The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [516]
The familiar tune was half hummed, half sung, but as the climber drew nearer it changed to something even more familiar, and in that setting, startlingly unexpected: ‘D’ ken John Peel with his coat so gay -’
Wigram stopped dead, staring upward at the bearded figure squatting in the shade of the rocks. ‘Well I'm damned -!’ He broke into a run and arrived panting. ‘Ashton – you young devil. I didn't recognize you… I had no idea… Why the deuce didn't you say something? Why -’
Ash had risen to his feet to grasp the outstretched hand. ‘Because your friend Cavagnari didn't want the others to know. He wasn't going to let you know either if I hadn't insisted. But I said I had to speak to you, so he agreed to send you back. Sit down, and don't talk too loudly – it's astonishing how far a sound can carry in these hills.’
Wigram subsided cross-legged on the ground, and Ash said: ‘Now tell me the news. Have you heard anything of my wife? Is she all right? I haven't dared try to get in touch with her in case… And how are Wally and Zarin? – and the Corps and… Oh, everything: I've been starving for news!’
Wigram was able to reassure him about Anjuli, one of the Begum's servants having ridden over to Jamrud only three days earlier, bringing a message to Zarin from his Aunt Fatima to say that all under her roof were well and in good heart, and that she hoped the same could be said of him – and also of his friends. As this last was clearly an oblique inquiry as to whether there was any news of Ash, Zarin had sent back a reply saying that no one need have anxiety on that score; he and his friends were in excellent health.
‘That was because I'd told him you were getting messages through to Cavagnari, so you were obviously still alive and presumably safe and well,’ said Wigram, and went on to talk of Wally and what the Guides were doing, and to describe the war-like preparations that were creating chaos throughout the North-Western territories. Men and guns hurriedly transferred from one command to reinforce another; additional regiments rushed up from down-country to fill the gaps; supply trains pouring into the terminus of the North-Western Railway at Jhelum, blocking the platforms and jamming every siding with truck-loads of dead and dying transport mules and other pack animals abandoned by their native drivers. Not to mention the piles of foodstuffs, clothing and ammunition that the under-staffed Commissariat were totally incapable of coping with…
‘It's like something out of Dante's Inferno,’ said Wigram, ‘and the only people who are really enjoying it are the budmarshes from every village for miles around, who are having the time of their lives looting the stuff. And to make bad worse, most of the troops from down-country have been sent up wearing tropical kit, so unless something can be done about that pretty quickly, half of them are going to die of pneumonia.’
Ash observed sardonically that it sounded like a typical Staff rumpus, and that if it was like this now, God only knew what it would be like if there really was a war.
‘Oh, I expect we shall muddle through all right,’ said Wigram tolerantly.
‘Why,’ demanded Ash, exasperated, ‘is it necessary to “muddle through”? Anyone would think that it was “bad form” to plan ahead and – What are you laughing about?’
‘You,’ grinned Wigram, ‘squatting there on your hunkers, the dead-spit of a home-grown Khyber bandit, and spouting about “bad form”. You must admit it has its humorous side.’
Ash laughed and apologized, and Wigram said: ‘I suppose it's that beard that changes you so completely. I'd absolutely no idea it was you. Anyway, I thought you were in Kabul.’
‘I was. But I wanted to see Cavagnari myself instead of writing or sending a verbal message through the usual channels. I thought that if I could talk to him I might be able to persuade him to