Tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘I do. And I want us to be parents. I yearn for that more than anything. Seeing you holding Alexander so tenderly breaks my heart.’
George kissed her forehead. ‘I want that too.’
‘Then be a husband to me, George,’ Alice pleaded, ‘and sleep in our bed again.’
‘If that’s what you really want?’ George asked.
Alice nodded and then, taking his hand, led him back to bed.
Emily heard the news first, rushing back from a party at the Governor’s house. It was late September and people were preparing for the long trek back to Calcutta for the cold season.
‘Buckley’s back from Bushahir.’
Alice broke off from her book. Her heart began a treacherous thudding. ‘Oh?’
‘There’s been a hoo-ha about horse trading. Hasn’t brought nearly enough ponies with him apparently.’
This was of little interest to Alice. ‘And are all the officers back now?’
Emily shook her head. ‘No, that’s what’s got tongues wagging; the Scots lieutenants aren’t with him. As a matter of fact, Buckley’s blaming them for the failure to buy horses. Said they squandered the money on the temptations on offer in Sanpore and then took off to go hunting.’
‘I don’t believe that.’ Alice was indignant.
‘Well, that’s what he’s saying. Said he had to use his own money to buy Tibetan horses from the raja. He’s very annoyed about it all.’
‘And do people believe him?’ asked Alice.
Emily shrugged. ‘They’re beginning to wonder. After all, Sinclair and MacRae are nowhere to be seen, are they?’
Over the next few days of packing up and hiring baggage handlers, there was a fervour of gossip in the town about the missing officers.
‘It seems most out of character,’ said George.
Sandy also defended them. ‘It’s just Buckley’s word against theirs. Once they return from their hunting trip it will all be explained.’
Alice worried about what had happened to them. She felt a stab of unease. John had been deeply angered and upset when they had parted. What if he had acted recklessly – selfishly – in an attempt to put the past behind him? But surely the sensible Colin MacRae would not have allowed him to misspend Company money?
The town buzzed like a hive with wild speculation. Sinclair had succumbed to opium addiction. The two officers had gone east and north to line their own pockets with lucrative deals in pashmina. They were still in Sanpore living like rajas with a zenana full of mistresses. They had escaped to Tibet with Company gold. Alice refused to believe such ludicrous tales. Buckley was far more likely to be the kind of man who might give into temptations of the flesh than John or Colin.
In mid-October, on the eve of departure for Calcutta, a package was delivered to Daisy Cottage for the Gillverays. George had just returned from organising the conveying of his precious plant samples back to the botanic gardens, in particular some rhododendrons.
‘It’s from Colin MacRae,’ said George, letting Alice unwrap the present of pashmina wool.
‘How kind!’ She pressed the soft beige-coloured wool to her cheek. Its animal smell brought a whiff of the mountains.
George read the accompanying letter. ‘He’s back with his regiment in Dehra Dun.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Alice said in relief. ‘So they haven’t run off with Company money after all.’
‘It seems he came back a different way than through Simla,’ George said.
‘And John Sinclair too?’ Alice felt herself blushing as she mentioned him.
George gave her an odd look. ‘No, I’m afraid not. He stayed on in the mountains. MacRae said he planned to go on to Leh in Ladakh.’
‘But that’s beyond British-held territory, isn’t it?’
George nodded.
‘Well, at least it shows Buckley’s wrong and he’s not living a life of debauchery in Sanpore,’ Alice pointed out.
George frowned. ‘But it’s not good. It worries me that he didn’t return with MacRae.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alice asked, feeling anxiety grip her.
‘Well, if Sinclair doesn’t report back to his duties in Dehra Dun by the end of this month, it will be seen as desertion.’
‘Desertion?’ Alice echoed in alarm.
‘He’ll be court-martialled,’ said George gravely.
‘But that’s terrible,’ she cried. ‘It would end his army career and it means everything to him.’
‘Let’s hope our fears are wrong,’ he said. ‘But it would seem to be an act of recklessness to remain in the far mountains this late in the season. Only a man who has nothing to lose would do that. So perhaps there is some truth in what Buckley says.’
‘How can you say such a thing?’ Alice was indignant. ‘John Sinclair is an honourable man.’
George gave her a long assessing look, which made her blush deepen. ‘I believe you are right, my dear.’ He got up and passed her the letter to read. As he made for the door, he turned and said, ‘Your pashmina was not from MacRae. He was merely passing it on. It was Lieutenant Sinclair who wished you to have it.’
The Gillverays and Aytons left Simla on a bright, cloudless October morning with the peaks of the Himalayas clear and dazzling against an azure sky. Alice gave them a last longing look – her pashmina mountains as she thought of them now – and wondered what had become of John. Perhaps he too had chosen to journey back to Dehra by another route. Or had he deliberately decided to cock a snook at the Company and seek his fortune elsewhere?
Either way, by the time they were wending their way out of the foothills, John Sinclair had not returned to Simla.
CHAPTER 18
Leh, Ladakh, September 1836
John was fascinated by Leh. That first time he had entered, stepping his pony over a high doorstep in the surrounding stone wall, he’d expected to find himself in a courtyard of a large homestead. Instead there had been a wide road lined with mud-built houses and a bazaar with artisans’ shops selling metal pots, furs and precious stones. Crowning the cliffs behind was the solid fortress of the king and a monastery, keeping a benevolent eye on the settlement, and its gardens, which stretched down to the sandy plain and the river.
Lamas dressed in red robes and pigtailed men in belted coats mingled freely with women wearing girdled tunics, sheepskin cloaks, soft wool boots and hats bedecked in bright turquoise stones. Both men and women wore black fur earflaps. People were friendly and greeted them politely with bows and salutations.
Rajban had found them accommodation in a low-roofed dwelling down a side street, with stabling for their ponies. The porters had been paid off and departed with their yaks.
They had rested for several days and then John had begun to take an interest in the trading in the town, going to view the livestock. Wherever he went the tall broad Highlander attracted a crowd of onlookers and eager children. There were other non-Ladakhis in Leh – merchants from Gilgit and Afghanistan whose features and clothing marked them apart from the locals. John made friends with a Kashmiri wool merchant called Wahid who could speak Hindustani. They shared a water-pipe and compared travel stories. He was a fount of information about the trade in pashmina.
‘The Ladakhi goats are superior to our ones in Kashmir,’ said Wahid. ‘The higher elevation produces a finer winter coat. That is why I come here to barter for their wool.’
One day, royal guards in yellow capes and caps knocked at John’s door. Rajban explained that they were summoned to the king’s palace. Riding on a squat Yarkandi pony with his feet nearly scraping the ground, John was escorted up the steep hillside into the forbidding-looking castle. To his amazement the inside was richly adorned with carved-and-painted pillars and doorways. He was met by a fanfare of horns and cymbals and led into a large audience chamber. The king, who was dressed in a highly embroidered silk robe of green, blue and red, greeted him warmly. John thought they were of a similar age; the monarch’s genial smiling rou
nd face reminded him of his childhood friend Donald.
They sat on low divans while servants brought dishes of apricots, bowls of curds and thick brown buttered tea. The audience chamber smelt pleasantly of aromatic incense burning in recessed niches. Rajban interpreted.
The king was honoured to have a British officer in his capital. He was welcome to go where he wished in Leh.
‘But you must get permission to travel beyond the valley,’ said Rajban, ‘as there are bad men who might wish you harm.’
‘Thank him for his concern,’ said John. ‘Ask him who the bad men are.’
Rajban relayed the reply. ‘Gulab Singh and Zorawar Singh. The Sikh aggressors from the west.’
John raised his eyebrows. ‘Ranjit Singh’s protégés?’
‘His Majesty says they have already sent raiding parties this summer,’ said Rajban.
‘Tell him I will be careful but would like to explore more of his country – that I wish to hunt for a couple of weeks before returning back to India.’
‘He says he is not much interested in hunting but will be happy to provide you with an escort.’
John feared for the young ruler. It seemed to him on first impressions that this was a peaceable land. Buddhists were renowned for their lack of aggression and reluctance to resort to violence to resolve conflict. However, if they were being threatened, then the priest-king would have no alternative.
They talked to and fro, the king eager to hear all about India and the world beyond his realm. He seemed fascinated by John’s family and background.
‘So you too are the son of a ruler!’ he cried. ‘And are you related to your British king?’
John laughed. ‘No.’
‘But you are an important man,’ said his host. ‘You wear the colours of your king’s guard and you come with a letter bearing his seal.’
‘I am just a hunter with an interest in horses,’ John insisted.
They were entertained by masked male dancers, and the court astrologer was called forward to divine when would be an auspicious day for John to go hunting. John handed over gifts that he had brought to smooth his way with officials: a picture of a sailing ship, a tin of sardines and a pocket watch. The king was delighted.
Before John and Rajban left, they were shown around the castle with its warren of dark passageways and stairs, every gloomy room hung with silk banners. The king had a library lined with wall hangings depicting gods and Buddhist symbols and deep shelves storing ancient texts and scrolls. The heart of his rock palace was the altar room, its dark recesses hardly penetrated by flickering butter lamps. The rancid smell was tempered by incense, which burnt in front of a large image of Buddha alongside offerings of flour and water in little brass bowls.
From here they were led up to the top of the castle and emerged onto the flat roof into sharp, clear air and vivid light that dazzled after the gloom of the castle. The view was dizzying. Far below were the mud houses of the town and the ochre sandy plain stretching to the green strip of the Indus valley. Towering all around were rocky mountains in endless ranks, disappearing off into purple shadows and gleaming white peaks.
To the north, John saw a dirt track winding its way into the mountains.
‘Where does that go?’ he asked.
‘To Yarkand,’ the King replied, ‘and far beyond.’
John and Rajban exchanged looks. Was this the old trading route to Turkestan and China? The Company would be very interested to know if there was a viable way through from India to Yarkand.
Whenever John and Rajban rode out to hunt, they were accompanied by the king’s guards. John wanted to explore further than the valley and into the mountains but he was always politely persuaded not to do so. Bears would kill him or bad demons would bring sickness.
Tired of being followed, John decided it was time to retrace their steps back to India. Fresh snow was appearing on the far peaks and would be descending to the mountain passes by the end of October. Rajban set about hiring new porters.
Two days before departure, John emerged from their lodgings to find guards posted at the door.
‘What are they doing here?’ he asked Rajban.
Rajban had a heated argument with one of them. He told John in frustration, ‘They say we can’t leave until the next full moon. The king’s astrologer says it’s inauspicious to travel at the moment.’
‘The next full moon?’ John said in exasperation. ‘That’s nearly a month away. The passes could be blocked by then. We must be allowed to travel sooner. Tell him I wish to speak to the king.’
But an audience was not granted. Messages were relayed from the palace with predictions from the astrologer and good wishes from the king. As days went by and clouds amassed over the mountains, John’s patience snapped.
‘We must leave today,’ he ordered, ‘else we will be stuck here for the winter and my army career will be over.’
Rajban came back from arranging the transport with an anxious face. ‘The porters will no longer agree to come. They have been told not to obey your orders.’
‘Says who?’
‘Officials at the palace.’
‘Why on earth do they want to keep us here?’
Rajban shrugged helplessly.
John’s unease grew. Soon their ponies were confiscated and the guards were not allowing him to venture beyond the town.
‘They say it’s for your own safety,’ Rajban reported.
‘This is unacceptable!’ John cried. ‘They can’t keep me hostage. I demand to see the king.’
Finally, John was given another audience at the castle. He was received with the same courtesy and smiles. John pleaded for his release and to be allowed to travel on.
The king seemed hurt. ‘Do you not like my country? Are you not being treated with respect?’
‘I do like your country,’ John said. ‘All I ask is that you allow me to return to India before the winter comes.’
‘It is not safe to travel,’ said the king. ‘I will not put your life at risk – you are my guest.’
John tried a different tack. ‘I have other gifts that I can give Your Highness if you let me go.’
The king smiled. ‘I do not want earthly rewards.’
‘I can offer you friendship from the British,’ John urged, even though Captain Smith had warned that he must not promise political allegiance to anyone. But he could offer a trading relationship. ‘We can give you a ready market for your pashmina. Just tell me what it is that you want.’
‘My astrologers predicted that you would come. You will save my kingdom.’
John looked at Rajban in disbelief. ‘How is that possible?’
‘The Sikhs will not attack us if they know that an important emissary of the British is staying in Leh. I have sent out messengers to tell them. You and your British king will protect us.’
John was dumbfounded. How could he tell this naïve young monarch that his kingdom was far too remote for it to be of interest to the Company or its government beyond being a trading outpost?
‘You put too much faith in the British,’ John said. ‘We won’t fight the Sikhs on your behalf. We are allies with the Sikh ruler, Ranjit Singh.’
The King spread his hands in a fatalistic gesture. ‘But if the Sikhs attack and kill you, your British king will avenge your death. I have heard how the British army believes in an eye for an eye.’
‘I am not important to the British army,’ John protested.
‘I have seen the letter you carry with the king’s seal. You are indeed an important man.’
John silently cursed ever having agreed to Captain Smith’s ploy. He tried one more time to change the ruler’s mind. ‘I would be of more use to you if you allowed me to return to India. Then I can alert my superiors to the troubles you are having with the Sikhs. I could speak up on your behalf.’
The king looked thoughtful. After a pause he nodded. He would meditate on John’s words and consult with his priests and astrologers.
J
ohn left with raised hopes. But the guards remained at his door and continued to follow him around the town.
Days slipped by and no permission to leave came from the palace.
‘They are keeping me here as a bargaining counter,’ he said to Rajban in frustration. ‘I am sorry, my friend. It means you are stuck here too.’
Rajban smiled and joked, ‘It’s the most comfortable prison I’ve seen.’
John sat down and wrote three letters explaining his predicament; one to Colin, one to Everest and one to Captain Smith. In the latter he warned the political agent about an invasion brewing.
The King of Ladakh is a peaceable ruler but lives in very great fear of being invaded by Gulab Singh from Kashmir. I urge that pressure be made to bear upon the Sikhs not to carry out aggression to their easterly neighbours. It would cause great instability in an area that is ripe for greater trading links. I have made good contacts among the traders in pashmina here and their wool is very much superior to that in Kashmir. I also have seen with my own eyes the beginning of a route through the mountains to Yarkand.
Yet I fear I will be held hostage here indefinitely – or until the Sikhs carry out further raids. I do not remain here willingly and am greatly pained at being unable to return to my regiment and carry out my duties to the Honourable Company.
I remain your loyal servant
Then he went to seek out Wahid. The Kashmiri was preparing for the trek back home. Most of the traders had already gone or were about to leave.
‘My friend, will you take these letters for me and have them sent on when you get to Srinagar?’
‘Of course,’ Wahid agreed. ‘I am sorry that you are being prevented from leaving. But the Ladakhis are gentle people – you will come to no harm among them.’
They embraced and John wished him a safe journey.
‘I shall look for you when I return in the spring,’ said Wahid. ‘Inshallah! ’
A few days later, from the top of his flat roof John watched the last caravan of pack animals and merchants wend their way down the sandy path and turn upriver. The sky was crystal clear. He could still hear the sound of the animals’ hooves even after they had disappeared from view.
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