The Past is Another Country
Chapter One
April 1857: Delhi, India
Miss Ruth Evershed picked up her notes from her desk and opened her parasol to protect herself from the fierce blast of heat she anticipated upon stepping outside. Her notes she tucked securely into her travelling case, acutely conscious of the fact that it was her responsibility to see that Major Harry Pearce's military intelligence did not fall into the wrong hands through an absence of proper care on her part.
As his private secretary for the past two years, she had grown increasingly knowledgeable about military matters. Before that she had served as the librarian at his Elizabeth Street house, so had come to the role with a great deal of learning, but of the purely academic kind. But in this position she had felt able to expand her knowledge so that she now had a greater insight into motivations of man and to the machinations and intrigue of politics and the uneasy colonial environment.
Her eyes took a moment to accustom to the brightness of the light outdoors. Delhi had always had colour, and bustle and brightness. She found it's spirit invigorating, infectious even. It was easy to forget that India was deeply troubled at this time, awash with unrest and simmering tension, something the correspondence she received from the regions from officers in the British army confirmed on a daily basis.
As her thoughts returned to work, she wondered once again whether she had been correct in her decision to stay in the city. A couple of her friends had already left India, packed off by their husbands for England, as military men talked in hushed tones of a native disquiet. But she had stayed, finding it quite impossible for some reason to think now of separating herself from the Major.
She sighed. She must give up thinking of work now, the sun was still high in the sky and she should enjoy the daylight while it lasted.
Zafar
"Sahib, there is a man to see you. An Angrezi."
Zafar Younis turned to look at the youthful messenger who stood hesitantly at the bedroom door. The boy was clearly nervous to have to disturb his slumber so early in the morning.
"Do you wish to receive him, Sahib?"
Zafar pulled himself upright in the bed, then nodded. "Jee nahin."
"Shukriya," he added, smiling to show his thanks, then waving his hand to indicate the boy was free to leave.
Five minutes later he was dressed in time to receive his visitor, albeit with a casual disgregard for the orderliness of his hair that would surely have displeased his mother.
His guest was pacing the floor, his brows furrowed and his hands clasped behind his back.
The early morning sunshine caught the light in Adam Carter's hair and Zafar smirked at the thought that Captain Carter's appearance matched so precisely his reputation as the golden boy of the Third Bengal Light Cavalry.
"Adam," he greeted him with a warm smile and a handshake. "Will you take tea?," he questioned.
His friend shook his head abruptly, "can't stay I'm afraid," he replied promptly. "I've news from the north. Ambala. Several of the British officers houses were burned down and the sepoys were on the brink of revolt. Fortunately, General Anson managed to calm the mood, but it's not an isolated incident. In Agra and Allahabad similar arson attacks have occurred on British residences."
He continued grimly, "There's trouble coming and I'm afraid it will soon be too late for us to avoid. And most of the troubles we brought on ourselves through our own stupid pig headedness," he added, his voice rising with frustration. "Do the British Army never think of the consequences of their actions? Did they never consider that ordering new rifles which are greased with the pork or beef fat and ordering native Hindus and Muslims troops to use them would cause offence?."
Zafar nodded. "The resentment will continue until the Enfield rifles are withdrawn. Does the army not see that?," he questioned.
"They do not," Captain Carter replied sharply, running his hand over his face tiredly, "Though it is blatantly obvious to anyone with even a modicum of common sense. I fear we are walking blindly towards a disaster of our own making and it is India that will suffer the consequences of our actions."
There was a heavy silence as they both looked at each other, contemplating Adam's words.
By all accounts, the two of them should not have been friends, as they came from such very different worlds - Zafar the son of a conservative well to do Muslim family, and Adam a politically radical yet superbly talented officer in the English Army. Yet friends they were, and had been since meeting two years ago, and finding, that despite their backgrounds, they had a great deal in common, including a love of shooting, high spirited hijinks, beautiful women and a shared devil may care attitude.
And they both cared about the future of India. Zafar's family had no love of the English, but he himself took a more pragmatic approach. The English brought money and education to the country. He hoped eventually that India would achieve independence and rule itself. But the way to achieve that was by political means and through the education of the people. Trying to push the English out through violence could only bring disaster upon India, for they were the greatest Empire on earth, and he was under no impression that the British would be prepared to tolerate violence against their own people.
"Anyway," Adam continued, his voice level now. "What I came to ask you was whether you had heard anything - or seen anything - here to make you concerned?"
Zafar thought for a moment. "Nothing specific, but there is a tension in the villages that was not there a few weeks ago," he replied slowly, feeling uneasy.
Adam nodded, "thank you for telling me. I must go now."
"Khuda hafiz," Zafar replied, bidding him goodbye in the traditional manner. "Take care of yourself, my friend," he added, softening the formality of his words. "And look to the welfare of your family."
Adam frowned. He was not afraid of whatever was coming, but he could not be so careless where his younger sister Joanna was concerned.
He stepped forward and shook Zafar's hand, clasping his hand in his then turned towards the door to make for Delhi.
Harry
"Any sign of Adam?," Major Pearce asked irritably.
"Not yet," Ruth replied evenly, "I expect he'll be back soon."
"Hmm, I should hope so, he was supposed to be here yesterday, so he's quite late enough already."
"Well, there's plenty of correspondence to occupy you in the meantime," Ruth began, stepping forward to place some letters on his desk.
"This one is from Captain Simpson who reports that he requires additional horses for his men, that they have now reached Sikandrabad and that one of his men has deserted his station and is believed to be heading for the cooler climate of the hills in the company of a Hindu dancing girl."
"Lucky devil," Major Pearce muttered, as he wrested with his uniform collar, which he found quite insufferable in this heat.
"Yes, well, er - I've taken the liberty of writing a reply authorising the purchase of five horses which requires your signature," she added, pointing to the spot where he should sign.
Major Pearce stopped figeting with his collar for a moment to pick up the pen, signing obediently where he she had indicated.
"And Lietenant Howse says that he will be in tomorrow at nine to update you on their intelligence from Duryai."
"Your tea," she added, pouring him a cup and setting it down on his table.
"Thank you Ruth, you're a marvel."
"And remember the General will be here in around twenty minutes, so you'll have to have rebuttoned your collar by then," she added sweetly.
"Yes," Major Pearce replied, his face a picture of irritation, "I hadn't forgotten that stuffed shirt will be here imminently, though God knows I'm not in need of another lecture on the subject of the glory of the British Empire or on..."
He paused as a tap on the door interrupted his train of thought. "Yes," he called, "come in."
The door opened to reveal a distinctly dishevelled looking Captain Carter. "Adam," Ruth exclaimed, "you do look terribly exhausted. Can I get you some tea?"
Adam nodded, striding towards Harry's desk . "I've ridden here all the way from Patwari and the heat is something fierce."
She hurried to fetch him a cup of tea while shaking her head. How typical of Adam, she thought to herself - he insisted on pushing himself to the brink of physical exhaustion, yet nothing would deter him from completing a mission.
"Sit," Harry indicated. "What news?"
"In the north. the troops nearly staged a revolt at Ambala. Arson attacks on British residences also occurred, and in Allahabad and Agra similar incidents took place. Lieutenant Mackenzie reports curious movements amongst the native population. All of the movements follow the same pattern, a man moves from his village to the next, taking with him chapatti. Once he has visited the village he returns, but then a man from the next door village appears in another town with the chapatti. They appear to be covering the country. "
Harry sat back in his chair, resting his fingers together to form a steeple. "It is hardly likely that a man would walk several miles to offer another man a piece of bread unless it has some value attached to it. Do the chapatti have messages inside perhaps?"
"We have not been able to obtain one of these yet, but it seems possible," Adam replied, nodding.
"Regardless of whether or not they have messages inside there is clearly communication being passed across the country by this method." Ruth had appeared silently at the door with Adam's tea. She moved forward to place it on the desk in front of him.
Harry nodded, and Adam agreed, "true. That enough is cause for concern."
Ruth would have liked to stay and participate in their conversation, but she did not as a rule remain in Harry's meetings unless he asked her to stay. So, instead she left the room shutting it quietly after her.
In the reception area, she attempted to give her attention to the Major's accounts, but as so often occurred during the hazy heat of the late afternoon she found her attention wandering. This time she found that her focus was distracted from matters of accounting to a quite improper fixation with the glimpse of the Major's chest his loosened collar had provided.
It was as she found herself distracted with such pleasant day dreams that she was rudely interrupted by the arrival of General Horace Smythe - Bottomly. As usual the red faced General was accompanied by a thoroughly cowed looking Corporal, who followed meekly behind him.
Ruth had long learnt that it was to fruitless to expect acknowledgement of any kind from the General. Instead he barrelled into Harry's office, his impressive moustache giving him the appearance of a giant red and white striped walrus with a mission.
"Pearce," he barked, "have you no seat for me," he finished, looking disparaging at Adam who occupied the chair opposite Harry."
Adam suppressed his smile and arose in one elegant movement,"You must accept my apologies General for I am have matters to attend to. Major Pearce will be able to update you on the situation."
He shot Harry a sympathetic glance, knowing full well that whatever he said was most likely to be overruled by the Major who through sheer force of personality managed to dominate others quite completely.
"General," Harry began, as he fiddled with his collar. "Will you take tea?" he began.
The General eyeballed him, then exclaimed loudly, "no time for tea Pearce. We have an Empire to run. Why I did not get up at five this morning so that I could take tea and indulge in namby pamby chit chat about the weather or other such womanly pleasantries."
He continued, clearly becoming increasingly pleased with the sound of his own voice, "actions! Actions Pearce. That is what this army is founded on. That is what our Empire is founded on."
He leaned forward to poke Harry in his chest, "I doubt you would have found that the British Army were taking tea while they were routing those devious Frogs at Agincourt or defeating the Spanish Armada. No they were not, Pearce. Indeed they were not."
Harry nodded and concealed his irritation with a smile, "Indeed sir. In fact the excellence of your observations is such that I shall make a note of your words in the hope of using them to inspire my troops."
Harry continued, "While the Empire that is built on action is no doubt great it has come to our attention that there are number of indications that our native troops may not be wholly loyal to our cause, and we have word of some alarming disturbances from other towns. In Ambala and in two other towns British residences have been burned and in Ambala the troops were on the brink of revolt."
"Pearce," the General interrupted. "I find these reports to unnecessarily alarming. The simple truth of the matter is that the native has not the initiative to properly rebel from the British."
He leaned back stroking his moustache, as he continued to expose his views, "his natural instinct is to follow the white man. He is like a child - he needs guidance from his superiors. And, like a child, occasionally he may display a temper, but such tantrums are fleeting. The Hindu lacks the capacity to conceive and execute a rebellion as you are suggesting."
"But General," Harry began, hoping to influence his views on the this subject, but knowing from experience it was unlikely, "the pattern of these incidents has me and several of my officers convinced that there are genuine grounds to be concerned that uprisings may be planned which could threaten the British position in this country and indeed the lives of -"
"Nonsense," the General interrupted firmly. "The natives have no reason to be discontented. The British have brought prosperity to this country, the railway, schools and civilization. It is quite impossible that anything will come of these incidents."
He continued, "I have not the time for these conversations. Action! That is my calling. That is what an army man is built for. My horse is in need of some proper exercise and I have to inspect the guards stationed at the Fort."
The General headed for the door, his moustache twitching as he strode. His silent Corporal followed him, almost bumping into the General as he paused to impart one final thought before exiting the room.
"My advice to you Pearce is simple: less thinking, more action. That is the basis of a great man."
Harry sighed and slumped in his desk thinking to himself that surely there must be some obscure place in the Empire looking for an action orientated dictator. It was a pity his contacts at the Foreign Office could not arrange it for him.