by Annie Murray
Lily felt deeply affected by what she was hearing. She had seen the starving poor in India, the scrawny beggars in Ambala, but she had never heard of anyone starving themselves to death deliberately. She was also moved by the sight of this reserved woman breaking down in front of her.
‘How terrible,’ she said, tears in her own eyes. She had been touched by the sight of Mrs McBride, even when she knew nothing. Now she found her plight deeply upsetting.
‘Yes, well . . .’ Miss Brown became brisk now, ashamed of her outburst. She wiped her eyes and poured the warm milk into a cup. ‘Mustn’t give way. Sorry about that.’
‘But it’s so very sad,’ Lily said. ‘You have a very difficult job.’
‘Yes.’ Miss Brown seemed pleased to hear this acknowledged. ‘I do. A slow crucifixion, as I say. Such a life they used to have, I’ve heard, parties, the high life. He lives like a recluse now – they both do. It’s a terrible thing. But one doesn’t desert one’s post. I certainly shan’t leave her.’
Without another word she took the milk and left.
After that, Lily found herself thinking a good deal about Muriel McBride.
Whenever she could get out and have some time to herself, she went walking in between the monsoon showers, loving being outside with the immense mountain panorama spread out before her. The weather had a dramatic character all of its own, changing by the moment so that every time she looked out across the mountains there was something different to see. The clouds were constantly on the move. Sometimes the valleys were dotted with diaphanous white, at others filled with grey, boiling heaps of cloud and the rain would come down in an almost solid mass, followed by sunshine, when the colours leaped out from every rock and bush, the blue sky seemed a miracle and every leaf and flower gleamed with drops.
The main centres of Mussoorie were like two lively little towns, Kulri Bazaar and Library Chowk, joined by the Mall, a straight walkway cut along the mountainside. But there was another route between the two, the Camel’s Back Road, which made a winding loop from a point not far from the McBride bungalow for roughly two miles to Library Chowk. It was Lily’s very favourite walk, quiet and beautiful, the houses perched on the hill to her left and the dark conifers, the mountains and clouds to her right.
One afternoon, when the sun had broken through for a time, she was just about to set out when she met Dr McBride in the hall.
‘Ah,’ he said, in the rather austere way he usually spoke to her. ‘Off out somewhere?’
‘I usually go for a walk in the afternoon, sir,’ Lily said. She already had her hat on.
‘Splendid idea,’ he said. ‘Good for the constitution.’
The rain held off that afternoon. On a couple of occasions showers had begun when she was far from home and it was too late to go back, but this time she walked out into hazy sunshine. After some minutes the path took her past the Christian cemetery, its gated entrance like a small whitewashed church beside the path, the burial ground falling away down the hillside. Once or twice she had walked in there and read the names of the British dead who had given their lives to India and never returned home. It was such a peaceful place, the straight trunks of the deodars soaring above and the vivid green terraces of the hillside dotted with the gravestones and crosses of an English parish churchyard.
Two monkeys, ghostly grey with black faces, were perched on the fence. She paused at a cautious distance from them to look down. The air smelled fresh, damp and pine-scented. Today, as so often, her thoughts turned to Cosmo. She missed him with an ache that never left. Had he been here she would have helped him perch on the fence and they would have looked down together, he chattering about the monkeys, asking questions which she answered, in an endless conversation that had lasted through those years of his infancy and without which she still felt bereft. Every week without fail, she wrote him a letter, telling him little things she thought he would understand and be interested in and always sending her love, letting him know she was thinking of him. She knew she would tell him about these monkeys.
Looking out along the peaceful valley she thought how lovely it was here compared to the dusty heat and regimented streets of Ambala. She had wanted to come and forget everything, forget her past and the pain of her brief, but overwhelming experience of love for Sam Ironside. Against her will he still came often into her thoughts as she remembered and wondered painfully whether he ever thought about her.
‘Oh, Sam,’ she whispered to the quiet trees. ‘Sometimes I just wish you were here.’
There had never been time to talk properly, to explain things. She had been so hurt by his deception that all she could think of was getting far away from him. It was still so painful when she thought about it now, even though at times she longed for the feelings of love and happiness that Sam had aroused in her.
But that was in the past: it had to be. And she wouldn’t make that mistake again, she thought, walking slowly along the Camel’s Back Road. Nothing was worth that amount of pain. And no man would ever again have her heart, open and ready to be hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A few days later Lily was about to set off for her afternoon walk again. Mrs Das had been particularly disgruntled since the cupboards were now locked up and she could not pilfer rice, sugar and other staples from the kitchen. She positively creaked with complaint, like an old cart.
‘What is the matter, Mrs Das?’ Lily was stung into asking, as the corpulent woman flicked her broom ineffectively round the hall, issuing a constant stream of mumbled invective.
‘Nothing is matter,’ Mrs Das pronounced resentfully. ‘I am saying prayers.’
‘Well, they sound very cross prayers,’ Lily retorted. What with her and Stephen’s endless family problems, it would be good to get out of the house.
She was just heading for the door when Dr McBride came out of his study with his dog.
‘Are you going for your daily walk, Miss Waters?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She waited, uncertain if she was needed.
He came closer. ‘Have you ever been up Gun Hill?’ She knew where he meant because it was from that hill that the big gun fired every day to mark the hour of noon.
‘No, Doctor, I haven’t.’ She did not meet his eyes. ‘I usually take my walk along the Camel’s Back Road.’
‘There’s a splendid view from up there,’ Dr McBride said. ‘Not so good in the rains, of course – too much cloud. But they’ll be over soon and in the winter, my goodness, you’ll see how lovely it is up here. From the hill you can see the really high Himalaya.’ He hesitated, then said awkwardly, ‘Would you care for a stroll up there this afternoon? Cameron and I would benefit from the exercise.’
Lily was startled. She wanted to say no because she enjoyed her solitary walks which gave her time to think and dream, but it would have seemed rude.
‘That would be very nice,’ she replied, wondering that he didn’t mind being seen out in the company of a maid.
‘I’ll bring my umbrella, in case,’ the doctor said, putting on his hat, a comfortable tweed trilby. He opened the door for her and said, ‘After you, Miss Waters.’
They passed through the lively streets of Kulri Bazaar, narrow and teeming with life. There were mixed smells of incense and coffee and frying eggs and the shops selling fruit and vegetables and medicines and bolts of colourful cloth. Lily loved to see the English nannies out with children, holding their hands as they dragged along, staring at the shop windows. She knew some of them by sight now and sometimes stopped to talk.
Dr McBride raised his hat to greet people, and he seemed to know very many of them.
‘I can’t get far without stopping for a conversation, I’m afraid,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s always rather slow progress.’
‘Well, you’re a doctor,’ Lily said, not being sure what else to reply.
Dr McBride said, ‘So I am,’ and let out a chuckle, which surprised her as she’d never heard him laugh before and wasn’t sure what was funny.
They passed along the Mall, with its ornate railings edging the drop into the valley, and its big, wrought-iron lamps. There were rickshaws moving among the walkers, and vendors selling mangoes and roasted dal, and the sound of horses’ hooves coming from behind. A group of riders passed, out for a pleasant ride. Suddenly Lily ached to ride a horse again.
‘Now – here to the right, look,’ the doctor said. ‘This is where we begin the climb.’
A steeply sloping path zigzagged up and up so that the Mall receded below them and they were looking down on houses which had been above them before. Soon they passed the long snout of the gun which gave the hill its name. Lily found the climb easy as she was slender and agile. The doctor, however, had to take it more slowly, and stop on some of the bends to catch his breath. The dog, who was rather old, also loped along slowly.
‘You’re a fit young filly, I must say,’ the doctor said, catching Lily up as she waited for him. Until now he had acted towards her with a distant courtesy, but now, in his look she realized that he was seeing her as a person, not just a servant.
‘I have been used to being active,’ she said, feeling her cheeks glowing with the exercise.
‘How so?’ he asked as they walked on together again.
‘Well, until I came here I was looking after a small boy who had a good deal of energy. And we used to ride out every morning. They taught me to ride in Ambala.’
‘Did they, indeed? Good sort of family?’
‘Yes. Very good.’ She told him a little about the Fairfords.
‘Not sure the cantonment life would have suited me,’ the doctor mused. ‘Nor Muriel, for that matter. She was never much of a joiner – clubs, and so on. She only went out really to please me, you know, do her duty. She was always rather shy and unsure of herself. Still – all in the past that, anyway.’
He stopped himself as if he had said too much. Lily was not sure what to say: her quiet presence often seemed to encourage people to talk.
‘I don’t know anything about you, Miss Waters,’ he said suddenly. ‘Do tell me about yourself.’
Lily felt her usual uneasiness at being questioned. ‘There isn’t a great deal to know.’
But he persisted, so she gave him the story about her father being a clergyman and moving around a good deal.
‘You must miss your family, being over here alone?’
‘I have no living family,’ she said. ‘Or none that I am close to.’ She looked down at her feet as she walked, hoping to discourage any more questions.
‘So what brought you to India?’
‘I wanted an adventure, I suppose. To see something of the world.’
‘You’re a courageous young woman,’ he said. ‘It takes a certain sort of person to be able to launch out on their own like that. It’s something I admire.’
‘Thank you,’ Lily said, startled at hearing him flatter her.
Round the next bend she saw that they were nearly at the top.
‘Let’s see now if any of those shy peaks are going to show themselves today.’
They stood side by side at the viewing point, looking out over what would have been a vista of peaks flanked by the lower foothills, had the whole expanse not been swathed in a thick blanket of white cloud.
‘Oh dear, dear,’ Dr McBride laughed. He seemed unexpectedly light-hearted and she was seeing a new side of him. ‘I did say this wasn’t the best time of year. But I hope you’ve enjoyed the climb. We’ll have to come back in a few weeks when the rains are over.’
‘It’s been a lovely walk anyway,’ Lily said. The climb had filled her with a sense of well-being.
‘If you like,’ Dr McBride said hesitantly, ‘I could show you some other places around here. I don’t suppose you’ve been able to go very far. And you appear to enjoy a walk.’
Lily was not really sure she wanted his company as it was more relaxing to be on her own. After all, why would he want to be out and about with his servant? But she always felt obliged to please people and she did feel flattered by his attention.
Blushing a little she said, ‘Thank you, that would be very nice,’ assuming that he was being polite too and would forget about it straight away.
But he did not forget. A few days later he asked her to accompany him. Now it was late in September the rains were drying up and the days were more pleasantly warm. Lily found that her grey walking skirt and cream blouse no longer felt oppressively hot, but quite comfortable, her wide-brimmed hat no longer quite so essential.
That afternoon they walked out to Landour, a village perched along the hillside outside Mussoorie. It was a pretty walk and Dr McBride named for her the medlar and tamarind trees and oaks and flowers growing along the path. He was very gentlemanly and correct and Lily relaxed a little. Of course, the man was lonely, she realized. He didn’t mean any harm. He just wanted someone to go for a walk with as his wife could not give him her company.
‘Look – a redstart!’ He pointed as they were standing on a high path, looking down into the green valley. Lily caught a glimpse of the bird as it flashed past.
‘Beautiful,’ she said politely, though she had barely seen anything.
Dr McBride turned to her suddenly and smiled, the first spontaneous and joyful smile she had ever seen him give.
‘There are some beautiful sights to be seen here, indeed,’ he said, looking away into the distance again. ‘I’ve shut myself away too much these past years, and almost forgotten. I have you to thank for reminding me, Miss Waters. I had given up hope of anything better.’
Lily gave a faint smile, unsure what to say. There was a silence, until Dr McBride said, ‘Your name is Lily, I gather?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She looked down at her boots.
‘My name is Ewan. You don’t need to keep calling me Sir or Doctor, you know.’
Lily felt her heart begin to thump nervously harder. Why was Dr McBride being so familiar with her all of a sudden?
‘Yes, I know your name,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘But I am one of your servants. It would not seem right for me to call you anything so informal.’
His eyes looked deeply into hers. ‘Only perhaps when we’re alone, Lily?’
And his voice held a pleading tone, but it was also a command that she knew she was not expected to refuse.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gradually Jane Brown became friendlier. Though she did not have a great deal of spare time as her life was very tied to Muriel McBride’s, she invited Lily to her room one afternoon.
‘I bought cakes,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘I thought we might have tea, if you’d like that?’
‘Oh yes!’ Lily said. ‘I’d love to!’ She was pleased by the warmth she saw in Jane Brown’s eyes. Lily realized that Jane was shy and had needed time before she could issue such an invitation. For herself, she longed to have a friend to talk to. She so missed the companionship that had grown up between herself and Srimala and also with Susan Fairford.
Jane Brown’s room surprised Lily. She had imagined her to be a rather austere person, but when she was admitted to the room opposite Muriel McBride’s, she was greeted by a very colourful sight. The bed was swathed in a coverlet of red, yellow and blue paisley patterns and nearby on the wall was a silk hanging in iridescent blue and gold. On other walls were small paintings on silk depicting scenes from the Hindu religious stories, one small painting on ivory and along the shelf processed a number of wooden carved elephants arranged in decreasing size. Lily also saw some prints which looked Chinese and close to the bed, on the wall, hung a wooden cross. There was also qui
te a collection of books.
‘How lovely!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘You’ve made it look so jolly!’
‘I thought I might as well make a home of it,’ Jane said. ‘And I like a bit of colour around me. Do sit, Lily – that’s the most comfortable.’
She indicated a low wooden chair whose arms ended in a scrolling curve of wood. Lily sat and watched as her new friend arranged cakes on a plate. She was not in uniform, and had on a skirt in deep, watery blues and it was the first time Lily had seen her without her nurse’s veil. Her hair was a gingery brown and rather frizzy, and she had it tied loosely in a thick ponytail. She was not a pretty woman, but there was a kindness and intelligence to her face that drew Lily to her.
‘Here we are – I’ve got a pot of tea already made,’ she said, handing Lily a cup. ‘Sugar? And do have one of these cakes. They really are rather good.’
She settled opposite Lily on the bed and the two of them ate the cream cakes and began to get to know one another.
‘I was wondering where you came from by your exotic looks,’ Jane Brown said, gazing at Lily’s face. ‘You do look wonderfully unusual.’
‘Oh.’ Lily smiled. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been told I’m like my mother, but she died when I was very young.’
She told Jane Brown a few details of her usual version of things, and then quickly asked her about herself. Jane seemed to see that Lily did not wish to be questioned and she talked quite fluently then about her own background. She had grown up in Cambridge, where her father was a professor of Chinese history.
