The Girl From the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  He chatted easily, asking the youngsters about their holiday in Dunbar. Adela noticed how Libby’s dark blue eyes shone as she looked at George and her cheeks remained flushed as she answered his questions. Adela recognised the yearning in the girl’s face, her impatience to grow up and be treated as an adult. She had been Libby’s age when she had fallen for Sam Jackman. Yet she had not rebelled against her mother as Libby was doing. But then the poor girl had been separated from Tilly for six long years, and her aunt Mona in Dunbar had become a mother substitute. Tilly wanted her to be the little girl she had left all those years ago, whereas Libby was on the cusp of womanhood and kicking against being treated as a child.

  ‘Libby, would you like George and me to take you out in the van this afternoon?’ Adela suggested. ‘Let your mother and Jamie go to the library and art gallery.’

  ‘Yes, I’d love that,’ Libby said, beaming.

  ‘What do you say, George?’ Adela asked, conveying a certain look. ‘We could help you sort out the orders.’

  He read the signal. ‘I’d be delighted to have the company of two charming ladies. I’m going upriver to Wylam. We’ll have ice creams in Prudhoe on the way home.’

  ‘That’s very kind.’ Tilly gave a smile of relief. ‘You will behave yourself, won’t you, Libby?’

  ‘I promise not to put my elbows anywhere I shouldn’t,’ Libby answered with a grin.

  At the beginning of September, before Tilly’s children were due to start the new school year Adela was to join them in St Abb’s on the Berwickshire coast. They were renting a solid stone house on the clifftop with Sophie for a week. Just before she went she received a parcel of Belgooree tea from her mother, which had been sent sea mail at the beginning of August. In it was a letter telling her about Sam’s unexpected visit. Adela’s heart quickened.

  . . . He was sorry not to find you here. I could tell he was disappointed. James wasn’t very kind to him – there seems to be some animosity there – so he didn’t stay long. But I thought you’d want to know that he came to pay his respects to your father. Sam spoke a lot about your time at Narkanda helping at the clinic. I’m so proud that you did that, my darling. And here I was thinking you were spending most of your time in Simla just enjoying yourself! I’m sorry to have misjudged you.

  Sam’s no longer living at the mission, though he appears to be doing their work further into the mountains at Sarahan. Do you know it? He is such a nice man. I think it’s very unfair of the British community in Simla to ostracise him for taking responsibility for Pema. I’m sorry to tell you though, my darling, that Sam is plainly living with her as man and wife – that’s what he said . . .

  As man and wife. The words were like a kick to the stomach. Adela felt desolate at the news. A part of her had still hoped that Sam was merely protecting Pema as one of his household. But no, he was living openly with her as her husband. She doubled up in pain at the thought of Sam and Pema living a life of intimacy. She thought she would be physically sick. Adela wished no ill on the Gaddi girl, and was thankful that she had escaped her cruel uncle, but would have given anything for it to have been any man in the world other than Sam who had stepped forward and saved her.

  With a numb heart Adela prepared for her holiday in St Abb’s. Olive rejected the gift of tea.

  ‘Fancy Clarrie sending that. My Jack’s a tea merchant; tea is the one thing we don’t want for!’

  ‘It’s Belgooree tea,’ Adela pointed out, ‘to remind you of your old home.’

  ‘I prefer Ceylon,’ Olive said, ‘and I don’t want reminding of Belgooree. It hasn’t been home for most of my life. My home is here with Jack and George.’

  ‘And Jane,’ Adela reminded. She was embarrassed that Jane was in the room, but not even mentioned.

  ‘Aye, and the lass.’

  Adela had been asking all week if Jane could go with her to St Abb’s, but her aunt had stubbornly refused permission. She chose that moment to ask one last time.

  ‘No,’ said Olive. ‘We Brewises don’t take holidays; we can’t afford it.’

  ‘I’ll pay for her train fare, and she won’t need money for anything else,’ Adela offered.

  ‘And who will cook for George and Jack? No,’ Olive said, quite adamant, ‘she’s needed here and at the café.’

  Adela was tempted to retort that her aunt could do the cooking for once, but Jane’s anxious look prevented her. Later Jane said, ‘It’s not worth the bother; Mam will only get upset.’

  ‘You’re twenty-three!’ Adela protested. ‘You’re entitled to have a social life. Why don’t you stick up for yourself? You won’t even let Wilf take you out, though it’s obvious how keen he is on you.’

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ Jane retaliated. ‘You’re only here for a few weeks. You can swan in and do what you want, and then you’ll be off back to India. This is my home, and I have to live by my parents’ rules whether I like it or not.’

  ‘Aunt Olive’s rules.’

  ‘Well, that’s the way it is. Mam can’t cope without me. She’s frightened of being left on her own; that’s why me and George take it in turns to be here. She can’t help the way she is – she’s always been delicate – and it doesn’t help you stirring things up.’

  Adela was taken aback by her cousin’s sudden outburst. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset Aunt Olive; I just want you to have a bit of fun.’

  Jane looked away. ‘I know you do and I appreciate it. But we’re different you and me – we want different things. I’m happy with my life as it is.’

  Adela left the next day. She wasn’t totally convinced by Jane’s protestations that she was content with the life she was leading, but perhaps she didn’t know her very well after all. Soon she was too excited about seeing her Robson family and Sophie again to dwell on her unfathomable cousin. George dropped her off at the station with a cheery wave.

  ‘Have a grand time,’ he said, ‘and send us a postcard.’

  Adela took the Belgooree tea as a present for Tilly and Sophie, who accepted it with cries of pleasure. The sun shone most of the week, and the days were filled with picnics, clifftop walks, boat trips and swims from the sandy cove at Coldingham. They met up with Tilly’s good friend Ros, who had them all to tea at the house of her parents-in-law, nearby.

  Sophie was full of chat about her time in Edinburgh staying with her old employer, Miss Gorrie. They had gone on a tour of the Highlands with two of Miss Gorrie’s friends and got as far as the island of Iona, where Saint Columba had first brought Christianity to Britain in the sixth century.

  Both Sophie and Adela did their best to occupy Libby and keep her away from Tilly’s fretful attention. Got on her own, the girl was good company, with a quick sense of humour and a lively interest in everything. She wanted to know what they thought of Hitler’s aggressive stance towards the Sudetenland and the likelihood of going to war over Czechoslovakia.

  ‘We mustn’t go to war with Germany again,’ Sophie replied. ‘The last time was too terrible.’

  ‘But we can’t stand by and let Hitler and his bully boys walk into other people’s countries, can we?’ Libby challenged.

  ‘Let’s hope to heaven it won’t come to that,’ Adela said. ‘They say Chamberlain is going out to Germany to talk some sense into Hitler.’

  As the week came to a close, tension from the outside world seemed to seep into the carefree holiday. Tilly became fiercely demonstrative towards Mungo, which made him uncharacteristically clingy. Libby squabbled with Jamie when he baited her about having a crush on George. But when Mungo unburdened his fear of starting at Dunelm School, it was Libby who reassured the anxious boy.

  ‘You’ll be in the same house as Jamie, so he’ll look out for you and we’ll meet up at half-term at Aunt Mona’s – that’s only five weeks to wait. Then we’ll be together for Christmas. And I’ll write to you every week. St Bride’s is only an hour away from you by train, so perhaps I could come through to see you one weekend.’

 
On the final evening Sophie took Adela aside and asked, ‘Have you decided if you’re going to stay in Britain longer or come home with us in October?’

  ‘I’m still not sure,’ said Adela. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can carry on living at Aunt Olive’s – she’s growing tired of having me around, and I don’t want to outstay my welcome. But from Mother’s letters, she seems to be coping fine without me.’

  She had told her aunties about Sam’s visit to her mother, but didn’t say how much the news of his settled life with Pema had upset her. She was plagued by thoughts of them being together, working side by side, laughing over meals, sharing the same bed . . . Jealousy clawed at her insides. But she was powerless to change the situation. Now that Sam was quite out of her reach, there was even less reason to go back to India.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I’ve been thinking. When I go back to Newcastle, I might try and see if I can join the local repertory theatre, even if it’s just to give a helping hand behind the scenes to start with.’

  ‘That sounds like a good plan.’ Sophie smiled. ‘I think Newcastle suits you – you’re looking really well. Don’t tell Tilly how much fun you’re having though, or she might insist on staying with you and refuse to get back on the boat at the end of next month.’

  The three women agreed to meet up in October before they were due to sail. By then Adela would have made her final decision. Libby slipped Adela a folded piece of paper as they were packing up.

  ‘Will you give that to George for me please?’ The girl held her look, but there was uncertainty in her deep blue eyes. ‘It’s a cartoon.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Adela took it. ‘Am I allowed to look?’

  ‘You can, but don’t show it to anyone else.’

  Adela opened it up. There was the unmistakable image of George – the wave in his blond hair exaggerated, and half his face taken up with a huge grinning mouth – and he was whacking a cricket ball high in the air. Below the giant hurtling ball, and running for their lives, were tiny figures in Nazi uniforms, with Hitler leading the retreat.

  Adela chuckled at the likeness and the pithy message. ‘He’ll like that – hero George to the rescue.’ She smiled at the girl. ‘You’re very talented, Libby.’

  ‘I wish Mummy thought I was,’ said Libby, then hurried off before Adela could protest that Tilly did.

  Back on Tyneside, Adela put her plan into action about finding a job in the theatre. She had a fruitless week tramping around the theatres for a paid job and ended up getting a part-time position as an usherette at the Stoll Picture Theatre. By the end of the month the talk was all of Chamberlain, the prime minister, returning triumphantly from his negotiations with Hitler waving a peace agreement with Germany, Italy and France. Adela wondered what Libby and Miss MacGregor would make of it all.

  In early October Adela’s job became full-time, and when she wasn’t at the cinema she was helping out at Herbert’s Café. Sometimes before a shift she would end up drinking tea in Lexy’s small flat above the café, encouraging her to reminisce about the old times, when her mother was in charge. Adela rarely spent time at Aunt Olive’s any more, just returning to sleep and share in the occasional meal. She insisted on giving her aunt some money for her bed and board.

  ‘It’s very good of you to let me stay so long,’ Adela said. ‘When I’ve saved a bit more, I’ll look for digs.’

  ‘Why ever would you do that?’ Olive exclaimed. ‘No, you can keep on sharing with our Jane. What would Clarrie think of me if I allowed you to go living in lodgings like some working-class lass? I’ll not have the neighbours saying I can’t look after my own.’

  Adela was enjoying her job – it meant she got to see all the latest films, even if it was in snippets, and she still had the occasional evening off to meet up with George and his friends. Now that the cricket season was over, they went dancing or to the musical hall. Jane did not go out with them and had rebuffed Wilf enough times for the amiable joiner to look elsewhere. He was courting Nance from the café. Adela was perplexed as to why her friendship with Jane had cooled since her going away to St Abb’s. Her cousin was polite, but distant. Perhaps she feared Aunt Olive’s censure, or maybe they were just too different to be close friends.

  Two days before Adela was due to see Tilly and Sophie, Myra the cleaner waylaid her on her way out. She kept her voice low so Olive, sitting at the front-room window, keeping a watch on her neighbours, didn’t hear. ‘Away in the kitchen a minute, hen.’

  ‘I don’t really have time, Myra; I’m due at work in twenty minutes. Can it wait?’

  ‘Better now while Jane’s out and Mrs Brewis is on the sherry.’

  Adela gaped. ‘What do you mean, on the sherry?’

  Myra gave her a look of disbelief. ‘You must hae noticed?’ she whispered.

  ‘No—’

  ‘I have to buy it in – as well as the cough sweets to mask the smell. She thinks Mr Brewis and Jane don’t know, but they do. We all pretend it’s medicinal. Her morning medicine, she calls it. Helps her get through the day.’

  Adela was stunned. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Anyway, that’s not what I wanted tae say.’ Myra nodded towards the kitchen and Adela followed her in.

  ‘Take a seat, hen.’ When Adela had sat down at the kitchen table, Myra continued. ‘I do all the laundry here, including all of yours, am I right?’

  ‘Yes, it’s very good of you.’ Adela was distracted, still trying to take in the news that her aunt was a secret drinker. Was that why she was so contrary in her moods and never left the house until well into the afternoon?

  Myra waved a dismissive hand. ‘I don’t mind; that’s ma job. But you don’t dae any of yer own washing – nothing personal?’

  ‘The odd pair of stockings if I need them for the following day.’

  ‘I don’t mean stockings, lassie. But I have nae washed any of your sanitary towels. You’ve been here over three months and you’ve never had a bleed.’

  Adela stared at the woman, nonplussed. ‘Well, I’m never very regular,’ she said and flushed, acutely embarrassed.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Myra said, eyeing her, ‘at first.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Adela’s heart began to thud.

  ‘I know the signs, hen. Your breasts are bigger and you’ve put on weight. And lately you’ve stopped drinking tea. I went off tea when I was expecting.’

  ‘Expecting?’ Adela gasped. ‘I’m not . . . I can’t be—’

  ‘Aye, lassie, I think you are. And I tak’ it from the shock on yer face that yer family dinnae ken.’

  Adela swallowed down hard. Pregnant? She couldn’t possibly be! She didn’t feel any different, and she could go months without a period. Her pulse began to race. How many months this time? She racked her brains, counting back. She’d had a bleed two weeks before the Arabian Nights opened at the Gaiety, so end of April, beginning of May. Before her affair with Jay. Over five months ago.

  Adela put her head in her hands. ‘Oh my God!’ she wailed.

  ‘Wheesht, lassie.’ Myra bustled round and put her arms around her shoulders. ‘Worse things have happened at sea. Is it one o’ George’s friends? He’ll just have tae dee the honest thing and put a ring on yer finger before it really shows. And you’ll have tae pick the right time tae tell the sherry queen in there. It’s a shame yer that far frae hame.’

  Adela felt a sob rise up. ‘I can’t.’ She gulped. ‘It’s not one of George’s friends. It didn’t happen in Newcastle, it was in India.’

  Myra sighed. ‘Oh, lassie,’ Myra sighed, ‘then I don’t know what yer gangin’ tae dee.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Adela pleaded with Myra to tell no one. She went off to work, her head reeling. It couldn’t be true. It mustn’t be true! She did her job distractedly. Lying on the pull-out bed that night, listening to Jane’s even breathing, she wondered if her cousin had had her suspicions. Was that why Jane was avoiding her? Did she think it was contagious, or
did she worry at what Aunt Olive would do if she found out? When she found out! Adela felt waves of panic pin her to the bed. The shock to her aunt might tip her over the edge into hysteria.

  In a week’s time she could be sailing back to India. That’s what she’d do: return home to Belgooree. Her mother would know what to do. But Mother would be furious too – or worse, she’d be ashamed and feel let down by her only daughter. She couldn’t bear her mother’s disappointment after the pain she’d already caused her. God, she was a hateful person! A stupid, selfish girl! And what if Sam were ever to find out about it? She went hot and then cold at the thought. His censure would be the worst of all. She would not be able to endure it.

  In the early hours of the morning, still sleepless, Adela thought about Jay for the first time in an age – properly thought about him. She was sure that he had taken precautions; he’d talked of coitus interruptus and said there was no chance of conception. She’d believed him just like she’d believed everything else he’d told her. How selfish of him! But what a fool she had been. How could she not have guessed that she was pregnant? The signs had been there if she’d thought about them: the weight she was gaining and the strange queasy metallic taste in her mouth. Had she deliberately ignored the changes in herself because she couldn’t bear it to be true? The thought that she was now carrying his seed inside her filled her with fear and revulsion. The last thing on earth she wanted was a baby – especially not that man’s baby! He had already brought so much heartache to her and her family.

  She couldn’t go home; it was her last thought before falling into a troubled sleep. She woke exhausted two hours later and dragged herself down for breakfast, forcing down porridge and tea. She mustn’t do anything to cause suspicion.

  Two days later she met Sophie and Tilly on the Town Moor for a walk and then lunch at Fenwick’s. Adela put on make-up and wore a new woollen skirt and jumper she’d bought in the market that didn’t accentuate her shape. She put on a cheerful face.