Scorpion Sunset (37 page)

‘She is obviously fond of your wife. Why can't you keep her?' Georgiana asked.

‘Because we also leave tomorrow for the desert, Dr Downe, and like the British Army our future and that of our tribe is uncertain.'

‘But the girl is settled here. She's an Arab,' Georgiana was loath to heap any more responsibilities on Angela who was suffering a difficult pregnancy plagued by sickness that lasted all day and more often than not, late into the night.

‘She is wearing Arab clothes because we had no other clothes to give her. She is a Christian.'

Georgiana gave the girl another smile, but the gesture only drove her closer to Gutne.

‘She looks like a cornered fox at a hunt,' Michael commented.

‘Hardly surprising, she's Armenian,' Mitkhal revealed. ‘And that's exactly what the Turks did to her and her family. Hunted them down and killed them in front of her as if they were vermin.'

‘Are the rumours about the Turkish genocide of the Christian Armenians true?' Georgiana asked.

‘All too true,' Michael confirmed. ‘I've seen the bodies in the desert myself and heard first-hand accounts from tribesmen who tried to save some of the women and children. They were marched out into the desert by Turkish gendarmes who allowed them neither food nor water with the deliberate intention of killing them.'

‘Some put the number who've been murdered at a million some put it even higher,' Mitkhal added.

‘This girl really saw members of her family killed by the Turks?' Georgiana asked.

‘Turkish gendarmes – policemen – yes. Only most of them weren't really policemen. The Turks emptied their prisons of their worst criminals and put them in charge of what they called the “Armenian resettlement”.' Mitkhal confirmed.

‘You saved this girl?'

‘Not by being heroic, Dr Downe. I bought her from a man who rescued her only to enslave her. His family used her to tend their flocks of goats and gather animal dung for fuel. Her name is Mariam. Her father was shot along with all the men in her town. Her mother was also shot. Afterwards the Turks killed two of her sisters. I picked up her one remaining sister, Rebeka …'

Georgiana saw the child look at them when she heard her sister's name. A light suddenly kindled in her eyes and Georgiana felt as though the sun had touched the child's face.

‘Rebeka,' Mitkhal repeated when he saw the child's reaction, ‘was one of only three survivors of a Turkish death march in the northern desert. She told me about her sister Mariam who had been taken at night along with other children from the column by bandit tribesmen. She begged me to look for Mariam. I did and I found her.'

‘Where are Rebeka and the other two survivors now?' Georgiana asked.

‘I took them to John and left them with him.'

‘Michael told me you'd seen John in the desert. He was able to keep the Armenians?'

‘He told the Turks that Rebeka and the woman she was with were trained nurses and he needed them to work in his makeshift field hospital. They had another child with them, an orphan. John told the Turks she couldn't be separated from the women. As John treats the Turks and natives as well the British, the Turkish guards allowed him to keep the women.'

‘Do you think the Turks will allow John to keep the Armenian women with him once he reaches a prison camp?'

‘You know John, Georgie.' Hasan's daughters climbed back on to Michael's lap and he delved into his pockets for more of the chocolate bars he'd bought in the British canteen at HQ earlier that day. ‘He can persuade anyone to do exactly what he wants, while convincing them it was their idea in the first place.'

‘We were hoping that one of you could care for Mariam until she can be reunited with her sister after the war.'

‘Much as I'd like to, I can't, Mitkhal,' Michael demurred.

‘I can certainly pay for her keep. I'll talk to Mrs Smythe. If she can't look after her perhaps she can stay in the mission house and I'll visit her there.'

‘Thank you, Dr Downe.'

‘As you're my twin's foster brother you must call me Georgie, Mitkhal.' She watched Michael take their twin nieces across the room and helped them share out the chocolate between them and Mariam. ‘War is so hard on everyone, men, women, and children,' she murmured.

‘If we can survive, Georgie, it will be something.' Hasan leaned over her and lifted his son from her arms. ‘Thank you for agreeing to take Mariam. I know she will be safe with you.'

Turkish Prison Camp

December 1916

John was deep in sleep, lost in his recurring dream of standing on board a ship that was heading out to sea. He felt the breeze blowing across his face. Then suddenly he jerked, lost his balance, and opened his eyes to see Rebeka standing next to his bed holding a tray.

He sat up rubbing his eyes. ‘What time is it?'

‘Seven in the evening, sir. You said you wanted to be woken …'

‘At four in the afternoon.'

‘I came in at four, sir, and couldn't wake you. Dira said all the patients were fine and none needed attention so I should leave you sleep.'

‘Major Crabbe?'

‘Woke briefly at three o'clock. He drank water and went straight back to sleep. Dira is sitting with him.'

John momentarily forgot that he was naked and sat up in the bed. When he saw Rebeka staring at his chest he pulled the sheet to his chin.

‘Thank you for the tea.'

‘Take your time drinking it, sir. All the patients are comfortable.'

‘Rebeka?'

‘Sir?'

‘Is anyone out there?' He pointed to the open door.

‘No, sir, Mrs Gulbenkian and Hasmik are in the kitchen. Can I get you anything else, sir?'

‘No, thank you. Stay, just a minute, please,' he said when she went to the door.

‘Sir?' She looked back at him in confusion.

‘This isn't a good time for us to talk, not with me in bed and you in my bedroom, it's against what my mother would call “all propriety”, but we never seem to be alone for a minute … You do know I'm married, don't you?'

She hesitated before answering him, confirming his suspicions that the growing affection he felt for her wasn't entirely one-sided.

‘No, sir, I didn't.'

‘My wife and I … she left me and had another man's child. If there wasn't a war, I – we – would probably have been divorced by now.'

‘Why are you telling me this, sir?'

‘Because …' He threw all caution to the wind. ‘I would find it very easy to fall in love with you.'

She turned aside so he couldn't see her face. ‘Are you making fun of me, sir?' she whispered.

‘No, Rebeka, I would never do that,' he said seriously. ‘It's just that I don't want you to have any illusions about me.'

She looked up at him and her eyes widened in wonder. ‘You really think you could love me, sir?'

‘Could … to be truthful, Rebeka, I already do.'

Uncertain how to reply or what to make of his declaration, Rebeka froze, speechless.

‘If you're horrified …'

‘No, sir. I don't know anything about the love between a man and a woman. All I've known is what the Turks did to me. And – what I feel for you now, sir.'

‘I love you, Rebeka,' John smiled, ‘and I'm delighted to hear that you feel something for me. There's no need to say more at present, other than there has to be honesty between us, which is why I told you about my wife.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Do you think you could bring yourself call me John when we're alone together?'

She nodded.

‘Thank you for the tea. I'll be downstairs as soon as I've finished it.'

‘The kitchen sent over bully beef stew tonight. There's some left. I could cook you rice to go with it.'

‘That sounds good, Rebeka. I'll eat after I've done the rounds. Have you eaten?'

‘Not yet, sir. I've been too busy helping the orderlies with the new patients.'

‘Perhaps we can eat together,' he suggested.

She smiled. ‘I'd like that – John.'

Chapter Twenty-five

Count D'Souza's Residence and Portuguese Consulate, India December 1916

An Indian butler dressed in dark blue, gold-braided livery ushered Maud and Sister Luke into a magnificent marbled hall. A footman, attired in similar livery with a marked absence of gold braid, took their bags and spirited them away. Maud felt most peculiar. She had lived in the Spartan surroundings of the convent for only six months, yet it had been long enough for her to accept unadorned whitewashed walls and stone floors as normal. In contrast, she found the luxury of her present surroundings overwhelming.

The gilding on the mirrors and furniture glowed, a deep dark tarnished gold. Her feet sank into the thick pile of the crimson and blue Persian rug centred on the marbled floor. The paintings on the wall, some portraits, some landscapes, shimmered in opulent shades of crimson, cerulean blue and jade, fostering an overall effect of glittering, glamorous splendour.

‘I'd forgotten people could live like this,' Sister Luke whispered.

‘Sisters?' the butler indicated the stairs. ‘If you would please follow me?'

They walked up the massive curved marbled staircase and on to a marbled gallery.

The butler led them down a corridor to a door at the far end. He opened it and showed them in. ‘This is the suite of rooms the count ordered prepared for you, sisters.' He walked across the room and opened three doors. ‘Two bedrooms, a bathroom, and this, as you can see is your sitting room. Your keys.' He set them on a table. ‘Should you require anything, at any time of the day or night, please ring the bell.' He pointed to a bell pull next to the fireplace. ‘There is always a servant on duty in the hall and in the kitchens. The count is with your patient the countess, at present. I will wait outside to escort you to them.'

‘Thank you.' The butler left and closed the door softly behind him. Maud looked into the bedrooms. The servant had placed her bag on a luggage trestle in one of the rooms. She went in, removed her hat and cape, and stowed both in the wardrobe. She poured water into the basin on the washstand, washed her hands and face, tipped the water into the slop pail, and looked at herself in the mirror.

It was the first opportunity she'd had since entering the convent to study her image in a larger reflective surface than the back of a spoon.

Her skin had always been pale but now, probably because of lack of exposure to the sun, it was deathly white. Her hair needed washing and curling. She hid most of it beneath her nursing sisters' veil.

‘Maud?' Sister Luke knocked her door. ‘Are you ready? We shouldn't keep the count waiting.'

‘Coming.' On impulse Maud opened her bag, dug into her toilet bag, and found her bottle of perfume, which she'd kept closed since she'd left Basra. She dabbed a few drops on her neck and behind her ears. The scent kindled memories, of starlit Indian evenings spent on verandas, balls, parties, dinner parties – and John.

‘Maud, the butler is waiting.'

Maud opened the door. ‘Sorry, I couldn't find my veil.'

Sister Luke sniffed long and hard to show Maud that she smelled and disapproved of the perfume.

The sounds and atmosphere of the house closed around them as they walked down the corridor. The heavy scent of hothouse roses emanated from vases set in niches in the corridors overpowering a mixture of strong cigar smoke and incense. Maud could distinguish the subdued murmurs of distant conversations, hints of music – a radio or gramophone? The clink of glassware and silverware vied with the echo of unseen footsteps somewhere ahead. The butler finally stopped outside the door nearest to the staircase. He knocked quietly, waited for a command, and opened it.

A tall, distinguished, grey-haired man walked across an exquisitely decorated and furnished morning room to greet them.

‘Sisters, how kind of you to answer our call for help.' His English was excellent, carefully enunciated and barely accented. ‘I am Count D'Souza.'

‘Sister Luke.' The nun gave a small curtsy.

‘Maud Smith.' Maud offered him her hand. He took it and lifted it to his lips.

‘You are not a nun, Sister Smith?'

‘No, Count D'Souza. I am a nursing sister but not a nun.' Maud returned his cool appraising stare. There was a glint in his eye and an expression on his face she had seen many times before in other men.

‘Please, allow me to introduce you to my wife. Her maid is with her at the moment but she requires more nursing care than the servants can give her.'

He crossed the room and opened a door at the far end. The bedroom was even more splendid, extravagant, and feminine than the morning room with white and grey silk hangings and pearl marbled walls and floor.

The count introduced them to his wife as if the countess were conscious. ‘Countess, may I present Sister Luke and Sister Smith. Sisters, my wife, Countess D'Souza.'

Maud looked down at the figure in the bed. The countess was beautiful, with regular features and full generous lips. Her hair had been recently brushed and shone, long and black. Maud imagined her eyes as dark as hair.

‘You have been acquainted with my wife's condition, sisters?'

‘We have, sir.' Sister Luke pushed herself forward, standing in front of Maud to assume the mantle of senior nurse.

‘The doctors can do nothing for her. My only concern is to ensure that the countess remain as comfortable as possible. I am a busy man and cannot afford to neglect my duties, which is why I now work as much as is reasonably feasible in the morning room next door. Unfortunately it is not always practical. We have been married for fifteen wonderful years. It would be of great comfort to me to know that she is being looked after while I have to leave this room and occasionally the house.'