The Lady's Desire

by Audrey Abbott

  “Och! Tom, it is so good to see ye,” William cried, thumping Tom on the back as he took in his friend’s ruddy complexion and red hair, graying now at the temples.

  “What were you in such an all hellfire hurry about?” Tom asked, beaming up at his old friend. “You almost knocked me over!”

  William shook his head slowly. “I am sorry, Tom. But I just had the most unbelievable conversation with Lord Westmeare. The man is strange! Insane!”

  “Aye, that seems to be the general consensus,” responded Tom. “What’s he done now?” Putting up his hands in mock horror he grinned, “No! No, don’t tell me!”

  William, eaten up by frustration, grabbed Tom by the arm and drew him aside. “I must tell ye, Tom! I must tell someone. Ye are the only man in India I can trust.”

  Tom stared at his friend and said, “I don’t want to hear it! If it touches on Westmeare, it can’t be good.”

  William grimaced, but did not respond. Prompted by his good friend’s stony silence, Tom finally said, “All right, I can see you are worryin’ about this. Tell me.”

  William spoke, his words spilling out in a hushed whisper, “I canna believe it. The man is daft. It has to do with his wife . . .”

  Tom asked, laughing, “What’s he want?”

  “He wants to drag her around the Indian countryside and possibly expose her to myriad local hostilities.”

  “But why would he do that?”

  “I do not know. He has no sense.”

  “Do you know the lady?” Tom asked, eying his friend closely.

  “Oh, aye,” William answered. “I do ken her. We met at Addiscombe in Surrey.” He paused. “She is a lovely lass, Tom.”

  “How lovely?” Tom asked as a look of mild curiosity settled upon his face.

  William paused. “Verra,” was his simple reply. “And far too good for the likes of Lord Westmeare!”

  Tom Crocker looked intently at William as he rocked on his heels. He pondered his friend’s words and understood their unuttered meaning. He recognized that this Lady Westmeare had touched William somehow. Beyond that, he was not at present willing to pursue. But he understood unconditionally that William Ferguson embraced a high standard of honor which he would not abandon lightly.

  Slapping William on the back, he said, “Come on and join me for a few drinks. My treat. We can forget that idiot Westmeare and his bullocks.”

  William laughed. He appreciated his old friend’s candor and that he did not mince words.

  Chapter 37

  The next day, Dr. Pettigrew joined the two friends and together the three men set out to see a few of the sights beyond the esplanade. Dr. Pettigrew, naturally interested in the local flora, persuaded William and Tom to accompany him on a visit to the Royal Gardens just north of the city.

  William and Tom both appreciated the beautiful plants and clean wide spaces of the retreat. It was indeed a paradise after the cramped quarters on the ship and the congested and dirty streets of the city. And for William, it served as a respite from his conflicted thoughts about Westmeare and Lady Anne.

  On another day, the trio took a tour of the esplanade and discovered a stone tablet, commemorating the British tragedy immortalized as The Black Hole of Calcutta. On June 20, 1756, one woman and 145 British men were captured by Indian forces and incarcerated for ten hours in a crowded prison cell devoid of air, water, food, and sanitation. One hundred and twenty-three individuals died. Only twenty-three survived, including the woman.

  The tablet served as a sobering reminder to them all that any peace in India was fragile and dearly purchased. This was why William had returned to India, to help preserve the peace.

  In a week, the soldiers and the botanist parted and promised to keep in touch. Dr. Pettigrew still had high-level meetings to attend with Lord Minto, and William and Tom would be setting off to Fort Paanchdurga.

  In the morning, William joined Sergeant Crocker and a native troop of sepoy cavalry on their journey north. The trip took one week. Located northeast of Calcutta, the fortification guarded the boundary of the East India Company’s authority in that part of India. During the long journey, Tom Crocker filled William in on the latest concerns.

  The land beyond Paanchdurga fomented with revolution and unrest. Recently, rival tribes and local leaders bent on creating mischief and expanding their power base tempted the native infantry sepoy troops to desert or recruited other disenfranchised locals to harass or attack neighboring villages and even British troops.

  Most of the sepoys were loyal to the East India Company and they and their families lived harmoniously within or near the British forts, but a thin undercurrent of discontent rippled through them. It was unusual for native troops to mutiny, but it did happen.

  Around the campfires at night, the two friends discussed the dangers as well as reminisced over past adventures. They relived shared experiences and laughed over their former exploits. For William, he was overjoyed to see his old comrade looking so well.

  “We do it all for the King’s shilling, aye, William?”

  “Oh, aye, Tom. And for our loved ones,” William said as he fed the flames with more kindling. “So, tell me, Tom. How is Zilphia?”

  “She is just wonderful and looking forward to your arrival. Such a smile on her face when I told her over dinner a few weeks ago that your name had appeared on the roster of new arrivals. I was almost jealous.”

  Twenty years earlier, Zilphia Pingree, a pretty Yorkshire lass, had accepted Tom Crocker’s proposal of marriage at the tender age of seventeen and their desired marriage had weathered many a storm, most especially from her ferocious father who had forbidden her to marry Tom, he being only a penniless private. So in the middle of the night, the two had run off across the border to Scotland’s Gretna Green and tied the knot.

  To hear Zilphia tell it, Tom had been afraid of no man ever, except her father. The two friends laughed over these old stories told and retold, but never growing stale in the retelling.

  A sadder memory surfaced and a dark shadow crossed William’s face. In the fading glow of the firelight, Tom saw the shadow and understood its meaning. “Thank you for your concern, William. But no, there have been no children. As you know, Zilphy lost the four babes. All stillborn. And there was one more since we last saw you.”

  Tom paused and swallowed with difficulty. “We are resolved that there will be no more. Zilphy takes it so hard, you understand?” Then Tom fell silent, but his reticence spoke volumes.

  William nodded in the darkness and both men sat in companionable quiet for a long while, watching the embers in the campfire die at their feet.

  Chapter 38

  March 1813

  Fort Paanchdurga, India

  A few days later, the troop approached Fort Paanchdurga. Built to impress and awe the eye of any traveler or potential invader, the ancient stone fortification dominated the narrow end of a former river plain. At some time in the ancient past, the river had plunged underground and now provided an aquifer that supplied a constant source of fresh cool water for the post wells.

  Rugged hills surrounded the structure on three sides with the steepest and most inaccessible peaks, rising behind the fort’s southern walls. Deep ditches plummeted below the hills, providing a daunting deterrent to scaling the enclosure from that direction. And the five-foot-thick walls made of hardened mud and straw could withstand a barrage of enemy artillery.

  The fort had astonished a younger William ten years earlier. It amazed a more seasoned warrior now.

  William, Tom Crocker, and the troop approached the fort from the north along the broad, flat plain that stretched before the stronghold. Over the years, the Company had constructed a military cantonment outside the actual fort. Large barracks, for sheltering the native and European infantry and artillery soldiers, as
well as bungalows for officers and their families, bordered a wide road about a half mile long. Gardens surrounded many of the houses. Tall trees marched behind the buildings, providing shelter and cooling shade. An extensive open space lay between the cantonment and the entrance to the fort. Here troops could gather for parades, training exercises, or frequent cricket matches.

  William paused at the entrance to the fort, his eyes drawn upwards. Constructed of teak and studded with sharp metal spikes, the massive gates soared over their heads. William surveyed the structure and wondered, not for the first time, how often this fort had been attacked and if it had ever been captured. Passing through the metal-studded gates, William shuddered. He understood their lethal importance. Only a herd of charging elephants might topple those gates, but the metal spikes would effectively deter such an assault.

  William determined that only subterfuge and clever deception by internal defectors could ever possibly undermine this fortress. Such a vile deception was a remote possibility, but one that should not be overlooked.

  Well over two hundred years old, the fortification had been held by many forces over the decades. It was a formidable stronghold and through the years, the Company had enlarged and strengthened its ramparts. Located near the edge of the Company’s frontier, the fort secured the borders in this remote and dangerous part of India.

  The structure was pentagon shaped with circular bastions located at each of the five angles and at strategic places along the walls. Paanch was the Hindi word for five. A durga meant fort. Each wall of the fortress measured about five hundred yards long and their height reached about sixty feet high. Wooden platforms stretched from each bastion along the inside perimeters of the structure. Winding stone steps worn down by generations of defenders led up to each battlement.

  One-story bungalows for the more senior officers and civil servants were erected under the platforms. Barracks for the cavalry, stables for the horses, and storage facilities lined an opposite wall. The walls of most of the buildings were constructed of mud with palm thatching.

  The ammunition magazine, constructed of stone, stood against the back wall. A stout wooden building served as the infirmary. The central parade ground was well beaten down from the boots of hundreds of native sepoy soldiers and the hooves of thousands of horses, camels, and oxen.

  William noticed a small chapel, claiming the space against the furthest wall. The stone structure was a new addition to the post. The two-story Officers’ House, complete with thatched roof and wide veranda, provided shelter to the Post Commander’s family and any visiting dignitaries.

  The standard of the East India Company hung limply from a flagpole that rose in front of the two-story dwelling. No breeze disturbed the dust of the parade ground nor unfurled the flag.

  In the early morning, William rode through the gate into the fortification. Ten years ago he had arrived at the very same gate as a green lieutenant. Now as then he observed men employed in the business of the army, cleaning their weapons, exercising their horses, or engaging in their military drills. No one lounged about. To William such activity indicated that this post was well-governed. He detested a poorly run outfit, and the dirt, laziness, and drunkenness that oft times gripped the soldiers and officers stationed at remote posts.

  Parting company with Tom Crocker, William approached the tent where the Post Commander was stationed. The duty station’s flag also drooped. If Captain Ferguson could have asked for anything, it would have been a stiff, cool breeze. Arriving at the commander’s tent, he slid off his mount and reported for duty.

  He had not brought Angus on this trip, having left him at Addiscombe. He missed his gray friend, but he knew that Angus was getting too old for the hazards of an extended sea voyage. And Lady Anne had promised to visit him often, until or if she, too, sailed to India.

  The commander’s tent provided a degree of shade and reprieve from the unrelenting sun. Lieutenant Colonel Nigel Willett stood when William entered his military domicile, returned his crisp salute, and welcomed him to the fortification.

  “Captain, as a regular British Cavalry officer you will be quartered near the sepoy cavalry units inside the fort and will lead them on routine patrols outside the post. There have been several skirmishes with local bandits and we want to put an end to such lawlessness.”

  “Has anyone been wounded or killed?” William asked.

  “We have had three fatalities in the past month. That is three too many for my book.” The colonel looked over William’s papers. “We need to keep up the pressure and not show weakness. We need to be vigilant.”

  “Aye, sir. I agree, sir,” William said, still at attention.

  “Ah, yes, Captain. At ease.” The colonel glanced up at his tall new captain as he took a seat behind his desk. “I see you were with the Greys, performed honorably in Europe under Wellington, and most recently served as an instructor at Addiscombe in Surrey.”

  “Aye, sir.” William removed his shako and placed his right arm behind his back.

  “What did you teach there?” Colonel Willett asked, shuffling the papers.

  “Mathematics, sir.”

  At this the colonel raised an eyebrow. “You went to university then?”

  “Oh, aye, sir. Edinburgh University.”

  “Hmm . . . interesting,” the colonel commented as he perused more closely William’s paperwork. Then changing the topic, he asked, “Tell me, Captain, while at Addiscombe, did you happen to meet with Lord Westmeare?”

  “Aye, that I did. We were introduced at a social affair held there. And we had a meeting a few weeks ago in Calcutta,” William said, controlling his emotions as he remembered that recent unpleasant encounter.

  “What is your opinion of the Lord Westmeare?” the colonel asked as he brushed flies away from his face with a horsetail swatter.

  “Well, I have not had an opportunity to form a solid opinion of him, Sir.” William tried not to be too evasive. Rivulets of sweat dripped down his back. The questions and the heat made him feel increasingly uncomfortable.

  “Come, Captain, let us be honest. Does he still gamble extravagantly?” The colonel looked up at William, scrutinizing him carefully.

  “I have heard that is so and I have seen him at the card tables, but more than that I cannot say.” William spoke in a level voice.

  “You are a cautious man, Ferguson. I also hear that he has remarried and plans to bring his new bride to India. Is that correct?”

  “Aye, he has remarried. I am not certain when Lady Westmeare will be arriving in India. Lord Westmeare was rather vague about dates. But I believe that she is now on her way here.”

  “You have met the Lady? What can you tell me about the unfortunate woman?”

  “Only that Lord Westmeare is most fortunate in his new bride.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Willett looked down at the papers in his hand. “Indeed. I don’t see any reference to it, Ferguson, but you should be in the diplomatic corps. If you are half as good a cavalry officer as you are a diplomat, we shall get along splendidly.” Smiling, he rose and shook William’s hand.

  “Welcome to Paanchdurga, Captain. Mrs. Willett will expect you for the evening meal. Freshen up and appear at the Officers’ House at seven o’clock sharp. Drinks in the library will be followed by supper. Harriet, my wife, will enjoy having someone new to chat with about recent events in England. And she will be delighted to hear that Lady Westmeare may be arriving in India soon.”

  “Thank you, Sir. I will be honored to dine with you and your wife this evening.”

  “You will meet the other officers as well. They all join us most evenings.” Taking a final glance at William’s papers, he nodded. “Good, everything looks in standard order. Corporal O’Reilly will direct you to your quarters. You can stay in the bungalow vacated by your predecessor. You are dismissed, Ca
ptain.”

  William saluted and turned to leave. Then he paused and directed a final question to his commanding officer. “Colonel Willett, what happened to my predecessor?”

  Colonel Willett drew himself up to his fullest height. “Captain Collin Allthorpe was killed while leading a routine patrol.”

  William nodded grimly then turned on his heel and exited the tent. A young soldier with raven black hair appeared in front of him and saluted. “Captain Ferguson? I am Corporal O’Reilly. At your service, Sir!”

  “Corporal, you will be my guide?”

  “Yes, sir! Please follow me!”

  The young soldier led him across the parade ground, explaining in a pleasant Irish brogue the important details of his new post. “If ye have need of me, Captain, ye only have to shout!”

  “Thank ye, Corporal. Now, where do I clean off the dirt of the road?”

  Chapter 39

  March 1813

  Fort Paanchdurga, India

  William arrived at the Officers’ House just before seven o’clock. Unlike most of the houses on the post, this one stood two stories high. Upon his arrival, a native footman ushered him into the library. William stepped into a room that instantly transported him back to Britain. Mrs. Willett had recreated a space that reminded him of any proper British library in any fine country home, complete, of course, with fireplace.