The Girl From the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Fluffy cleared her throat and pulled away. ‘Let’s just enjoy tonight and not think about that,’ she said firmly.

  Prue and Deborah were the first to arrive as the mali was lighting the lamps that hung in the trees. Adela could hear their excited chatter and giggling even before they appeared in the flickering light around the box hedges of the narrow garden. Just as they did, the telephone rang in the sitting room.

  ‘Go and greet them,’ said Fluffy. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

  Prue, now eighteen, was wearing a sophisticated long dress of midnight blue, her brown hair permed into stylish waves. Deborah’s straight blonde hair was swept off her high forehead with a hairband that matched her silk lilac dress. Her father was high up in Burmah Oil and the Hallidays had plenty of money, but Deborah had no airs and graces; St Mary’s discouraged boastfulness.

  ‘Adela, you look wonderful!’ Prue cried, clattering on to the veranda in her new high heels and hugging her friend.

  ‘Vivien Leigh will die of envy.’ Deborah winked, handing over a present. ‘Open it later.’

  ‘Have the others arrived yet?’ asked Prue.

  ‘She means, is Guy Fellows here?’ Deborah gave a roll of her large blue eyes.

  ‘No, you’re the first.’ Adela smiled. ‘Come inside. Auntie says we can drink sherry.’

  Prue pulled a face. ‘I’ve been drinking gimlets in Jubbulpore.’

  Deborah gave her a playful shove. ‘I hope you’re not going to be a bore about Jubbulpore all evening.’

  ‘That’s the first time I’ve mentioned it.’

  ‘Third. Bet you can’t have a conversation with Guy Fellows without saying the J word.’

  ‘Bet I can.’

  The two girls spat on their palms and shook hands. Adela pulled them indoors.

  ‘Come on you two: no arguing on my birthday.’

  Fluffy appeared and asked Noor, her bearer, to pour four sherries.

  ‘Who was that, Auntie?’ Adela asked.

  Fluffy raised her glass and made a toast before answering. When they had all taken a sip, she said, ‘That was William Boswell.’

  ‘Boz?’ Adela queried. ‘He is still coming, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m afraid that Mr Fellows is not.’

  There was a chorus of dismay from the three friends.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How disappointing!’

  ‘That’s very late in the day to cancel.’

  ‘He’s come down with a dose of hill fever,’ explained their hostess. ‘He’s very apologetic – was hoping he would rally in time for tonight.’

  Adela tried to put on a brave face; she could see how disappointed her friends were.

  ‘Poor Guy,’ she said. ‘That’s very bad luck.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ agreed Fluffy. ‘But all is not lost. Boz has managed to find a replacement for the party – someone he knows from up in the hills. The man just happened to be in Simla, and Boz has persuaded him to stay the night.’

  ‘Good for Boz.’ Adela brightened.

  ‘Ooh, who is this mystery man?’ Prue smiled.

  ‘Some Raja’s son I hope.’ Deborah gave a wicked grin.

  ‘Deb!’ Prue admonished.

  ‘Not exactly.’ Fluffy gave Adela an apologetic glance. ‘He’s a missionary from Narkanda.’

  ‘A missionary?’ Deborah exclaimed.

  ‘Oh no.’ Prue pulled a face.

  ‘Better hide the sherry, Auntie,’ Adela said with a rueful look, trying to make light of it.

  ‘Now, girls,’ Fluffy said, ‘I’m sure he’ll be very pleasant.’

  ‘And boring,’ muttered Prue.

  ‘Well, he probably won’t want to stay beyond dinner, will he?’ Adela asked in hope.

  ‘That’s true. Missionaries don’t usually hang around Davico’s,’ agreed Prue.

  ‘Except to stop young innocents from entering,’ Deborah said in a dramatic voice, ‘and save their mortal souls!’

  Prue and Adela snorted with laughter. Just then Sundar called out a greeting as he arrived with Dr Fatima.

  ‘The bet about the J word still stands,’ Deborah hissed to the others.

  They came bearing more gifts, Sundar looking magnificent in the evening mess kit of the Lahore Horse with a ruby-red turban, and Fatima in a dark blue sari with gold brocade.

  ‘You really shouldn’t,’ Adela said, kissing Fatima’s cheek. ‘All I wanted was a party with my favourite people.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Deborah declared. ‘Presents are the best part of birthdays.’

  ‘And it’s a good excuse to spoil a very special young lady.’ Sundar grinned. ‘Tonight, you look like a princess!’

  ‘Thank you.’ Adela beamed while her friends giggled. Fluffy welcomed them, and Noor handed fruit juice to the new arrivals. The noise level grew as they chatted and laughed. Prue told them about the gorgeous Guy being replaced by a missionary.

  ‘Some dry old stick that Boz has dragged in at the last minute – probably as old as the hills too.’

  ‘You’re going to have to be on your best behaviour, birthday girl,’ Deborah teased Adela.

  ‘As will you.’ Adela laughed.

  ‘No unsuitable jokes, ladies’ – Sundar wagged a finger in mock disapproval – ‘or bursting into barrack-room songs.’

  ‘The only ones we know are the ones you taught us,’ Adela teased back.

  ‘Not all the missionaries in the hills are ancient,’ Fatima said, ‘or lacking in humour. Most of the ones I’ve met are kind and well meaning.’

  The girls groaned.

  ‘You never have a bad word to say about anyone, do you?’ Adela rolled her eyes.

  ‘Maybe we should practise some hymn singing before he arrives.’ Prue smirked.

  ‘What a friend we have in Jesus!’ Deborah began at once.

  ‘Honestly, you girls,’ Fluffy cried. ‘You would think you were seven, not seventeen.’

  ‘Some of us are eighteen,’ Prue corrected.

  ‘Because some of us,’ Deborah mimicked, ‘have had a year in . . .’

  ‘Jubbulpore!’ Adela chimed in with Deborah.

  The friends burst out laughing.

  A deep Scottish voice called out of the dark: ‘Good evening! Glad to see the party’s already started.’

  ‘Boz!’ Adela cried, rushing forward to the veranda steps, while her friends stifled their giggles. His tall, wiry frame loomed out of the shadows dressed in kilt and black jacket, his long craggy face scored by years in the sun and his red hair receding, making him look older than Rafi, his contemporary and friend.

  ‘Thank you for coming.’ Adela greeted him with a warm handshake, half hoping that he had decided against bringing the missionary with him.

  ‘Wouldna miss it for the world, lassie,’ Boz said with a grin. ‘And neither would ma friend here when he heard it was Miss Adela Robson’s birthday.’

  ‘Oh?’ Adela gave a quizzical smile. ‘I didn’t think I knew any missionaries from Narkanda.’

  Boz stood aside as his companion leapt up the steps behind him. Adela’s instant impression was that the man was not old at all and that his shoulders were too broad for the suit that Boz had obviously lent him.

  ‘Adela.’ He gave a generous smile, and she found herself looking up into familiar laughing hazel brown eyes. He held out a large hand. ‘Happy birthday.’

  For a moment she just stood there winded, staring at him in disbelief. How was this possible? Fluffy gave a polite cough, which galvanised her out of a state of shock.

  ‘Sam?’ Adela gulped, reaching out a hand to meet his. His warm, roughened fingers closed around hers, sparking off an electric storm in her chest.

  ‘You know each other?’ Fluffy asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes, from Assam,’ Adela said, her voice husky as she held on to Sam’s hand a fraction more than was polite.

  Sam disengaged and stepped towards his hostess, thrusting a jute bag at her. ‘Sam Jackman.’ He smiled. ‘Some cherries
from the orchard. Sorry I don’t have anything more exciting. It’s very good of you to invite me.’

  ‘Well, it’s good of you to come at such short notice,’ Fluffy answered graciously.

  ‘I realise I’m the understudy for the lead man, Mr Fellows,’ Sam joked. ‘So sorry to disappoint, ladies.’ He bowed to Prue and Deborah. Adela noticed their looks of amazement. Then Sam caught sight of Fatima. ‘Ah, Dr Khan. How delightful.’

  ‘How do you do, Mr Jackman?’ she said, smiling in greeting and introducing him to Sundar.

  As they made introductions around the room and fell to small talk, Adela felt ridiculously tongue-tied. Fatima had mentioned the mission on a couple of occasions, but Adela had never been curious enough to ask about the missionaries themselves. She tried not to stare at Sam, but failed. It was nearly four years since she had last seen him, and he had lost his boyish looks: his chin was nicked from a recent shave with a blunt razor and there were new lines about his eyes and mouth. He had broadened out – perhaps from manual work – his shirt buttons straining at his chest and the collar digging into his ruddy neck. Sam’s hair was still as brush-like and unruly as before, and the teasing familiar smile came just as easily to his firm lips. Her heart hammered from the shock of his sudden arrival, and she felt breathless at his nearness.

  For the first year after her flight from St Ninian’s, she had thought about him every day, wondering what had become of him, especially after the scandal of him losing his steamboat in a card game. But even Auntie Tilly and her network of gossips in the tea gardens had been unable to find out where he had gone. Some rumours had put him in Calcutta; others that he had joined the Merchant Navy or gone home to England. None had come anywhere close to guessing that the wild Jackman boy had become a missionary. She had never forgotten him, but as time had gone on she had resigned herself to never seeing him again. Yet here he was, conjured up like a magic trick on Fluffy’s veranda.

  Then Adela’s euphoria at seeing him again suddenly deflated. If Sam had found God, perhaps he had also found a missionary wife to help him in his vocation. Wasn’t that what most missionaries did?

  ‘Well, Adela dear,’ Fluffy said briskly, throwing her a curious glance, ‘why don’t you lead our guests into dinner?’

  Adela took a deep breath. Whatever Sam’s situation, nothing was going to stop her enjoying her birthday celebrations. ‘Of course.’ She smiled, and led the way into the dining room.

  It was the pudding course before Adela plucked up the courage to ask Sam how he had ended up in the hills beyond Simla. Prue had dominated the conversation early on with chatter about life in the cantonment in Jubbulpore, with trips to the Smoke Cascade, a dramatic waterfall, and dances at the Gun Carriage Factory Club. Deborah had switched the conversation to the forthcoming show at the Gaiety, and Adela had found her voice and joined in with amusing stories about clashes on stage and off. The men had discussed road-widening schemes for the route up to Kufri and unrest in some of the princely states. Sundar had been critical of interference from Congress activists stirring up dissent among the labourers.

  ‘Our contractors are finding it harder to hire men at prices they can afford.’

  ‘The men have families to feed,’ replied Sam. ‘They shouldn’t have to work for nothing.’

  ‘Nobody is asking them to.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s exactly what the old system of begar is doing. It’s time the hill rajas abolished it – and the British, who have been taking advantage of the free labour on offer.’

  ‘I agree wi’ Sam,’ Boz said. ‘Fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Fluffy. ‘If we expect that for ourselves, we should grant it to the Indians.’

  Abruptly Sundar laughed. ‘Help me, Dr Khan. Am I the only one at this table prepared to uphold the British administration?’

  A smile twitched at Fatima’s lips. ‘It would seem so.’

  As Adela’s favourite fruit fool was served, along with Sam’s cherries, she asked, ‘You still haven’t told us how you ended up in Narkanda, Sam. The last we heard was you’d lost your boat!’

  Sam gave a short laugh. ‘Ah, so you know about that?’

  ‘Auntie Tilly said it was the talk of Tezpur.’

  ‘I’m sure it was.’ Sam’s look was rueful. ‘I went off the rails for a while.’

  ‘How dashing,’ said Deborah. Adela could see her friend was quite taken with the handsome, candid missionary.

  ‘Not really,’ said Sam, a look of pain flickering across his face. ‘It’s a sorry tale.’

  ‘Do tell,’ urged Prue.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ murmured Fatima. Adela saw a look flit between them, and she wondered for the first time if they might know each other better than they had let on.

  ‘Maybe it will be a salutary lesson,’ Sam said with shrug of self-deprecation. ‘I drank and gambled too much – lost everything I had, including the few long-suffering friends who put me up in their bungalows until I drank their godowns dry. Even my monkey ran off.’

  ‘Nelson?’ Adela exclaimed.

  Sam nodded, his look remorseful. ‘Couldn’t look after myself, let alone poor Nelson. I was a drunk and a bore and heading for an early grave. And then somehow my old friend and mentor Dr Black found me.’ He turned again to Adela. ‘You remember Dr Black, the missionary?’

  She nodded, blushing to think how the doctor had seen her final humiliation at St Ninian’s.

  ‘He rescued me from a dosshouse in Delhi – somewhere in the old city. Anyway, he took me to his home, sobered me up and brought me back to life. I started helping out at the mission, doing odd jobs fixing up shelters and growing food. For the first time in a long time, I felt a purpose in life. When the mission at Narkanda needed help with the orchards, I jumped at the chance to come back to this area.’

  ‘Were you a Bishop Cotton pupil?’ Fluffy asked.

  ‘No, a Lawrence boy.’ Sam smiled. ‘I’d forgotten how much I loved the hills and wanted to work on the land – good for body and spirit.’

  Deborah said, ‘So you’re not really a missionary? I mean, you’re more of a farmer than one of the holy brigade.’

  ‘Deborah!’ Prue cried.

  Sam laughed. ‘I’m both I suppose. I grow fruit, but I also believe in feeding the soul. Dr Black saved me from the gutter and gave me a second chance. I made him a promise that I’d dedicate my life to helping others, so that’s what I’m trying to do. As a confirmed bachelor I have no wife or family to consider, so I can just serve God. Except’ – he gave his boyish smile – ‘for the odd trip into Simla to have my cine films developed and attend delightful birthday parties.’

  There was an awkward pause; it was bad etiquette to air such personal details and talk about God. Adela thought how his words echoed what Fatima was doing – dedicating her life to serving others. It struck her, looking at the serene doctor and the vigorous Sam, how they suited each other – more so than Fatima and the boisterous, but conventional Sundar did. They must be a similar age too; Fatima could only be a couple of years older than Sam. Adela felt a pang of disappointment at the thought. Even though she was coming of age in society, Sam would probably still think of her as the rebellious child he had known and not a woman to excite his interest.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Hogg,’ Sam said. ‘I see I’ve shocked your young ladies. I know it’s bad form to lay your soul bare at the dinner table.’

  ‘Only before the port,’ Fluffy replied with a guarded smile.

  Adela saw the situation needed rescuing. She shouldn’t have put such questions to Sam in front of the others. ‘Don’t worry. Briar Rose Cottage is infamous for its dinner conversation,’ she reassured him. ‘Auntie allows just about anything to be talked about at her table, unless it’s blasphemous about the Liberal Party or the Indian Army.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ Sundar grinned and raised his glass of soda water.

  Boz stood up, relief on his face. Adela thought the bashful Sco
tsman was probably keen to veer the conversation away from religion and personal matters.

  ‘Let’s raise our glasses to bonny Adela on her seventeenth birthday.’

  With enthusiasm, the dinner guests and Fluffy got to their feet.

  ‘To Adela!’ they cried in unison.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, beaming. ‘And thank you for coming tonight and making my birthday special.’

  ‘And we’ve still got the dancing to come,’ Deborah squealed.

  ‘Better go and freshen up, girls,’ said Fluffy. ‘The rickshaws are booked for nine o’clock.’

  Adela turned to Sam. ‘You will come with us to the dance, won’t you?’

  He hesitated a moment, then smiled. ‘If you don’t mind a man with two left feet, then I’d be honoured.’

  ‘Good.’ She smiled back.

  As they applied some of Prue’s lipstick in Adela’s room, the girls demanded to know how Adela knew Sam. She told them about her escape from St Ninian’s in the boot of Sam’s car.

  ‘You dark horse!’ Prue cried. ‘Why did you never tell us this before?’

  ‘Didn’t like to be reminded of St Ninian’s and that bully, Nina Davidge.’

  ‘Why was she so horrid to you?’ Deborah asked.

  Adela shrugged. She was never going to tell them the shameful things Nina had said about her parents. ‘She was jealous of my friendship with Margie Munro I suppose. Anyway, that’s all ancient history, and I don’t want to think about it.’

  ‘Well, if she ever shows her face in Simla,’ Deborah declared, ‘we’ll cut her dead.’

  Adela felt a guilty wave of relief that that was never likely to happen now. Over a year ago her mother had heard that Colonel Davidge had died, and Nina and her mother had gone back to England.

  ‘Sam’s always been a bit of a rebel then,’ mused Prue. ‘Hiding stowaways and gambling away his boat!’

  ‘Not now,’ said Deborah, adjusting the Alice band on her flyaway hair. ‘He’s living like a monk in the hills, with no interest in girls.’

  ‘Except for Dr Fatima.’ Prue smirked.

  Adela reddened. ‘Whatever do you mean by that?’

  ‘Couldn’t keep his eyes off her all supper. You must have noticed.’