The Secrets of the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘You weren’t to know, hinny,’ said Lexy, her look kindly.

  ‘Who else knows?’ asked Libby.

  Adela found her voice again. ‘Mother knows – and just a couple of people here apart from Aunt Olive. I confided in Josey before I went back out to India – and Joan Brewis found out.’

  ‘George’s wife?’ Libby was surprised.

  ‘Yes – she saw me at the coast just before I had the baby. But as far as I know she’s never told anyone. Neither has Josey.’ Adela gave Libby an anxious look. ‘I’ve never told your mother and I’d rather she didn’t know.’

  ‘That must be hard for Josey,’ said Libby, ‘keeping such a secret from Mother all this time. They’re the best of friends.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s wrong of me,’ said Adela, ‘but Tilly would be shocked by it all and there’s no point in upsetting her.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Libby. ‘She’s the last person I would tell about my affairs of the heart. That’s why I always come running to Lexy.’ She looked at the older woman with a fond smile.

  ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Lexy either,’ Adela said. ‘She’s one in a million.’

  ‘Stop it, you two,’ Lexy protested, ‘or I’ll not get me big head out the door tomorro’.’

  ‘It’s true.’ Adela gave a sad smile. ‘And you don’t know how comforting it is for me to be here with you – being with someone who knew and cared for my baby.’

  Libby felt awkward. She had forced Adela to come back to Newcastle, a place that must conjure up so many unhappy memories of being pregnant and having to hide an illegitimate birth.

  ‘I’m sorry I upset you,’ said Libby. ‘And if I’d known about this terrible situation I would never have suggested that you return for the café. And dragging Sam here too.’

  ‘No, you did the right thing,’ Adela said. ‘We would have come back sooner but Sam’s sister Sophie was so upset at the thought of us going so far away from her. She and Sam are very close.’

  ‘But it must be difficult being in Newcastle, surely?’ said Libby. ‘Being reminded of such an unhappy time. Doesn’t it bring it all back?’

  Adela looked at her with puzzled green eyes. ‘It’s not a matter of bringing back memories – I’ve never stopped thinking of my boy – ever! That’s why we’ve come back – to try and find him. I live in hope that John Wesley might still be in an institution in the area so that I can claim him as mine.’

  Libby was flabbergasted. Was Adela really serious in wanting to track down an illegitimate baby she’d given up years ago?

  ‘And Sam agrees?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Adela. ‘I couldn’t do this if he didn’t want it too.’

  ‘You have an amazing husband,’ Libby said in admiration.

  ‘I know I do.’ Adela smiled broadly for the first time since her confession. ‘Sam is my rock. I’ve never loved anyone so much – apart from my baby.’

  ‘But you said you’d given John . . . ?’

  ‘John Wesley.’

  ‘Given him up for adoption,’ Libby pointed out. ‘Won’t he be living with another family now?’

  She saw the wince of pain on Adela’s face and felt bad for mentioning the adoption. ‘Even to know that would be better than not knowing what happened to him. But the problem is I don’t know. And it’s possible he was never chosen for adoption.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he be?’ Libby asked gently. ‘You said he was a beautiful boy.’

  Adela glanced away. It was Lexy who spoke. ‘The bairn might not have been so easy to place.’

  ‘Why not?’ Libby was baffled.

  ‘’Cos he’s coloured,’ said Lexy. ‘Not much; but he wasn’t as white as you or me. And you know how some folk are prejudiced that way.’

  Libby flushed. It hadn’t occurred to her that the father wasn’t British.

  Adela met her look with a glint of defiance. ‘John Wesley’s father was Indian. He was from Gulgat, near Belgooree.’

  ‘Where Sophie and Rafi live?’ Libby asked in astonishment.

  Adela nodded.

  Lexy said, ‘And not just any Indian. The bairn’s father was an Indian prince – Sanjay, they called him.’

  Libby gaped at her cousin. It sounded like something out of a Hollywood film: ill-starred lovers in exotic India. But this was real life. She could see from the deep pain in Adela’s eyes how ashamed and hurt she still was. While Libby had been fretting over petty school restrictions at the age of fourteen, life for her cousin had been one traumatic incident after another. She recalled how Adela had only just lost her father a few weeks before she returned to Newcastle in 1938. It made Libby feel immature in comparison and she doubted she could have coped with so much at such a young age.

  Something nagged in Libby’s mind: Gulgat? Then it hit her. Adela’s father Wesley had been killed in a hunting accident in Gulgat. Had Adela been carrying on her affair with this Sanjay at the same time? Had Wesley known? Her cousin had come back on the ship with Tilly later that summer. At the time, Libby had been told not to mention Adela’s father in case it upset her cousin, though everyone knew Adela had come to Newcastle to get over her grief for her parent. Libby had been delighted to have Adela around – more pleased to see her than she was her own mother. Perhaps it hadn’t just been the loss of her father that had brought Adela to Newcastle but the desire to escape an unhappy affair.

  Whatever the truth, Libby felt deeply sorry for Adela. She would never judge her. It could just as easily be she, Libby, who had fallen pregnant from her affair with Lorenzo. She knew what it was like to be passionately in love with a handsome man and to believe all his seductive words and false promises.

  Libby sat holding on to Adela’s hand. With her free hand, Adela began stroking Libby’s unruly hair. No one spoke. Lexy heaved herself out of her chair and went to refresh the teapot. There was an intimacy between the three women – a strong atmosphere of togetherness – which no one wanted to dispel with trivial words. Libby was touched that Adela had confided her secret in her and that both women trusted her like an equal.

  Libby wondered if she would ever find friends as dear to her as these two women when she returned to India. She had a momentary pang of misgiving at what she was embarking on, but it was fleeting. She had been fending for herself since she was eight years old. Libby was used to making new friends to fill the aching void left by her absent family.

  Somewhere in India, new friends awaited – as well as her beloved, dearly missed father.

  The day of leave-taking came on a dank grey day in mid-February. Libby’s brothers, Jamie and Mungo, had come to see her off at the cavernous Central Station, along with Tilly, Josey, Adela and Sam. Libby had already had a tearful goodbye with Lexy earlier that morning, neither knowing if or when they would see the other again.

  ‘I’m not ready for me grave yet,’ Lexy had wheezed. ‘You’ll be back before then, hinny. You take good care and don’t go falling for the first bonny lad who pays you compliments. You deserve a canny man who treats you right, hinny.’

  Now Libby was bracing herself for more hasty goodbyes on the crowded platform. Jamie busied himself supervising the luggage on to the London train while Tilly fussed around Libby, brushing imaginary specks of soot from her coat and readjusting the jaunty angle of her black hat.

  ‘You would think I was going back to school,’ teased Libby with a roll of her eyes. She tried to answer her mother’s anxious questions without showing her irritation.

  ‘Yes, I’ll get a taxi to the airport. No, I won’t speak to strange men.’

  ‘And you’ll send a telegram as soon as you reach Calcutta,’ Tilly ordered. ‘And give my love to Johnny and Helena, won’t you?’

  ‘Shall I tell them you’ll be joining us soon?’ Libby challenged. ‘Then you can give them your message in person.’

  ‘Darling, do try and behave,’ Tilly said, ignoring the question.

  Then her brothers were pushing their way in and giving her b
ashful kisses on the cheek. The others followed. Adela gave her a fierce hug.

  ‘Give my love to Mother when you get to Belgooree,’ she said. ‘And be happy.’

  They exchanged knowing looks. ‘And good luck to you in all you do here,’ Libby said with meaning. She dropped her voice and added, ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’ She felt her eyes sting with sudden emotion.

  ‘Hurry up and get on the train,’ Tilly cried, ‘or you’ll miss it.’

  For a moment Libby and Tilly looked at each other, hesitating. Libby was overcome with a sensation she hadn’t felt since she was a bewildered eight-year-old, the enormity of being parted from her mother. For a brief instant she remembered what a gut-wrenching moment that had been. One minute she’d been sobbing and clinging to her mother, and the next, Tilly’s plump, warm, lavender-smelling arms had been pushing her away.

  Libby fought to control her voice. ‘Goodbye, Mother.’

  She wanted to fling her arms around her mother’s neck in a hug. But she knew Tilly would only be embarrassed. Instead, Libby leant forward and pecked her mother’s cheek. Tilly gave a distracted smile and a light pat on Libby’s shoulder.

  ‘Go on, darling. Be good.’

  Libby swallowed down tears, annoyed at herself for minding that her mother appeared to feel no sadness at her departure. She turned away and mounted the steps into the train. The guard slammed the door closed. Libby pulled down the window and leant out as the train shunted out of the station.

  There was a chorus of good luck and bon voyage. She grinned and waved back. Sam, the tallest, was raising his hat in farewell. It was the last thing she could see clearly before they were enveloped in a blast of smoke from the engine.

  Libby waited till she had closed the window and could no longer be seen, before succumbing to tears. She felt the familiar wrench of being parted from her family. Yet seeing them standing there together, she had been struck by the feeling that they were incomplete without her father. He was the vital heartbeat of the family.

  Libby comforted herself with the thought that she was finally on her way to being reunited with him. It was the first step in putting the family back together again.

  Adela stood on the platform gazing after the train. She felt such a clash of emotions: excitement for Libby embarking on a new adventure and fear that she might not find in India what she desperately wanted – a father’s love that was as strong as in childhood. Adela worried that Libby’s nostalgic memories of India were a little rose-tinted. She tried to hide her upset at Libby’s going. She had no right to keep her here. But in the few short weeks they had spent together again, Adela had been impressed with her young cousin.

  Libby was mature beyond her years: capable, caring, still as outspoken as ever but with a deep intuition and empathy for others. She had grown up so much in the war years. And she was guileless; Libby seemed unaware of how attractive she was with her dark-blue eyes, lustrous hair and sensual body. She wished Tilly could see Libby’s good qualities, but both mother and daughter seemed to bring out the worst in each other.

  Sam slipped his arm around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ he said in reassurance. ‘Libby has twice the common sense of any of us – and courage in spadefuls.’

  Adela smiled up at him and nodded. She looked round to give Tilly a sympathetic smile too. But she was already turning away.

  ‘Of course you must stay the night, darling,’ Tilly was telling Mungo. ‘Jamie can run you back to Durham tomorrow . . .’

  Adela had a sudden pang of loss. It wasn’t just about Libby. For a moment she stood and wondered. If she had been able to keep John Wesley with her, would she have been just as single-mindedly besotted about her son as Tilly was about both of hers?

  CHAPTER 5

  Calcutta, India, February 1947

  As the Dakota aeroplane descended over the swampy Bengali delta, Libby was mesmerised by the view. Tropical green fields and jungle were pockmarked by lakes and canals that shimmered in the setting sun. Settlements clung to the riverbanks and thatched huts peeked through groves of mangoes and palms.

  On the last leg of her three-day journey, Libby’s plane had taken off from Karachi by the Arabian Sea and flown over brown barren plains. Looking down now, her senses were assaulted by the lushness of this watery province. She could make out a black bullock being chivvied home alongside a dyke and a white church spire piercing the green canopy.

  Then the plane banked and she saw in the distance the dense clutter of rooftops half obscured in a haze of smoke: Calcutta. Libby’s stomach somersaulted. She had never seen it like this before, spread out like a child’s miniature model, with flat-roofed houses and a railway line cutting through fields. Fourteen years ago, she had left by train to Bombay for the long voyage into exile. Now she had a bird’s-eye view of the wide brown Hooghly River, shaped like a dog-leg and studded with ships at anchor. Beyond lay a forest of cranes and factory chimneys.

  She held her breath in wonder as the drabness of the river delta was suddenly flooded with golden evening light and the hulks of ships began to sparkle. The sun hovered over the horizon – a throbbing disc the colour of blood orange – and then abruptly sank. As the plane landed, the sky was already a deep mauve and pinpricks of lamplight began to stud the deepening darkness.

  Her uncle, Dr Johnny Watson, and his wife Helena were there to meet her. She recognised her uncle at once. He had the same lanky gait and broad smile as her brother Jamie and deep-set hazel eyes like her mother. She remembered him as being kind and good fun on a long-ago camping trip near Belgooree. Then, he had been dark-haired; now his hair was peppered with grey. Helena – who had been absent from that trip – was buxomly solid in a lilac pleated skirt and matching twin-set. Permed greying hair was arranged neatly beneath a stiff raffia hat.

  ‘My dear, you look exhausted!’ Helena greeted her with a gloved handshake. ‘The car’s waiting and dinner will be ready as soon as we get home. You must be hungry.’

  ‘I’m too excited to be hungry,’ Libby said, smiling. ‘But now you mention it . . .’

  ‘Good,’ said her aunt. ‘You look like a girl who enjoys her food. I approve of that.’ She turned away to summon a porter to carry her cases.

  Johnny kissed Libby on the cheek. ‘Flights go all right?’ he asked.

  As they followed Helena, Libby gabbled about her journey – the stop-overs in Malta, Cairo and Basra – and the excitement of seeing Calcutta from the air. Johnny answered with a deep amused chuckle that also reminded her of Jamie.

  As soon as they emerged from the airport building, Libby felt the balmy evening air envelop her like a soft shawl.

  A Sikh driver in a crimson turban held the back passenger door open for Helena and Libby, while Johnny climbed in the front. Libby tried to catch the driver’s eye to thank him but he stared resolutely over her head.

  ‘Quickest way home!’ Helena ordered. She leant towards Libby. ‘We don’t want to risk driving through central Calcutta after dark – there’s still unrest – constant stabbings. Quite appalling.’

  ‘No need to alarm Libby,’ Johnny said, craning round with a reassuring smile. ‘Things aren’t so bad.’

  ‘Still, it’s best to be careful,’ said Helena. ‘Never go out without a chaperone whatever time of the day. But I’m sure your mother has warned you.’

  ‘Not as such,’ said Libby.

  ‘How is Tilly?’ asked Johnny.

  ‘She’s well, thank you. Sends her love to you both.’

  ‘Such a pity she hasn’t come out with you,’ said Helena. ‘Poor James. It doesn’t do to be without a wife for such a long time in India. Especially stuck on a tea plantation. Not good for a marriage.’

  ‘Hardly Tilly’s fault, darling,’ said Johnny, ‘that the War broke out while she was home.’

  ‘If it had been me,’ said Helena, ‘I’d have been on a ship back to India in a jiffy – bringing the children too.’

&n
bsp; Libby felt her stomach knot. ‘I wish she had.’

  Helena reached out and patted her arm. ‘I’m sure you do. But you’re here now. I bet your father is absolutely thrilled.’

  Libby grinned. ‘I got a lovely letter from him before I left Newcastle saying how pleased he is that I’m coming.’

  ‘Good,’ said Helena. ‘Just as long as we’re given time to spoil you here first. Your uncle sees so little of his family.’

  ‘Dad hopes to be here in time for my birthday next month and then he’ll take me up to Assam. I’m so excited by it all.’

  ‘Bravo,’ said Johnny. ‘That means we can give you a party.’

  ‘Oh, yes, let’s!’ agreed Helena. ‘We’ve never had a daughter of our own to make a fuss of. We’re going to spoil you rotten.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Libby, quite overwhelmed. She knew that her uncle and aunt had never had their own family but her mother had always said that Helena seemed more devoted to horses than children.

  Libby turned to look out of the window as they passed rows of ramshackle huts and swerved around water buffalo. She wound down the window and breathed in deeply. The smell of India that she had almost forgotten – dung fires, kerosene, the buttery smell of cooking, animals – was suddenly dearly familiar. She felt her eyes prickle.

  As they reached the outskirts of the city and the streets became busier, Helena said, ‘Best to wind up the window, dear.’

  Libby didn’t know if her aunt was objecting to the smell or whether she feared someone might attack the car.

  They skirted the city, Johnny pointing out places of interest which were too dark to see clearly: Park Street cemetery, the spire of St Paul’s Cathedral and the Presidency General Hospital. Libby craned for a look.

  ‘My Cousin Adela’s school friend works there as a nurse,’ she said. ‘She’s told me to look her up.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Johnny. ‘You must do that.’

  ‘What’s her name?’ asked Helena. ‘We might know her family.’

  ‘Flowers Dunlop.’