by Annie Murray
‘Yes,’ Lily said, glad she knew something for once. ‘We used to summer there, from Ambala.’
‘Course, yes. Well, I like it here much better. Very jolly. Tell me – where are you from back home?’
Again, the questions, always questions, Lily thought. How inquisitive people were about each other! She did what she had always done and made up a story.
‘Kent,’ she said firmly. She wasn’t sure why she had fixed so firmly on this version of events. After all, she had only been to Kent once, for her interview with Susan Fairford’s sister, but it had felt a respectable place, far from Birmingham’s industrial grime and her real childhood.
‘How very nice – Garden of England,’ Johnny smiled. ‘I’m from Essex as a matter of fact. It’s splendid to meet you, Lily. I should like to get to know you a great deal better.’
Lily decided she liked Johnny Barstow.
‘I expect you’ve made a lot of friends here in Mussoorie?’ he was asking, but she was saved from answering by the carol coming to an end and a sozzled cheer going up from the singers. In a second, Dr McBride was at her side.
‘Lily?’ His tone was civil, but commanding. ‘I think it might be time for us to go home, don’t you?’
Lily was a bit disappointed. ‘Well, if you think . . . I was just talking to Mr Barstow here. This is Johnny Barstow,’ she introduced him. ‘Dr McBride.’
‘I think I could have managed to introduce myself,’ Dr McBride snapped. It was only then that Lily realized he was trembling with barely controlled emotion.
‘Good to meet you, Doctor,’ Johnny said, holding his hand out. He had not noticed McBride’s furious state. ‘I was wondering if our friend would fancy a walk one day, out to Happy Valley perhaps? I’m sure I could arrange a chaperone?’
‘I don’t think that will be possible,’ the doctor snapped. ‘We need to be going now. Good evening to you.’ He left Johnny Barstow staring after them, ushering Lily towards the door, his hand on her back. Lily just managed to shoot Johnny a regretful smile as they left. She had enjoyed talking with someone of her own age and thought him rather fun. She couldn’t understand why the doctor had acted so jealously and hustled her away. Soon they were dressed again in their warm hats and shawls for the ride home. It was snowing lightly outside.
No sooner had the jhampani begun to haul the rickshaw away through the snow than the doctor began speaking in tones of icy fury.
‘I can’t imagine what you thought you were doing in there, young lady!’ he spat at her. ‘Flaunting yourself like that in so unbecoming a way, I was embarrassed to witness it!’
Lily felt as if she had been slapped. Whatever was he talking about? Up until now, Ewan McBride had been possessive of her, it was true, and he liked to dress her and say where they would go and when, but she had never experienced a reaction like this before.
‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, careful not to enrage him any further. She remembered what Mr Horne had been like. You had to calm them down, men who were like that. ‘I don’t think I was flaunting myself, dear, I was just having a polite little conversation.’
‘Dear?’ He said mockingly. ‘Calling me dear now, are we? Oh, we are the biddable little miss when it suits, aren’t we? When it comes to being taken out and about and having the best finery to wear. You certainly know how to use a man, don’t you, Lily? How to play with my heart?’
Lily felt disorientated and a little scared. Whatever had come over him?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said contritely, even though she didn’t really know what she was supposed to be sorry about. ‘I don’t really understand what I’ve done to offend you, Ewan, dear. But I apologize from the bottom of my heart. There’s no need for you to be like this, really there isn’t.’
‘Isn’t there?’ His jealous rage was not over yet. ‘How do I know I can trust you? I can’t be sure you’re not going to give yourself to every holidaying officer in town, can I? Not after tonight, the way I saw you carrying on. After all, you’re cheap enough to give yourself to me, aren’t you? Parading about like a lady when in truth you’re nothing but a little whore.’
Lily felt a rage rise up in her so strong that she wanted to slap his face at such an accusation. My God, the injustice of it, after the pressure he’d put her under! But she also felt cheap. Was that it, she was really a cheap whore? Whatever the case, if she lost her temper all would be undone. She took a long, slow breath, soft handfuls of her shawl clenched in her hands and said calmly, ‘Ewan, you really have made a mistake. The young man in there only handed me a carol sheet and was fetching me a drink. We had scarcely said more than a few words to each other. And if you think I would throw away all your love and care for me, and mine for you in such a brief time, then you really are jumping to conclusions and giving yourself pain for nothing.’
By the time they got home she had talked him round and he was in a fever of shame and contrition for his outburst.
‘Let me come to you tonight,’ he breathed, as soon as they were inside the house. ‘I’ve got to have you. To make things right again.’
He made love to her that night in a hurried, frantic way, and when he climaxed he fell on her, weeping.
‘I didn’t mean it, Lily, my love,’ he sobbed, close to her ear. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say those things. It’s just that I love you so much. I worship you, my darling, my princess . . . I couldn’t bear to lose you. And seeing you with a younger man – it makes me feel wild, jealous . . .’
He begged her to let him stay all night with her and soon he was sleeping beside her, his limbs and sex limp after the drink and exertion. Lily held up the candle before she blew it out and looked down at his wide, bearded face. It was almost a handsome face, with a grandeur to it. Lily tried to decide what she felt for him. Did she love him, could she? But there was no warm feeling in her, only detachment and a crumb of pity. She had seen him in a frightening new light that night and felt very uneasy, despite his tears and apologies. Perhaps it was the drink, she thought. But he drank most nights and this had never happened before.
Blowing out the candle she lay down to sleep as the snow fell gently outside, blanketing the roof. She felt very alone and a little frightened.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The winter passed in a whirl of social events. Lily found herself at the centre of British Mussoorie’s wealthy social life of parties, evenings of singing, dancing and of plays. She even acted in one, persuaded by some of women who were most friendly to her. She did not have many lines, and was dressed in Japanese costume which the other women told her suited her.
‘Just right for you, Lily, when you’re so silent and mysterious! Do tell more about yourself. We’re all so keen to know you.’
But Lily smiled and blushingly gave her usual reply, that there was nothing very much to tell and she wasn’t at all interesting.
There were many late nights in the colourful, warm rooms of hotels and Mussoorie mansions, among the chattering socialites, the colourful gowns and shawls of the women, smoke from the cheroots and pipes of the men, plenty of drink flowing and the aroma of cardamom and cumin from dishes of rice and chicken, the silent servants. Lily learned to drink just a little but never too much. The evenings ended with the late-night rickshaw journeys back along the Mall in the moonlight, and this became, as time passed, the occasion when Dr McBride let loose the recriminations he had been storing up all evening. After the jolly farewells to other guests as they all piled into their rickshaws, Lily and the doctor would perch side by side on the narrow seat, a blanket wrapped round their knees and for a brief time there would be silence. Then, explosively, he would begin. The last time it was, ‘I saw you rubbing yourself up against that Barstow lout again. You really do have to go out of your way to make an exhibition of yourself, don’t you?’ His voice came down on her like a hammer. He never looked at her during these outbursts, but stared icily ahead of him.
As usual, when he started, Lily felt herself go cold and detached i
nside. Any small beginnings of tenderness for him, the idea that she might even learn to love this man, had been frozen out of her when his jealous behaviour began the night she first met Johnny Barstow. She had had very little to do with Johnny but the doctor behaved as if she was in some way closely involved with Johnny and was trying to provoke him. All she wanted, in her few conversations with Johnny, was friendship with someone closer to her own age. And in any case, Johnny would be gone soon, back to Meerut.
‘Your behaviour disgusts me.’ The doctor ground out the words. ‘I’ve given you everything, and look at the way you just hurl it back at me. No gratitude or loyalty! But what can you expect from a cheap street girl. That’s what you are, isn’t it? A cheap bitch who’ll go with anyone for her own gain, to get what she wants . . .’
‘But Ewan, I haven’t done anything,’ Lily protested as calmly as she could. She had learned not to let herself feel anything. ‘And you know I haven’t really. Why do you keep accusing me like this?’ She tried to humour him, to bring him out of this black mood. You know you only get upset when you start like this. Don’t do it – just take my hand and we’ll be friends again.’
‘Don’t touch me!’ he roared at her. ‘Your filthy hand you’ve touched him with!’
‘But I never . . .’
‘I didn’t ask you to argue with me! You’re my servant – you will not speak to me like that!’
His voice boomed along the street. He was slipping out of control and Lily was sure the other rickshaw riders along the Mall must hear them. She sank into silence. It was no good arguing. Why did he imagine all these things about her? Was he mad? But she found now that she didn’t care what he imagined. She just wanted to keep him calm so that he didn’t hurt her. What would come next was becoming familiar. She would go silently to her room, where he would follow, sometimes still angry, sometimes already full of remorse. Tonight when he appeared, his face in the candlelight looked distraught.
‘Lily, my love, my darling!’ He sounded almost like a child. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said those things – I wasn’t myself. I must have had too much to drink. Oh, my little girl, don’t look at me like that. Let me love you – come here, let me have you, my darling.’
He was urgently aroused and Lily, indifferently, let him take her while she lay looking at the ceiling waiting for it to be over. At first his lovemaking had given her a certain amount of pleasure. Now she had no feeling or openness to him. She let him use her and that was that. And soon he came with an emotional cry and murmured, ‘Oh, my little love. Things are well again now. They are, aren’t they?’ And he sank into sleep.
During those winter months, while the town was covered in snow, Muriel McBride still clung somehow to her fragile life, shut away from view. The doctor visited her solicitously at his usual times during the day and occasionally Lily saw her and heard reports through Jane Brown.
Though she and Jane were still friends, Lily felt very distant from her. She had been pulled more and more into Dr McBride’s orbit, and he was demanding of her time. And while she did see Jane and spent some cosy times drinking tea in one or other of their rooms, Lily knew there were a great many things she could not speak to Jane about. She wondered what Jane Brown thought of her. It must, she assumed, be very obvious what her position had become in the household, but the young nurse never said a word about it.
One afternoon when Jane invited her in, Lily felt she really must say something.
‘Cold, isn’t it?’ Jane remarked as she let Lily into her colourful room. She had a fire burning in the grate. ‘I’ll be glad when the snow goes now. Would you like tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ Lily said.
As ever, they talked about day-to-day things for a time, but when there was a short silence, Lily said, flushing, ‘I know you must disapprove.’
Jane raised one of her thick eyebrows. In her calm voice, she said, ‘Of what, exactly, Lily?’
‘Of me . . . Of this . . . Of my . . .’ She wrestled for the words. ‘The way Dr McBride . . . behaves towards me.’
Jane Brown looked steadily at her as if considering what to say. Then she looked away and stared into the fire. She was quiet for some time and Lily began to regret speaking. At last, in her quiet way, Jane Brown said, ‘What Dr McBride does is not my affair. All I’d say to you, Lily, is be careful. He seems to be in a rather . . . excitable state.’
Lily looked at Jane Brown’s solid, quiet figure. What do you mean? she was longing to ask. But she could see that Jane Brown was not prepared to say any more.
More and more, it seemed that Ewan McBride could not bear to let Lily out of his sight. On the evenings when they were not going out to some social event, he would demand that she dine with him. In the secluded study, once Prithvi had served them their meal, he talked to her as they ate. He poured out all his memories of his Scottish childhood spent in Currie, about his younger brother Duncan who had drowned in a river. Sometimes he wept as he talked about his school, the church they attended, his father’s humiliation there when his mother was caught in a liaison with a man from the town who was not a churchgoer and who already had a wife. Lily listened, night after night, to his talk, to memories and rage and sorrow. She was relieved that he did not ask her to lay out her past. But she also came to see that he didn’t need to know about her, not as she really was. He needed her to be a blank, a mirror for him, to give him back everything he needed.
Sometimes he sat beside her just staring at her, stroking her thick, chestnut hair as if she was a statue he had acquired.
‘You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ he said and sometimes tears would come into his eyes. ‘I just want to be with you always, Lily – to look at you, to know you’re mine,’ he kept saying. ‘Don’t ever leave me, will you? I think I’d go mad. I know I would.’
Before, when he stroked her like that and gazed at her, it had made her feel flattered and admired. Now, though, she felt empty. Sometimes it seemed as if he didn’t see her at all, but instead something he had created in his own mind.
The evenings invariably ended in her bed and she lay awake long after he had fallen asleep, looking up into the darkness in lonely silence.
Still, she reasoned, she had had worse times in her life. And she could not seem to see out from it any more. She couldn’t imagine anything else.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Mussoorie snows melted at last, the sun grew warmer and delicate flowers appeared in abundant, pale sprays down the hillsides. However, while spring had arrived, the doctor’s moods had darkened.
One morning, when icy streams and waterfalls were rushing the last of the mountain snows down the steep slopes, Lily walked along, drinking in the sight of the hillside glittering green after all the snow. Birds called and fluttered among the branches and all nature seemed to smile, reawakened. The air felt warm and hopeful and Lily took in deep breaths, freeing herself from the constrained feeling she now had all the time in the house. She thought of the mighty sweep of the mountain range on whose hem she was walking, its giant ripple of the earth’s crust extending across to Kashmir, Nepal, Tibet, the awesome white wilderness she had heard of so often, and it gave her a sense of exhilarating freedom. She realized, as she moved even faster, almost wanting to break into a run, just how much this winter she had become a puppet who had to dance all the time to a tune played by the doctor. And for these precious moments she could be free of it, could regain a sense of herself. These times made it bearable, standing out on the sunny Mussoorie hillside, when she felt free and young again, and as she made her way back into the house she was smiling.
He was standing in a dark corner of the hall. She saw the dog Cameron before she saw him, coming to greet her out of the shadows.
‘And where exactly have you been, missy?’
Lily jumped, laying a hand over her thumping heart. ‘I . . . I’ve been out for a little walk.’ She used the low, taming voice she had learned to use with Ewan
McBride when he was like this. ‘It’s so lovely now spring’s coming.’
He approached her, and she could see he was tense with rage. ‘You went out, alone, without asking me?’
Lily could hear Mrs Das moving about further along the corridor, but the doctor seemed too overwrought to care who heard him.
‘I’m sorry, dear,’ she said softly. ‘But you weren’t here. It doesn’t do any harm, going out to take the air for a few minutes, surely?’
‘Who did you meet?’ His hands gripped her shoulders and he brought his face close up to hers, breathing his tobacco breath in her face. She could see where the hairs of his beard entered his skin. ‘You’re going out to meet someone, aren’t you? Behaving like a little whore again. Tell me!’ He squeezed her so hard that she yelped. Here again were all the accusations he was forever throwing at her. She breathed in deeply, quelling her urge to shout at him, Of course I’m not meeting other people! How do you expect me to when you keep me here like a prisoner! But she must not shout: it would be a disaster.
‘My dear, I . . .’
‘Your dear!’ She thought for a moment he was going to slap her. His nostrils were flaring, his breath fast and shallow. ‘You little hypocrite. You don’t care for me! You’re just after everything you can squeeze out of me while you torture my heart with your wanton behaviour, running after other men, younger men, to make me feel old and of no value to you. That’s all you can think about isn’t it – showing yourself off to other men while I rot here, all alone . . .’
Very quickly his rages sank him into misery, so that sometimes he wept in her arms, full of remorse and self-pity.
‘Shall we go into your study so that the servants don’t hear?’ Lily suggested and took his hand. ‘Come along, dear.’ She led him like a child. ‘Everything will be all right.’
