Echoes of a Promise (20 page)

‘Yes, very well, Vicky. I’ll write to him and clarify the matter this evening.’ He pursed his lips and looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Of course, I applaud the worthy cause you’re sponsoring, though I can’t help wondering if you might be a little rash in refusing to accept even a small percentage of profit from the ship’s future trading ventures.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘I have a husband who will provide for me now.’

‘Very well, and you know that I couldn’t be happier for you both, my dear.’ He folded the letter and put it to one side. ‘Forgive me, Vicky, but do you mind telling me just how much have you given to set up this foundation?’

‘Sufficient.’

‘Sufficient for what?’

‘Sufficient to buy a building and modify it for our requirements; sufficient to engage suitable staff to train the girls; sufficient to buy the
equipment needed to run the establishment; sufficient to provide good food – and medicines if they’re needed – and I’d also like the foundation to have a fund that could help some girls establish themselves in their own little business, when they’re ready.’

‘Good Lord! Vicky you must have laid out a fortune!’

She tapped her finger on the latest statement of profits. ‘Well, – with this added, I think that there will now be close to twenty-two thousand in the trust.’

Nigel gaped at her. ‘You have donated
twenty-two thousand pounds
? No! Oh, my! Does Andrew know about this?’

‘No! And please don’t mention it – to anyone. Ever. Peter – the late Captain Peter Latham – will be known as the Foundation’s benefactor, which is perfectly right and proper. Andrew will understand it when I explain the scheme.’

It hadn’t taken long for Andrew’s interest to wane as Kitty led them through the upstairs rooms to admire the woven French silk fringes edging every curtain, chair and table-cover throughout. Sir Ian and Lady Phillips, on the other hand, were engrossed with it all, and continued to follow Kitty from room to room.

Andrew was impatient to be on the way to Mardan. He excused himself and walked downstairs. The door to Nigel’s study stood ajar and, when he reached the bottom step, it was impossible for him not to hear the voices coming from within, and to catch the gist of their conversation.

For a moment, Victoria’s words held him rooted to the spot. He couldn’t believe he’d just heard her saying that in one stroke she’d given away more money than he himself had earned in his whole career! Of course, she’d mentioned to him once that she’d not been left penniless when her husband died, but he’d assumed that she’d been referring to a few hundred pounds.

Anger slammed him in the solar-plexus; his chest heaved. A girl with
that kind of money could have bought any man. Why in God’s name had she insisted on marriage to Andrew Wyndham? She’d even been able to look straight into his eyes and lie to him about her situation – admittedly a lie of omission – but as they were to exchange marriage vows, why couldn’t she have told him frankly about her fortune? He ground his teeth. Had she no trust at all in him?

His fists clenched and he was almost overwhelmed by the need to smash them into something – anything. God! Twenty-two thousand pounds! Would he have married her if she’d been open with him about her wealth? Like hell he would. Never! So what the devil was he going to do about it now?

Twenty-two thousand bloody pounds! Tightening his jaw, he strode to the front porch and called for the begum’s carriage to be brought to the steps.

What excuse could he find to send the new Mrs Wyndham straight back to England? Back to a privileged life with her wealthy family. Back to—? Damn! Now what the devil was he going to do about Annabelle?

The Sikh’s colourful feathers fluttered on his turban and he was grinning as he pulled up and sprang from the driver’s seat to open the vehicle’s door.

As he waited for his bride to emerge from the house, Andrew’s white-hot anger drove him beyond reason and his mind raced as he tried to convince himself that he had no need to produce a wife to raise a daughter on his own in Mardan. He could simply arrive out there with Annabelle and her
ayah
, and lie to the regiment that his wife had been called back to England. For a few years. Indefinitely. After all, he had a marriage certificate now to confirm that his wife, Annabelle’s mother, was as English….

So what answer could he concoct when people asked why Annabelle’s mother had not taken her child home to England with her?

Victoria came out of the house with the others, laughing, looking
radiantly happy. There was much hand-shaking and affectionate kissing as the party escorted the bride to the carriage. Then another flurry of good-byes were exchanged, and handfuls of rose petals were strewn over the newlyweds before the horse clopped out through the gates.

Victoria gave a long sigh of contentment and sat back against the seat. ‘Wasn’t that just the loveliest wedding? And our signatures are there in the parish register for the whole world to come and see. I’m sure that Emily will write to Mama and Papa and tell them that I’ve become a respectable woman at last, thanks to you!’

Andrew made no answer, though he wondered what his new bride would say if she could to read his mind at this moment.

‘It won’t take me long at all to change into my travelling outfit when we get back and say farewell to the begum. I won’t keep you waiting. I think Annabelle has been dressed and ready since dawn. And the clothes that you had sent over this morning are all laid out waiting for you.’

Andrew remained silent while he attacked the rose petals that had landed on him as they left Nigel’s house. When the last one had been banished from his shoulders and trouser legs, he sat mutely, and as far away from Victoria as possible, with his fingers tightly laced together on his lap.

‘Annabelle looks so sweet in her new little riding boots. I think she’ll be asking for a pony of her own soon. And I’ve had big straw hats made for us both.’

When her chatter brought no response from him, she clamped her lips. Obviously, he had a great deal on his mind at this time. The long journey ahead of them, the new responsibilities waiting in Mardan.

From the corner of her eye, she slanted a glance at the man who would sleep close beside her tonight. It had been years since she’d felt as happy as she did today. And when she remembered his kiss on the steps of the church less than two hours ago, a small glow began to warm the core of her being. She was impatient to feel the touch of his
hands on her skin – her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Her toes curled inside her shoes as she anticipated the taste of his tongue invading her mouth, and of her legs parting as he stretched his body full length over hers. Would they be able to leave the door of the tent open tonight and watch the mountain stars blazing above them?

He ignored her sigh and she was left to wonder what thoughts were chasing each other behind the frown on his forehead.

When they came closer to the lake’s edge, she saw that the pack horses had gone on their way, and the riding horses were waiting to be saddled near the coach house. Nearby, two mountain guides had arrived and stood waiting for them with another pack animal to carry the remainder of their luggage.

The Sikh continued to drive around the shore until they reached the begum’s landing stage where her
shikara
would be waiting to collect them. He looked around at Andrew with a frown: There was no sign of the craft, either beside the houseboat, or coming for them across the lake.

As soon as the carriage came to halt, Andrew sprang to the ground, took two steps, then spun on his heel and looked up, frowning hard at his new wife.

‘Victoria, are you ready to admit that this marriage has been one hell of a mistake for us both? It’s perfectly clear to me that you have no real wish to spend the rest of your life in some isolated place out there on frontier with me. And I know damn well that I can never be the sort of husband you expect. You’ll soon come to regret the whole thing. For God’s sake, just accept the fact that it would be better for us both if you went straight back to England. Or stay in Srinagar. I really don’t care – one way or the other.’

His words sent her reeling with disbelief; her head seemed full of moths that were fluttering away with her sanity. Was she in Kashmir or some madhouse? She stood up in the carriage and looked down squarely into his face.

‘What in heaven’s name are you talking about? Only a short time ago we stood in church and you gave a solemn vow to love and cherish me, Andrew Wyndham. Till death us do part, actually.’ Her voice quaked and her mind raced to pinpoint the source of his outburst. It escaped her.

‘I’m your wife now, may I remind you? I do love you, I will honour you, and I’ll even do my very best to obey you.’ Hurt and anger balled in her throat and brought her close to tears. ‘I have no intention of going back to England without you – either now or in the future. I’m coming with you – to the ends of the world, if necessary. And I do advise you to discover a little more about the woman you married today before discarding her so rashly.’

The Sikh, looked from one to the other, distraught. He had no understanding of the English words being hurled to and fro, any more than he could guess what had ignited this sudden conflict between the pair. And where was the begum’s
shikara
?

‘Victoria, if you—’

The sound of two pistol shots coming from the houseboat instantly silenced him. The Sikh reached for his weapon, then stood floundering. The begum had instructed him not to carry his gun to the wedding today.

Victoria remained standing in the carriage while Andrew, with the Sikh at his heels, ran down the steps to the water’s edge and called to the begum whom they could now see standing on the top deck, waving a pistol. She raised her arm and let off another shot into the air while several agitated servants milled around her.

The houseboat was too far out on the lake for even raised voices to be heard distinctly, but the begum’s high-pitched screams lanced the distance and they were able to catch a few intelligible words. Annabelle … gone.
Shikara
… sunk.

Victoria’s heart plunged. Her breath caught. The unthinkable had happened: the child had been kidnapped!

Andrew and the Sikh rushed back up to the top step of the landing and stood looking about them wildly, but there was nobody in sight. Andrew barked an order to the Sikh and they ran off in opposite directions along the bank. Victoria remained standing in the carriage, and this slightly higher position gave her a wider view over their surroundings. She looked around desperately, unclear of exactly who or what she was searching for.

Suddenly, a movement caught her eye and she glimpsed a stooped man darting furtively from under one willow tree and into the next. He was more than 200 yards away and within the blink of an eye he vanished again into the green branches.

Was she right in thinking that he appeared to have been carrying something over his shoulder?

She shouted across to Andrew with all her might and signalled the direction she had seen the man taking. Whipping the wedding veil from her head, she hitched up her skirt, then sprang from the carriage and began to run hard towards the place where the figure had disappeared into the tangle of overhanging trees.

From far behind, she heard Andrew roaring at her to stop, but terror lent strength to her legs and she ran faster into the willows, brushing aside the low branches that slapped at her face. Suddenly, she burst into the open and found herself stumbling across an empty hillside field ploughed for planting. Andrew and the Sikh were closing in behind her now but there was no sign of the figure she was trying to chase.

‘A man!’ she panted when they caught up to her. ‘I saw a man – and I think he was carrying something. Where could he have been going?’

Andrew and the Sikh looked around, then pointed towards a hamlet lying on higher ground beyond the ploughed field. They began to run in that direction, with Andrew veering to the right, the Sikh to the left. She had no hope of keeping up with either of them but, panting hard, she continued to follow until her attention was caught by something on her right. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed what appeared to be
a hut lying near a fold in the hillside across a distant meadow.

Some instinct drove her to turn in that direction and, as she ran, she cried out to Andrew repeatedly until she had caught his attention. He saw her frantic gestures, though from his own position it would have been impossible for him to see the almost-hidden thatched-roofed hovel nestled close into the fold of the hill that she was racing towards.

The man inside the hut was ready for her. The thin little melon-seller had either seen or heard her approach and he burst from the low entrance, uttering a throaty hiss and brandishing a curved knife in one hand. Victoria could hear Annabelle’s muffled screams coming from the dim, stinking interior and, ignoring the talons of terror tearing into her, she thrust her way inside, dodging the man’s lunge in her direction.

How could she defend herself? She snatched up a stool that was standing against a wall and, as he came at her again, she swung it wildly with all the force she could muster.

It caught him on the shoulder and, as he staggered sideways, she saw Annabelle fighting to scramble from a sack on the earthen floor. The child’s eyes were wide, her cheeks drenched with tears and in one hand she was grasping a little wooden doll from the painted elephant’s
howdah
.

‘Out, out, out, quickly, Belle, run outside as fast as you can. Now!’ she shouted over the child’s screams. ‘Papa is coming. Run to him now! Run, run, run.’

The man made an attempt to snatch the child as she fled screaming from the hut, but his fingers missed their mark when Victoria held the legs of the stool and struck out at his wrist. His face twisted in a mask of fury and his eyes burned into hers as he spun towards her. Saliva pooled in the corners of his mouth, and with a snarl, he raised the knife high and swung it downwards.

Victoria could see the flashing blade coming towards her throat and heaved the stool at him. It missed, but it was enough to unbalance him and change the knife’s trajectory. From that moment, everything
around her began to happen very slowly, as if in a dream.