that she’s even been able to leave her house.’
‘That’s dreadful. How did it happen?’
The doctor’s wife shook her head. ‘Child stealing is a very old and well-organized business in this part of the world. The kidnappers work swiftly and probably sell the child to one of the beggar masters in some big city. Or worse. Thank heavens, it doesn’t happen often now, but we must remain vigilant.’
Victoria began to play tennis once a week; and three officers she’d met at a garden party called on her regularly as a trio. They flirted with her lightly, invited her to watch them play polo, and escorted her to the regimental band concert. She found their company pleasant enough, but when she gave them no encouragement, they went off to find other more lively targets.
The people she met in the cantonment and the invitations she accepted were all perfectly pleasant and agreeable, and Victoria came to feel a prickle of guilt at her own desperation to escape from this tight little circle and explore further afield. Kashmir must offer much more than this corner of England, she thought. Where were the three marvellous old Mogul gardens that Martin had told her about?
‘Oh nobody visits them now, Mrs Latham,’ said Mrs Simpson, the rector’s wife. ‘My husband took me to the Shalimar Gardens once, but we found them to be in a very poor, overgrown state. I’m sure I saw a snake.’
Victoria continued to wake early each morning, lying in the half-light and waiting for the now familiar hoofbeats to come pounding past the house. It was easy to recognize the sound of the splendid chestnut as it galloped off into the dawn, and by the time the man in the blue jacket came riding steadily back to town – always close to nine o’clock – she was up and dressed and standing at the window to watch him pass.
No, she corrected herself. It was the beautiful horse that held her attention. Just who its stern-faced rider was, or where he went, was neither here nor there. There were often days when the sight of that animal tempted her to go out and buy a horse of her own, then have someone teach her to ride it. She needed to broaden her horizons and discover for herself what lay around the bend in the road. But the idea came to nothing.
The more time Victoria spent in Srinagar, the more futile she saw her mission to steer a new Mrs Pelham into Nigel’s arms. He gave no signs of a particular interest in any of the pleasant ladies they met at the evening card parties and dinners they attended. After all, hadn’t Nigel told her plainly on the train that he was not a passionate man? And with Duleep to oversee everything in the house – even reminding Pelham-sahib of his appointments and laying out the appropriate clothes for each occasion – a new Pelham-memsahib in Nigel’s life seemed to be rather superfluous.
Victoria wasn’t sure how long her visit to Kashmir would be, but she made a determined effort to step warily through the tangle of military and civil cliques which she saw constantly forming and reforming amongst the wives in the cantonment. It was a delicate business, but for Nigel’s sake she was careful to remain on good terms with them all.
A feeling of impatience hit her again this morning as she stood at the window and watched the man on the chestnut horse riding past at nine o’clock. To date, she’d seen nothing of the city beyond the cantonment and the residency compound. On impulse, she sat down and wrote a note of apology to her tennis group, saying that she’d be unable to play today.
‘Duleep, I’m going for a walk into the market, so please have this note delivered to Mrs Chambers. I’ll be back for lunch.’
She didn’t stop to hear his protest, but she suspected that he sent one of the young servants to shadow her into the old town – a jumble of lanes and tall, narrow brick buildings with timber balconies overhanging the street. It lay a mile away, sprawling around one arm of the lake
‘That’s dreadful. How did it happen?’
The doctor’s wife shook her head. ‘Child stealing is a very old and well-organized business in this part of the world. The kidnappers work swiftly and probably sell the child to one of the beggar masters in some big city. Or worse. Thank heavens, it doesn’t happen often now, but we must remain vigilant.’
Victoria began to play tennis once a week; and three officers she’d met at a garden party called on her regularly as a trio. They flirted with her lightly, invited her to watch them play polo, and escorted her to the regimental band concert. She found their company pleasant enough, but when she gave them no encouragement, they went off to find other more lively targets.
The people she met in the cantonment and the invitations she accepted were all perfectly pleasant and agreeable, and Victoria came to feel a prickle of guilt at her own desperation to escape from this tight little circle and explore further afield. Kashmir must offer much more than this corner of England, she thought. Where were the three marvellous old Mogul gardens that Martin had told her about?
‘Oh nobody visits them now, Mrs Latham,’ said Mrs Simpson, the rector’s wife. ‘My husband took me to the Shalimar Gardens once, but we found them to be in a very poor, overgrown state. I’m sure I saw a snake.’
Victoria continued to wake early each morning, lying in the half-light and waiting for the now familiar hoofbeats to come pounding past the house. It was easy to recognize the sound of the splendid chestnut as it galloped off into the dawn, and by the time the man in the blue jacket came riding steadily back to town – always close to nine o’clock – she was up and dressed and standing at the window to watch him pass.
No, she corrected herself. It was the beautiful horse that held her attention. Just who its stern-faced rider was, or where he went, was neither here nor there. There were often days when the sight of that animal tempted her to go out and buy a horse of her own, then have someone teach her to ride it. She needed to broaden her horizons and discover for herself what lay around the bend in the road. But the idea came to nothing.
The more time Victoria spent in Srinagar, the more futile she saw her mission to steer a new Mrs Pelham into Nigel’s arms. He gave no signs of a particular interest in any of the pleasant ladies they met at the evening card parties and dinners they attended. After all, hadn’t Nigel told her plainly on the train that he was not a passionate man? And with Duleep to oversee everything in the house – even reminding Pelham-sahib of his appointments and laying out the appropriate clothes for each occasion – a new Pelham-memsahib in Nigel’s life seemed to be rather superfluous.
Victoria wasn’t sure how long her visit to Kashmir would be, but she made a determined effort to step warily through the tangle of military and civil cliques which she saw constantly forming and reforming amongst the wives in the cantonment. It was a delicate business, but for Nigel’s sake she was careful to remain on good terms with them all.
A feeling of impatience hit her again this morning as she stood at the window and watched the man on the chestnut horse riding past at nine o’clock. To date, she’d seen nothing of the city beyond the cantonment and the residency compound. On impulse, she sat down and wrote a note of apology to her tennis group, saying that she’d be unable to play today.
‘Duleep, I’m going for a walk into the market, so please have this note delivered to Mrs Chambers. I’ll be back for lunch.’
She didn’t stop to hear his protest, but she suspected that he sent one of the young servants to shadow her into the old town – a jumble of lanes and tall, narrow brick buildings with timber balconies overhanging the street. It lay a mile away, sprawling around one arm of the lake
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