It was early September and Esmie had been in Murree just over a fortnight when, one evening, she finally got the opportunity of a heart-to-heart with Lydia. Their dinner guests were gone – Lydia had drunk a lot of wine – and the two friends were sitting out on the veranda listening to the screeches and rustlings in the dark forest beyond. Lydia was drinking whisky, saying it helped her sleep better. In a far room, Andrew woke up abruptly and began to wail.
After several minutes of listening to the baby howling, Esmie said, ‘Shall I go and see if I can help?’
‘No,’ Lydia said, taking a glug of whisky. ‘Let Ayah see to him.’
The crying continued. Esmie itched to go and pick him up and comfort him. Looking at Lydia’s clenched face she could tell her friend was irritated by it. After several minutes more, Lydia suddenly got up.
‘I can’t bear it! It sets my teeth on edge. Why can’t she stop him?’
She lurched into the house. Esmie went after her. Before she could stop her, Lydia went storming into the baby’s room and started shouting at Andrew’s nanny.
‘Why can’t you keep him quiet? It’s your job, for goodness’ sake!’
Ayah was clutching Andrew and rocking him vigorously. ‘Sorry, Memsahib. I think he’s teething.’
‘Well, can’t you give him something?’ Lydia cried.
‘Yes, I’ve rubbed his gums but still it is hurting him.’
Esmie saw the baby was puce-faced and the shouting was making him cry all the harder. She said, ‘He looks rather hot. Let’s cool him down a bit.’ She held out her arms. ‘May I?’
Ayah gave Lydia a wary look.
Lydia made a dismissive gesture. ‘Do what you want – just make the noise stop,’ she snapped and stormed out of the room.
Ayah handed Andrew to Esmie. She pulled the shawl away from his face and asked the nanny to fetch a cool cloth. While she did so, Esmie crooked her little finger and slipped it between the baby’s gums. She felt Andrew bite down on it and marvelled at the strength in his jaw. He chewed and cried. Esmie bathed his hot face and neck and spoke to him soothingly. Still he howled. She put him on her shoulder and walked about the room, patting him, the way she’d seen Jeanie do with baby Norrie at Aunt Isobel’s cottage in Vaullay. This seemed to pacify him. Gradually the crying subsided. Ayah gave her a smile of relief.
Esmie realised she knew little about the young woman, except that she came from near Rawalpindi.
‘Do you have a child of your own?’ she asked.
Ayah shook her head. ‘No, Memsahib. But I’ve helped look after my sister’s children. I like babies.’ She brushed Andrew’s cheek. ‘He’s closing his eyes.’
‘Good.’ Esmie smiled. ‘Shall we risk trying to put him back in the cradle?’
Ayah nodded. ‘I will rock him to sleep.’
Carefully, Esmie lowered Andrew into the cradle, which hung from a stand so that it could swing. His eyelids were heavy. As she put him down, his eyes fluttered open in alarm. Esmie kept her hand on his chest. ‘There, there, wee man,’ she said softly, ‘close your eyes and dream a sweet dream.’ She began to sing a Highland lullaby – ‘Hush-a-by birdie, croon, croon’ – it was about the only thing she remembered her mother doing for her when she was a little girl and couldn’t get to sleep.
Andrew’s eyes closed again. Her chest constricted at the sight of his dark lashes against his pink cheeks and his bud-like mouth parted. He looked so beautiful; vulnerable and trusting. He gave a small juddering sigh and then surrendered to sleep. Esmie touched the ayah on the shoulder and smiled.
‘You do a very good job with Andrew. Lomax Mem’ appreciates it even if she doesn’t always say so.’
Ayah looked disbelieving but nodded her thanks.
Back out on the veranda, Esmie found Lydia sitting on the cane sofa nursing her whisky glass. In the unguarded moment, Lydia looked drawn-faced and weary. Esmie sat down beside her.
‘He’s asleep,’ said Esmie.
‘Thank God for that,’ Lydia sighed. ‘Did you drug him with something?’
‘Nothing so drastic. He seems to like having his back patted – and a Highland lullaby. I could teach it to you.’
Lydia grunted. ‘No thanks. I don’t have the first clue about babies and I’m not that interested.’ She downed the rest of her whisky.
‘I’m sure motherhood will grow on you,’ said Esmie. ‘Not everyone feels attached to their baby from the start.’
‘How would you know?’ Lydia said. ‘You haven’t been through what I have.’
Esmie flushed. ‘No, but I came across many new mothers when I was training in Edinburgh. Some of them were very young and frightened.’
Abruptly, Lydia’s face crumpled. ‘Sorry, Esmie. That was unkind of me.’ She bowed her head. Her voice sounded teary. ‘I don’t feel the least bit motherly towards him. I don’t feel anything very much at all. It’s like he’s someone else’s baby – an intruder that I have to put up with. He just reminds me of how awful the birth was – I never ever want to go through that much pain again. I thought I was going to die. Sometimes I feel actual hatred.’
She looked up, her face streaked with silent tears. ‘It’s not natural to feel this way, is it?’
Esmie leaned over and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Your body’s had a shock. It’ll take time to adjust. But you’re not the only young mother to have such feelings. For some it may come naturally but for others motherhood is something they have to learn – to practise at. Have you spoken to Tom about it?’
Lydia stiffened. ‘Tom wouldn’t begin to understand. He thinks the sun shines out of that baby. He’s not interested in me anymore. He thinks I’m heartless for not spending every minute with the baby. But he has no idea what it’s like – what I’ve been through. He just swans in for a couple of days and then goes back to his blessed hotel. I’m the one with all the responsibility – even though I never wanted a baby.’
Esmie was tempted to tell Lydia how Tom had suffered the loss of his first child; it might make her more tolerant towards him. But she had promised that she would keep his secret. It wasn’t hers to tell.
‘Things will improve once you’re back in Pindi. Buchanan Road will be a proper family home.’
Lydia gave her a despairing look. ‘How boringly domestic that sounds. I’m in no hurry to go back to Pindi – I prefer it here. Everyone is set on having a good time.’
Esmie leaned back and eyed her. ‘You seem to be spending a lot of time with Dickie Mason.’
Lydia shot her a look. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It’s an observation.’
‘Has Tom been complaining to you? I bet he has.’
‘He doesn’t have to,’ said Esmie. ‘I can see how Dickie being constantly around you upsets him. You’re not being very fair to Tom.’
Lydia was flustered. ‘Why are you sticking up for Tom? You’re supposed to be my friend. Can’t you see how difficult life is for me being married to a man who cares only for his second-rate hotel? It’s not the life he promised me. And I’m so far away from Mummy and Daddy – I miss them terribly. I feel so alone here. That’s why I try and make friends with whoever I can. You can’t blame me for that.’
‘I’m sorry if you’re unhappy in India, Lydia,’ Esmie said gently. ‘You’ve had a lot of change and upheaval in a short time. But you’ve only been married just over a year. Give it more time – and maybe a bit more effort.’
‘Me make more effort?’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘What about Tom? He’s the one who dragged me out here.’
Esmie held on to her temper. It was Lydia’s unhappiness that was making her sound callous. ‘All Tom wants is to live happily with you and Andrew.’
‘Have you two been talking about me behind my back?’ Lydia accused.
Esmie coloured. ‘It’s obvious what he wants. He hates being down in Pindi away from you both for days at a time.’
‘Then he should leave the Duboises to manage the place,’ Lydia retorted
. ‘It’s what we pay them for. Tom doesn’t have to stay there – he chooses to.’
Esmie gave up trying to reason with her friend or point out that Tom worried about the hotel’s finances and her extravagance. Lydia had always been a little self-centred and didn’t take kindly to criticism. But in her present frame of mind, Esmie could tell that nothing she said would get Lydia to see things from Tom’s point of view.
Lydia muttered, ‘I should have married Colin Fleming and all his vineyards.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ Esmie chided.
‘I half mean it!’
When Esmie didn’t respond, Lydia sighed. ‘Do you remember when we used to sit on the swing seat on the balcony at home and chat about school and boys and what we’d do when we grew up?’
‘Yes,’ Esmie said with a rueful smile.
‘Wasn’t life so much happier and straightforward then?’ Lydia said, briefly resting her head on Esmie’s shoulder.
Esmie thought how for much of that time she had been grieving for her beloved father and life had been difficult. She’d been grateful for Lydia’s friendship and gregariousness; they’d been the antidote she’d needed to mend her sore heart. She must never forget how much Lydia had stood by her when she’d needed her.
‘My holidays at Templeton Hall were some of the happiest times I remember,’ Esmie answered.
‘Oh, Esmie, I sometimes wish we could wind back the clock and be there again. Before I rushed into marriage and India and all this . . .’
It was the first time she had heard Lydia admit that she might have been partly to blame for her situation and having been too impatient to be married.
‘But we’re here, sitting on this seat,’ Esmie reminded her. ‘And I know you’re going to make the best of your marriage and of India. Don’t let a flirtation with Dickie come between you both.’
Lydia looked at her with eyes swimming with fresh tears. ‘It’s all right for you to say that. You and Harold love each other. Your marriage is a success.’
Esmie felt leaden. Her friend had no idea how wrong she was – or how much Esmie envied what she had. Yet she was prepared to make the most of her relationship with Harold and life on the North-West Frontier. She didn’t expect things to be easy in the way that Lydia did. But it upset her to think that Lydia didn’t love Tom. Surely their marriage could be repaired? For Andrew’s sake it must be.
‘I think you may be suffering from the baby blues,’ said Esmie. ‘It’s not uncommon after birth. Why don’t you speak to a doctor? They could prescribe something to give your spirits a lift.’
Lydia looked aghast. ‘And risk having people spreading rumours that I’m mad? Certainly not. If the likes of Geraldine saw me going to the doctor’s, they’d soon put two and two together.’
Esmie decided not to press the issue; she might mention it to Tom as a way forward. She stood up. ‘I’m ready for bed. Come on, you must be too.’ She held out her hand and pulled a reluctant Lydia to her feet.
Lydia held on to her for a moment. ‘You’re the only one I can talk to like this. I would never tell such things to Geraldine or the others. They gossip about me enough as it is. But I know you never would.’
Esmie was struck by how lonely Lydia must be, surrounded by superficial friendships, but with no one to confide in – not even her husband. As they said goodnight and went to their rooms, another thought occurred to Esmie. Perhaps that was what Dickie gave Lydia – a sympathetic manly shoulder to cry on?
Later that week, Esmie made arrangements for her departure. Tom would come and collect her in a week’s time, take her back to Rawalpindi and put her on a train to Kohat. By then it would be two weeks since he had last visited. Esmie found it easier not having him around. It made her less tense and Lydia less moody.
Harold had written to say that all was well in Taha and that numbers were easing at the hospital, but that he was missing her and looking forward to her return. Esmie felt a mix of affection and guilt towards her husband. She had spent far too much time agonising over Tom and his problems while Harold worked hard, oblivious to how she felt for his good friend.
Knowing that he would want news of the Tolmies and their mission school, Esmie arranged to have lunch with Augustus and Margaret a couple of days before she was due to leave Murree.
‘Do you want to come too?’ Esmie asked Lydia.
‘Good grief, no!’ Lydia pulled a face of mock horror. ‘Dickie says the Tolmies are always trying to stop the men from drinking and gambling – and they lie in wait for the officers on their way to the club and drag them off for hymn singing.’
Despite their late-night talk, Lydia had continued to see Dickie daily. Esmie was consoled by the thought that the officer’s leave in Murree would also soon be coming to an end. Once he was gone and Lydia was back in Rawalpindi, Esmie hoped that the strained relations between Tom and Lydia would improve.
The day had started brightly but clouds were beginning to mass overhead. Lydia wanted her to order a tonga to take her across to Pindi Point but Esmie decided to walk.
‘It’s a chance to enjoy the fresh air,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back in the heat and dust soon enough. And I want to do some shopping for presents on the way back.’
‘But it’ll take you an hour. What if it rains?’
‘Then I’ll get a tonga on the Mall.’
When she set off, Esmie was pleased to see Lydia in the garden with Andrew. She wasn’t playing with the baby but at least she was watching Ayah entertaining the infant with a rattle. Her friend seemed in good spirits and waved her away.
‘Be back in time for tea,’ Lydia called. ‘Geraldine’s coming over to say goodbye.’
An hour later, Esmie was walking up the drive to the mission school, perspiring in the sultry atmosphere. She saw young children lined up and waving flags in welcome, their faces eager and full of curiosity. She waved back. Augustus was there to greet her with a young Anglo-Indian teacher, Miss Ratcliffe, who was in charge of the youngest children.
Standing beside them, the teacher led the children in a song. Esmie was touched by their warmth. When they’d finished, they excitedly gathered around her, grinning. Augustus allowed this for a couple of minutes and then told them to follow their teacher inside.
‘I thought you might like to see round the school,’ he said to Esmie. ‘Then we can have lunch. I’m sorry to say that Margaret is not feeling very well. She won’t be joining us. But we can eat with the children and staff.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Esmie. ‘I was hoping to see her before I go back to Taha.’
‘Nothing serious,’ Augustus said hastily. ‘Just feeling a bit seedy.’
Esmie wondered if she was having a further bout of melancholia. Margaret’s mother had died in February and she’d taken her death very hard. According to Harold, the headmaster’s wife had not settled back in India after her visit to Wales the previous year.
Esmie was impressed with the school. Most of the pupils were orphaned but the teachers and house parents seemed kind – some were former pupils – and the children appeared happy. Yet she knew from her own experience of losing her parents young that it was possible to put on a cheerful face while internally feeling lost and upset.
But at least the Tolmies’ school was providing a safe haven for girls and boys whose parents had died or abandoned them. They would get an education and a helping start in the world. Sitting among the friendly chattering children at lunchtime, Esmie remembered how she had longed for the love and protection of adults – Aunt Isobel, the Templetons and Drummonds – to fill the void left by her dead parents.
After lunch, Esmie asked if she could sit in on one of the classes. Augustus took her along to Miss Ratcliffe’s classroom, where six- and seven-year-olds were doing reading and writing. They all stood to attention when the headmaster and Esmie entered.
‘I’ll come back for you in half an hour,’ Augustus said and left.
Esmie, seeing the eager faces of the
children, turned to their teacher and asked, ‘May I read to one or two of them?’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Ratcliffe, smiling. She addressed her pupils. ‘Now, who is sitting up straight and not fidgeting?’
The children sat bolt upright, several of them raising their hands high in the air.
‘Please, miss, please, miss!’
‘Choose me, please, miss!’
Their teacher beckoned to two small girls with neat pigtails to come to the front and sit with the visitor. They rushed forward, dragging their chairs beside Esmie while Miss Ratcliffe chose a book. Soon the girls were leaning on Esmie’s lap and she was putting her arms about them as she began to read from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, remembering how she used to love her father reading it to her.
It didn’t take long before the other children were asking permission to be read to by the Scottish memsahib. Miss Ratcliffe abandoned her lesson and let the children gather round Esmie. They were full of questions. Esmie ended up telling them about Scotland and her home at Vaullay, her time nursing abroad during the War and her escape from Serbia over the mountains.
When Augustus came to fetch her, he found the children sitting at her feet, enthralled. He offered to give her tea but Esmie declined, sensing he was anxious to get back to his house and check on Margaret.
‘I’m going to do some shopping on the Mall on the way home,’ she said. ‘Take some presents back to Taha. I’ve greatly enjoyed my visit, thank you. And please give my best wishes to Mrs Tolmie – I hope that she is better soon. If she feels up to me visiting in the next day or so, then do let me know.’
On the point of leaving, the rain that had been threatening all day started.
‘You can’t walk in this – I’ll summon a tonga.’ Augustus was adamant.
The rain was so heavy that Esmie agreed, asking to be taken straight back to Linnet Cottage. There was little point trying to shop in a monsoon shower. If it cleared quickly and Lydia could be persuaded, there would be plenty of time to push Andrew out in his pram for a walk before afternoon tea.
The Emerald Affair Page 35
