John picked her up and swung her round. ‘That’s wonderful!’ he cried, kissing her roundly on the lips.
‘I will give you a son,’ she promised.
‘I don’t mind.’ He grinned. ‘A daughter with your beauty would bring me just as much happiness.’
‘Are you happy, John?’
‘You must know I am,’ he answered. ‘And you, Sultana, are you happy here?’
‘Yes, you make me very happy,’ she said, and then her smile faded. ‘But . . .’
He tilted her face to look into her eyes. ‘But what?’
‘I miss my home,’ she said, her eyes flooding with tears. ‘I know I have no right to ask anything of you – or the amir, who has been like a father to Aziz and me – but when our child is born I would like him to grow up among my people.’
John brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. ‘Don’t cry. I understand. My own mother felt the same way. She wanted me to be brought up among her kindred too.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘When the baby comes I will take you back to the Kohistan.’
CHAPTER 23
Simla, summer 1838
We won’t really be going to war against the Afghans, will we?’ Emily asked in alarm.
‘It won’t come to that,’ Sandy reassured her. ‘At the very most we might help fund an attempt by the old Amir Shah Shuja to march on Kabul – if the Sikhs will back him. But we won’t get involved.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said Vernon. ‘Dost Mohammed must be ousted. He’s thrown in his lot with the Russians – the man can’t be trusted. We have to have control of who is in charge of Afghanistan – and if Shah Shuja is pro-British then we must give him all the help he needs.’
Alice listened to the arguments going to and fro between the men around the Aytons’ dinner table. She had welcomed the return of her friends that spring and they had brought Sandy’s amiable younger sister, Helen, recently arrived from Edinburgh, with them. Earlier in the year, Alice had been greatly saddened to hear by letter that Emily had suffered a miscarriage shortly after the Aytons’ return to Calcutta. Her friend doted on Alexander even more than before and Helen was cheerful company for Emily too. Alice had spent most days seeing Emily, Helen and Alexander since.
Alexander was a robust and lovable boy, rushing about on sturdy legs and beginning to talk. Alice adored him and delighted in spoiling him. Her winter of teaching children and living quietly with Miss Wallace in the snowbound hills had given her the time and tranquillity needed to grieve for George. By early May when Auckland arrived with his entourage from Calcutta, she was ready to be sociable again.
But the Aytons’ dinner party was proving difficult. Colin MacRae and Vernon had been sparring all evening and clearly disliked each other; they had fallen out badly after the failure of the horse-trading trip the previous summer and the accusations over John’s absconding. Colin had only recently arrived in Simla, and Alice was desperate to get him alone to ask about John. The only letter she had received from Colin after her enquiry after John had been to say that he was now living in Baltistan and had no intention of returning to India. She listened with impatience to the fractious conversation.
‘That’s not the information that Burnes is telling us from Kabul,’ said Colin MacRae, arguing back at Vernon. ‘He says that Dost Mohammed would prefer to be in alliance with the British and we’d be fools not to back him. Burnes says he’s the most able ruler Afghanistan has ever had.’
‘Burnes!’ Vernon was contemptuous. ‘He’s just saying that so he can stay on in Kabul with his harem, satisfying his—’
‘Buckley, you forget yourself,’ Sandy interrupted. ‘There are ladies present.’
‘Please forgive me,’ Vernon said at once, throwing Alice an apologetic look.
‘Burnes has already left Kabul,’ said Colin. ‘The trade mission has been a failure because of all this suspicion we’ve cast over the Afghans seeking to do deals behind our backs with the Russians. But I hear Dost Mohammed still wants to make a pact with us and not the Russians.’
‘Burnes is discredited,’ Vernon said with a dismissive wave.
‘I’ve heard that from a more reliable source,’ said Colin.
‘Really?’ said Sandy.
‘And who might that be?’ asked Vernon.
‘John Sinclair,’ said Colin.
‘Lieutenant Sinclair’s in Afghanistan?’ Alice gasped, her heart thudding.
Around the table people were looking at her.
Alice blushed furiously. ‘I – I’m just surprised to hear it,’ she stammered.
‘We all are,’ said Emily quickly. ‘What is the Lieutenant doing there?’
‘Hardly a lieutenant,’ said Vernon, ‘seeing as he deserted the army.’
‘He’s providing intelligence for the British,’ said Colin. ‘Burnes recommended him as he’s a brilliant linguist.’
‘Two Scotch rogues together, eh?’ Vernon said with a contemptuous laugh.
‘Two men who know the ways of the Afghans well,’ Colin countered. ‘John’s uncle is an Afridi.’
‘So he’s a political agent?’ Sandy mused. ‘Perhaps he’s been offered an amnesty by the Company if he keeps his ear to the ground on our behalf.’
‘How long has he been there?’ Alice asked, clasping her hands in her lap to stop them shaking.
Colin gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I don’t know. He sent a message with Burnes. He believes a British invasion of Afghanistan would be disastrous. It would be the surest way to get the Russians involved – and to turn Afghan friends into deadly enemies.’
‘Afghan friends?’ Vernon was incredulous. ‘None of them can be trusted. The only way to deal with them is with the gun or bagfuls of money to buy them off.’
Emily rose. ‘I think we ladies have heard enough talk about guns and Afghans. We’ll retire to the sitting room for coffee. You gentlemen can join us for cards after your port.’
Alice followed with reluctance, throwing Colin an anxious look. She wanted to hear more; especially any news about John. He gave her a slight nod to indicate he would talk to her later.
Alice sat half-listening to the conversation around her. Emily had made new friends among the Calcutta officers’ wives and she was enjoying giving them, as well as her spinster sister-in-law, Helen, advice about life in Simla.
What had taken John to Kabul? Colin had as good as called him a spy for the British there. Had he done it in order to seek a pardon and return to India as Sandy thought? Had he received Colin’s message that she was now a widow? She could hardly bear to sit there listening to the talk about servants and the imminent monsoon or what the Eden sisters would be wearing at the forthcoming ball at the Assembly Rooms.
It was a relief when the men came to join them. Vernon tried to engage her in conversation. He had been very attentive to her since his return to Simla – had written her amusing letters from Calcutta, which she had ignored – but the more she tried to put him off, the more compliments he paid her.
‘I’m sorry, Captain Buckley, but I’m too tired for cards. I shall be leaving shortly.’
‘Let me escort you back to Miss Wallace’s,’ he offered.
‘Thank you, but I know that Lieutenant MacRae is going in that direction and has offered me a lift in his jampan.’
Alice threw Colin a pleading look.
‘That’s right,’ said Colin, coming quickly to her side. ‘Would you like to leave now?’
Alice nodded. ‘If you wouldn’t mind?’
‘Not at all.’
They said swift goodbyes to their hosts. Alice could see Emily was disappointed that the handsome lieutenant was leaving early; Emily had told her that she thought Colin would be an excellent match for Helen.
Making their way along the narrow garden path to where the jampan waited, Alice said, ‘I’m sorry to drag you away. It’s selfish of me.’
‘I’m not sorry,’ Colin grunted. ‘I couldn’t have taken any more of Buckley’s rash remarks. He’s
treating this whole Afghan escapade as if it were no more dangerous than the Annandale races. And he’s not the only one. Auckland seems to be surrounded by young bloods who can talk of nothing but invasion and giving Dost Mohammed a bloody nose.’ He made an impatient sound. ‘Even Fane, our commander-in-chief, is talking about sending a grand army to put Shah Shuja back on the throne. No half measures – that’s what he’s advising Auckland.’
They stopped on the lane. The pines were swaying and sighing in a strengthening breeze.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Colin. ‘That’s not what concerns you, is it?’
Alice’s heart beat rapidly. ‘It concerns me greatly that we might be contemplating a foolish rush to war – especially if John is in Kabul. He’d be in great danger, wouldn’t he?’
Colin nodded but seemed reticent to say more. He helped her into the jampan and climbed in next to her. They set off on the short run to Jakko Hill in silence. When they disembarked, Colin led her through the picket gate to Miss Wallace’s veranda.
‘May I sit with you for a moment?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Alice, almost bursting with wanting to know more of John. Any slight titbit of news would do. They sat down, facing out at the view of the Himalayas. Pinpricks of light came from bungalows nestled in the trees on adjacent slopes, the mountains beyond reduced to an indistinct dark mass.
‘At dinner you said you’d got a letter from John through Burnes?’ Alice prompted. ‘Did he mention me at all? Does he know about George?’
Colin gave her a pitying look. ‘No, he didn’t say anything personal. It was purely about intelligence. He wanted me to try to speak to Auckland or his advisors about the folly of backing Shah Shuja.’
‘So he might not have got your letter about me?’ Alice asked. ‘But now that I know he’s in Kabul I could write to him, couldn’t I?’
Something about Colin’s look made her insides go leaden. She felt suddenly cold.
‘What is it you know, Colin?’
He cracked his knuckles, a sign of his nervousness.
‘Please tell me,’ Alice urged. ‘Whatever you say can’t be worse than this not knowing.’
‘There was a letter from John waiting for me when I passed through Dehra in April,’ he said. ‘It was more than six months out of date.’
‘From Baltistan?’
‘Aye, he was still there then. He must have written it soon after the one I received saying he was staying as the amir’s guest.’
‘So what news did he have that made him write again so soon?’ Alice pressed him. Her chest was tight with dread. He was holding something back that he knew was going to hurt her.
‘I didn’t just want to tell you in a letter,’ he said, ‘as I knew I would be seeing you soon in Simla.’
‘Tell me what?’ Alice’s heart was pounding now.
‘That John had got married,’ said Colin, ‘to a young Kazilbashi girl.’
Alice found it hard to breathe. ‘Kazilbashi?’
‘An Afghan tribe from the Kohistan in the Hindu Kush,’ he said. ‘It appears he saved her life from some robbers.’
Alice felt an ache at the thought. How ironic that she had saved John’s life, only for him to save the life of another woman – a woman who had taken him from her. Shock engulfed her.
‘Perhaps he felt obliged to do so,’ said Alice, floundering for an explanation, ‘to save her honour?’
She could hardly bear the look that Colin gave her. It was full of sadness for her.
‘Perhaps he did. But it has grown into more than that. John said he loves her and . . .’
‘And?’ Alice whispered. ‘Say it.’
‘And she was bearing his child. He was overjoyed at the thought of becoming a father. I’m very sorry, Alice, but I don’t want you to hold out any false hope for my friend.’
She felt desolate. All winter she had daydreamed about John receiving her message and rushing back to be with her. Now that would never be. Even if he had got word that she was free to remarry, he would not have come. How many other women had he had relations with since leaving her bereft in Simla? Vernon’s words came back to taunt her. John was always falling in and out of love; he was a womaniser who flattered to get what he wanted. But now he had really fallen in love. This time he loved someone enough to marry them and father her child. The gut-wrenching jealousy that she felt at that moment for the Afghan woman made her want to scream.
Bile rose in her throat as further realisation dawned. ‘That’s why he’s gone to Kabul, isn’t it? Because he’s married to an Afghan.’
Colin reached out and covered her hand in his, giving it a squeeze of comfort. ‘I think that must be so,’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry, Alice. I know you cared for him and that he cared for you—’
‘Don’t say that!’ She snatched her hand away. ‘Please don’t make excuses for him. I’ve been such a fool – loving him all these years when I’ve never really meant that much to him.’
‘You did,’ Colin insisted. ‘I knew him at Addiscombe. He never looked at another woman. It was always you he talked about.’
‘That’s not what Vernon says,’ Alice said, her tone scathing.
‘You don’t want to believe a word that man says,’ retorted Colin. ‘He has the morals of a pariah dog.’
Alice stood up. She couldn’t bear to hear any more. ‘Please go, Lieutenant.’ Her eyes stung with angry tears. ‘I’m sorry to have involved you in my ridiculous daydreams. I feel nothing but shame to have put you in such an awkward position. John is your friend and I don’t want to say anything more that might offend you, when you have been so considerate and kind to me.’
Colin stood and bowed. ‘It is I who am sorry,’ he said. ‘I wish I had been able to bring you the news that you wanted. But in my friend’s defence, he probably married this girl thinking you were still Gillveray’s wife.’
Alice was stung by the gentle reproof. She faced him, her nails digging into her palms to stop her breaking down in front of him. ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it? All I wish for is to forget I ever knew John Sinclair and to make the best of the life I have here.’
She watched the Scots officer walk away through the trees. An owl hooted; far off a jackal made a barking howl. She hugged her barren stomach and gritted her teeth. She waited until the creaking of the jampan and the thud of runners’ feet faded into the distance. Then Alice crumpled to her knees and wept in distress.
It felt like a second bereavement, losing John after George. Except that this time Alice was plagued by the thought that John still lived beyond her reach, enjoying life with another woman and becoming a father. She tortured herself with the thought of this Afghan wife bearing John a child. How she yearned to be a mother! Her anger that he had so easily fallen for someone else turned her love for him to bitter resentment.
At times, as she lay tossing in bed, listening to the monkeys clattering on the roof, she cried out, ‘I hate you!’ She wasn’t sure if she shouted at the irritating monkeys or at John.
A small part of her chided such thoughts; was Colin not right to suggest that John had married this woman thinking Alice was still George’s wife? The last he had known of her was that she was carrying George’s baby. Alice smothered the painful memory of her miscarriages. But she was too distraught at John’s marriage and fatherhood to allow him that excuse. For all she knew, he had received Colin’s letter about her widowhood and had chosen to ignore it. Even if Vernon had exaggerated John’s weakness for women, Alice had to face the brutal truth that John could not have loved her as much as she had loved him all these years.
Alice felt drained from her nocturnal bouts of anger and tears. It left her listless and numb. Emily, full of concern that Alice had shut herself away, came round.
‘Miss Wallace is very worried,’ said her friend, marching straight into Alice’s bedroom. ‘You haven’t been to the school all week and you’ve not answered any of my notes. Are you sick?’
Alice tried to rally
. ‘I’m fine. I just needed to be alone for a bit.’
‘Are you grieving for George?’ asked Emily, sitting down and holding her hand. ‘I know it must get you down at times.’
Alice’s guilt that she had hardly thought of George this past week brought fresh tears to her eyes.
‘Oh, Emily, I’ve been so foolish.’
‘Tell me. Is it something Colin MacRae has done? Vernon thinks it is. He says you haven’t been out in Simla since MacRae took you home after my dinner party. Has he acted ungallantly towards you?’
‘No, of course not,’ Alice said, aghast at the accusation. ‘Colin is a good man. But he did tell me something upsetting.’
‘What?’ Emily asked, squeezing her hand.
Alice unburdened herself to her friend. It was a relief to admit aloud how much she had deluded herself about John.
‘Married to an Afghan?’ Emily said, quite shocked. ‘Well, who would have thought it? Vernon was right about him after all; he said that Sinclair had a liking for native girls.’
Alice flushed.
‘Oh dear, Alice, it’s not your fault at all. You were just taken in by a handsome young officer. Sinclair was wrong to make advances to you when you were married to Gillveray.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Alice said in distress. ‘We’d known each other years before I came out to India. We’d had an understanding . . .’
Emily’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’
Alice told her about the rescue from the wreck of the Berwickshire and nursing John back to health. Emily was dumbfounded.
‘You are the lighthouse heroine?’ she cried. ‘I remember my papa reading aloud from the newspaper. Why have you never told me?’
‘I’ve never told anyone in India,’ Alice admitted. ‘George and I decided that we would keep quiet about it. I hated all the fuss that it brought. I just wanted to be known as Alice Gillveray out here.’
‘Well, what a dark horse you are!’
‘Please don’t go telling everyone,’ Alice said, regretting confiding in the talkative Emily.
‘Of course not,’ Emily said, ‘though if I were you, I’d be boasting about it all over Simla. To think you saved Sinclair’s life and this is the thanks you get – a broken heart.’ Emily patted her hand. ‘Well, we’re going to mend it. You will come as our guest to the ball at the Assembly Rooms on Friday. I won’t have you moping on your own. This is when you need your true friends.’
In the Far Pashmina Mountains Page 27
