The Long Road to Baghdad (2011) Page 11

  After the funeral, the padre had tackled John on the propriety of marrying Maud on the day of her mother’s death. John replied that someone had to take care of Maud. He didn’t have to say any more. Perry had locked himself into his bungalow; rumour had it with yet another bottle.

  Harry forced open the French windows of the drawing room so he and John could carry out Maud and Harriet’s trunks, but, despite the noise they’d made, the colonel didn’t appear. John was relieved. The last thing he wanted was another ugly scene and, when Perry failed to show at the chapel, he presumed the colonel was sleeping it off.

  The moment John and Maud were declared man and wife, John shook hands with the padre and Peter and hustled Maud and Harriet out of the chapel. Harry had helped him make plans that afternoon. His, Maud’s, and Harriet’s trunks were already on a dhow berthed at Basra wharf. Less than half an hour after the ceremony, they joined them, leaving Mitkhal to drive Harry’s carriage back to the compound stable.

  Darkness had fallen, black and gleaming over the Shatt. A full moon attended by a bevy of stars shone down from the clear sky as the boatman steered past the palm groves and walls of the old city. John settled Maud and Harriet on a plank nailed across the stern, before heading for the prow where Harry and the native were holding a whispered conversation.

  ‘How long will it take to get there?’

  ‘Not long.’ Harry’s eyes shone in the moonlight. ‘There are native robes under Maud’s seat. Slip them over your clothes.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘Ferenghis attract attention in the native quarter. I promised my father-in-law I wouldn’t bring any infidels into his home.’ Harry pulled his own abba out of a carpetbag.

  ‘Harry, if we’re going to make trouble for you …’

  ‘Just do it and keep your voice down. Sound travels over water.’

  After helping Maud and Harriet into their robes, John struggled into an abba. He felt like an undergraduate at a fancy dress ball. The hem flapped halfway up his calves, and the arms fell short of his uniform sleeves by several inches. He flung the head cloth over his head, it slipped over one ear. Harry tied it for him.

  ‘That should stay on, but remind me to ask Mitkhal to give you one of his outfits.’

  ‘When will I need to wear anything like this again?’

  ‘When you leave.’

  The boatman called softly and Harry returned to the prow. He crouched low, elbows on knees, features obscured by his head cloth, his attention focused on the shadows. The only sounds were the ones made by the boat as it cut through the Shatt, and the muffled dialogue between Harry and the native. Maud rested her head against John’s chest. Despite all his efforts to stay awake, John’s eyelids grew heavy. He woke with a start when the boat veered dangerously close to the bank. Maud clutched his arm as an inlet scarcely a few inches wider than the dhow opened before them. Harry peered over the side, and called back sharply. The boatman slowed. Harry struck a match and lit a nickel oil lamp that hung from the prow.

  An overpowering stench wafted from the water as they continued to glide down channel. It intensified when palm groves gave way to mud-brick walls. They passed oil lamps set high in niches scraped in the walls. The channel ended as suddenly as it had begun. They floated out into a small lagoon busy with the flitting, fairy-like lights of other craft. A bewildering array of lamp-illuminated waterways opened around them. Harry guided the boat forward, directing the boatman through the maze. After a confusing 15 minutes, they halted before an iron grid gate set in a thick, high wall. Harry banged on the gate with the boat hook. A woman’s voice hailed them. John looked, but saw no one. The boatman pointed upwards. A black-garbed woman stood on the wall.

  ‘Gutne, my wife’s aunt,’ Harry explained. The gate winched noisily upwards on a rusted mechanism. They floated into a small pool ringed by fruit-bearing trees. John wondered if he’d done the right thing. Who knew what primitive accommodation waited behind the trees? Maud was shocked and tired. She’d put up with so much …

  ‘Harry!’ A figure in red hurtled towards them. It wasn’t until Harry leapt out and caught it that John realised it was a girl. She flung herself on Harry, smothering his face with kisses.

  ‘She’s a native,’ Maud gasped.

  John was as shocked by the reality of Furja as Maud, and he’d been forewarned. Harry’s wife was no cream-skinned beauty out of the Arabian Nights. She was dark, with sharp, hawk-like Arab features. But, oblivious to the shortcomings of his wife’s complexion, Harry returned her kisses.

  John realised that all Harry’s offhand comments along the lines of “we get on” and “I’d rather spend my leave here than waste time travelling” had merely been excuses.

  ‘He loves her.’ John was taken aback.

  ‘So it would seem,’ Maud snapped. ‘I hope for his sake this unfortunate entanglement ends before anyone else finds about it.’

  Basra , Saturday 4th July 1914

  The hasty, candlelit wedding ceremony had unsettled Peter. Missing Harry, and with no other sympathetic soul to confide in, he paced around the compound, checking his father’s old pocket watch every five minutes only to be amazed that time was standing still. Dinner wouldn’t be served in the mess for another hour and a half. What could he do until then?

  He thought of Angela; her calm dignity during poor Mrs Perry’s awful funeral, how beautiful she’d looked at last night’s ladies’ dinner, and what an utter ass he made of himself whenever he went near her. He glanced at his watch again. If he asked the stable sepoy to saddle his horse, he could be at the mission in ten minutes.

  Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the front entrance. He could see Angela through the window. She was sitting at the high teacher’s desk in her classroom, marking a daunting tower of exercise books. He dismounted and tapped the window. She looked up, and ran round to open the door for him.

  ‘Lieutenant Smythe, how kind of you to call. It’s been a dreadful day. I know you must have a lot of duties to fulfil.’

  ‘Not really.’ Peter followed her into the classroom. ‘Captain Mason married Miss Perry an hour ago. Harry drove them to the wharf, the compound is deserted, and dinner tonight in the mess is going to be hell …’ He reddened. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘After the day you’ve had, you’re entitled to swear.’

  ‘Do you always work this late?’ He sat on one of the low children’s desks in front of hers.

  ‘Not usually.’ She took the pile of books she’d marked and carried them to a cupboard. ‘But I took a few hours off today to attend the funeral. Poor Maud, it must have been dreadful. Marrying on the same day her mother died.’

  ‘Captain Mason wanted to take her away as quickly as possible, and he couldn’t have done that if they hadn’t been married.’

  ‘A wedding day is important to a woman. Maud’s memories will be very different from those of most brides.’ She set the books on a shelf. ‘I’m sorry, lieutenant, I’m forgetting my manners. Can I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’ He left the desk and paced uneasily to the window. ‘I’m glad I found you alone, Miss Wallace. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you but I haven’t had the opportunity or –’ he hesitated ‘– the courage.’ His face was scarlet.

  ‘The courage? Do you find me intimidating, Lieutenant Smythe?’

  ‘No, Miss Wallace …’

  ‘You have called me Angela before.’

  ‘No, Angela, I don’t find you intimidating; in fact, quite the reverse.’ Steeling himself for rejection, he faced her. ‘You must realise how much I admire you. I would like to ask you to marry me.’

  ‘Is this a proposal, Lieutenant Smythe?’

  ‘I only wish it were. If I had sufficient money I’d marry you tomorrow, but I haven’t, so all I can ask is that you’ll wait for me. A lieutenant’s pay isn’t enough to support a wife, but one day I’ll get my captaincy. I wonder if you’d consider getting engaged to me now and m
arrying me when that happens.’

  ‘Then you are proposing, Lieutenant Smythe?’

  ‘I don’t want to mislead you. Promotion can be a long time coming in peacetime. We could be engaged for five or six years. Perhaps I shouldn’t have spoken but I had to tell you how I felt. I wish I had more to offer you. I have no private means and I’m no one’s heir. We’ll only ever have my pay, but –’ he reached for her hand ‘– I love you. And I promise to do everything in my power to make you happy.’

  ‘And I love you, Lieutenant Peter Smythe.’ Her eyes shone as she returned the pressure of his fingers. ‘I’ll wait for you. For ever if necessary.’

  A lump rose in his throat. He dared to wrap his arms around her. She felt soft, fragile, like a fledgling bird. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Very sure, Lieutenant. Now you’ve asked, you’re stuck with me.’

  ‘You’ll be an army wife. It will mean living in India, and India can be rough for a woman.’

  ‘Like here?’

  ‘Perhaps not quite as rough as here,’ he conceded. ‘The climate can be better, but it will be lonely.’

  ‘With no fellow Americans to keep me company.’

  ‘I could be posted to the frontier. You might not be able to come with me.’

  ‘In that case we’d better have a few children to keep me busy while you’re away.’

  His colour heightened at the suggestion. ‘I’ll get you a ring. What sort would you like?’

  ‘Anything as long as it’s from you.’

  ‘I must speak to your brother.’

  ‘He’s in the hospital, but, I warn you, he won’t be happy with the idea of our engagement.’ She stood in front of him, hoping he’d kiss her, but he didn’t. ‘You’ll come back after you’ve seen him.’

  ‘If he invites me.’ He smiled at her with more confidence than he felt.

  Hospital, Basra, Saturday 4th July 1914

  Theo was at his desk, sorting through order forms. ‘Lieutenant Smythe, this is a surprise. Take a seat.’

  ‘I don’t want to interrupt anything.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to leave it. There are a couple of beers on ice in the storeroom. Would you care to join me?’

  ‘Please.’

  Theo disappeared into the marble-lined cupboard, emerging with two green bottles and a couple of glasses. ‘We were all very sorry to hear about Mrs Perry.’

  ‘Miss Perry and Captain Mason appreciated the presence of everyone from the mission at the funeral.’ Peter avoided mentioning the colonel.

  ‘It was the least we could do.’

  ‘Miss Wallace was wonderful. Captain Mason said he couldn’t have managed without her.’

  ‘It was kind of him to say so.’ Theo poured the beers and raised his glass. ‘Your good health.’

  ‘And yours.’ Peter shuffled his feet. ‘About Angela, I mean Miss Wallace. I rather hoped we could get engaged,’ he blurted out.

  ‘Are you asking my permission?’

  ‘Yes. She’s under age, and I know how close she is to you. Your blessing would make her – us – very happy.’

  ‘Would it?’ Theo’s voice was strained. Despite what he’d said to Angela, he’d been half-expecting Peter to ask for her. But not so soon.

  ‘I can’t offer her anything other than a ring at present. But it will be different when I get my captaincy.’

  ‘I don’t know much about the Indian Army, Lieutenant Smythe, but I do know that promotion can take years.’

  ‘I’ve explained that to Miss Wallace.’

  ‘Do you think you’re being quite fair to her?’

  ‘No.’ Peter stared into his beer. ‘She’s worth ten of me. I can’t offer her anything now. And there’ll only be my captain’s pay in the future. I’ve no private means …’

  ‘Neither has Angela.’

  ‘I didn’t hope for any. If it means anything, Dr Wallace, Angela will be rich in love, if not material possessions.’

  ‘If you’ll pardon my frankness, you’re allowing your heart to rule your head.’ Theo was only 27, but at that moment he felt more like Angela’s father than her brother. ‘I presume you’ve spoken to Angela.’

  Peter nodded.

  ‘You’ve pushed me into a corner, Lieutenant. If I withhold my blessing, Angela will hate me for it, and if I agree, I’ll go against everything my parents and I wanted for my sister. It’s nothing personal. I like you more than any of the other stuffed shirts in the compound, with the exception of Harry.’

  ‘Everyone likes Harry.’

  ‘It would be impossible to dislike the man. But we’re not talking about Harry. I like you, Lieutenant Smythe, but I hate your way of life. The British Empire and the Indian Army are dependent on a class structure I loathe and detest. I believe in the American way of democracy and equality. I want Angela to be happy, and frankly, I doubt she will, if she marries you.’ Theo held up his hand as though to stave off Peter’s protests. ‘I’ve noticed the way your fellow officers look at us. They don’t like Americans. That’s fine by me; they don’t have to. But if you and Angela marry, it won’t be fine. I’ve talked to American missionaries who’ve worked in India. They were ostracised by British military personnel. I won’t stop you and my sister getting engaged, Lieutenant, but I will hope and pray that your relationship will end before you get your captaincy. You and Angela are from different worlds. In my opinion, they can’t be bridged.’

  ‘I have no skills other than soldiering, but if it came to a choice between my career and Angela, I’d give up my commission.’

  ‘If you’re serious about her, you may have to,’ Theo warned. ‘And how long will she have to wait then for you to support her?’

  ‘I can only repeat that I love her,’ Peter reiterated.

  ‘It may not be enough.’ Theo threw his empty beer bottle into the wastebasket. ‘You may go to her and tell her I’ll arrange an engagement party.’

  ‘There’s no need …’

  ‘I only have one sister, Lieutenant Smythe. I do it for her.’

  ‘In that case, thank you, Dr Wallace.’

  ‘Under the circumstances I think you’d better call me Theo. Just one more thing, Peter. However long the engagement, and whether it ends in marriage or not, I will expect you to behave like a gentleman at all times.’

  Peter’s cheeks burned crimson. ‘You have my word as an officer.’

  Theo nodded. ‘That will suffice.’

  Shalan’s house, Basra, Saturday 4th July 1914

  John sat alone in the moonlit garden, smoking a cigar Harry had given him when they’d left the chapel. His surroundings were beautiful, but as he mused over the day’s events he saw none of their shadowy attractions. The perfume of flower blossoms filled the air, but all he could smell was Emily’s blood, sweet and putrid as it clotted beneath her fly-covered body. Had he done the right thing? Should he have told someone what Perry had done? The padre? The Reverend Butler? The Consul?

  He examined every decision he’d made that day. Had he really been thinking of Maud, as he’d told Harry, or had he been driven by his need for her? Would he have behaved any differently if she hadn’t invited him into her cabin that last night on the Egra?

  She’d undressed down to her drawers then shyly, timidly, she’d turned to him. He’d caressed her breasts before helping her on with her nightdress. Fully dressed, he had lain beside her on her narrow bunk, but he’d done no more than kiss and caress her through the thin silk of her gown. Every footstep outside the door, every creaking board had made him nervous. He’d worried about Emily, half-expecting her to walk in on them although he’d locked the door.

  It had been a ludicrous situation. He was lying with the woman who was soon to be his wife and Charles and Emily were committing adultery in the next cabin. Yet he was the one who felt guilty.

  He wanted his relationship with Maud to be perfect. He’d listened to the emotional outpourings of so many miserable wives in consulting rooms. Women who’d been led to their bridal
beds in a state of stupefying ignorance, only to be shocked rigid by their first glimpse of a naked man. What followed that initial confrontation was usually confided in muted whisperings sandwiched between anguished sobs, detailing pain, discomfort, and the horrors of unwanted pregnancies and their husbands’ excessive “demands”.

  He wanted to make Maud’s introduction to sex as pleasurable as his had been. He’d had an excellent tutor. After Harry had abandoned his medical studies, he’d moved from the rooms they’d shared into a house that accommodated several people who worked at the hospital, including that rarity – a woman doctor. Helen had been 15 years older than him but the age difference was irrelevant. They’d never lived openly together – that would have been more than the hospital authorities could have borne – but they’d lodged on the same floor, which made it easy for them to slip in and out of one another’s rooms.

  During the four years they’d been together, Helen had taught him that lovemaking didn’t have to be sordid or confined to a whore’s bedroom, and the spectre of pregnancy didn’t have to come into the equation. She’d shown him that sex could, and should, be enjoyable, even without what poets called “love”. He’d been comfortable with Helen, he’d admired her and been fond of her, but he’d never loved her, not in the way he cared for Maud. Instead, they’d shared what Helen had christened “a friendly intimacy”.

  Helen had been an advocate of free love, birth control, and feminism, and she’d found an earnest disciple when Harry’s twin, Georgiana, had joined the ranks of medical students a year after Harry left. Like most of his male contemporaries, he’d had little sympathy for Helen’s views at first, but her forthright manner and common sense had won him over.

  His one regret on qualifying was parting from her; but she’d brushed aside his tentative offers of marriage, knowing perhaps better than him how little he’d meant them. He’d spent his final hours in England with her, drinking champagne and sitting on the bed they’d shared for four years, studying an array of pamphlets and birth-control devices she’d assembled for his benefit.