Paths of Glory (20 page)

His thoughts were interrupted by cries that he heard long before he set eyes on his second daughter. George heaved himself up as Ruth and Nanny Mallory entered the room with his two daughters. He hugged Clare for some time before taking the little bundle in his arms.

“Fair hair and blue eyes,” he said.

“I thought you already knew that,” said Ruth. “Didn’t you get my letters?”

“Sadly not. Only your messenger, Geoffrey Young, who just about remembered that it was a girl, and certainly couldn’t recall her name.”

“That’s funny,” said Ruth, “because I asked him if he’d be godfather, and he agreed.”

“So you don’t know her name, Daddy?” said Clare, jumping up and down.

“No, I don’t,” said George. “Is it Elizabeth?”

“No, Daddy, don’t be silly. It’s Beridge,” said Clare, laughing.

More unusual than that
, said George to himself, recalling Geoffrey Young’s words.

After only a few moments in George’s arms, Beridge began howling, and nanny quickly took charge of her. The child obviously didn’t appreciate being held by a strange man.

“Let’s have half a dozen more,” said George, taking Ruth in his arms once nanny had taken Clare and Beridge back to the nursery.

“Behave yourself, George,” teased Ruth. “Try to remember that you’re no longer on the front line with your troops.”

“Some of the finest men I’ve ever known,” said George sadly.

Ruth smiled. “Will you miss them?”

“Not half as much as I’ve missed you.”

“So now you’re back, my darling, what’s the first thing you’d like to do?”

George thought about Private Matthews’s response when he’d been asked the same question. He smiled to himself, realizing that there wasn’t a great deal of difference between an officer and a private soldier.

He bent down and began to untie his shoelace.

1921

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

W
EDNESDAY
, J
UNE
22
ND
, 1921

W
HEN
G
EORGE CAME
down to breakfast that morning, nobody spoke.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he took his place at the head of the table between his two daughters.

“I know,” said Clare, “but Mummy told me not to tell you.”

“What about Beridge?” said George.

“Don’t be silly, Daddy, you know Beridge can’t read.”

“Read?” said George, looking at Clare more closely. “Sherlock Holmes would have told us that
read
was the first clue.”

“Who’s Sherlock Holmes?” demanded Clare.

“A great detective,” said George. “He would have looked around the room to see what there was to read. Now, could this secret possibly be in the newspaper?”

“Yes,” said Clare, clapping her hands. “And Mummy says it’s something you’ve wanted all your life.”

“Another clue,” said George, picking up that morning’s
Times
, which was open at page eleven. He smiled the moment he saw the headline. “Your mother is quite right.”

“Read the story, Daddy, read the story.”

“MP Nancy Astor has made a speech in the House of Commons on women’s rights.” George looked up at Ruth and said, “I only wish I was having breakfast with your father this morning.”

“Perhaps,” said Ruth, “but Sherlock Holmes would tell you that you’re wasting your time. Mrs. Astor’s speech is nothing more than a red herring.”

George began to turn the page. Ruth smiled when she saw his hand begin to tremble. She hadn’t seen that look on his face since…

“Read the story, Daddy.”

George dutifully obeyed. “‘Sir Francis Younghusband,’” he began, “‘announced last night that the Royal Geographical Society will be joining forces with the Alpine Club to form an Everest Committee, of which he will be the chairman, with Mr. Geoffrey Young as his deputy.’” He looked up to see Ruth smiling at him.

“Keep on reading, Daddy, keep on reading.”

“‘The committee’s first task will be to select a party of climbers who will make the first assault on Mount Everest.’”

George looked up again. Ruth was still smiling. He quickly returned to the article before Clare could admonish him again. “‘Our correspondent understands that among the names being canvassed for climbing leader are Mr. George Mallory, a schoolmaster at Charterhouse, and Mr. George Finch, an Australian scientist, currently lecturing at Imperial College, London.’”

“But no one’s been in touch with me,” said George.

Ruth was still smiling as she handed him an envelope that had arrived in the morning post, bearing the Royal Geographical Society’s crest on the back. “Elementary, my dear Watson,” she said.

“Who’s Watson?” demanded Clare.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

N
ONE OF THE
five men seated around the table particularly liked each other, but that was not their purpose. They had all been chosen as members of the Everest Committee for different reasons.

The chairman, Sir Francis Younghusband, had been closer to Everest than any of them, forty miles, when he had been entrusted to negotiate terms with the Dalai Lama for the expedition’s safe crossing of the border into Tibet; the exact words had been spelled out in a treaty signed earlier that year by Lord Curzon, the Foreign Secretary. Sir Francis sat bolt upright at the head of the table, his feet not quite touching the floor, as he stood barely five foot one. His thick, wavy gray hair and lined forehead give him an air of authority that was rarely questioned.

On his left sat Arthur Hinks, the secretary of the committee, whose primary purpose was to protect the reputation of the RGS, which he represented and which paid his annual stipend. His forehead was not yet lined, and the few tufts of hair left on his otherwise bald head were not yet gray. On the table in front of him were several files, and a newly acquired minute book. Some wags claimed that he wrote up the minutes of a meeting the day before it took place, so he could be certain that everything went as planned. No one would have suggested as much to his face.

On Hinks’s left sat Mr. Raeburn, who had once been considered a fine alpinist. But the cigar he held permanently in one hand, and the paunch pressed against the edge of the table, meant that only those with good memories could recall his climbing days.

Opposite him sat Commander Ashcroft, a retired naval officer who always had a snifter with Hinks just before a meeting opened, so that he could be instructed how to cast his vote. He’d reached the rank of commander by never disobeying orders. His weatherbeaten face and white beard would have left even a casual observer in no doubt where he’d spent the majority of his days. On his left, and the chairman’s right, sat a man who had hoped to be the first person to stand on top of the world, until the Germans had put a stop to that.

The grandfather clock at one end of the room chimed six and it pleased Sir Francis that he didn’t have to call for order. After all, the men seated around the table were used to giving and taking orders. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it is an honor for me to open this inaugural meeting of the Everest Committee. Following the success of the expedition that surveyed the outlying regions of the Himalaya last year, our purpose is now to identify a group of climbers who are capable of planting the Union Jack at the summit of the highest mountain on earth. I was recently granted an audience with His Majesty—” Sir Francis glanced up at the portrait of their patron hanging on the wall—“and I assured him that one of his subjects would be the first man to stand on the summit of Everest.”

“Hear, hear,” mumbled Raeburn and Ashcroft in unison.

Sir Francis paused, and looked down at the notes prepared for him by Hinks. “Our first task this evening will be to appoint a leader to take the team we select as far as the foothills of the Himalaya, where he will set up a base camp, probably at around 17,000 feet. Our second duty will be to choose a climbing leader. For some years, gentlemen, I had anticipated that that man would be Mr. Geoffrey Winthrop Young, but due to an injury he sustained in the war, that will sadly not be possible. However, we are still able to call upon his vast experience of and expertise in climbing matters, and warmly welcome him to this committee as deputy chairman.” Young gave a slight bow. “I will now call upon Mr. Hinks to guide us through the agenda for this meeting.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” said Hinks, touching his mustache. “As you have reminded us, our first duty is to select a leader for the expedition. This must be a man of resolute character and proven leadership ability, preferably with some experience of the Himalaya. He must also be skilled in diplomacy, in case there should be any trouble with the natives.”

“Hear, hear,” said a member of the committee, sounding to Young as if he was coming in on cue.

“Gentlemen,” continued Hinks, “I am in no doubt that we have identified the one man who embodies all these characteristics, namely General Charles Granville Bruce, late of the Fifth Royal Gurkha Rifles. The committee may be interested to know that the General is the youngest son of Lord Aberdare, and was educated at Harrow and Sandhurst.”

Raeburn and Ashcroft immediately responded again with “Hear, hear.”

“I have no hesitation, therefore, in recommending to the committee that we appoint General Bruce as campaign leader, and invite him to join us as a member.”

“That all sounds very satisfactory,” said Younghusband. “Can I assume that the committee is in agreement, and that Bruce is the obvious man for the job?” He glanced around the table, to find that all but one of the committee members were nodding.

“Mr. Chairman,” said Young, “this decision as to who should lead the expedition has been taken by the RGS, and rightly so. However, as I was not privy to the selection process, I am curious to know if any other candidate was considered for the post.”

“Perhaps you would care to answer that query, Mr. Hinks,” said Younghusband.

“Of course, Mr. Chairman,” responded Hinks, placing a pair of half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose. “Several names were put forward for our consideration, but frankly, Young, it quickly became clear that General Bruce was head and shoulders above the rest.”

“I hope that answers your question, Young,” said Sir Francis.

“I hope so too, Mr. Chairman,” said Young.

“Then perhaps the time has come to invite the General to join us,” said Sir Francis.

Hinks coughed.

“Yes, Mr. Hinks?” said Sir Francis. “Have I forgotten something?”

“No, Mr. Chairman,” said Hinks, peering over the top of his spectacles. “But perhaps we should put the matter to a vote before General Bruce is elected as a member of the committee?”

“Yes, of course,” said Sir Francis. “I propose that General Bruce be appointed as leader of the expedition, and be co-opted onto this committee. Will someone please second that motion?” Hinks immediately raised his hand.

“Those in favor?” said Sir Francis.

Four hands shot up.

“Those against?”

No hands were raised.

“Are there any abstentions?”

Young raised his hand.

“Before you make a note in the minutes, Mr. Hinks,” said Younghusband, “don’t you think, Young, that it would be helpful if we were to give General Bruce our unanimous support?”

“In normal circumstances I would agree with you, Mr. Chairman,” said Young. Sir Francis smiled. “However, I feel it would be irresponsible of me to vote for a man I’ve never met, however well qualified he appears to be.”

“So be it,” said Sir Francis. “I declare the motion carried by four votes to none, with one abstention.”

“Shall I ask General Bruce to join us?” said Hinks.

“Yes, please do,” replied Sir Francis.

Hinks rose from his place and a porter immediately jumped up, opened the door at the far end of the room, and stood aside to allow him to enter an ante-room where three men were seated, waiting to be called before the committee.

“General Bruce, if you would be kind enough to join us?” said Hinks, without giving the other two men so much as a glance.

“Thank you, Hinks,” said the General, heaving himself up from his chair and following the secretary slowly back into the committee room.

“Welcome, General Bruce,” said Sir Francis. “Do come and join us,” he added, ushering Bruce toward an empty chair.

“I am delighted to tell you,” said Sir Francis after Bruce had taken his seat, “that the committee has voted to invite you to oversee this great adventure, and also to join us as a member of the executive board.”

“My thanks, Mr. Chairman, to you and the committee for its confidence,” said the General, toying with his monocle before pouring himself a large whiskey. “Be assured I will do my damnedest to prove worthy of it.”

“I believe you’re acquainted with everyone on the committee, General, except our deputy chairman, Mr. Young.”

Young took a closer look at the General, and doubted if he was a day under sixty. If he was to make the arduous journey to the foothills of the Himalaya, a very sturdy beast would be needed to transport him.

“Our next duty, gentlemen,” said Sir Francis, “is to select a climbing leader, who will take over from General Bruce once he has led the expedition across the border into Tibet where he will set up base camp. The person we choose will have the responsibility of identifying the route by which the final party, possibly including himself, will make the first assault on the summit of Everest.” Sir Francis paused. “Let us pray that whomever we select will succeed in this noble enterprise.”

Young bowed his head, and wondered if any of the men seated around the table had the slightest idea what they were asking these brave young men to do in God’s name.

Sir Francis paused again before adding, “The Alpine Club has put forward two names for our consideration. Perhaps this would be the appropriate moment to ask our deputy chairman if he would like to say a few words by way of introduction.”