Echoes of a Promise (6 page)

But Peter’s money could never fill the emptiness in her heart. For that to happen she needed to find some purpose in life. But where should she turn when she left Cloudhill? Even though Emily and
Martin had made it abundantly clear that they considered her to be part of their family and urged her to stay, Victoria felt a growing restlessness. She needed to find a path of her own. But where did it lie?

Caroline and Hedley remained in America and their letters invariably raised laughter around the family table.

She thought about it for weeks. Was Caroline’s invitation the lifeline that she was looking for? Was sailing across the Atlantic to a new country the direction she should consider taking?

When Emily was well again, it was clear that being mistress of a great house carried responsibilities that she was ill prepared to take on. She was perfectly at home in Martin’s greenhouse, but even
he
came to hint that his wife might like to learn a little about the management of Cloudhill and its staff.

‘Vicky, please, please stay a little longer and show me what I’m expected to do.’

‘Yes, of course I will, Emmie.’ Victoria knew that staying on to help her sister was providing a very convenient excuse to postpone the effort
of looking for a new direction in her own life.

She threw herself cheerfully into the task and discovered that Emily proved to be an enthusiastic pupil of household management. Above all, she wanted to please Martin, and quickly filled the notebook she kept close beside her to record all Victoria’s practical advice and schedules. Emily’s task was made easier by the fact that the servants loved their young mistress and went out of their way to oblige her.

By the time that Christmas came again, Emily was at last ready to step into her role as mistress of the house, and Martin radiated pride when she stood beside him greeting their guests and was able to take her place at the head of the table.

In addition to the usual number of family members spending the festive season at Cloudhill this year, was Nigel Pelham, a quiet,
long-legged
cousin of middle years who was here on home leave from his administrative post in India.

‘We must look after poor Nigel during his visit,’ Martin murmured as they watched him arriving. ‘His wife met with an accident on the voyage home to England. No matter how bad the weather, Maud always insisted on taking her daily constitutional out on deck, but this time when she walked out in a storm, she was thrown off her feet and struck her head on a railing.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Had to be buried at sea.’

Nigel seemed like a lost soul amongst the gathering. He had little to say, but the expression in his gentle brown eyes and the grey-streaked curls falling across his forehead, reminded Victoria of a very sad spaniel.

‘Poor Cousin Nigel,’ said a stout aunt, drawing her aside. ‘He’s been staying at our house for the last month and – well, he’s just so dreary. Always has been. Maud did all the talking.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am that he’s going to spend the remainder of his leave here at Cloudhill.’

A small, bird-like great-aunt fluttered up to them. ‘Poor Nigel. He
insists that he must go back to Kashmir, but how he will survive out there without Maud beside him, heaven alone knows. She was forever telling him what jacket to wear, what time to go to bed, what invitations to accept.’ The ladies frowned at each other and shook their heads.

As Victoria listened to the cousins gossiping, she learned that for the last twenty years Cousin Nigel had held the position of Deputy Controller of Revenue in the State of Kashmir. Every five years, he and his redoubtable wife, Maud, had come back to England on leave and set out on a circuit of visits around the family – following the schedule drawn up by Maud.

‘I don’t know how he’ll ever manage without Maud at his elbow,’ said a grey-haired uncle. ‘I swear I’ve never met a more useless fellow, though they say he’s perfectly efficient when it come to his ledgers in Kashmir.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure there will be any number of ladies waiting to become the wife of Nigel Pelham when he gets back there,’ a
bright-faced
young niece added. ‘He’s always been an uninteresting creature, but he’s quite presentable, don’t you agree? Besides, he earns a big salary and lives in a house filled with Indian servants. Oh, yes, I can see a long line of husband-hunters over there rushing to fill Aunt Maud’s shoes.’

After Nigel had spent two days at Cloudhill, Victoria came to understand the family’s comments. Bleak January weather had delivered sleet and mud to the district, marooning them all in the great house, and though Martin tried to entice his cousin to visit the greenhouse, Nigel made it clear that horticulture failed to rouse his interest. Nothing else appealed to him, either.

Victoria offered suggestions: ‘A game of billiards? Chess?’ But Nigel seemed to want nothing more than to settle himself quietly with a book beside the fire in the library. Poor, sad Nigel, she thought, of course he wants to be left alone in his grief.

While other guests were gathered around the piano in the music
room, she walked upstairs to the nursery and found Emily’s boisterous little boys romping in high spirits while their nursemaid was coughing and sneezing with a feverish cold.

‘Polly, you should be in bed!’ Victoria touched the girl’s forehead. ‘Quickly, off with you. I’ll take care of these young gentlemen and they can play with me in the drawing room today. Yes, I insist!’

Baby Harry was now on his feet and toddling everywhere in the wake of three-year-old Toby, so she filled a basket with an assortment of toys and herded her noisy little nephews downstairs.

Before long, the hullabaloo made by their games in the drawing room drew Nigel from the library next door. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry we disturbed you,’ Victoria said, as she looked out from behind the curtain where she’d just caught Toby hiding.

‘No, no, not at all, I enjoy the sound of children’s laughter.’ He sat on his haunches to watch little Harry attempting to fit a wooden peg into its slot. ‘My wife and I were never blessed with a family, y’know.’ He ran a hand over the child’s head.

Toby skipped to him and demanded attention, too. ‘Read me some of my book. Please. Look, there’s a tiger on this page.’

Nigel smiled and settled cross-legged on the floor with the picture book. Harry deserted his pegs to move closer. Nigel soon had them squealing and giggling at his attempts to produce the growls and howls, yelps, roars and hisses of each wild creature pictured. It wasn’t long before he was on all-fours, trumpeting like an elephant and crawling around the room with Toby and Harry swaying on his back.

‘Believe me, Martin, your cousin was a changed man when he was with the children today,’ Victoria said that night, after Nigel had gone up to his room. ‘He sang little songs and made up all sorts of games for us to play. He even tipped over the drawing room chairs and built a marvellous fort for the boys.’

Martin shook his head in amazement. ‘Good heavens! I’ve never in my life seen him enthusiastic about anything, apart from collecting
revenue in Kashmir.’

Emily looked up from her embroidery. ‘Poor Nigel. However is he going to manage without Maud to run his life when he goes back?’

‘Don’t worry, m’love, I’m sure he’ll soon find some energetic lady to do that,’ Martin muttered from behind his newspaper.

Victoria frowned. ‘Yes, Martin, but I’ve gained an impression from the relatives that Maud was utterly unselfish, and whatever she did for Nigel was entirely for
his
benefit. Aren’t you concerned that when he sets foot back in Kashmir he could be snapped up by some lady who’ll put all her own interests first and make his life miserable?’

‘Hmm. I recall my cousin being raised by two older sisters who doted on him and
taught
him to be helpless. I think they promoted his marriage to Maud because they saw her as a lady who
needed
to be kept busy – so the marriage was a perfectly balanced one.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘The only thing missing, of course, were half-a-dozen children to keep Maud fully occupied. She had no one but Nigel to pour her prodigious energy into caring for.’

Emily set her embroidery aside and sat forward. ‘Vicky, I want you to do something to help Nigel. Now, now, please don’t look so alarmed.’ She checked to make sure that Martin was listening, too. ‘When Nigel sails for India at the end of January, I think it would be an excellent plan for you to go with him and spend a lovely holiday over there.’

‘Ah!’ Martin’s mouth widened and he raised an eyebrow. ‘Emily, my sweet angel, I can read your mind. Yes, splendid. Victoria can stay in Srinagar and be in an ideal position to survey the field of candidates for Nigel’s affections. Yes, Vicky, you’ll be there to select a sensible lady – an unselfish lady – to fill Maud’s shoes. Then you can quietly steer his choice towards her.’

Emily clapped her palms together. ‘Yes, please, Vicky. Please stay over there for a little while and help poor Nigel avoid falling under the spell of someone who might treat him abominably.’

Victoria looked aghast. ‘No! Absolutely not! You’re asking me to behave just as our own mother did with my friends – to be intrusive, controlling, judgmental. No, Emmie, I will never agree to anything like that, so please don’t ever mention it again. Ever! Good night!’

She swept from the room and closed the door behind her with a resounding bang.

Victoria stood alone at the ship’s rail as it headed into the wind, pitching and rolling on its way to India through a buffeting sea. The modern steam engine alone was unable to produce sufficient power to drive the vessel through the heavy weather, and she watched tensely as seamen were ordered up the two wildly swaying masts to unfurl the sails.

The scene reminded her of the times she had seen Peter performing some such feat on board the
Fortitude
. She felt him very close to her out here on the ocean. It was well over four years since their first meeting at Aunt Honoria’s house, but nothing had dimmed her memories of every single moment they’d shared. And now, feeling the ship’s pitch and toss, hearing orders shouted to the seamen, listening to the bells ringing for each change of watch, sniffing the salty tang of the sea—

Peter was standing right beside her. She could feel his closeness. If she looked around she’d be able to see his smile, and if she reached out—

She swallowed hard, closed her eyes and gripped the rail, lifting her face into the whipping, salt-laden sea spray. This was just another fantasy. Peter could
never
come back. She spun away from the grey water, and heaved open the door into the saloon.

Sea-sickness had prevented all but a few passengers from venturing
beyond their cabins since leaving Aden, but two very determined,
pale-faced
ladies were presently sitting one on either side of Nigel. He, like Victoria, hadn’t missed a meal.

At first, the relationship between Mr Pelham and Mrs Latham had aroused a deal of speculation amongst the other passengers, but once Victoria had made it clear that she was simply travelling to spend a holiday in Kashmir with her cousin, she had a foretaste of what was lying ahead for the widower. Though Nigel spent most of his time with his nose in a book, it appeared to her that every female on the ship between the ages of eighteen and eighty was drawn to him. Some fussed about and tried to lift his spirits with bright chatter, a few openly flirted, and one woman regularly attempted to divert him with topics of deep philosophical content.

Nigel obliged them all with his gentle smile, and said little.

Without doing it consciously, Victoria began to evaluate the ladies on the ship and soon saw that the task of finding the right wife for Nigel was not going to be straightforward. So many variables were being presented. By the time they reached Bombay, Victoria had decided that her only reliable measure of the
right
wife would have to begin with the level of Nigel’s own interest in a lady.

And on the voyage, not one candidate had shone in that aspect. Hopefully, Kashmir would prove a better hunting ground.

The Frontier Express they boarded at Bombay was a badly misnamed train, she discovered, as they rattled slowly northwards towards the Himalayas. But through the dusty window of their compartment, she watched the passing scenes with awed fascination. The country was so vast and so ancient, with all its colour and splendour and squalor sitting side by side. She saw oxen in the fields turning water wheels, and stately processions of brightly dressed women walking away from wells with gleaming brass pots balanced on their heads. Beyond the fields of crops, she caught glimpses of camel convoys and painted
elephants, great hill-top forts, distant palaces and areas of jungle where little brown monkeys sat in the trees.

At the end of the first day on the dusty train, it occurred to her that Peter had not crept into her thoughts more than once or twice. It gave her an odd, almost guilty, feeling.

After three days with very little sleep, she was struggling to keep her eyes open when she became aware of Nigel observing her closely. He swallowed and moistened his lips.

‘My dear Cousin Victoria,’ he began awkwardly, ‘I admit to being a dull man, but I’m not a stupid one – though clumsy I may be – but I have far too much respect – indeed, affection for you, er – to permit any degree of misapprehension to exist between us.’

She blinked at him, struggling to follow his gist.

‘Victoria, I am quite aware that the subject of matrimony was in the air at Cloudhill when my cousin and your sister proposed that you should accompany me to Kashmir. But I must tell you, my dear, that as fond of you as I am, I have never been a passionate man and I fear that I am not one who could ever bring you – er – contentment.’ He nodded to emphasize his statement. ‘Maud and I suited each other’s temperaments, you see. She was not – oh, as I say, we suited each other well and I shall miss the good lady, but it would be a grave mistake for me to make you an offer, my dear.’

Her jaw sagged. ‘Truly, I had – I assure you that there are no expectations of any kind. You’re quite mistaken, Nigel.’

‘Well, m’dear, I’m certain that Emily and Martin – who have nothing but your best interests at heart – are hoping that if you and I are not to form a union, I will at least introduce you to some acceptable gentleman in Kashmir – someone who will win your heart and take care of you. You shouldn’t remain a widow.’

She made a throaty sound of dismay.

‘Oh, yes, there are a great number of single men in India who live in hope of meeting a lovely young lady, just like you. Actually, I know
some very sound fellows belonging to the regiment in Srinagar whom I’m sure—’

‘No, Nigel, no!
Please
don’t give any of your friends the impression that I’m out here to catch a husband! I want you to make it quite clear to everyone from the outset that I’ve come simply to spend a short summer holiday in Kashmir. Perhaps a very short one!’

‘Really? Very well, m’dear, we’ll say no more about any marriage business.’ He scrubbed his fingers across his chin. ‘I must warn you, however, that I’m expecting a mountain of work to be waiting for me when I arrive back in my office, and, for a time, you’re likely to find me a very poor host.’

‘Nigel, please don’t be concerned. I’m not expecting you to entertain me. Actually, I look forward to seeing new sights and exploring the countryside.’

‘Oh, you won’t be short of company, m’dear. The ladies of our community will make sure that you enjoy your holiday. They have tea parties and all kinds of social events, and some are very keen sportswomen. You might even like to join the Amateur Dramatic Society. Yes, I’m sure your time will be happily filled once you’ve met Maud’s friends.’

Nothing that Nigel had told her about the drive up to Kashmir prepared Victoria for what lay ahead when they left the train and climbed into a small canvas-topped vehicle pulled by a relay of sturdy, thick-coated mountain horses. This trail into Kashmir led upwards through the wrinkled foothills of the Himalayas and entered the almost perpendicular gorge of the snow-fed Jhelum River. They climbed a winding pass that seemed to be little more than a shelf cut into the rockface, and while the journey was spectacular and thrilling, she expected that at any moment their wheels would slip off the edge and plunge them into the torrent below. Or that she’d hear the rumble of an avalanche sweeping rocks down from the side of the mountain
towering above.

But the relays of horses plodded on steadily up the trail. The temperature continued to drop and she pulled a rug higher. Her head drooped.

She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but her eyes flew open when the pony-cart stopped for another change of horses. They were on level ground now and she gasped at the beauty of the huge
white-crested
mountains encircling them. It was a scene like no other, with snow still lying thick between the trees in the surrounding forest of tall pines, and acres of pale mauve alpine primulas growing by the hundred thousand on the short cropped winter grass of the
marg
– the meadow stretching before them.

Straight ahead on the far side of the valley, a drift of cloud moved to unveil a blue-white wall of ice where rays of sunlight sparkled on a majestic peak towering above all the other mountains in the unbroken range. The sight of it touched something profound and deep in side her. It brought a lump to her throat.

‘Welcome to Barramula, gateway to the Vale of Kashmir,’ Nigel said and followed her gaze to the mountain. ‘That’s Nanga Parbat – you can see it for miles in all directions.’ He helped her to climb down stiffly from the pony cart. ‘Come along now, we’ve time for hot tea and toast in the rest-house while they bring up the fresh horses. We should be home in Srinagar tonight.’

She remained standing where she was, spellbound by the magnificence of the lofty mountain looming above them. The sunlight struck diamonds of light off the ice, and, as the minutes ticked by, she became increasingly infused with a strange feeling of having reached – what? A turning point? Or was it simply exhaustion addling her brain? She gulped deep lungfuls of the sweet, cold air, and stood gazing up at the dazzling, untrodden snows of the great Nanga Parbat. The peak was so clear, so magnificent. So unreachable.

The massive mountain seemed to be standing there before her as a
reflection of her marriage to Peter. So far away. So unreachable. She shook with a silent sob as she sensed for the first time since she’d received the news of his death, that Peter had gone beyond her reach. It was a shock to find herself quite alone up here amongst the towering mountains. It was final. Peter had truly gone.

Her chin trembled as she gazed up at the sparkling summit where a long plume of snow was whipping away across the heavens in a gale which, here in the valley, was no more than a light breeze on her face.

The mighty Nanga Parbat was demonstrating that it could no more hold the snow on its heights than she could continue to hold Peter in her life. He was lying on the other side of the world with all the love that she had poured into her letters placed next to his heart. She was here alone. Memories would remain with her, but the man who’d created them had gone to his rest. The moment had come for her to take the final step and call a silent goodbye.

With her eyes closed, she lifted her face to the heavens and whispered his name.

Exhaustion blurred Victoria’s impressions of their arrival at Nigel’s house late that night, but she remembered a line of tearful servants speaking to Pelham-Sahib in the local tongue, Urdu. Duleep, the head house servant, was the only one amongst them who understood English.

But the gentle woman who led her upstairs needed no instructions. Clearly, she had been well trained by the late Pelham-memsahib to serve a good pot of tea and toast to a newly arrived guest while a warm bath was prepared and a feather bed made up with lavender-scented sheets.

Victoria fell into it gratefully, and the sun was up when she woke to lie staring up at the plastered ceiling, trying to recall where she was. The hands on the clock showed that it was nine o’clock. What day was it? Did it matter?

Unfamiliar scents and sounds drifted in through the shuttered windows and when she flung them open, the Vale of Kashmir lay before her like a green bowl cupped in the palm of the mighty Himalayas. Her bleary gaze swept the long, meandering lake and the unique little craft on it, the willow trees and poplars lining the banks, the tall, close-packed houses that she could see in the distance with brown-cloaked people going to and fro about their business.

And here came a man in a blue jacket cantering briskly past their gate on a gleaming chestnut mare with a white blaze and four white socks. Her eyes followed the beautiful horse until it was out of sight, and she envied the man who was riding out on such a perfect morning.

She rang the bell and Duleep answered, carrying a breakfast tray. He set it down on a table beside the window and held a chair for her.

‘Thank you. Is Pelham-sahib still at home?’

‘No, memsahib, he left very early for his office.’ He gave a nervous little cough. ‘Will memsahib be wishing to discuss menus for the week?’ He lifted the pot and began to pour her tea.

‘No, Duleep, I am here as a guest.’ She saw the relief in his eyes. ‘I won’t require any changes in your household routine.’

Nigel had already prepared her for the protocol observed amongst the British residents of Srinagar. ‘Your first caller is sure to be Lady Phillips, a most charming woman. As the wife of the Resident, she’s the senior lady in Kashmir.’

‘And so I should wait in the house for her to call?’

He’d nodded apologetically. ‘And the second call will be made soon after by the regiment’s senior lady, the wife of Colonel Moncrief. And then all the others will start arriving. As soon as they’ve introduced themselves you’ll be flooded with invitations to luncheons and musical afternoons, dances – and goodness knows what else. Maud was always kept busy.’

His prediction was right. The Resident’s wife called that afternoon and Victoria liked her immediately. Lady Phillips, was a dainty woman
in her middle years who seemed genuinely distressed by Maud Pelham’s tragic shipboard accident.

‘What a tower of strength that dear lady was in our little community, especially when we had the annual flood of visitors arriving to escape the heat on the plains. Mrs Pelham could always be relied on to arrange a splendid array of entertainments for them – concerts and croquet and debates on all kinds of subjects. We will miss her sorely.’

Next morning, Colonel Moncrief’s wife, the senior lady in the military establishment, made her call. Mrs Moncrief was a sharp-faced woman who rarely smiled, but she did so several times while she was giving Victoria examples of the sound moral guidance that the late Maud Pelham was quick to pass on to young officers in the regiment.

‘Englishmen serving in India are always starved of suitable female companionship, you understand, Mrs Latham, and when the so-called
fishing fleet
arrives each year with eager young women who have failed to make a match at home, it can stir bad feelings amongst the officers. Some become despondent, rivalries quickly erupt, and occasionally hearts are broken. It can quite undermine morale in the whole regiment.’

Victoria nodded. ‘Yes, I imagine so.’

‘Fortunately, Maud Pelham was a remarkable judge of character and she had no hesitation about stepping in to save many a young man from rushing into a disastrous alliance with a silly girl who was determined to go home with an engagement ring on her finger.’