Winds of Eden (15 page)

‘That a technical term?'

John frowned as tried to get a grip on the sliver. ‘Try to eat some of the weeds the cooks serve as vegetable substitute. It's anyone's guess what they are or what effect they're having on our digestive systems but malnutrition, scurvy, and the unsanitary conditions are playing havoc with recovery rates from wounds, so anything's worth a try.'

‘I'll be fine.'

‘I wish I had a guinea for every time I've heard that lately. Another injury like this and you'll be heading downstream to your lovely lady as soon as we're relieved.'

‘I wish I could look forward to that reunion.'

‘You're worried about what happened in Qurna last August?' John asked.

‘You probably remember more of what happened than me.'

‘You'd been in battle, you were shell-shocked. You lashed out in your sleep …'

‘And damn near killed my wife. You saw what I did to her. You treated her after I beat her.'

‘In your sleep,' John reiterated.

‘There's no guarantee I won't do the same again.'

‘You haven't attacked anyone other than a Turk sleeping – or awake – since that night.'

‘How can you be sure?' Peter demanded.

‘Because I asked Crabbe to keep an eye on you and he would have told me if you had.'

‘Even in my sleep I'm aware that Crabbe, and his Webley revolver are only a couple of feet from my head.'

‘You could always ask Angela – Mrs Smythe – to lock you in a separate bedroom at night if you're worried about a recurrence when you see her again,' John finally managed to gain a purchase on the bone splinter.

‘I am worried,' Peter admitted, ‘and for that reason alone I'm dreading us being relieved.'

‘Have you considered we might not be?'

Peter looked John in the eye. ‘You think we'll be forced to surrender?'

‘It's a possibility and forewarned is forearmed. The food's running out and the sepoys … let's just say there's been an increase in the number coming into the aid stations with gunshot wounds.'

‘Self-inflicted, feet and hands,' Peter guessed. ‘Cowardly beggars! Are the rumours of Turkish reinforcements being brought in true?'

‘You have more time than me to monitor the Turkish lines. Are they?'

‘Every time I look out over no-man's-land, all I see are rows after rows of the bastards. We won't stand a chance if Constantinople send another brigade to join them.'

‘Which is why I try to spend all my time in here. Success at last.' John dropped the bone splinter into a kidney dish. ‘I'm the proverbial coward who's afraid to look.'

‘That I don't believe. A lesser man would be a gibbering idiot after what you've been through since Nasiriyeh.'

‘I doubt it,' John dismissed. ‘The instinct for survival is inbuilt in us all.'

‘Let's hope it's in Townshend, and if the worst does come to the worst, that he opts for surrender, not a futile last attack.' Peter felt in his pockets for his cigarettes. ‘If he surrenders you do realise that will mean the end of the war for all of us?'

‘And God knows how many years in a Turkish prison camp.' John deliberately moved the conversation away from their plight. ‘Have you seen Harry's horses?'

‘Oddly enough I mentioned them to Crabbe earlier. If you'll excuse me from duty I'll see if I can find them.'

John washed his hands again and reached for a notepad. ‘The “excused duty” is easy. I'd be grateful if you would look for them. Harry adored his horses and I can't bear the thought of them ending up on a plate in the mess.'

‘I know there's talk of eating mules but surely we won't have to eat the cavalry horses?' Peter questioned.

‘That depends on how long we're dug in here and how long the animal feed holds out. Last I heard it's dangerously low and they're thinking of giving it to the Indian troops to supplement their rations because they're refusing to eat mule or horseflesh.'

‘Silly beggars.'

‘This is not for general consumption but the Indian Medical Service has advised General Townshend – not for the first time – to search the town and stockpile all foodstuffs found in the native warehouses and shops under military authority.'

‘Rationing?'

‘Full rations at the moment but if we're not relieved in a week or two it might have to be cut by a third,' John warned.

‘I heard that the brigadier advised a search of the town for hidden stockpiles when we arrived. General Townshend refused on the grounds that the natives were restless enough and he was afraid a house to house search would push them over the edge. It would have been better if we'd sent them packing when we reached here. As it is we have to feed them as well as ourselves.'

‘It was Cox who persuaded Townshend not to expel the native population in the middle of winter. It's the British way. We care for the underdog.' John handed Peter the note he'd scrawled.

‘Word from HQ is the Relief Force is assembling at Ali Gharbi only 56 miles away. Given the Generals' penchant for delay I hope they make a move towards us before the rainy season.'

‘Which will start any day now,' Crabbe walked in. ‘And when it does, it will bring floods, in which case we'll all be floating out of our trenches downriver to Basra. Us, Turk, Arab …'

‘Floating and fighting.' Peter fell serious. ‘The sappers can't understand why we're in this Godforsaken place.'

‘No one's given me a reason that makes sense.' John dropped the tweezers back into the antiseptic.

‘It doesn't pay to think deeply about anything in this man's army,' Crabbe studied Peter's wound. ‘That looks distinctly off-colour.'

‘John called it messy. You'll have me down as a case of gas gangrene next.'

‘Not if I can help it.' John irrigated Peter's wound one final time before reaching for a square of gauze.

‘Major Mason, they've just brought Captain Leigh in with a neck wound.'

‘I'm there, Matthews. Send an orderly in to bandage Captain Smythe.' John went to the door. ‘You won't forget to look for Harry's horses, Peter?'

‘He won't need to, I've found them,' Crabbe announced.

‘You could have told us.' John remonstrated.

‘I came straight here after talking to the Norfolks' syce. They're in the Norfolks' stables.'

‘Who put them there?' Peter demanded indignantly.

‘Perry.'

‘The thieving bastard!' Peter jumped out of the chair.

‘Sit until the orderly's had a chance to put a bandage on that,' John ordered.

‘Someone needs to have a word with Perry.'

‘That's Colonel Perry to you, Captain Smythe. Unfortunately he outranks us all,' Crabbe reminded him.

‘His rank doesn't give him the right to take Harry's horses,' Peter protested.

‘Unfortunately Harry purloined Perry's polo ponies and used them to swim the river at Amara. He reminded the syce of the incident when the syce suggested that Dorset and Somerset should be taken to the Dorset's stables.'

‘You going to try arguing with Perry?' John looked at Crabbe.

‘I'm on my way to see him.'

‘Give me a few minutes and I'll go with you,' Peter said.

‘Any advice from you about Perry's soft spots would be welcome,' Crabbe said as John walked to the door.

‘The only advice I can give you is that my father-in-law has no soft spots that I know of. Good luck to both of you. You'll need it.'

Chapter Fifteen

London, Sunday 2nd January 1916

‘That was one interminable, boring sermon. After one hour, twenty-two minutes, and thirty seconds of Reverend Brooke's pontificating …'

‘You timed it?' Clarissa asked Georgiana as they left the church after evensong.

‘On the wristwatch Uncle Reid bought me as consolation prize for being rejected by the QAINC.' Georgiana pulled back her glove so Clarissa could admire it. ‘I fail to understand what Jesus resisting temptation in the deserts of Israel has to do with the length of women's skirts. Does the Reverend believe men have so little self-control they can be driven wild by the sight of a woman's ankle and a glimpse of her calf?'

‘Shh, not so loud!' Rain started spotting. Clarissa opened her umbrella.

Georgiana ignored an audible ‘Blasphemy' and parried disapproving glares from a group of elderly women. She linked arms with Clarissa as they walked ahead. ‘It's going to be horrid without you.'

‘You'll have Helen. Both of you will be too busy to miss me.'

‘Busy and envious. Truth be told, absolutely green.'

‘I'm sorry your godfather couldn't organise you a berth or a posting to the QAINC, but I promise, Georgie, the moment I step on Mesopotamian soil I'll start asking about Harry.'

‘Bless you.'

‘You'll post these for me tomorrow?' Clarissa handed the umbrella to Georgiana, opened her bag, and pulled out two letters.

‘One for your parents,' Georgiana guessed.

‘The other for my sister. I hope they'll understand why I had leave.'

‘We've been through that a hundred times, Clary. If they don't, it's their problem, not yours.' Georgiana took the letters and stowed them inside her handbag. ‘You'll write?'

‘As often as I can.'

‘Don't put up with any nonsense from that cousin of mine when you catch up with him.'

‘Nonsense?' Clarissa echoed.

‘There'll be military chaplains even in Mesopotamia. Drag Tom to the altar. He's dilly-dallied enough.'

‘You want Tom to marry me in Mesopotamia in the middle of a war even if it means I'll lose my commission in the QAINC?'

‘After the way he's treated you, yes.'

‘Georgie, the last thing I need right now is another lecture on how Tom takes me for granted.'

‘He does,' Georgiana declared.

‘I know, but …'

‘You love him so much you're happy to allow him to use you as a doormat?'

‘This war is awful for the men.'

‘Some men, granted, but not quite so awful for doctors. Aid stations and military hospitals aren't frontline trenches, Clary, and you're forgetting this war is just as foul for the women.'

‘Things might have been different if Tom hadn't put in for a transfer from France. Two leaves last year wasn't much but now he's in Mesopotamia it's hopeless.'

‘You'll be there shortly.'

‘That doesn't mean I'll see him. We were given a lecture on what to expect when we reach there. Basra has been secured by our troops. All the fighting is expected to take place two hundred miles or more upriver. We've been drafted in to take the place of the medical staff in the military facilities who are being sent to the front. Given Tom's experience in France, he's bound to be posted to a field hospital or aid station.'

Georgiana frowned. ‘You have written to him to tell him you'll soon be in Mesopotamia … you haven't, have you?' she pressed when Clarissa didn't answer.

‘Everything's so uncertain. We've been warned that if we're needed in Egypt or Africa we could be diverted. And, we have to go to India en route. Something about thinning our blood in readiness for the heat. Even if I'd written to tell Tom I was on my way, I wouldn't have been able to give him any idea what month, let alone week, I can expect to land.'

‘I'd give a year's pay to see Tom's face when you finally catch up with him.'

‘You think he'll be pleased to see me?'

‘Of course.'

Clarissa picked up on a momentary hesitation. ‘You're not sure?'

‘He'll be shocked, but when he's had time to recover, he'll be delighted.' Georgiana gave her a hug. ‘You've finished your packing?'

‘The one small case I'm allowed to take beside the kit I've been issued.'

‘I'm going to miss you, Clary. The late-night suppers, after afternoon shifts. The teas before the night shifts. The outings on our days off, but most of all having you to confide in and listen to my moans.' They reached the steps that led up to the nurses' hostel. Georgiana stopped and embraced her.

Clarissa shook her head when Georgiana tried to hand over the umbrella. ‘Keep it. If you don't, I'll only have to leave it behind in the hostel.'

‘Harry wrote that it doesn't rain cats and dogs in Mesopotamia but camels and elephants.'

‘In which case this poor thing would break under the strain.'

Georgiana took it. ‘Thank you. I'll think of you whenever I use it, which given this weather will be pretty much every day. We'll have a huge celebration when you get back. You, me, Helen, Tom, Mike – and,' she hesitated before determinedly adding, ‘Harry. Tea in Claridges followed by dinner in Kettner's, and from there dancing until dawn wherever's open.'

‘I doubt we'll all be together until after the war is over.'

‘Precisely, then we can start living again, and making plans for a future without interference from the War Office or anyone else.'

Clarissa almost said ‘if we survive' but kept the thought to herself. She crossed her fingers superstitiously. ‘Do you want me to give Tom your love?'

‘Only a reminder to look after you. But you can give Michael and …' It was Georgiana's turn to cross her fingers. ‘… Harry my love. What time are you leaving?'

‘Six o'clock boat train from Victoria tomorrow morning.'

‘Something for you to read on the way.' Georgiana took a pocketbook from her bag. ‘A collection of Saki's short stories. They never fail to make me smile.'

‘Georgie …'

‘Nothing more to be said, Clary. I hate goodbyes.' Georgiana walked away quickly.

When she reached her front door she saw a man standing on the step, holding an umbrella so low it obscured his face. He turned when she approached, lifted his umbrella and raised his hat.

‘Good evening, Dr Downe.'

She recognised him as the man who'd joined her and her godfather for lunch in the club. ‘Good evening, Mr Smith. Are you visiting someone in this building?'

‘You, if you'll allow me to, Dr Downe.'

Georgiana unlocked the door. ‘My rooms are on the third floor, Mr Smith. Apologies for the climb.'

‘It will be worth it if you can offer me tea. Earl Grey would be very acceptable.'

‘You sound just like my godfather. Do they teach the direct approach in the War Office?'

‘Encourage, not teach, Dr Downe. Polite niceties consume valuable time.'

Georgiana led the way up the stairs to her rooms and unlocked the door. ‘My sitting room.' She showed him into a small room, furnished with a sofa, two upright chairs, and table. After lighting an electric standard lamp, she pulled aside a curtain to reveal a sink, cupboard, and shelf that held an electric chafing dish and hotplate.

‘I have Earl Grey tea, but no milk. I do however have a lemon.'

‘I prefer my tea black with lemon and no sugar, thank you.'

She filled the kettle and placed it on the hotplate. ‘Please sit down.'

He sat on one of the upright chairs. She knelt in the hearth, struck a match, and held it to her temperamental gas fire. It blew out almost instantly and she had to strike another four before she succeeded in lighting it.

‘A wet Sunday evening is an odd time to visit someone you've met only once, in the hope of receiving a cup of Earl Grey, Mr Smith?' She left the hearth, washed her hands, set out a tray with cutlery and crockery and sliced the lemon.

‘I see it's not just the staff of the War Office who can be accused of the direct approach, Dr Downe.'

‘As you said, it saves time. Something I've discovered for myself, especially when a patient haemorrhages during surgery.'

‘Very well, let's cut to the chase, as they say in hunting circles. Would you be interested in a surgical post in a charitable institution?'

‘Thank you for bringing the post to my attention, Mr Smith, but I am anxious to contribute more, not less to the war effort. I doubt any charitable institution, admirable as it might be, would further that aim.'

‘The charitable institution is in Basra.'

Georgiana stared at the kettle. It was beginning to steam. She tried to think beyond the mention of Basra. ‘The military would never allow a female doctor into any hospital that treats army personnel, even a charitable one.'

‘They wouldn't,' he agreed. ‘At least not British military personnel, but there are other facilities in need of physicians. Have you heard of the Lansing Memorial Hospital?'

‘Harry mentioned the Lansing Memorial in one of his letters. Isn't it a charity operated by Americans?'

‘It is. They run a school, a Baptist church and have set up various committees in Basra with the aim of alleviating distress among the poorest inhabitants of the town. They also fund a hospital the Indian Medical Service has found invaluable. The Lansing Memorial not only caters for locals but also cares for wounded Turkish prisoners of war that we haven't the staff or resources to treat. Two doctors work there, one American, one French, and four trained nurses. They also welcome the services of volunteers.'

‘You think they'd employ me as a doctor? I have independent means so they wouldn't have to pay my passage or my salary …'

‘Should you accept the post, your passage and salary would be paid, Dr Downe, but not by American Baptists,' he interrupted. ‘As I said, the Indian Medical Service has reason to be grateful to the Lansing Memorial. Your salary would be paid by the War Office in reparation for the Lansing Memorial's services in caring for our Turkish POWs and aiding our war effort.'

‘So I would be employed by the War Office?'

‘Not directly.' He didn't elucidate. ‘After meeting you in the club, I took the liberty of telegraphing Lieutenant Colonel Cox, the Chief Political Officer with the Indian Expeditionary Force.'

‘He was my brother Harry's immediate superior.'

‘So I understand. I informed him of your determination to travel to Mesopotamia to look for your brother. It was Lieutenant Colonel Cox who suggested we offer your services to the Lansing. We are indebted to them, not only because in caring for the enemy wounded they free our resources but because their doctors work in close collaboration with the Indian Medical Service and supply drugs and medical supplies when our facilities run short.'

The kettle began to whistle but Georgiana made no move towards it. ‘You're certain the Lansing Memorial would employ a female doctor?'

‘They would welcome you, Dr Downe. They rely on donations, therefore the gift of a doctor, female or male, salary-free would be considered a bonus. Lieutenant Colonel Cox spoke to Dr Picard, who runs the hospital, personally. The Reverend and Mrs Butler who oversee the mission have offered you food and accommodation should you decide to take the post.' The whistle escalated to screaming pitch.

Georgiana walked over to the hotplate, filled the teapot, and carried it to the table.

‘You did want to go to Mesopotamia, Dr Downe?' Mr Smith checked.

‘More than anything.'

‘I'm offering you an opportunity to do so.'

‘I accept, Mr Smith.'

‘If you need time to discuss the matter with your parents or your godfather …'

‘I don't, Mr Smith, because I know what their reaction will be.'

‘They would attempt to dissuade you?'

‘When it come to my father that's an understatement.' She poured the tea and offered him the saucer of lemon slices. He took one and dropped it into his cup.

‘Transport to Mesopotamia has been arranged for you with a convoy of nurses. The train leaves Victoria at six o'clock tomorrow morning. I regret you won't have much time to prepare for the journey.'

Mesopotamia! She was really going to Mesopotamia – and Harry! ‘I need to write letters, to my parents, godfather, and the hospital board, and to pack.' She looked around. ‘I'll have to vacate these rooms but I have a friend who will store my things and settle up with the landlord. I'll telephone her now.'

‘You don't have to contact her or the board. I will make all the necessary arrangements with the hospital and your landlord.'

‘Thank you, but in case you need assistance, I'll give you the address of my friend, Dr Helen Stroud. She has a spare room and will take my books, reading lamp, and personal items.'

‘Your tropical kit will be on board the train.'

‘The correct size?'

‘The size of your hospital garments. You can take only one small case with personal items. I will be here tomorrow morning at five o'clock with a cab to convey you to the station.'

‘Thank you.' She picked up her teacup.

‘There is something that you could do for your country, while you're in Basra, Dr Downe.'

All Georgiana could think about was Harry. She didn't have to rely on Clarissa to look for her brother. If Harry was alive and still in Mesopotamia she'd find him … ‘What's that, Mr Smith?'

‘We'd like you to keep a log of visitors to the mission.'

‘You want me to spy on my hosts?'

‘Spy is a strong word, Dr Downe. We're at war. As your brother well knew and understood. The British Empire has … how can I put this … certain interests in Mesopotamia.'

‘Like the Anglo-Persian Oil Company?'