‘I’m so sorry, Daddy! I will never forgive myself for the way you died. Mother will never forgive me either. She hates me for it. I can tell. She can hardly bear to look at me. She’s sending me away. I don’t want to leave you, but I have to. It’s the only way Mother can cope with what’s happened. And I have no right to complain after what I’ve done to her – taken away the person she loved most in the whole world, will always love. It’s like she can still see and hear you about the place. I know she talks to you. Harry says he hears her speaking to you during the night. It confuses him. He’s so unhappy, and I feel guilty for that too.’
Adela rubbed her streaming eyes and nose on her sleeves. Through the trees the sky was filling with golden light, and the dew on the grass began to sparkle. The air was ringing with birdsong. Adela’s weeping stopped. She felt as if balm were being rubbed on her sore heart; the sights and sounds of Belgooree would always be woven into the very fabric of her being wherever she went. She stood up.
‘Thank you, Dad,’ she whispered, bending to kiss the wooden cross. ‘I promise I will try my best to make up for this terrible thing I’ve done.’ She breathed in deeply, the earthy scented smell of Belgooree giving her courage. ‘And I will come back – I promise you that. I will come back.’
CHAPTER 15
Adela leant on the ship’s railing, staring back at the chaotic scenes on the Bombay quayside – the waving men, the scurrying porters, the fruit sellers and dockside officials – and watched India recede into the hot afternoon haze. The last three days of travel – the trains to Calcutta and on to Delhi and Bombay – had left her spent of emotion. Tilly had not stopped chattering and pointing things out to Mungo and talking of all the fun things they were going to do over the summer before he started school. Tilly was overjoyed that her closest friend in Assam, Ros Mitchell, was also spending the summer in Britain with her in-laws. She had already made arrangements to meet up with Ros, who would be staying at St Abb’s in Scotland, close to where Tilly would be, in Dunbar, at her sister Mona’s.
Adela stood drinking in the sights and sounds of India as if for the last time. Sophie was beside her, arm about her shoulder.
‘I have mixed feelings too, Adela,’ she murmured. ‘This is the first time I’ve left India since we all came out on the boat in ’22. The first time I’ve left Rafi since we got married.’
Adela saw that Sophie had tears in her eyes.
‘I feel like I’m being banished,’ Adela said unhappily. ‘I don’t really want to leave India at all.’
‘Nobody’s banishing you. And it’s not for long,’ Sophie encouraged. ‘Maybe it will help ease the pain for a little while. I’m sure your aunt Olive and your cousins will be kind to you.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Cousin Jane is a very nice person if her letters are anything to go by. She sent such a sweet card of condolence by airmail. I should stop feeling so sorry for myself all the time. It’s far worse for Mother being left to cope on her own. Do you think she’ll be all right?’
Sophie nodded. ‘I think if anyone can get through hard times it’s Clarrie. She’s the strongest person I know. But you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You have lost your father – I know how close you both were – and you have every right to be feeling as grief-stricken as your mother.’
Adela whispered, ‘It’s not just grief, it’s guilt. If I hadn’t met Jay, if I hadn’t agreed to go back and hunt the tigress, if we’d both just listened to Dad . . .’ She broke off, too choked to speak.
Sophie squeezed her shoulders. ‘You mustn’t let regret consume you, darling lassie, else you will never find peace of mind. Whatever happened between you and Prince Sanjay is not the reason for your father’s death. Wild animals are always unpredictable and every hunter knows that – Wesley most of all. He acted as he did because that was the kind of man he was. He would have done what he did for anyone, not just you. He saved the lives of the mahouts and the shikaris that night too.’
They stared out at the widening gap between the ship and land. The massive archway, the Gateway of India, stood out like a raised eyebrow as the face of the dockside grew indistinct. Adela felt numb as she thought of all those she loved and left behind: Mother, Harry, Mrs Hogg and her friends in Simla, the people of Belgooree, Rafi and James. Sam. Thinking about him made her heart sore. It was probable that she would never set eyes on him again. She couldn’t explain how desolate that made her feel. It made no sense. They had only met a handful of times and yet he had had such a profound effect on her young heart.
She had fallen for his lean good looks, the sexy way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his easy laugh and dishevelled hair. The touch of his strong work-roughened hands and the way his eyes lit with passion when he spoke about his work or his photography. The way he would speak to anybody, his humour and kindness. The intense way he looked at her that made the pulse jump in her throat. The firm mouth that she had longed to kiss and now never would. She kept the small photograph of the two of them tucked into an inner pocket of her handbag. It was all she had left of him.
‘Come on, you two,’ Tilly called from across the deck. ‘Quickly!’ She and Mungo had been looking west to the first blush of the sinking sun. ‘Come and feast your eyes on this – Mungo’s spotted a dolphin.’
Sophie pushed a handkerchief at Adela. ‘Dry your eyes, sweetie. Auntie Tilly’s on a mission to cheer you up.’
It was only much later, long after they’d left the boiling temperatures of the Indian Ocean and the dusty landscape around the Suez Canal, that Adela found the package. The ship was steaming through the Mediterranean, and cloudy skies and a stiff, cool breeze sent Adela to hunt out a warm jacket and discard her topee for a felt hat. In the jacket pocket was a small parcel wrapped in an old piece of the Shillong Gazette. Inside was a wad of tissue paper smelling of household spices with a folded note from her mother.
Darling Adela,
Try to enjoy your time in Newcastle. I think there is much you will love about it, not least the theatres and cinemas! I hope Olive will spoil you. She will certainly be better company than your sad old mother just now. I’m sorry I haven’t had more time for you since your father’s death. I will try to be better when you return. Perhaps it will do us both good to be apart from each other for a short while. The summer will rush by and you will be back in the autumn – unless you want to stay longer and Olive says you can. You mustn’t think you have to hurry back – your father would never want me to stand in the way of your pursuing a career in acting if you get the chance in England.
I wanted you to have the enclosed necklace. It was given to me when I was your age and about to go to Britain for the first time, feeling very frightened and unsure of the future. The old swami at the ruined temple gave it to me as protection, and I have worn it almost every day since. Now I want you to wear it and always be under the swami’s protection and my love.
Harry and I will miss you, darling one.
Take care,
Your ever-loving mother xxx
Adela wiped away the tears that spilled on to the letter and unfolded the tissue paper. Inside lay the pink stone on a simple chain that her mother always wore. Why hadn’t she noticed that her mother wasn’t wearing it the day she left home? She rubbed the smooth stone between her fingers – it was almost heart-shaped – and then fastened it around her neck. Kissing the stone, she pushed it under her blouse so that she would feel the weight of it against her skin, reminding her that her mother still loved her after all. She went up on deck with a lighter tread and a smile on her lips that felt strange after weeks of mourning.
She was going to make the most of this trip to Britain. From now on she would not look back and wallow in remorse. For the first time she felt curiosity about her Tyneside family and the big industrial port of Newcastle that was going to be her temporary home for the summer.
‘Auntie Tilly,’ Adela asked as she joined her on the bench, watching Mungo playing deck quoits with some of the other chil
dren. ‘Tell me about the theatres in Newcastle. Is there a repertory company?’
‘My brother Johnny used to act with an amateur dramatic society in Jesmond, but there’s bound to be one. Your aunt Olive will be able to tell you. Oh, well done, Mungo!’ She broke off to clap her adored youngest child. ‘Are you thinking of joining a group while you’re at home?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Adela. It sounded strange to have this unremembered city referred to as home. But then to Tilly, Newcastle had never stopped being home; even Adela was aware of that.
Tilly grinned and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Glad to see you smiling again, dear girl. It’s the fresher European air – lifts the spirits. Goodness,’ she said, sighing happily, ‘I can’t wait to feel a good old North Sea mist on my face again.’
About the time Adela and her aunts were stepping ashore at Marseille in the South of France to board a train north – Tilly had decreed they take the train through France to save nearly a week of extra sailing around the Bay of Biscay – Clarrie was receiving an unexpected visitor.
Looking out from the tasting room, she saw a battered Ford passing the factory, heading towards the compound.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked James. He had been staying for three days, helping with pricing the monsoon pickings, and had brought one of his mechanics to fix the ancient rolling machine that Wesley had always had the knack of repairing.
‘Visitor, but I don’t recognise the car,’ answered Clarrie.
‘I’ll go and investigate,’ he said at once.
‘No, I will.’
‘I’ll come with you then.’
She gave him one of her looks, and James tempered his words. ‘If you want me to, of course.’
Clarrie gave a soft sigh – half amusement, half impatience – and nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Banu, on horseback, had stopped the car at the entrance to the compound. He was leaning down from the saddle, talking to the driver. Clarrie recognised the battered green porkpie hat.
‘Sam Jackman? Is it you?’
Sam climbed out of the car and smiled. He came straight up to Clarrie, took her hands in his and gripped them.
‘Mrs Robson, I’m so very sorry to hear about your husband’s death. Dr Black told me. This must be a very trying time for you all. Please accept my deepest sympathy. I liked Mr Robson a lot. I just came here to see if there is anything I can do to help.’
Clarrie was suddenly overwhelmed by the young man’s candid, kind words and the warm, strong hands around hers. She had heard so many platitudes of late – or worse were those who crossed the street in Shillong rather than deal with a grieving widow – that she thought she was immune to words of condolence. But something about Sam’s directness and sincerity touched her to the core. Clarrie bowed her head and sobbed, feeling her legs buckling like a newborn foal. Sam pulled her into a hug and let her weep into his shoulder.
James squirmed with embarrassment and began to fuss. ‘Look here, Jackman, there’s no need to go upsetting her. Let’s get her inside.’
They all got in Sam’s car, and he drove them up to the bungalow. By the time they got out, Clarrie was once more composed and in charge.
‘I’m sorry. What must you think of me crying like a schoolgirl? It’s so kind of you to come and see us. You’ll stay for some refreshment?’ She disappeared to give orders for tea and tiffin to be brought on to the veranda. James turned to Sam while she was gone.
‘I really don’t think you should stay long, Jackman. Mrs Robson is in a very fragile state. She’s just about coping, but she doesn’t need reminding of Wesley every second minute, so keep the conversation light – and brief.’
Sam regarded James with interest. He had little respect for the tea planter who had ruled the Oxford Estates with an iron rod for years. Sam would never forget how, as a boy, he had seen desperate and dying coolies from the Robsons’ plantations hurling themselves into the Brahmaputra to try and escape slavery and starvation. But he wouldn’t be provoked.
‘It’s good to see that Mrs Robson has you to advise her. Are you staying long?’
James felt the blood rush into his thick neck. ‘That’s none of your concern. I’m here to help Clarrie as long as she needs me.’
‘That’s heartening to hear. Is your wife visiting too?’
‘My wife has gone to England to take our son to school. It was her idea that I help out here when I can.’
James felt his anger quicken at the sardonic twitch of the young man’s eyebrow. Damn him! He didn’t need to explain himself to Jackman of all people. The young man was a dreamer who never stuck at hard work for long or faced up to responsibilities. He hadn’t been fooled by Sam’s overnight conversion to missionary zeal, and it didn’t surprise him that he had fallen short of good conduct and gone off with some native woman. At best he was a well-meaning fool, at worst a dangerous subversive who had no loyalty to the British in India.
Clarrie returned before he could needle the missionary about the Sipi scandal.
‘So what brings you back to these parts, Sam?’ Clarrie asked as they drank tea out of thin china cups. In Sam’s large hands the cup looked like it was from a doll’s set.
‘Dr Black’s sister, Gertrude, died suddenly, so I came back for the funeral to support the doctor.’
‘Oh, I am sorry. I hadn’t heard.’
‘You’ve had enough grief of your own to cope with,’ James said, glaring at Sam as if it was his fault for bringing more to her door.
Clarrie ignored James’s remark. ‘What will happen to the school I wonder?’
‘Dr Black is trying to sort things out and appoint a successor.’
‘Are you still at the mission, Sam?’ she asked.
He slurped and shook his head. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What does “not exactly” mean?’ James frowned.
‘I’m continuing much of the work I was doing – planting orchards, harvesting the fruit and helping the locals get it to market – but I no longer live at the mission house in Narkanda.’
‘Where then?’ asked Clarrie.
‘Further east, towards the Tibetan border at Sarahan.’
‘Is the mission still paying you a salary?’ James asked.
‘James,’ Clarrie reproved, ‘that’s none of your business.’
Sam met his look, unperturbed. ‘They buy the trees for planting, but I don’t take any money for myself. Dr Black kindly pays a small allowance out of his own pocket for me and my, er, dependents.’
James was disbelieving. ‘But you still manage to afford to drive a car?’
‘Dr Black’s car.’ Sam smiled. ‘He lent it to me so I could visit Mrs Robson and Adela.’
‘Well, if it’s Adela you want to see, you’re too late there,’ James said bluntly. ‘She’s gone back to England. Sailed with my wife and Mrs Khan.’
Clarrie saw the look of dismay on Sam’s face and felt a pang of pity. She didn’t know why James was being so prickly with the young man.
‘She’s gone to stay with her relatives in Newcastle,’ she explained. ‘I thought it would cheer her up to get away from here.’
‘And get away from that wretched Gulgat prince who broke her heart,’ James muttered.
This time it was Sam who felt himself redden around the jaw. ‘Prince Sanjay you mean.’
‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ Clarrie said with a pained look. ‘I can’t help blaming the prince for his actions. If he hadn’t insisted on pursuing the tigress, perhaps Wesley would be here today—’
‘Don’t think of it, my dear.’ James reached out a hand and grasped hers. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned him. Forgive me.’
Sam sat wrestling with his emotions. He had come here with high hopes of seeing Adela again and having a chance to explain everything, to get things straight between them. The last sight he had had of her was her aghast expression at the Sipi Fair when he made his split-second decision to intervene in the marriage barter and stop Ghulam being caught by the pol
ice. What else could he have done? At least he had saved Pema from certain slavery with a man who would have treated her as lesser than his hill dog, and she would never have to be at the beck and call of her abusive uncle again. But to the British community – liberal and conservative alike – he had acted beyond the pale. He, a missionary, had bought a heathen woman like chattel and taken her into his household.
‘Tell me about the time Adela visited the mission in Narkanda,’ Clarrie suddenly asked. ‘Her letters were short, but I could tell it was a happy time.’
Sam felt his gut twist with the bittersweet memory. ‘It was a happy time for me too.’ He smiled. ‘Your daughter is a natural with people; she made them feel better just by being around. And she’d make a good nurse – Dr Fatima was very impressed with her gentle but competent touch. No amount of blood or gore seemed to put her off.’
He stopped as Clarrie winced.
‘Really, Jackman,’ James protested, ‘in the circumstances.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset—’
‘No, please go on,’ Clarrie insisted. ‘I want to hear more.’
Sam told her about the clinics and how hard Adela had worked, her manner always cheerful. He talked of her interest in the Gaddi nomads and how she had taken Fatima to meet them and give them medicines, how the women had taken her to their hearts. Clarrie listened with rapt attention.
It was a side of her daughter she had never really seen. She knew Adela could be fearless – reckless even – but usually it was in pursuit of enjoyment and self-interest. She had watched her daughter grow up into a beautiful pleasure seeker and worried that she and Wesley had indulged her too much. But Sam had let her glimpse another side of Adela, one that put others first and was brave in helping those at the margins of society. Clarrie had suspected that her daughter had only volunteered to help at the clinics in order to see Sam, yet Adela had proved herself courageous and compassionate.
The Girl From the Tea Garden Page 25
