by Umi Sinha
The next day we set out for Suez. Because of Louisa’s condition, she and the children’s ayah travelled in a van pulled by horses, but James and I rode camels. Freddie rode with James and Sophie with me. It was romantic, as I had imagined, but the motion of a camel is quite different from that of a horse and I am still unable to sit down without a cushion! However, anything was better than being confined in one of those tiny crowded vans. Poor Louisa and Luxmibai were very thrown about and bruised.
Aden looked quite sinister, when we arrived in the dark, with strange shadows standing against the sky. A guide told us it is Cain’s burial place and lies under a curse. The hotel was full of rats, which kept jumping over our beds, so you can imagine we did not sleep well! I was quite relieved when our steamer finally arrived. The cabin arrangements are rather primitive compared to the Candia, but everyone seems pleased to be approaching our journey’s end. It is all so exciting!
I can’t wait to see India but as we get closer I find myself feeling less and less brave about meeting Arthur again. If only we had met at the beginning of his long leave and had time to know each other better. But I can hear you and Mama saying that I have made my bed and must lie in it, and I shall. I know I am young and silly and have a lot to learn, but I cannot imagine having a better teacher than Arthur.
I send you all my dearest love and will write again from Calcutta.
Your loving Cecily
Garden Reach, Calcutta, 3rd November 1855
Dear Mina,
It was so lovely to find all your letters waiting for me when we reached Calcutta yesterday. The ship arrived late as the sea has been quite stormy and I was shocked to find our wedding has been arranged for the ninth – in six days’ time! – and we leave for Cuttack on the fourteenth. We are to be married in the cathedral. Arthur organised for the banns to be read and has made all the arrangements. I must confess to being nervous about marrying so soon after arriving, but it seems there is no alternative, as Arthur has used up all his short leave and is due back with his regiment in three weeks.
Everything is so different here that I wonder if I shall ever get used to it. My first experience of India was quite startling – near Madras some natives rowed out to meet us in canoes, offering fresh fruit and curious trinkets, but as they got closer it was apparent that they had wholly forgotten to put on any clothes! You should have heard the screams and giggles from the Fishing Fleet on the deck below, but Louisa did not bat an eyelash. I overheard Mrs. Weston telling one of the ladies that the secret to managing natives was not to think of them as men at all!
The sea was very rough around the coast and poor Louisa was quite ill, but she improved when we entered the more sheltered waters of the Bay of Bengal. On the way up the east coast we passed a place called Puri. At dinner Mrs. Weston said there is a famous temple there where each year a procession of great wooden chariots filled with idols is pulled through the streets and the natives used to lie down in front of them to be crushed, in order to gain merit in future lives. She says it is an example of how superstitious the natives are, but James says it is all nonsense.
Before Calcutta we had to take on a pilot near the mouth of the Hoogly (is that not a divine name for a river?), for the shifting sandbanks are very treacherous. The captain pointed to some masts sticking out of the water, which is all that is left of the ships swallowed up by them. There were great bats swooping about at evening, and all night one could hear the wail of jackals, but that was not the worst! The day we arrived I was woken early by a knocking on the wall of my cabin. I rose and dressed and made my way on to the deck and when I looked over the railing I saw two corpses floating beside the ship with their heads banging against the side. One of the sailors on a lower deck was trying to push them away with a pole. The captain told us that the natives use the river to dispose of bodies, as it is their holy river. Most of the dead are cremated, but those who die of the small-pox or in childbirth are placed in the river unburnt. We saw a lot more bodies as we made our way upriver, and everywhere we looked there were vultures and crows making a hearty meal. The water looks like soup, and the banks are lined with crocodiles that look just like logs. It is quite sinister to see them slip silently into the water.
But Calcutta is a grand city, with fine buildings and gardens, and seems almost European. I am staying with the Wellings, who are friends of Arthur’s, and he is putting up at his club. The Wellings live in Garden Reach, in a charming Indian-style house with a long garden that extends down to the river. I had a surprise when we arrived, for we were greeted by a genie, over six feet tall and almost as broad, with a long black beard parted in the middle and tucked behind his ears. He was wearing a costume of purple and white with gold buttons, and a saffron turban. I thought him a maharajah at the very least and almost curtsied, but Arthur informed me just in time that he was merely the khitmutgar – the major domo. Colonel Welling addresses him as ‘boy’!
It was strange seeing Arthur again at the port. He was accompanied by Col. Welling and another friend in uniform and from a distance I could not tell which of them he was. I was so afraid I would not recognise him, but of course I did when they came forward. He looks so important and distinguished in uniform that I feel quite in awe of him and whenever he asks me a question, even how I take my tea, my mind goes perfectly blank! I fear he must think he has become engaged to an imbecile! Fortunately James and Louisa are remaining in Calcutta as guests of the local magistrate until the wedding, and their presence makes everything easier. Afterwards they go on to Lucknow, where James is to take up the post of collector and magistrate.
6th November 1855
The Wellings have been really very kind. Last night they held a party in our honour. I wore my light green taffeta with the silver sash and received a great many compliments on my singing, though it felt odd to sing without you. Officers are not encouraged to marry until they reach the rank of major, so there are many unattached young officers starved of feminine company, and some are such terrible flirts that it quite turns one’s head. When I told one of them I was engaged to Major Langdon he groaned and said bitterly that no junior officer stood a chance against the ‘liver-decayed old Anglo-Indian with his parchment face and treasure’, which I thought rather impolite. As you know, my ‘liver-decayed old Anglo-Indian’ does not care to stand up, and I was engaged for every dance, so we barely spoke. I am sure Arthur regretted that Papa, Mama and you were not here to sit with him and have one of those discussions that you all so enjoyed.
Today we saw the sights of Calcutta and tomorrow Mrs. Welling is taking me shopping for Christmas presents, as it takes seven weeks for the mail to reach England. I am also to buy material for some new dresses, for she tells me the ones we had made will not do for this climate. I forgot to tell you that we were asked to remove our crinolines on board ship to avoid blocking the gangways, and Arthur tells me he has never seen the point of them and considers them absurd, especially in this heat. He even suggested – in front of the Wellings! – that I should leave off my corsets. I did not know where to look, but it is true that I am finding it hard to breathe, although this is supposed to be the cool season.
I must stop now for the khitmutgar is waiting to take the letters and packages to the post and he looks so imposing that I dare not keep him waiting. It is hard to believe that by the time I receive your reply it will be nearly spring in England and I shall have been married for over three months! Mrs. Arthur Langdon – it sounds so grown-up, I shall hardly believe it is me! This is the last time I shall sign myself,
Your ever-loving sister, Cecily Partridge
Garden Reach, Calcutta, 10th November 1855
Mina darling,
I do not know how to say this – I am sure I should not but there is no one else I can talk to and I feel so alone. I do not know how I shall bear married life!!
I never imagined it would be like this! How could Mama not have told me? Did you know, Mina, and yet not warn me? Arthur tells me it is what all m
arried couples do, but I cannot believe it. Surely Mama and Papa would never do such things – and as for the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Weston behaving in such a way, it is just too absurd! All Mama said was that I should leave everything to Arthur, and that when a man and a woman love each other everything seems perfectly natural. But it does not seem at all natural to me. It is so unromantic – surely this cannot be what all the fuss is about in books?
Oh, Mina, I cannot think how I shall face Arthur again! This morning, when the maid came in to change the sheets, she grinned at me horribly and I felt so humiliated that everyone might know, that I could hardly bear to face the Wellings at breakfast. Fortunately Mrs. Welling kept up such a chatter that no one had time to think of anything else. Then, after church, Arthur went to make arrangements for our journey to Cuttack, and when he had gone she must have seen I was not myself because she said I would soon become accustomed to marriage, and even grow to like it, but I do not believe it. I keep thinking that I shall be married for years and years and years. How ever shall I bear it?
Your wretched sister, Cecily
13th November 1855
Dear Mina,
Please forgive my letter of last week. As soon as I had sent it I regretted it, but it was too late to recall it and as the mail only goes once a week you will have had a whole seven days to reflect on my stupidity! Oh, Mina, I am sorry to be such a goose, but it has all been such a rush, and I miss you all so much, and it is so hard knowing that I shall not see you for another four years until Arthur gets his next long leave.
Louisa and James are leaving for Lucknow tomorrow and I shall miss them and the children dreadfully too, especially little Sophie. But I know that none of this is any excuse and that Mama would say that Arthur is now my family. And, indeed, he has been very good. When he came home and saw that I had been crying he said I needed time to get used to married life and he hoped that when we got to know each other better I would come to enjoy it. In the meantime, he has promised not to trouble me until I am ready and has moved into the dressing room next door. I was worried what the Wellings might think, but Arthur says I should not care what others think but do what is right and comfortable for me. He is so straight and honest that I know he must be right about what a man and wife do in private, but I cannot get used to the idea. I mean Mama and Papa! The Wellings! Mrs. Weston! Surely it cannot be! It seems so undignified. But if it is so I must pray for the strength to learn to endure it, for I am determined to be a good wife to Arthur. But before you accept an offer from anyone, Mina, make sure that Mother explains everything to you properly.
We leave for Cuttack in the morning. Give my dearest love to everyone at Home.
Your loving sister, Cecily
Lila
Simon was right: I did like Jagjit from the start, despite my resolution not to. He was tall – as tall as Simon was small – and very thin, with fuzzy black down growing in odd tufts on his cheeks and under his chin. His high-bridged nose looked too big for his face, and his mouth tilted up on one side when he smiled, forming a dimple in one cheek.
His hand engulfed mine as he looked into my eyes with his earnest dark brown ones. ‘Hello, Lila, I’m Jagjit. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Simon says you grew up in India, so we already have something in common.’
Ever since I had arrived in England I had noticed how different people were. Their eyes never held yours but were always shifting about, as though they were afraid of letting you see who they really were. And no one ever seemed to say what they really meant. But Jagjit’s brown eyes settled on me with liking, his voice warmed when he spoke to me, his lopsided smile did not seem to find me wanting. For the first time since I arrived in England I regretted my decision not to speak.
What was it about Jagjit that disarmed everyone who met him? The servants took to him at once, and even the villagers, who were usually suspicious of strangers and still looked at me out of the corners of their eyes, liked him and invited him to play in their Sunday cricket matches. Everyone, that is, except Aunt Mina. She was polite, of course, but she never met his gaze and never spoke to him unless he addressed her first. Thinking about it now, I realise that she must have seen Jagjit as a threat to her efforts to banish my memories of India and turn me into an ordinary English girl. But, perhaps because he was the Beauchamps’ house guest, she tolerated him.
Although Jagjit was a year older than Simon and almost two years older than me, he did not seem to find us dull, as I had feared he would. The two of them helped with the Christmas decorations at High Elms. Being tall, Jagjit could reach places we could not, so he hung the ivy from the tops of doorways and pictures, and placed the decorations high up on the Christmas tree, while Simon and I did the banisters, the mantel shelves and the lower branches. Jagjit liked Christmas because he said the preparations and smell of cooking reminded him of the festivals they celebrated at home.
And it was true that it did feel special. The smell of spices and dried fruit filled the house and as Christmas came closer even the servants seemed excited. I heard Cook say to Ellen, ‘It’s like old times, with a child in the house. Such a pity the poor little thing is dumb.’
‘She’s peculiar if you ask me,’ Ellen said, and giggled. ‘And no wonder. I heard the mistress tell that Mrs. B. that her father topped hisself and her mam was doolally.’
I had no idea what ‘doolally’ meant, but I could guess. So Aunt Mina did know what had really happened. No wonder the people in the village thought I was queer.
On Christmas Eve we went to church for midnight mass. Jagjit came too. Usually he stayed behind at Simon’s while we were at church, but he said he was curious. At school assembly, he told me, before prayers began, the headmaster would give the order: ‘Jews, Hindus and Muslims fall out,’ and all non-Christians would leave the hall.
I had always found Sunday services a bore but in the dark, with all the candles lit, the church seemed like a magical cave, decorated with great arrangements of berried branches and flowers, and fragrant with incense. We were invited to the Beauchamps’ for Christmas lunch the next day, and there were piles of presents under the tree, with mince pies and mulled wine for the adults and warm spiced apple juice for us. Aunt Mina’s gifts to us were practical: warm clothing for me, and a leather writing case for Simon. She had bought a fountain pen for Jagjit, but did not look at him when he thanked her. The three biggest presents were from the Beauchamps, and when we opened them we found that they had given us matching sleds. ‘Rats! Why can’t it snow?’ Simon burst out, and Jagjit and I exchanged smiles, like the parents of a small, eager child.
Two days before New Year, I woke with an uneasy feeling that something was different. It took me a few moments to notice the silence: the absence of birdsong, of trees rustling, of the clattering of the milkman’s cart as he did his rounds. And there was an odd light – a white glare – coming into the room round the edges of the curtains. I waited, and listened, but nothing changed, so I got out of bed and nervously pulled the curtains back.
At first all I could see was white. The world had disappeared! I felt a thrill of fear. Then, gradually, I made out shades of grey in the whiteness. It covered everything, smoothing out angles, curving gently up the hillside, balancing on top of trees and bushes, forming white pompoms at the ends of branches. White crystals were piled up round the windowpanes and I became aware that I was freezing. It was early, not yet time for Ellen to wake me, so I got dressed and went outside. The snow came halfway up my Wellington boots and I stamped around, enjoying the crunch under my feet. I bent and scooped some up. Wetness seeped through my glove and my fingers went numb. I had read about snow and seen pictures of it in books so I knew it was cold, but had always imagined it dry and fluffy, like cotton wool.
Simon and Jagjit came over and we went up the slope behind the house. Half the village children were out, struggling through the drifts with their sledges made from wooden boxes and trays. We had never mixed with them and I didn’t care much
for them because they stared at me and whispered. Jagjit’s arrival triggered another bout of wide-eyed silence, just as it had done in church when he followed Simon in to midnight mass. The children nudged each other and giggled, but by the end of that afternoon he was giving the smaller ones rides on his sledge and tumbling them, screaming with laughter, into the snow.
That evening we played charades with the adults and when it was our turn we chose the wedding scene from Jane Eyre. Simon, who was the smallest and fairest, took the part of Jane, dressed in one of my white petticoats with a lace curtain for a veil. I was Mr. Rochester because Simon said I was the best at scowling; I wore his blue velvet suit, which was a bit tight. Jagjit played the mad wife, with a cloud of tangled black hair and white powder caked into the fuzz on his cheeks and chin. He wore one of Mrs. Beauchamp’s nightdresses, which barely reached his knees; his hairy legs and big feet stuck out comically underneath. We wrestled with each other as he pretended to bite me, while Simon stood by wringing his hands.
For the next few days, while the snow lasted, we raced around the garden, hiding behind bushes then leaping out and pelting each other with snowballs. Simon ran up to me and thrust a handful of snow down the neck of my coat. I squealed and he stopped and stared at me, then turned to Jagjit. ‘She made a noise! She did – she made a noise!’ Jagjit looked at me and I turned away. ‘I’ll show you,’ Simon said to him, and picked up another handful of snow, but as he reached for me Jagjit tackled him, knocking him into a snowdrift. In the scuffle that followed, my squeal was forgotten, but later that evening, as we sat by the fire in the schoolroom groaning while our fingers thawed out, I saw Jagjit watching me thoughtfully.
