Chapter 1
The look on Andrews face as he came through the door, said it all for him.
Removing his hat, he sat down and poured out a drink from the scotch bottle on the table by the side of the bed. He drank it in one swallow, his face lined with suppressed anger.
"The bastards have blocked any introduction other than the charge of disobeying an order. The Colonel at least had the decency to look embarrassed, but it seems the only charge is that you willfully disobeyed the order. No mitigating circumstances will be allowed into evidence. Word has come down from higher up, and you know from where."
David swung his legs down from the cot and poured himself a drink. He tried to smother his own feeling of rage with cold reasoning, "Well it's only what I expected, they have to cover up it up for the sake of the family honour."
Andrew hesitated before continuing, "The old man has suggested that you could resign your commission rather than face a general court martial, that way you would keep your name intact."
David looked at him.
Poor old Andrew had been given the hopeless task of representing him, but his hands had been tied from the beginning.
The charge was simple: Had he refused to carry out an order? Yes, he had, so on that charge he was guilty as charged.
"David, the old man is going out on a limb for you in this. He will accept your resignation - to take effect immediately - if you decide to take that route. Barton wants the court martial to continue, that way you will be found guilty and the inference will be, that Willaby and those men died through you not carrying out an order. What the order was will never be disclosed."
David knew that Major Barton, who had been dispatched from the General Area Headquarters of General Sir Reginald Fitzroy to carry out the prosecution, was a member of the General's staff. As such, he had a vested interest in keeping the General's son's name out of any proceedings.
"Well it looks like I have very little choice Andrew," he said. Moving to the desk and taking out a sheet of paper, he began to write.
"At least this way," Andrew murmured, "questions may be raised. Every man in the regiment knows what happened, so there is a chance the truth will get out one day."
Andrew took the letter, as David was still officially confined to his room.
He began to pack his few possessions. "Not much to show for nine years in the army," he thought ruefully as he closed the Gladstone bag.
His service uniforms, mess uniform and sword he would leave for Andrew to sell, with instructions that the money go into the fund for the widows of the enlisted.
He sat back down and contemplated what he would do.
At twenty-eight, he was out of a job. The army had been his career and he had loved it, having a natural affinity for the Ghurkha troops under his command. He thought he had won their respect in numerous engagements along the North West Frontier, rising from Cornet to Lieutenant. Having no sponsorship from well-connected family or friends, the fact that he had risen in rank at all was down to ability alone.
Andrew returned two hours later bearing his discharge papers and a bag with twenty guineas in it.
"You was due five guineas back pay, but the old man put up the other fifteen. He wished you luck, David, and thanked you for your service to the regiment. I think the old boy was really cut up at the way you have been treated."
David smiled, "He was a good commanding officer. Having Fitzroy's brat imposed on him, must have made his life hell."
He explained about his uniforms to Andrew and then had a look around his room for the last time.
"Don't come with me to the gate, I'll walk out alone," he murmured shaking hands with his friend.
As he walked slowly across the parade ground to the gate Ghurkha Riflemen came to attention and saluted him, even though he was dressed now in civilian clothes. Word had obviously got around and their actions brought a lump to his throat.
He caught a horse-drawn buggy outside of the gate and gave directions to a small boarding house on the outskirts of the town.
*****
For a week, he hardly left his room, just trying to decide what to do. There was nothing for him back in England. His parents had died when he was twelve. His only other relation, an Uncle, had died three years ago. The uncle had raised him, sending him first to boarding school and later university, before finally securing him a commission in the 2nd Ghurkha Rifles.
"India is the place to be my boy," he had said, "A man can carve a future out there, either in the army or The Right Honourable East India Company."
Although The Company had ceased to exist on paper, powerful businessmen, both in India and London still, maintained a grip on the country, dictating its development.
He smiled to himself remembering.
He had soon learned that nepotism and corruption were the norm in both John Company, as it was called, and the army, and felt sympathy for the Indians who had to bow to the wishes of John Company in its greed-driven efforts - backed by the army - to subjugate the various principalities to their control. It was little wonder there had been so much unrest and revolt, and it was left to the common soldier to rectify matters when the kettle boiled over.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. On opening it he found Mrs. Brown, the owner of the boarding house, standing there.
"I'm sorry to disturb you Mr. Ramage, but there's a gentleman down stairs who would like to have a word with you," she said.
Mrs. Brown had started the boarding house after her husband, Sergeant Brown, had been killed in a clash with the Pathans ten years ago. She was an ex-army brat, her father being army, and had lived all her life in India.
"Thank you Mrs. Brown," he murmured, "would you show the gentleman up please."
She smiled and left.
Word had soon got around that he no longer held a commission. The fact that she had called him mister as opposed to Lieutenant, he noticed with a pang.
On opening the door to the knock he found a portly gentleman who appeared to be in his sixties standing there, a briefcase in one hand and a fan and hat in the other. His white linen suit appeared somewhat rumpled; his stiff bat-winged collar adding to the visible discomfort David observed in the sweat on his brow.
"Do I have the honour of addressing Mr. David Ramage," he asked in a very cultured voice.
"You do Sir," David replied.
"Oh good," the man replied looking relieved, "I've had a devil of a job locating you. I thought you may have left the town."
"Would you like to come in and sit down?" David asked.
The man appeared worn out and gave David a grateful look as he lowered his bulk into a chair, placing his hat on the table but fanning his face with the fan.
"Would you care for some refreshment?" David asked, "I have some lemon water available."
The man's face smiled appreciatively, "That would be most kind sir, thank you."
Whilst David poured out the drink the man continued, "My name is Cox, of Abercrombie, Cox and Cox, solicitors of law in Multan."
David handed him his drink, thinking as he drank: Multan was two hundred miles away and he was mystified as to what business a solicitor from there might possibly have with him.
Mr. Cox lowered his glass and reached for his briefcase. Opening it he removed a document from inside, "I've been instructed by his Royal Highness Prince Hazid Ibram Kahn of Kanda, to offer you a business opportunity for a consultancy post."
David frowned. Kanda was over four hundred miles to the North, by the mountain range that divided India from Afghanistan. He searched his brain, knowing very little of the independent principality apart from its reputation as being very rich from gold and gems and, of course, the Pass.
"What am I supposed to consult on?" David asked, somewhat baffled.
Mr. Cox shook his head, "That has not been disclosed to me. I'm instructed to give you twenty-five guineas if you agree to journey to Kanda, and you will receive a further twenty-five guinea on your arrival. The Prince has provided for train fare to Bata, and arrangements there will be made to convey you on to the Palace."
David's head was in a whirl. The money constituted more than a year's army pay, but, more to the point, gave him something to do rather than sitting in this room.
Mr. Cox continued, "Should you agree, there is a train leaving this evening which I shall be on. You may accompany me as far as Multan where I shall leave you to continue on to Bata. There, someone will meet you for the rest of your journey."
Chapter 2
They had a first class compartment to themselves as the train pulled out of the station. Mr. Cox had changed his suit and washed and shaved somewhere in town, David realized, when he met the solicitor at the train station.
The compartment was typical of the Victorian rail system found in India in 1888: Heavy upholstered seats with brass fittings and velvet curtains. David had never been in first class on the rail journeys he had undertaken in the past, only being able to afford second-class, which entailed sitting on hard bench seats in an open carriage packed with other travellers.
He found out from Mr. Cox that that his firm represented the Prince's interests, and it would seem that he was one of their most distinguished clients. The fact that Mr. Cox himself had sought him out, having only been given two days' notice to find him, was testament to the high regard in which Abercrombie, Cox and Cox held his patronage.
Mr. Cox had settled into his seat and went to sleep after an hour of travelling. Despite his snoring, David joined him.
