Wallace shook his head again in a tired manner, looking directly at me.
‘I was to blame, nevertheless. Laura knows the truth of the matter.’ And, as I made to interrupt him, he held up his hand to silence me. ‘No, my dear, it’s of no use trying to hide things any more. I am not interested in what people say of me now.’ He turned to Charles. ‘Laura knows that the real reason we had to leave Lucknow was not because I had been transferred to do a difficult job, but because my colonel wanted me out of the way on account of my gambling and my debts! If I had not been such a confounded fool about cards and horses, and everything else one can gamble on, Connie would be on a boat now and halfway to England.’
‘I thought you were in difficulties that last few weeks before you left Lucknow. Wallace, why on earth didn’t you apply to me? I could have seen you over a rough patch.’
‘It was more than a patch, my dear chap; and I had lost more than Connie’s passage money and the wherewithal to set her up in a cottage in England. I shall be in debt for the rest of my life. Which is one more reason why I would so much sooner be dead.’
‘You are not just to yourself, Wallace,’ I said. ‘Why do you not also tell them that it was because of Connie that you gambled in the first place? Because you wanted to do so much more for her than your income allowed you to?’
‘Because I’m not sure any more that that is the truth, Laura. Oh, I thought so at the time. But I fooled myself over so many other things, perhaps I fooled myself over that too. Anyway, it was directly due to my debts that Colonel Hande rusticated me, so it was due to that that Connie and Johnny were killed. Shan’t fool myself on that point anyway! If I had had the sense to keep my money in my pocket, instead of piling it up on the baize night after night, we would not have had to leave Lucknow. At the worse, Connie and Johnny would have been brought in here with all the others, and, and … well, I didn’t have the sense!’ he ended bleakly.
There was nothing we could say to dissuade him in his reasoning, and it was a relief when, after another stiff drink, he got up to go.
‘I’ll be needing that,’ he said, as he got unsteadily to his feet, recorking the bottle and slipping it back into his pocket. ‘We’re to go out in the morning, I suppose you have heard? Sir Henry means to intercept a party of mutineers approaching from Cawnpore. Suppose he knows what he’s doing; but I wish we could be a little more certain of the black gentlemen who remain with us. Don’t like the temper of the Sikhs myself. Don’t like it a bit. Still, perhaps it will be the answer to my problem.’ And he smiled wryly as he wished us goodnight.
Emily hardly waited for him to descend the steps before turning to Charles with the question that was in all our minds.
‘Is it true, Charles? Is Sir Henry going out in the morning, and will you be going too?’
‘Good grief, no, girl! I won’t be going. I may be a volunteer, but I’m scarcely a soldier yet, you know. Thank heavens for it too, because my feet wouldn’t carry me as far as the gate!’
‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ Emily flopped down on a chair in relief. ‘It would be dreadful if you had to go out and we were left here on our own. I couldn’t bear it!’
‘Well, it won’t happen just yet. Not that this is going to be a serious affair. One account has it that there are several thousand mutineers on their way here to reinforce their brothers, and another that there are just a few hundred. I should imagine the latter estimate is the correct one, and I can’t think Sir Henry would risk the men he has to defend this place if he wasn’t sure that his losses would be negligible. I imagine he just wants to make an example—show them there is still fight in us. Nothing more.’
The entrenchment was astir very early the following morning. By six o’clock we had eaten our meagre breakfast, Charles and Toddy-Bob had gone to their respective posts, and Emily, Kate and I went hurriedly to a vantage point on the upper verandah of the Banqueting Hall, from where we could watch the departure of the troops. Even so early, the strength of the sun as we walked out of the Gaol gave warning of an unusually hot day.
Emily and I had never before witnessed such a sight, and it was with interest rather than alarm that we watched the mustering of the men. We still knew too little of war to be immune to the romantic enthusiasm engendered by bright uniforms, fine horses, great guns, and the stirring sound of bugles, of harnesses clinking accompaniment to the rolling drums, of incomprehensible shouted orders; so when Sir Henry Lawrence appeared on the steps of the Residency, we joined in the cheer with which his men greeted him.
‘Well, we’re off!’ George Barry paused to call to his wife as he led his horse into position. ‘A prayer for us all, my dears. It’s going to be a hard hot day, even if we never fire a gun, and I’ve just heard that the 32nd are going out without their breakfast.’
‘Poor lads, but why?’ Kate called back.
‘God knows,’ her husband answered as he swung into his saddle. ‘Some damn-fool mix up about the commissariat, I suppose, but there’s no time to right the matter now if we want to get this business over before mid-day. Au revoir!’ And with a salute he was gone.
The 32nd, every button of their scarlet jackets fastened, every pipe-clayed crossbelt snowy, were already marching down the slope and through the Baillie Guard. The guns followed, each drawn by its team of four horses, the lead horse ridden by one artilleryman, his comrades following their charge in close order; then ammunition wagons drawn by mules or bullocks; then the Sikh cavalry—tall men, full-bearded and blue-coated, on tall horses—followed by a group of mounted volunteers and the officers of mutinous regiments like George Barry, faithful men, dispirited because they had no troops to command. After these, through the gate lumbered an elephant drawing a huge howitzer, the only one we had, so Kate said. Then the staff and, among them somewhere, Sir Henry. More cavalry followed, and, at last, ominously, a few horsedrawn ambulances curtained in blood red.
The clear morning sun glinted cheerfully on scarlet jackets and white turbans, on the satiny flanks of well-kept horses, on the great, dull bulk of the elephant, and the great, dull barrel of the gun it hauled; on the blue coats of the Sikh sowars, and bright pennants fluttering in the morning air. Even when the tramp, rattle and creak of their passage had died to a far-off hum, the sun struck answering sparks from lance-tips and bayonets and the brass spikes on helmets, as the long, awkward line of men and beasts wound its way across the pleasant parks and wooded land towards the distant village of Chinhat.
The enclosure was curiously desolate when they had gone. Groups of soldiers stood about idly and in silence, wishing perhaps that they had had a part in the foray. The coolies employed on the earthworks took advantage of the general lull to drop their shovels and baskets and squat down for a hurried pull on the small thin cheroots, called biris, extracted from the folds of their turbans or loincloths. Women, many with babies in their arms, stood in knots talking in low voices, unwilling to return to their quarters with only the prospect of an empty, anxious day before them.
And the sun gained strength by the moment.
Kate, glad of company, returned to the Gaol with us. We could guess her anxiety, but she gave no sign of it, busying herself cheerfully in helping us to tidy our rooms and showing us how to roll up our bedding and stow it away in approved military style. Ishmial, who would normally have insisted on performing these services, had been given a musket and put in charge of a labour gang, and Charles and Toddy-Bob were by now busy drilling once again.
When we had finished our housekeeping, Kate took us to visit acquaintances in other buildings, and after an hour spent listening to the ladies of cantonments complaining of their servantless, comfortless state—and all of them far more luxuriously housed than we—Emily, who still tired easily, went back to Pearl, who had been left in the charge of our fat neighbour, Mrs Bonner, and Kate and I sat ourselves down in the shade of the earthworks to watch the progress of the fortifications. It was very hot and humid, but more bearable outside than in the close darkness
of our rooms, and the unfamiliarity of what was taking place around us diverted my mind at least from physical discomfort. The previous day I had bought myself a large-brimmed straw hat that saved my eyes from the worst of the glare, and with my collar turned back and my sleeves rolled up to the elbow, I felt myself as well equipped to meet the climate as even Mr Erskine could have hoped. I owned no hoop now, nor even half the number of petticoats generally considered decent, and was far more comfortable for the lack of them.
From where we sat, we had a good view down into the entrenchment on the one side and, on the other, over the low wall at the summit of the glacis, could look into that part of the city which approached the enclosure.
The coolies now were back at work, and the labour of strengthening the fortifications, and indeed of erecting the fortifications themselves, was continuing with all possible speed, in spite of the heat and the inadequacy of the materials. Near where we sat, a labour gang was crowning the glacis with sandbags and erecting entanglements of wire and branches. On the further side of the wall, pits had been dug and planted with pointed stakes, while four-pointed spikes, known as crows’ feet, were forced into the earth between and about the pits—measures that, in the event of a successful assault, would delay the enemy sufficiently to enable our men to withdraw to the second line of defence within the walls. I was not versed in the art of war but, even so, these precautions seemed to be not only archaic but inadequate. This impression grew as I continued to look around me. In no place was the wall even as high as the buildings it enclosed. One stretch of the perimeter was still unwalled, and a screen of bamboo, sacking and thatch had been hastily thrown up to supply the deficiency. In places, buildings themselves formed the fortifications, their apertures barricaded with boards and sandbags, even furniture, and guns mounted on the roofs. In another spot, a low board fence was laboriously banked up with earth from the coolies’ shallow baskets. But perhaps these primitive defences would not have seemed so alarmingly insufficient had not the city itself edged so closely to their line, had not so many substantial houses abutted almost on to our fortifications.
I was only a little reassured by the seeming placidity with which the life of the city continued beyond the barricade. Along the streets and alleys leading away from the Residency the people of Lucknow pursued their various ways, stopping sometimes to view the progress of our labours, but generally too busy with their own concerns even to pause. Certainly, none gave any sign of hostility; but it was known that guns were already in place in the upper storeys of many of the buildings around us and from time to time figures appeared in the windows, watching us.
We could even make out the colour of their clothing.
CHAPTER 4
‘Now, you must tell me everything,’ Kate said when we had sat in silence for some time. ‘What happened at Hassanganj? Why did you go to Wajid Khan’s house instead of coming straight here? And how is it that Oliver Erskine isn’t with you, child?’
I drew a long breath and began, knowing that Kate would want the truth.
‘I hardly know where to start, so much has happened and all of it so little what we could ever have believed would happen!’ She was silent and attentive as I told her of our last days at Hassanganj and the journey to Lucknow, only shaking her head when I got to finding the bodies of the Wilkins family and clucking in disbelief when I confessed to having shot a fellow human being.
‘Incredible!’ she breathed, as I paused to take stock of what remained to be told. ‘Incredible, except that I have heard so many other accounts like yours in the last couple of weeks, and some of them have ended in greater tragedy. But when I think of what you all must have suffered! You must often have given up all hope of reaching safety. And Emily, poor little Emily, how wonderful that she has borne up so well. I would not have thought it of her. Truly, motherhood is a remarkable thing. But Oliver—what made him desert you at the last? He cannot have returned to Hassanganj. There would be no point to it, for the moment anyway.’
‘No, there was a point to it. I am not sure that it is something I should mention, even to you, but I know you will not be satisfied with less than the truth. I count on your discretion, Kate. As you know, he came with us as far as the outskirts of the city. Everything seemed calm enough that morning, and he had arranged with Wajid Khan to send an escort for us, thinking of course that we would be brought straight here to the Residency. He ordered Toddy and Ishmial to come with us, and I suppose he had no more idea that Wajid Khan would play the traitor and, well, hold us prisoner, than we had. Naturally, we had expected him to come on with us, so what was our surprise when he cheerfully bade us goodbye, and galloped back the way we had come. I was thunderstruck. Then furious. And then curious. A few discreet questions of Toddy-Bob finally elicited the real reason for his departure. He had gone back in order to take his little daughter, Yasmina, to her grandparents in Cawnpore. Yasmina’s mother, you see,—her name was Moti—had been killed by the mutineers on the night of our escape. It was she who gave us the first warning.’
‘Oh ho! I begin to see. And all of this came, I suppose, as a dreadful revelation to you?’
‘Yasmina’s parentage, no. I had been aware of it for some time. Moti helped Emily at the birth of the baby. But of course I did not know that she had been killed, and the awful part is that I believe I must have heard it—when it happened. I heard a scream, but no one else did, and so I … I did nothing about it.’
‘Sure, and what could you have done? You’d only have been killed too—all of you. And were you, then, very shocked when you learned about Mr Erskine’s domestic arrangement?’
‘Yes. Of course I was. At first, anyway!’ But I smiled at Kate as I spoke. She was not the woman to be upset by such a discovery, and under the scrutiny of her blue eyes I found it difficult to remember any time when I had been. Perhaps it was becoming clear to me that my initial outrage had been due to wounded pride rather than injured virtue. She returned my smile with understanding and settled herself more comfortably against the earth wall.
‘Just like the fool!’ she snorted after a thoughtful pause. ‘Not the business of the woman—that could happen to any man living alone as he has done for this age past—but to make himself responsible for the child. Quixotic nonsense! He could have arranged to have it cared for by—well, by one of the servants or something. But, that’s much what I would have expected of him. None of the Erskines had a sense of proportion about their responsibilities.’ She sniffed in a manner that indicated approval, despite her words.
‘And so he took the child to Cawnpore, you say? I’d feel easier about him if he hadn’t gone there, supposing he got that far. I suppose he did?’
‘I should think so. He was wearing Pathan dress, as I told you, and Toddy said he’d have no difficulty. He knows the country and the people so thoroughly that I have no fears for him in that respect.’
‘Aye, but the country and the people as they are today? That’s the trouble!’
‘But you have never seen him in his native things, Kate. He just melts into a crowd as though he belongs to it. And he has great forethought; he organized everything, planned our escape and so on, long before there was any need for it. Of course, matters began to go wrong from the very beginning, but he was always up to the occasion, even though the mutineers really surprised us. I think that annoyed him more even than the burning of his house. He does so like to believe himself omnipotent in Hassanganj and he was furious at having—well, not been caught napping, exactly—but being given so little time! Perhaps he had relied too much on the servants. I don’t know. Anyway, they had all disappeared that night, except for the old abdar and Ishmial, of course, all the house servants and the punkah coolies, everyone. Just deserted him after all these years.’
‘He must have expected that. He would know the poor wretches had no option once the pandies were in the vicinity.’
‘Pandies?’ I broke in, puzzled by the term.
‘The rebels. Our lads have n
icknamed them “pandies” after the mutineer who attacked General Hearsey in Barrackpore.’
‘I remember now. He was executed, wasn’t he, as an example?’
Kate pulled a wry face. ‘Yes, but anyway, Oliver would know that his servants had their own homes and families to think of, you know, like the rest of us, and with all the rumours and strange stories that have been flying around for this age past, why, he would be the first to realize that they would go when the time came.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. He certainly wasn’t unduly surprised when I told him the ayahs were not in the bedrooms that night. Annoyed, more.’
‘Hm! And when he left you to return to Hassanganj, did he say he would come back here?’
‘Yes.’ And I thought of what he had said: ‘I promise—I’ll come back to you—for you.’ But to Kate I said only, ‘Yes, he said he would come here. Quite plainly. In fact I … we were almost sure that he would be waiting here for us when we entered. All the time in Wajid Khan’s house we expected him—or half-expected him, anyway. I suppose we should have realized that he would have suspected something at once if he had come here and not found us, but still, one couldn’t help hoping … And we had so little idea of what was going on, even in the house, let alone in the city or out here in the Residency.’
‘Yes,’ Kate sighed. ‘If there were only some way of knowing what was really happening anywhere! Cawnpore isn’t far off, but we know nothing but that there have been negotiations going on with the Nana Sahib, and now Wheeler has capitulated to him. It’s curious to think of the Nana Sahib as an enemy, y’know. Everyone who was ever stationed in Cawnpore speaks well of him. He was quite the gentleman; very polite and amiable and fond of joining in the local jollifications. It’s very strange. But at least we can hope that he proves a magnanimous victor in the light of what we know of him.’
‘You knew him personally?’
Zemindar Page 54
