torch. ‘Take this and keep it.’
Zakir’s eyes lit up. He grabbed it and turned it on, grinning. In a husky voice he said, ‘Thank you, memsahib.’
She smiled. ‘It’s me who thanks you, Zakir.’
Quickly, Esmie turned to mount her pony, not wanting to break down crying in front of the boy. The others were already waiting at the gateway, Lydia looking impatient to be off.
Within minutes they were leaving behind the scattering of fortified houses and skirting the village with its holy tomb. The air was sharp and pewter-grey clouds were amassing over the mountain range. Rain or snow looked imminent. Suddenly, Esmie was infected with the same restlessness that gripped Lydia. She couldn’t wait to be gone.
It was only nine days since she had left Taha but it seemed a lifetime ago. Esmie longed to be home in the cantonment with Karo and Gabina – her friend would be so relieved to hear that Baram Wali had fled and could no longer threaten her. And there was Harold. She had much to tell him – and they had things to discuss about their future. Doubts crowded in again about the state of her marriage. Was she prepared to live with Harold like brother and sister forever and to never have a child of her own?
She allowed thoughts of baby Andrew to steal into her mind. Her insides tugged with a familiar protective longing. Ahead rode Lydia and Tom, getting nearer to their son with every mile. She felt her chest tighten with envy. Perhaps she would never be rid of her maternal feelings. It would be a relief when they took Andrew back to Rawalpindi and she could absorb herself once more in the work of the mission hospital. Driving herself hard at work was always her answer to avoiding upsetting emotions.
With that thought, Esmie spurred her pony south.
Baz was waiting for them at the border, along with a police escort and the three prisoners. There was a swift handing over. They said their goodbyes and thanks to the subahdar. Esmie was touched to see Tom and Tor Khan embrace each other emotionally and without the need for words, each knowing they would probably never see the other again. Then Esmie and her friends were riding on, arriving back in Kanki-Khel before nightfall.
Lydia was persuaded to wash and change into some of Esmie’s clothes that had been left there on the way north. The old Lydia would not have been able to squeeze into them, but she had lost so much weight that the skirt and blouse fitted. Esmie was alarmed at how skinny her friend had become.
That night, they opened wine that Baz had had sent up from Taha, and drank to their freedom. Lydia was quickly drunk and grew garrulous.
‘I suppose I’ll have to endure a terrible fuss when we get back to Pindi. Was my kidnap in all the papers? I can’t wait to tell Geraldine Hopkirk the full story – her eyes will be out on stalks.’ Lydia laughed tipsily. ‘And I can just see Jimmy and Stella pestering me for details. My ordeal beats any of the fanciful stories that the so-called baroness has ever come out with. She’ll be speechless – for once!’
Esmie glanced at Tom, waiting for him to probe for answers as to why she had gone missing in the first place. But he avoided her look and said little. Perhaps he had decided for the sake of his marriage and Andrew that he didn’t want to know the truth. In a few days, they would be back in Rawalpindi and could begin to pick up the pieces of their lives – to start afresh.
Silently, Esmie wondered how possible that would be. She remembered Lydia’s confession in captivity. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Pindi and that bloody hotel.’
Yet Lydia seemed happy to be back with Tom. Perhaps the lengths Tom had gone to rescue her had made her appreciate her husband once more. Tired out, Esmie left them and went to bed.
The next day they climbed aboard a police truck for the journey to Taha, accompanied by Baz and Malik. Esmie chose to stay in the back with her orderly, leaving Tom and Lydia to sit up front together. She sensed a new awkwardness between her and Tom. As they passed the riverside where Tom had declared his true feelings for her, Esmie felt sadness tighten her chest. She wondered if he felt the same.
Yet the nearer they drew to Taha, the more Esmie hoped that the Lomaxes would not linger in the frontier town but hurry back to the city and the Raj Hotel. She, too, just wanted to resume her everyday life.
As the town appeared in the distance, Esmie said to Malik, ‘You’ve been such a support. Thank you. If you wish to take a few days off – go and visit your family – then please do so. You deserve a rest.’
The orderly gave her one of his rare broad smiles. ‘Only if Guthrie Mem’ takes a holiday too.’
She gave a wry laugh. ‘Maybe the rest of the day. I’m not good at being idle. I’m happier working.’
He nodded. ‘And so am I, memsahib.’
Twenty minutes later the truck was trundling under the ma
ssive stone archway of the northern gate and into Taha. Word had preceded them about the return of the kidnapped memsahib and crowds pressed around, shouting to catch a glimpse of the rescued woman. From the cries of delight, Esmie guessed that Lydia was waving to the masses.
Malik lifted the canvas flaps so that Esmie could see better what was going on. Slowly, they inched through the throng of well-wishers and those come to gawp and on into the cantonment. The streets were strangely quiet. She had expected a rousing reception from the British to welcome them back. Was this an indication of disapproval at Lydia’s rash behaviour? Perhaps McCabe had insisted that there should be no fuss. She was relieved that they weren’t being faced with military bands and welcome committees.
But when they pulled up outside Number Ten, the Lines, Esmie saw that there were a couple of uniformed men on the veranda obviously there to greet them; McCabe and Rennell. Malik helped her down from the truck while Tom did the same for Lydia. Esmie felt the familiar queasiness of walking on firm ground while her head and stomach still felt they were being jostled on the road. It was so good to be home!
Alec Bannerman came striding down the garden path to meet them, an odd smile on his face. He greeted Lydia and Tom with warm handshakes, gallantly making no mention of Lydia absconding with his car and map.
Lydia began to chatter with nervous excitement about her imprisonment and escape. But Alec turned from her distractedly to welcome Esmie. He kissed her cheek.
‘The heroine of the hour!’ he said, with a feverish look in his eye. ‘My dear Esmie!’ Linking her arm through his, he guided her swiftly up the path ahead of the others. ‘We’re all here for you.’
She was touched that Alec should be the one to come and meet her. It was typical that Harold should let him do so. She wouldn’t put it past her husband to still be at the hospital working until he got news that they had arrived.
Reaching the veranda, McCabe and Rennell jumped to their feet.
‘Rupa!’ Esmie cried in delight to see that her Parsee friend was also there.
The Emerald Affair Page 47
