me, of course. But, to be equally sentimental, Imust answer the call.’ He put an imaginary bugle to his lips and blew a ‘tataa-ta-taa.’
They all smiled.
Alice’s face now set in firm lines. ‘Very well, my love,’ she said. ‘I will do a deal with you.’
Fonthill frowned. ‘What sort of deal? Now don’t be frivolous, Alice. This is serious.’
‘And so am I. I won’t insist on coming with you to Kabul. But I wish to come part of the way.’
Simon’s frown deepened. ‘What do you mean, “part of the way”?’
‘You said yourself that the route to Kabul is through the famous Khyber Pass. You also said that the Pass is quiet …’
‘For the moment.’
‘Very well. But there are three fairly new-built forts that have been erected along the Pass to protect travellers and that are, by the sound of it, formidable constructions – much more capable of being defended than that sprawl of an encampment at Malakand that, despite the presence of you two, resisted the attack of thousands of Pathans.’
Simon ignored the jibe. ‘Yes. Sooo?’ He drew out the word suspiciously.
‘Sooo. I will come with you to the furthest point of the Pass where the largest of the forts is situated – it’s called Landi Kotal. You can leave me there and I should be completely safe within those great walls. I fancy the idea of writing a feature for the
Post
on what life is like garrisoning a fort on the very periphery of the Empire. Dull, perhaps, but not the way I would write it.’ She grinned. ‘And then you could pick me up on your return from Kabul and we could all go climbing in the Hindu Kush.’
The two ignored a groan from Jenkins.
Fonthill levelled a grim stare at his wife. ‘And you would promise that you would not do anything stupid like trying to follow me to Kabul?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
Simon looked across to Jenkins who grinned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very well. But don’t you dare go looking for trouble.’
‘And I could well say the same to you, my love. Now. When do we leave? I really must wash my hair.’
‘Well, Fortescue must send us his squadron, I suppose, first. Our way will not take us past Marden. And I would like to telegraph the colonel and ask that Buckingham and his troop are included in the escort. They might fancy a break.’
‘Ah, what a good idea. And Inderjit too, of course?’
‘Of course. He is the troop’s
daffadar
.’
Fonthill cabled his acceptance of the Viceroy’s request to Simla, keeping the message simple but giving no details of the request, to ensure confidentiality: ‘Honoured to be asked. Answer is yes, of course.’ Then, after consulting Buckingham, he telegraphed to Fortescue asking that the subaltern’s troop should be included in the escort and set about preparing for his journey.
The travelling and holiday garments that had been suitable for the long voyage out and serviceable in the mess at Marden and even at the Malakand
abbatis
would not do, he felt, for the demands of an Amir’s court, so he set about finding something in Peshawar more suitable for an envoy of the Viceroy. He settled for a formal dark-blue dress coat and narrow trousers, with the Maltese Cross depicting the orderof the Companionship of the Bath, normally worn on a ribbon round the neck, fixed firmly to the jacket. It would, he felt, look a touch more viceregal there. A smart red sash completed the look of a diplomat who would stand no nonsense.
They found a facsimile of the Distinguished Conduct Medal to be worn by Jenkins (he had long since lost the original) on a smart warrant officer’s dress tunic. Fonthill felt that, as a representative of the Viceroy of India, he had every right to promote Jenkins on the spot – while pointing out to him that, alas, a regimental sergeant major’s pay did not come with the jacket. He persuaded, for 100 rupees (roughly £6.10s.), the armourer at the army barracks to clean and grease his and Jenkins’s
They all smiled.
Alice’s face now set in firm lines. ‘Very well, my love,’ she said. ‘I will do a deal with you.’
Fonthill frowned. ‘What sort of deal? Now don’t be frivolous, Alice. This is serious.’
‘And so am I. I won’t insist on coming with you to Kabul. But I wish to come part of the way.’
Simon’s frown deepened. ‘What do you mean, “part of the way”?’
‘You said yourself that the route to Kabul is through the famous Khyber Pass. You also said that the Pass is quiet …’
‘For the moment.’
‘Very well. But there are three fairly new-built forts that have been erected along the Pass to protect travellers and that are, by the sound of it, formidable constructions – much more capable of being defended than that sprawl of an encampment at Malakand that, despite the presence of you two, resisted the attack of thousands of Pathans.’
Simon ignored the jibe. ‘Yes. Sooo?’ He drew out the word suspiciously.
‘Sooo. I will come with you to the furthest point of the Pass where the largest of the forts is situated – it’s called Landi Kotal. You can leave me there and I should be completely safe within those great walls. I fancy the idea of writing a feature for the
Post
on what life is like garrisoning a fort on the very periphery of the Empire. Dull, perhaps, but not the way I would write it.’ She grinned. ‘And then you could pick me up on your return from Kabul and we could all go climbing in the Hindu Kush.’
The two ignored a groan from Jenkins.
Fonthill levelled a grim stare at his wife. ‘And you would promise that you would not do anything stupid like trying to follow me to Kabul?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
Simon looked across to Jenkins who grinned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very well. But don’t you dare go looking for trouble.’
‘And I could well say the same to you, my love. Now. When do we leave? I really must wash my hair.’
‘Well, Fortescue must send us his squadron, I suppose, first. Our way will not take us past Marden. And I would like to telegraph the colonel and ask that Buckingham and his troop are included in the escort. They might fancy a break.’
‘Ah, what a good idea. And Inderjit too, of course?’
‘Of course. He is the troop’s
daffadar
.’
Fonthill cabled his acceptance of the Viceroy’s request to Simla, keeping the message simple but giving no details of the request, to ensure confidentiality: ‘Honoured to be asked. Answer is yes, of course.’ Then, after consulting Buckingham, he telegraphed to Fortescue asking that the subaltern’s troop should be included in the escort and set about preparing for his journey.
The travelling and holiday garments that had been suitable for the long voyage out and serviceable in the mess at Marden and even at the Malakand
abbatis
would not do, he felt, for the demands of an Amir’s court, so he set about finding something in Peshawar more suitable for an envoy of the Viceroy. He settled for a formal dark-blue dress coat and narrow trousers, with the Maltese Cross depicting the orderof the Companionship of the Bath, normally worn on a ribbon round the neck, fixed firmly to the jacket. It would, he felt, look a touch more viceregal there. A smart red sash completed the look of a diplomat who would stand no nonsense.
They found a facsimile of the Distinguished Conduct Medal to be worn by Jenkins (he had long since lost the original) on a smart warrant officer’s dress tunic. Fonthill felt that, as a representative of the Viceroy of India, he had every right to promote Jenkins on the spot – while pointing out to him that, alas, a regimental sergeant major’s pay did not come with the jacket. He persuaded, for 100 rupees (roughly £6.10s.), the armourer at the army barracks to clean and grease his and Jenkins’s
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