Fields of Gold

by Fiona McIntosh

  Grenfell stood, busying himself with clearing away the implements he’d used to give Ned a medical check. ‘Right at this moment there’s a cholera pandemic raging through Bengal. It’s been two years already and no control in sight. We know hygiene is important to stem contagion.’

  Ned frowned as he thought this over. ‘So Bell and I should remain well if we take all the right precautions?’

  ‘Precisely. I believe you will both be all right. If Robbie only showed symptoms this morning, then he’s been infected since before you boarded. Forgive me for sounding insensitive, but I do have to consider the people on board.’

  ‘I understand,’ Ned reassured him.

  ‘If either of you were infected, we’d be seeing symptoms already, although some people infected may not show any symptoms.’

  ‘That’s confusing.’

  ‘It’s a disease, Ned. It can be as contrary as it likes,’ the doctor said with a sad smile. ‘We’ll move you to the spare cabin next door so I can keep a close watch, but if you eat well, drink plenty, get lots of fresh air over this voyage, you will keep good health.’

  ‘What about the captain?’

  ‘Well,’ the doctor winked. ‘He can hardly make two polite and very pleasant young English civilians walk the plank. Don’t worry, we’ll work something out.’

  ‘And Robbie?’ Ned repeated softly.

  ‘I’m afraid, son, that he will go overboard. It’s their only option to bury him at sea.’

  ‘May I attend?’

  ‘If you’re quick.’

  ‘Bella will probably want to be there too. She wasn’t allowed to see either of our parents after their deaths. She’s already confused and unsure. To take Robbie from her now is tragic but I think she needs to see it happen – to understand that he is gone.’

  ‘Well, it’s entirely up to you. By the way, happy birthday for tomorrow,’ Grenfell said, pointing to the passport.

  Ned looked bemused. ‘What day is it?’

  ‘November 26.’

  ‘I’ve lost all track of time!’

  ‘Not much of a birthday for you, Ned.’

  ‘Perhaps my nineteenth year will be happier than this one.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. Any plans for ashore?’

  ‘There’s a friend of Robbie’s I’d like to make contact with. He’s a doctor. He lives in Bangalore.’

  ‘Ah, and what a lovely city to be heading for. Is there anyone at home in Britain you’d like us to contact?’

  ‘No one, no. We have no relations.’ It all seemed so hopeless all of a sudden.

  ‘All right. Now listen to me,’ Grenfell began. ‘We arrive in Madras tomorrow. You’ve obviously got nowhere to go …’

  Ned shook his head dejectedly.

  ‘And you’ve got your sister to think about. Come home with me. I’ll be staying on shore for the next eight weeks. I know my wife will be delighted to have some visitors – especially the pair of you – and it will give you some time to consider your situation. Besides,’ Grenfell said, smiling kindly, ‘you should never spend a birthday alone.’

  Ned could barely believe the man’s generosity. He stared at the doctor, not sure what to say.

  Grenfell put a hand on Ned’s shoulder. ‘We have no children, Ned. I think my wife would really enjoy the chance to spoil Bella … even for just a short while. So it’s no hardship for us. We’d enjoy the company and my conscience wouldn’t allow me to let you go without an offer of help.’

  ‘That’s incredibly kind of you.’

  ‘Don’t worry. You can earn your keep. We’ll find plenty to keep a young man like you occupied – and now you’re eighteen, there are endless government positions available in Madras.’

  ‘Perhaps I can earn our passage home, but first I need to keep a promise to Robbie and find his Dr Walker in Bangalore.’

  ‘That’s agreed, then, and after you’ve settled in I shall help you find him.’

  Ned stood and straightened the rough, ill-fitting clothes they’d quickly found for him. He held out a hand. ‘Thank you for your kindness. I will never forget it.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘Welcome to India, Ned.’

  17

  April 1920

  Jack Bryant stood on the deck of the Naldera and smoked an Ogdens Robin cigarette leisurely. They were expensive but the smokes had been an indulgence he’d allowed himself, just as the second-class passage had been a treat to himself on the Peninsula and Orient Lines’ latest gleaming lady of the seas. They’d left Tilbury Docks behind several weeks ago but Jack’s pleasure at being out on the ocean had not dissipated. If anything it had intensified, as the passengers became more comfortable with life onboard ship and with each other.

  Everyone was friendly, the women especially displaying a recklessness – a gregarious holiday mood – that a year or so ago Jack would have taken full advantage of. But Jack had no intention of creating trouble onboard a ship that offered no escape. Which was why he found himself up on deck during this balmy evening, smoking alone while everyone else was downstairs dancing the night away.

  The cigarette tasted good. For years he’d resisted chewing a plug, as most of the Cornish miners did, the plug being the only method they had of enjoying tobacco down the shafts. And a pipe struck him as being the domain of older men, like his father. He’d rolled his own, of course, but these pre-made cigarettes were the new fad and he liked the colourful boxes and advertising that appeared on every shop, street corner and hoarding. To pull out a box of cigarettes and pluck one from the neat row was much more appealing than digging around in a tin to loosen the tobacco and then cramming it into a paper.

  He inhaled deeply, tasting salt on his lips, and considered his decision to travel to Australia. Its mining industry was booming and he’d heard the southern part of the great continent had attracted a lot of his fellow cousin Jacks thanks to rich copper deposits. He’d been working as a labourer at Tilbury Docks, staying at a cheap boarding house, but as soon as he’d glimpsed details of the Naldera’s arrival, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. And sailing aboard her seemed to be his destiny because he’d received a letter from his father telling him that the mining companies in Australia and India were actively recruiting in Cornwall. Jack made up his mind that day and booked a passage on Naldera’s inaugural sailing that would take her across the world to the sparkling Sydney harbour. The voyage was six weeks at least. Was Australia a better option than India? He wasn’t completely sure, so he chose not to secure a job before he left. Ignoring his father’s advice, Jack decided that if work was so plentiful, he could look for it on arrival, but in the meantime he could explore a little, get to know this great sunburned country, Australia, that he’d heard so much about. And if it didn’t suit him, he’d use whatever money he had left to sail back to India – Madras probably – and make his way to the mining regions there.

  That had been the plan when he’d boarded with a small piece of luggage and found his way to the double-bedded cabin he was sharing with an older man called Henry Berry. Berry was a slight fellow with a tic, whose shoulder twitched every minute or so. He described himself as simply a member of the Indian Civil Service – no family, no prospects of a wife, he claimed. Henry explained that he’d just finished his biannual holiday to England, and was now gladly making his way back to the steamy, manic, flourishing port of Bombay. To Jack it sounded as though Henry liked his work; did not suffer as much as others in the heat; and most of all enjoyed the way of life the colonies offered him. Even on his modest salary he could afford servants and a lifestyle that someone of his ilk back home could only dream of.

  It was Henry who had first queried Jack’s vision of Australia, and put the doubt in his mind.

  ‘Are you mad, man? Australia? It’s a desert. You can travel for days, I hear, and not see another person other than the natives. They’ve got biting insects the size of dinner plates in the air, and strange creatures in the sea – some with fatal bites. Crocodiles in their rivers, sna
kes on their plains and a sun that can kill you. And the majority of the few Europeans out there are mainly English convicts, let’s not forget! We’re talking thieves and murderers as your fellow workers, Jack. Fellows who’d happily slit your throat for a loaf of bread,’ Henry had impressed, his voice rising with the dramatic scene he was vividly painting. ‘No, the living is too hard there, too difficult to make a quid yet. That place has a long way to go before it can even begin to achieve the civilised life of British India.’

  Jack was telling himself not to get carried away with one man’s vision. ‘So you think I should get off in India instead?’

  ‘You’d be mad not to, old chap,’ Henry replied, as he lay on his back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Jack echoed his pose in the bed opposite, heads behind his hands, enjoying the roll of the boat, the groan of the engine.

  Henry turned over to prop himself on an elbow. ‘You know, there’s a place down south called Kolar Gold Fields that supports seven mines, each with its own thriving expat community. I went there once to gather some details for the government and I couldn’t believe what a wonderful life they’re all leading out there in the Indian bush. The clubs are superb, parties every night, picnics and dances. And the women, Jack! Gorgeous girls. Have you heard of the Anglo-Indians?’

  Jack turned to face Henry now, his interest pricked despite his promise to himself to stay off women for a while.

  ‘The Anglo-Indians are a curious community that’s sprung up from intermarriages between the English and local people. I’m sad to say the sons of these marriages are all too dashing, with their dark good looks that put us pasty Brits to shame … but the women.’ Henry had sighed. ‘These girls are so exotic to look at and they possess all the charm and etiquette of English ladies …’

  Jack grinned. ‘So how come you haven’t married one of these delicious beauties, Henry?’

  ‘Ah, well, look at me, Jack. And while my status is alluring to some, these girls aren’t keen to leave their families and live in Bombay. Now, London,’ he said, with a flourish. ‘That would be different! The Anglo-Indians act more British than we do. They talk about England as though it’s home, yet most of these young women only know of it through magazines and what their fathers have told them.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question, Henry.’

  Henry flopped back onto the bed, dejected. ‘I’m not very good with women, Jack. My tic seems to get worse around them. I can tell they’d flock around you. I suppose you’ve had hundreds!’ he said enviously.

  Jack laughed aloud and moved the conversation on. ‘And work is plentiful in this mining camp?’

  ‘The mines are screaming for good people. In fact, I was asked to prepare a report that John Taylor & Sons is using for its recruitment push in Britain later this year.’

  ‘I think it’s begun in Cornwall if my father’s most recent letter is anything to go by.’

  ‘You can bet on it, old chap. Seven mines – even a railway – and no more coal … it’s electrified. This is why the area is flourishing and the population of Europeans is exploding.’

  ‘Sounds as though you’d like to live there, Henry.’

  Henry sighed. ‘I would. It’s a wonderful place. It’s like being in a small English hamlet at times with the way people live there, almost completely isolated from the real world. Bombay can be so … well, quite mad sometimes. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I loved Bombay also. If I’m lucky, I may get a posting to Bangalore or perhaps in the Nilgiris down south. But in Kolar, you’d never be lonely. Everyone seems to know each other and it’s an easy, good life, Jack.’

  ‘You sound like you’re on the payroll.’

  ‘No, I just envy your position to be so carefree and able to choose when and where and what and how.’

  ‘And the women,’ Jack added with a grin.

  ‘And the women,’ Henry echoed.

  ‘I don’t think you’re trying hard enough where girls are concerned.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. My problem is I want a very pretty wife but no very pretty single girl is going to look at me.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Jack scoffed, trying not to focus on Henry’s restless shoulder.

  ‘No, it’s true. Plain, bespectacled, chubby, shrewish – that’s what I tend to be left to choose from. And so, denied beauty and grace, I’ve chosen to remain a bachelor.’

  ‘Henry, you surprise me. A kiss from a plump girl is just as meaningful. And a plain girl can still have grace. Now, to be loved …’ He sighed. ‘Ah, that’s the key.’

  Henry shot Jack a look of scorn. ‘The thing is, Bryant, you’ve probably never had to wrap your arms around a fat girl or ignore buck teeth or a spotty complexion. Please, don’t deny it.’

  Jack couldn’t deny the accusation, but he had really meant what he’d said; he would give anything to be truly loved.

  Jack stubbed out his cigarette. The fact was, it wasn’t only Henry who sang India’s praises. Most of his fellow travellers couldn’t wait to get out, or in most cases back out, to India.

  Conversely, even those he’d talked to on the ship who were bound for Australia assured him life was tough for a miner. Yes, fortunes had been made with copper and gold especially, but the great rush had already waned, and the fortunes been spent or certainly reinvested in the emerging pastoral and agricultural industries. Jack knew nothing about growing crops or herding sheep. One man was talking lustily about the fiery opals of a place called Coober Pedy. But, all in all, the lustre of Australia was fading – no club life, no partying, no exotic beauties with dainty manners, no servants, and huge distances to cover with only the dry days of Hades, dust and drinking to be enjoyed in what was still a very young colony … or group of colonies as some had corrected.

  ‘Always alone, Mr Bryant,’ said a husky voice, interrupting his thoughts.

  He swung around from the ship’s rail and recognised the woman; he had seen her a few times in the dining hall. ‘Good evening, Miss … Er, you have me at a loss, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Eugenie Ross,’ she said, lazily. ‘Care to light me?’ Her gaze shifted to the unlit cigarette in her black, opera-length cigarette holder. It was far too big for her. He smiled and reached into his pocket for his matches, wishing he owned one of the newfangled lighters he’d seen around London. One day, he promised himself. One day soon.

  He struck a match, cupped it in his fingers and was not surprised when his companion placed her small hand around his and pulled him closer.

  She smiled as lazily as she spoke and then released him. ‘Thank you, Mr Bryant. May I call you John?’

  ‘It’s my name,’ he said, amused but on his guard. Eugenie struck him as dangerous, though mainly to herself. ‘Although my friends call me Jack.’

  ‘Jack? Mmm, that suits you. A rogue-ish name.’

  He didn’t respond, simply smiled back at her.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s churlish of you to deprive all the single women of your company, Jack?’

  In the low light on deck he couldn’t tell whether her eyes were green or grey but they sparkled nonetheless. Her glossy lipstick glistened blood red and her small, perfectly straight white teeth flashed in a brief, contrived smile. There was nothing natural about Eugenie’s pose, her highly coloured face or her manner. He realised she was still waiting for an answer.

  ‘I’m not good company at the moment.’

  ‘Oh? Why’s that?’

  Jack leaned back against the rail. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

  ‘Then a few turns around the dance floor will help to distract you.’

  ‘I’m sure it would … if I wanted distraction.’

  She smiled, as though sensing a contest. Daringly she ran a finger down his shirtfront and then placed her hand flat against his belly. He wanted to laugh; she was very young and had probably seen some actress perform that same manoeuvre in a film.

  ‘Where are you headed, Jack? I do hope it’s to Sydney. That way we can enjoy the entir
e voyage together.’

  That was the moment Jack made up his mind. He would never forget it. Fate or destiny, or whatever it was, in the shape of Miss Eugenie Ross, had stepped in and pushed him from one path onto another.

  ‘No, actually,’ he replied, gently removing her hand. ‘I’m getting off in Bombay.’

  Eugenie looked surprised and Jack realised that she had likely already checked his destination with the ship’s purser. Then she recovered herself, pouting. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I only decided recently.’

  ‘Well,’ she said brightly. ‘We still have over a fortnight to dance the nights away.’

  ‘I’m flattered, Miss Ross, truly I am,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure my fiancée would approve.’

  She flinched as if stung. ‘Good grief, Jack. You might have mentioned her earlier!’ She slumped by the rail and sighed as she looked out to sea. ‘I suppose you stand out here smoking alone, night after night, thinking about her.’

  Now he did smile. ‘Something like that.’

  She blew smoke towards him defiantly.

  ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m nearly eighteen, if you must know, and perfectly capable of being with a man.’

  Ah, he had definitely hit the target there. Young Eugenie needed protection from her own imagination.

  ‘You know, Miss Ross, where I come from I’d reckon being with a man is something quite different to your girlish idea of it.’

  She gave a sound of deep exasperation and flung her cigarette down, crushing it underfoot. ‘I don’t know why I bothered with you.’

  ‘I don’t know either. I’m quite sure I didn’t invite the attention.’

  ‘I shall tell the other women on board to ignore you, Mr Bryant.’

  He grinned. ‘That would be good of you, Miss Ross. Thank you.’

  Her gaze narrowed to match the pursed line of her lips. ‘There is no pining fiancée back at home, is there?’

  ‘There’s nothing back home for me, certainly no woman.’