Scorpion Sunset Page 7

  ‘I’ve been given a bungalow. Not as good as the one I had before I went upstream, but it will do. My daughter’s there now. Fussing round as only a woman can.’ Perry checked the time on the mess clock. ‘Another round before dinner?’

  ‘Or two. You’re fortunate to have a daughter here, sir. Mrs Cleck-Heaton is in India, which is why I’m staying here, in the mess.’

  ‘Your daughter’s been waiting for you in Basra throughout the siege of Kut?’ Reggie enquired archly. He knew Maud Mason was Colonel Perry’s daughter and was eager to pay her back for rejecting his offer to become his mistress after they’d made love in a ‘private’ room he’d hired for the purpose. Believing herself a widow, Maud had been happy to bed him when she’d assumed he was about to propose. When he realised Maud expected marriage, he was shocked that a woman with her reputation could even consider herself suitable wife material for a Brooke.

  ‘My daughter is married,’ Perry barked, raising his voice as he always did when he was forced to talk about something he found disagreeable. ‘She has a husband with the Expeditionary Force, now a prisoner of war. Not a regular – a, a medic. John Mason.’

  ‘Major John Mason?’ Reggie feigned surprise.

  ‘You know him?’ Perry asked.

  ‘I was in school with John Mason, Charles Reid, and Harry Downe.’

  ‘Harry Downe! Now that’s a name to conjure with,’ Cleck-Heaton sniggered.

  A major raised a glass at the table behind them. ‘To Lieutenant-Colonel Harry Downe. A great soldier, diplomat, and one of the rare breed who understood the Arab. We could have done with his assistance when we were trying to negotiate with the Bani Lam today.’

  ‘Smythe, didn’t see you sitting there,’ Perry blustered loudly in an attempt to conceal his irritation with Cleck-Heaton’s tactlessness.

  Peter Smythe rose to his feet and indicated a fair-haired young man in civilian clothes sitting next to him. ‘Michael Downe, war correspondent.’ He deliberately reversed protocol and introduced the younger, less important man to the higher rank. ‘Downe, this is Colonel Perry. Your brother Harry’s commanding officer before the war. Colonel Perry, Harry Downe’s brother, Michael Downe, war reporter.’

  Perry snorted. ‘I see the family resemblance.’

  Half a dozen political officers who were sitting close to the door rose to their feet and raised their glasses. ‘To Lieutenant-Colonel Downe. May he rest in peace wherever he lies.’

  ‘He’s where he deserves to be. In an unmarked grave in the desert.’ Cleck-Heaton had loathed Harry Downe for frequently making him the butt of his jokes.

  ‘You didn’t like my brother, sir?’

  Cleck-Heaton realised Michael was watching him. ‘No, I didn’t,’ he retorted defiantly. ‘Any more than I like civilians who sit on their arses behind the lines while real men engage in combat.’

  ‘You insult Mr Downe, Major Cleck-Heaton.’ Peter rebuked. ‘He’s just returned from the front, where he distinguished himself.’

  Cleck-Heaton had headed for the mess as soon as he left the hospital. He’d spent the entire day drinking. Although not as sick as he would have liked his fellow officers to believe him to be, the brandies he’d downed had affected him more than they would have if hadn’t spent months subsisting on starvation rations in beleaguered Kut. ‘There’s no insult strong enough for a man who chooses to remain a civilian when his King and country are at war.’

  The silence that fell over the mess was intense, asphyxiating. The political officers remained on their feet.

  Perry intervened. ‘Major Cleck-Heaton is about to tender his apologies to Mr Downe, gentlemen. He was with me at Kut. We were only discharged from the hospital this morning.’

  A ripple of sympathy dispelled the silence.

  ‘Major?’ Perry prompted.

  Cleck-Heaton stared belligerently at Perry. Perry returned his hard look.

  ‘Apologies, Downe,’ Cleck-Heaton muttered after a silence that seemed interminable.

  ‘Accepted, major.’ Michael nodded to Peter and they left the mess.

  Colonel Perry watched them walk out. ‘Smythe a major! Astonishing! I never saw him as a candidate for promotion when he was under my command. No military tradition among his people. His father – a nobody – was the first to take a commission in his family. The vicar in his Smythe’s parish had to get up a subscription to buy his uniform when his status as an officer’s orphan managed to get him a commission. And, to top it all Smythe married an American. A missionary type who lives in the Lansing Memorial.’

  ‘Casualties were so high during the Relief Force’s attempts to reach Kut, brass have been forced to promote all sorts beyond their capabilities. I’ve heard Smythe tipped for a colonelcy. Something to do with the dispatches he brought out of Kut when he escaped, and his insistence on remaining with the Relief Force against the advice of medics.’ Reggie failed to keep the envy from his voice.

  ‘I’ve heard it all now. Smythe! That pathetic little subaltern is on his way to a colonelcy.’

  ‘They gave Harry Downe one,’ Cleck-Heaton reminded them bitterly.

  Perry glanced at the political officers before lowering his voice. ‘Not in a regiment. Everyone knows political officers are unprincipled scoundrels …’

  Reggie risked a second interruption and turned the conversation back to the topic he wanted to pursue. ‘Have you seen your daughter since your return to Basra, Colonel Perry?’

  ‘Maud?’ He looked blankly at Reggie. ‘Of course. She visited me in hospital as soon as she heard I was there. Told you, she’s in my bungalow.’

  ‘She’s happy to keep house for you?’

  ‘Couldn’t wait to move out of the American mission she’s lived in since Mason went upstream. Never realised until now, but it must be the same place Smythe’s wife lives. Silly girl, mixing with Americans. Maud wasn’t brought up that way. Should have known better than to go near them. Smythe’s wife must have persuaded her. Can’t understand why Maud allowed it. Mason’s a major, his rank would have secured her a bungalow or at least rooms in one shared with a fellow officer’s wife.’

  Reggie smiled. ‘I know exactly why she moved into the American mission, sir.’

  Colour flooded Perry’s cheeks at the perceived insult to his daughter. ‘Explain yourself, sir.’

  ‘I’ve said more than I should have. My apologies, sir. It’s been a long day. I’m tired and have had more brandy than is good for me.’

  ‘You maligned my daughter. I repeat my demand. Explain yourself.’

  Reggie took a deep breath and plunged headlong into the revelation he’d been framing since he’d spotted the opportunity to take revenge on Maud. ‘It was rumoured Mason intended to divorce your daughter, sir. As soon as Mason was listed dead, she arranged to marry an American doctor …’

  ‘First I’ve heard about a divorce. Sounds like malicious tittle-tattle to me. And so what if she was going to marry again? She received official notification of Mason’s death last Christmas. The army doesn’t often make mistakes.’

  ‘It doesn’t, sir,’ Reggie agreed. When she’d refused to become his mistress Maud Mason had dealt a blow to his pride. He suddenly saw an opportunity to exact revenge. ‘And the proposed marriage to an American was understandable. Mason didn’t see your daughter for a year before she had a child. The whole of Basra knows her son isn’t Mason’s. She wanted to marry the doctor because no man or woman in decent society would associate with her. I’m sorry she didn’t tell you this herself. Forgive me if I’ve spoken out of turn, sir, but I refuse to stand back and remain silent while a man of your courage and integrity be made to look a fool. Even if the one sullying his reputation is his own daughter.’

  The colour drained from Perry’s face.

  Conveniently forgetting the earlier plea that he’d had too much brandy, Cleck-Heaton lifted his finger to the orderly. ‘Brandy all round, here, boy. Now.’

  Chapter Six

  Colonel Perry’s bungalow,
British Military Quarters, Basra

  June 1916

  Maud entered the kitchen and told the cook to take the curry from the heat. He wasn’t pleased. Anxious to avoid a shouting match she retreated to the drawing room where she found her father ensconced in the most comfortable chair, with a brandy at his elbow.

  ‘Father.’ She ignored the hostile expression on his face and forced a smile. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Evidently.’

  ‘Shall I ask the servants to serve dinner?’

  ‘You can ask but I won’t be eating with you.’

  ‘You’ve eaten?’ she proceeded warily.

  Her father had always had an unpredictable temper, especially after visits to the mess. Her mother had been adept at shielding her from the worst of his outbursts. As a result her father had been a remote figure during her childhood. Her marriage to John had exacerbated the situation, driving them even further apart, if that was possible in a relationship that barely existed.

  Perry finally looked up at her. ‘I’ve eaten in the mess, and that’s where I’ll be taking all my meals from now on.’

  Shocked by his unpleasantness Maud went to the kitchen, informed the cook they wouldn’t be eating and ordered him to clear the table. When she returned, her father had finished the brandy in his glass and was pouring another.

  She sat down and picked up her own glass.

  ‘Did I invite you to sit with me?’ Perry snarled.

  ‘You invited me to move into this bungalow with you when you returned from Kut. I assumed you wanted to live with me and Robin as a family.’

  ‘Family,’ he sneered before setting down the brandy bottle.

  She saw the red light of anger in his eyes and attempted to defuse his temper. ‘I’m your daughter. Robin is your grandson.’

  ‘From what I heard in the mess today, Robin is your bastard. A daughter whose child is disowned by her husband is no daughter of mine.’

  ‘Who told you Robin is a bastard?’

  ‘Every man in the mess knows.’ He evaded her question. ‘You’re the talk of the regiment. The colonel’s daughter who’ll open her legs for any man who crooks his finger. Not that I have any time for Mason, but I won’t blame a man for refusing to acknowledge a child conceived when he’s away on active service. What the hell were you thinking of. Moving in with me …’

  ‘You asked me to run your house,’ she interrupted.

  ‘When I assumed you were a respectable woman.’

  ‘I’m not?’ she challenged.

  ‘You’re a whore and I want you out of this bungalow. Tonight!’

  ‘Where do you expect me to go?’

  ‘When Bedouin women disgrace themselves, they and their bastards are sent out into the desert.’

  ‘To die?’

  He refused to meet her eye.

  ‘You know I’ve nowhere else to go, and no money after repaying John’s death insurance.’

  ‘Return to your bloody American missionaries. They take in charity cases and fallen women, don’t they?’

  ‘There’s no room for me at the mission.’

  ‘There was room for you and your bastard before I arrived.’

  ‘The Reverend and Mrs Butler only invited me to stay until Robin’s birth.’

  ‘And after his birth they wanted you out because they discovered you were a whoring slut?’

  Her father’s words stung more than the gossip that had led to her ostracism. ‘I couldn’t stay there. Not with Dr Wallace living in the Mission. Not after we’d planned to marry.’

  ‘Hard luck on you having your damned husband alive. Surprised you baulked at bigamy but I suppose that would have broken criminal as opposed to moral law.’ Perry downed his brandy.

  She hated begging but she had no option. Not when she had Robin to care for. ‘I have nowhere to go, Father. I have no money. The army is demanding I repay my widow’s pension …’

  ‘Pay them out of your wife’s allowance.’ He left his chair, paced to the window and turned his back on her.

  ‘They’ve stopped paying it. The last time I saw John he said he wanted to divorce me. He’s probably written to the paymaster.’

  ‘As is his right. No officer wants a whore for a wife, not even a soft bugger like Mason.’

  ‘Please, Father. I can’t stay in Basra without your protection. I can’t return to India. I know no one in England …’

  ‘You should have thought of before you opened your legs to every Tom, Dick, and Harry.’

  She left her chair. ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘If I’m drunk, I drink to forget you’re my daughter. Out by first light tomorrow, Maud. That’s an order,’ he barked as if he were admonishing a junior officer.

  ‘You’d put me and your grandson out on the street?’

  ‘I’d see a whore and her bastard on the street. And take your damned maids with you.’

  ‘If I don’t?’ she challenged with a fragile defiance.

  He raised his hand and slapped her across the face, hard. She reeled into the wall. Something warm and wet trickled down her cheek. She lifted her fingers. When she withdrew them they were covered in blood.

  ‘Whoring bitch!’ He raised his hand a second time.

  She ran into her bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it. Terrified, she leaned against the wall, waited and watched the minutes tick off her bedside clock. When ten had passed in silence she picked up her cape, threw it over her shoulders, and unlocked her door.

  The passageway was quiet and empty. Forgetting her child, she ran through the kitchen and out of the house. She had no idea where she was going. She only knew she had to get as far away from her father and the bungalow as possible.

  When Maud saw the sentries at the gate to the compound, she slowed to walking pace. Once past the military boundary she kept her head down, looking neither left nor right. She sidestepped whenever she glimpsed anyone walking towards her because she knew they’d assume, not without cause, that any woman out alone in the evening was a streetwalker hoping for trade.

  Angry with her father, more terrified of the future than she’d ever been, she found herself on the thoroughfare that led to the Lansing.

  Then she remembered Theo Wallace … he’d wanted to marry her until the news that John was alive had reached Basra. Given the number of casualties that had flowed into the town since the fall of Kut, he’d have to be at the hospital. It was the only place that treated Turks … Theo would help her … he had to.

  Lansing Memorial Hospital, Basra

  June 1916

  ‘Dr Wallace is examining a patient.’ Sister Margaret crossed her arms and glared at Maud, reminding her that the nurse had never liked her, even when she’d done her utmost to try and please the woman during her short stint as a nursing assistant in the Lansing.

  ‘May I wait in his office, please?’

  ‘You can wait in the general waiting room.’ Sister Margaret pushed open a door. The room was packed with women, children, and babies. Maud stepped inside, stood behind the door, and prepared for a long wait. Less than five minutes later Theo pushed his way into the room.

  ‘Maud? What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I wanted to see you.’

  ‘Come into the office. There’s a cut on your face that should be seen to and I need to change my coat.’

  She followed him into the office. Sister Margaret sniffed loudly as she passed and she noted that Theo made a point of leaving his office door wide open. He stripped off his soiled coat, tossed into an open linen bin, opened the cupboard, and took a clean one from a neatly laundered pile.

  ‘Sit down.’

  She sat in the visitor’s chair in front of the desk.

  He took a bottle of sterile water and a gauze pad from a tray on his desk and cleaned the cut on her face.

  ‘Leave it, Theo. I didn’t come here for medical treatment,’ she said impatiently.

  He threw the bloodied gauze into the bin. ‘You shouldn’t be
here. Aside from carrying the risk of infection to your child, you shouldn’t be out alone in the evening.’ He sat behind his desk. ‘You are alone?’

  ‘I am, and I wouldn’t have come here if I had anywhere else to go. My father’s thrown me out of his bungalow.’

  ‘Your child?’

  ‘Is in the bungalow with his nurse, but I have to find somewhere else for us to live from tomorrow.’ She braced herself. ‘I don’t have any money, Theo, but I have jewellery that can be sold. It will bring a better price in Europe or America than here. We can still go to America as we planned. With John alive we can’t marry but if I call myself Mrs Wallace …’

  ‘Maud, please, not another word. We might have succeeded in silencing the gossips if you’d been widowed but you weren’t. Have you heard what people are saying about you? You’re the talk of Basra. The major’s wife and colonel’s daughter who’s slept with half the men garrisoned in the Gulf while your husband and father starved in Kut.’

  ‘I only slept with Reggie Brooke, he’s …’

  ‘The one spreading the gossip, Maud.’ He turned impatiently to Sister Margaret who was standing in the doorway. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Dr Picard needs your assistance.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes,’ he said tersely. When the nurse didn’t leave, he added. ‘You can assist him until then, Sister Margaret.’

  Maud waited until the nurse left before appealing to Theo again. ‘You won’t help me?’

  ‘It’s more than my reputation as a doctor is worth. My colleagues at the Lansing Mission warned me against marrying you when they thought I was marrying a widow with a slightly dubious reputation. If I booked passage home with a married woman who’s considered no better than a streetwalker by everyone in Basra, including the Americans, word would reach the United States before the ship we were travelling on dropped anchor.’

  ‘But I have jewellery that could be sold to buy you a share in a doctor’s practice in America.’

  ‘A doctor needs more than a practice, Maud. He needs patients and in order to attract them he needs a family life above reproach. That includes a respectable wife.’ He put on the clean white coat.