The Secrets of the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Sophie seemed preoccupied and a little subdued. Her appetite had deserted her.

  ‘You must be missing Rafi,’ said Libby.

  Sophie gave an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, I’m not much fun at the moment; I do worry about him.’ She picked up a boiled egg and started peeling the shell. ‘It’s lovely to be here with you – I’m really glad you came back to visit, lassie. Rafi and I have missed all you Robsons so much. It’s a shame Tilly and the boys didn’t come with you but I suppose they’ve settled into life at home and don’t feel the pull of India like we do.’

  ‘No, they don’t,’ agreed Libby. ‘My brothers are happy where they are. I think Mungo might have considered a career in India once his degree is finished but there won’t be the opportunities now . . .’

  ‘Not in the civil service,’ said Sophie, ‘but maybe in tea planting or business.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Libby shrugged. ‘But Mother won’t encourage it. She wants to keep her sons close by.’

  ‘Well, Tilly’s always been a mother-hen.’

  ‘It’s strange,’ said Libby, ‘but coming back out here has made me understand Mother a bit better. I can see how unsuited she probably was to life on a tea plantation. She loves the city and culture, not the outdoors – a picnic at St Abbs is about as adventurous as she gets.’

  ‘She tried very hard to make a go of it here,’ said Sophie. ‘Cheviot View was always a very welcoming place.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Libby, ‘that’s how I remember it.’

  ‘And she adored you all,’ said Sophie.

  ‘I don’t think she ever adored me,’ Libby said with a pained smile.

  ‘Oh, but she did,’ Sophie insisted. ‘She missed you terribly when you were sent off to school. I think that’s why she mollycoddled Mungo, because she was so upset at losing you and Jamie.’

  Libby had a pang of pity for the young Tilly having to make the long sea voyage home three times to surrender her children to the care of strangers in boarding schools. Unexpectedly, it came back to Libby how her mother had written letters to her on a weekly basis and how much she had craved the news from home. Surely they had been practical proof of her mother’s affection? Tilly had written far more than James had. Yet Libby had blamed her mother for abandoning her and had railed against the injustice of it for years. She had hated most of her school life and had made sure Tilly felt guilty for it. She had never thought of it from her mother’s point of view – the sense of bereavement Tilly must have felt returning to remote Cheviot View without them – and for the first time realised it was not her mother’s fault.

  It was the practice of the British in India to send their children home to be schooled. Ghulam had once been scathing about girls like Libby being given a privileged education on the profits made by over-worked tea pickers. Tilly could hardly have stood against the social pressure to send her children away. Only a forceful woman like Clarrie could ignore such convention and have her children educated in India.

  ‘And what about you, Libby?’ Sophie scrutinised her with large brown eyes. ‘What do you want?’

  Libby had been agonising over this very question for days.

  ‘In the long term,’ she answered, ‘I know I have to go back to Newcastle. I don’t have a home here any more – and perhaps I can help Dad settle back into life in Britain. He’s going to find it so hard after a lifetime out here.’

  ‘I’m afraid he probably will. I’m almost as fond of your father as I am of Tilly,’ said Sophie, her look reflective. ‘After my own parents died, your father was the one who rescued me and sent me to my dear Aunt Amy in Edinburgh. He arranged for the Oxford to pay for my schooling – he couldn’t have been more caring.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Libby.

  After a moment of silence, Sophie asked, ‘And in the short-term? What will you do?’

  ‘I want to celebrate Independence Day with you at Belgooree.’ Libby smiled. ‘But before that I really want to see Ghulam again in Calcutta.’

  Sophie gave her an affectionate pat on the arm. ‘Och, those Khan boys and their irresistible charm!’

  Libby grinned. ‘I know, who would have thought it? I didn’t take to him straight away – and we got off on quite the wrong foot – but I fell in love with him over large slices of cake and a lot of political talk.’

  Sophie laughed. ‘That sounds just like Ghulam.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said Libby, ‘since we’ve started writing to each other I feel like I know him better than anyone. Yet the last time we met he made it quite clear that nothing could come of our friendship. Despite his newsy letters, I’m still not sure that he sees me as anything more than a penfriend.’

  ‘Well, there’s only one way of finding out,’ said Sophie, ‘and that’s seeing him again in person.’

  ‘So you think I should?’

  ‘If you care for him, then, yes, I do. Rafi was brave enough to come looking for me in the hopes that I felt the same way as he did. I’ve given thanks every day since that he did.’

  Libby leant towards Sophie and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Rafi will look after himself. He’s not going to do anything rash – he adores you too much to put himself in danger.’

  ‘Thank you, dearie,’ said Sophie.

  Libby had hoped they might plunge into one of the more tranquil pools but Sophie was restless. She didn’t want to linger by the waterfall and her nervousness put Libby on edge too. They packed up after half an hour and rode home.

  To Libby’s surprise, Clarrie wasn’t at work. She and James were sitting on the veranda playing backgammon while Harry practised tennis shots against the godown wall. Libby’s insides clenched at the scene of domesticity. Maybe Clarrie had organised the picnic trip so that she and Harry could have James to themselves for one last day. Libby felt like an intruder. On an impulse, she stopped Sophie on the path to the house.

  ‘Would you take me to see your Ayah Mimi?’

  Sophie looked at her in surprise.

  Libby went on hastily. ‘I know she’s a holy woman now and has removed herself from the world but I remember her from my childhood and I’d love to see her before I go. Do you think she would see me?’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Sophie nodded.

  ‘Ayah Mimi was always very fond of you Robson children,’ Sophie said, ‘especially you, Libby.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because you weren’t afraid of an old woman,’ said Sophie. ‘Let me speak to her first and ask.’

  They diverted round the bungalow and the servants’ compound to the furthest part of the garden where Ayah Mimi’s hut was almost obscured by creepers and overhanging trees. Sophie entered the hut alone to see her old nurse. Libby stood outside wondering what had prompted her sudden urge to see the old sadhvi. It was not just to avoid Clarrie and her father. Ayah Mimi was one of the special threads that bound Libby to her early childhood in India, a lowly woman servant who, in later life, had chosen a life of independence and self-reliance by becoming a holy woman.

  According to Sophie, the old nurse had saved baby Sam from his deranged father and then, having been forced to hand Sam over, had spent years looking for him. In later times, both Sophie and Sam had been reunited with their former ayah, here at Belgooree. Libby had to admit that once again, it was big-hearted Clarrie who had cared for the old woman and given her a home.

  Sophie reappeared with a tiny, hunched figure in a white sari leaning on her arm. Her hair was snow-white and her leathery face was daubed with yellow and white lines. Ayah Mimi blinked in the light and when she caught sight of Libby, her dark eyes lit up and she gave a wide toothless smile.

  Libby felt a lump in her throat. ‘Mataji,’ she greeted the old woman respectfully.

  Ayah Mimi lifted up a hand and beckoned Libby closer. As Libby bent towards her, the sadhvi touched her cheek with scrawny fingers.

  ‘Sit, sit, my daughter,’ she said, lowering herself on to the rush mat that Sophie had brought outside with them. L
ibby and Sophie sat either side of her and she held on to their hands.

  Ayah Mimi asked about Libby’s family and Libby told her of the long time away from India and what her brothers were doing now. Eventually, the sadhvi said, ‘I’m glad your family are well but something is troubling you?’

  Libby’s insides tensed. ‘I’m worried about my father – whether he will cope back in England – but also because something is causing him mental pain and I don’t know what it is. He won’t talk about it.’

  Ayah Mimi gazed at her with eyes full of compassion. She let silence fall about them. Libby thought she wasn’t going to say anything in reply and then she reached out her hand and laid it on Libby’s head.

  The old woman closed her eyes and began to murmur. Libby didn’t understand the words but her head felt suddenly hot where the sadhvi ’s hand rested. She became acutely aware of the twitter of birds in the trees above. Suddenly, the knot in her stomach that had been there since leaving Cheviot View dissolved and a new feeling of calm spread through her. Libby felt tears running down her cheeks and into her mouth.

  Sophie handed her a handkerchief with a kind smile. Ayah Mimi opened her eyes and, without another word, climbed to her feet. When Sophie and Libby tried to help her indoors, she waved off their attempts and disappeared back inside her hut.

  Libby was too overwhelmed to speak. Sophie slipped an arm through hers as they walked slowly back towards the house. Libby wasn’t sure quite what she had just experienced – a blessing of sorts perhaps – but it gave her courage to face the uncertain days ahead. She hoped it might help her father too in some way – though she doubted his demons would be put to rest by the fluttering of a sadhvi’s hand.

  Early the next morning, Daleep stood waiting by the car, ready to drive Libby and her father to the railway station at Gowhatty. Once in Calcutta, they were to stay with the Watsons. After James’s flight and the Watsons’ departure, Libby had arranged that she would stay on in New House for a week or so while the house was made ready for sale, and then return to Belgooree for a final visit.

  A sleepy Harry emerged yawning and tousle-haired to say goodbye. Libby said quick farewells to Clarrie, Sophie and Harry, hugging them and promising to be back in time for the August celebrations. She was eager to be on her way. Turning at the top of the veranda steps, she saw her father struggling to speak.

  James stuck out his hand to Harry. ‘Look after your mother,’ he rasped.

  Harry’s eyes filled with sudden tears. To Libby’s astonishment, the tall youth ignored the handshake and flung his arms around James.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ Harry mumbled.

  James clutched him hard for a moment and then, with a pat on the back, pushed him away. Sophie stepped forward.

  ‘Give my love to Tilly,’ she said with a fond smile. ‘And thank you for all you’ve done for me ever since I was a child. I would never have survived or thrived without your help. You’ve been like a guardian angel.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ James pooh-poohed.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Sophie. ‘And I hope one day, when everything is settled, that you will visit me and Rafi.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ James said with a bashful smile.

  She gave James a swift hug and a peck on the cheek and stood back.

  Clarrie had been standing very still since hugging Libby goodbye. She and James looked at each other. Libby could see her father swallowing hard. Then Clarrie reached out her hands to him. He grasped them like a lifeline. For a long moment they stood, their faces etched with sorrow. James cleared his throat to speak but Clarrie spoke first.

  ‘Thank you for being my friend during the dark days after I lost Wesley.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It’s me who owes you the greater debt. I shall miss Belgooree.’

  ‘I know you will,’ she said gently.

  Libby suspected they were really saying how much they would miss each other.

  ‘Goodbye, James.’ Clarrie leant up to kiss his cheek.

  In one swift movement, James cupped his hands around her face and kissed her on the lips. It was a fleeting but intimate gesture. Abruptly, James turned away and strode to the steps, his eyes swimming with tears.

  Hastily, Libby descended the stairs ahead of him, her heart thumping. The stolen kiss had upset her but she wasn’t sure if it was shock at her father being over-familiar with Clarrie or sadness on their behalf.

  Just at that moment, Breckon came tearing round the corner of the house, barking and leaping up at James. Libby’s father let the dog lick him and then briefly buried his face in Breckon’s neck. Pulling away, he called to Harry to take the dog. Harry jumped down the steps and held Breckon by his collar, giving pats of reassurance, while James hurried to the car.

  Moments later, Libby was sitting beside her father in the back of the car as they trundled down the drive. James craned round for a final view of the white weathered bungalow festooned in flowering creepers. A sob caught in his throat. In that moment Libby realised that her father saw this moment as the real farewell to India – not Cheviot View or the Oxford – but Belgooree which had been a haven to them all. It also struck her how James had not only been a companion to Clarrie but also a father figure to young Harry. They would probably miss him as much as he would miss them.

  She covered his hand with hers and squeezed it, hoping to comfort him in some small way. They passed the factory buildings where the office staff had come out to wave them away, including a beaming Nitin to whom Libby had lent her typewriter until her return.

  ‘What a nice gesture,’ said Libby. But James was too overcome to shout a farewell. Her father didn’t speak again until Belgooree and its tea gardens were long out of sight.

  CHAPTER 26

  Calcutta

  Both Johnny and Helena came to pick them up from Sealdah railway station. Libby was aghast at the number of families camped out on the platforms under makeshift awnings.

  ‘Terrible business,’ sighed her uncle.

  ‘They really should move them on,’ said Helena.

  ‘Nowhere for them to go,’ said Johnny.

  Then it hit Libby. ‘Are they all refugees?’

  ‘Yes, from East Bengal,’ he answered. ‘They’ve been arriving in Calcutta for weeks now.’

  ‘We at the Girl Guides have been trying to feed and clothe some of them,’ said Helena, ‘but it’s an impossible task. Come quickly, or you’ll have dozens pestering you, I’m afraid.’

  Libby looked on in anguish at the pathetic sight of scores of people sitting listlessly around a few possessions – cooking pots and bed rolls – looking utterly exhausted. Were these some of the people that Ghulam and Fatima had rescued from further east? Minutes later they were in the safety of the Watsons’ car, being driven away to Alipore.

  ‘James, I really think Libby should be getting out before Partition becomes a reality,’ said Helena. ‘Couldn’t you get her on your flight?’

  They were sitting on the veranda having a nightcap with their hosts; Colonel Swinson was fast asleep in his chair.

  ‘I don’t want to go yet,’ said Libby. ‘I want to see in the new India.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ said Johnny.

  ‘I can’t,’ Helena protested. ‘Calcutta is not a safe place to be. They’re preparing for more trouble. God forbid it’s as bad as last summer – the slaughter—’

  ‘That’s enough, dearest,’ Johnny said with a warning look.

  ‘Libby is old enough to make her own decisions,’ said James, surprising Libby. She gave him a grateful look. ‘I shall miss her but I hope she will follow me shortly.’

  Her eyes prickled at his sudden tenderness and she nodded in agreement.

  ‘Now we’ve made the decision to go,’ said Helena, ‘I can’t wait to get on that boat from Bombay. With the house half packed up, it doesn’t feel like home any more. And I’m looking forward to seeing St Abbs. Johnny’s talked about it so much – I’m expectin
g nothing less than Shangri-La.’

  ‘Well, Shangri-La in a cold climate,’ said Libby, exchanging amused looks with her uncle.

  ‘It’ll be good to have you living close by,’ said James. ‘And Tilly will be over the moon.’

  Helena put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m so pleased to hear you are going back to dear Tilly.’

  James, looking embarrassed, swigged the remains of his whisky and stood up. ‘Long day’s travel tomorrow. Bed beckons. Thank you for having us both to stay, Helena.’

  Libby watched her father go. He had been preoccupied since leaving Belgooree, as if his thoughts had already turned to home and his family back in Britain. She stayed sitting on the veranda after the others had retired to bed and listened to the night creatures in the garden and the restless sounds of the city beyond. She felt a kick of excitement to think that Ghulam was living close by and that soon she would have the chance to see him again. She had written to say she was coming to Calcutta but he hadn’t had time to reply before she’d left Assam. Breathing in the scent of lilies, Libby gave thanks that it wasn’t she who was flying away from India in a few hours’ time.

  ‘Don’t come to the airport,’ James told Libby the next morning. ‘We’ll be seeing each other again soon, won’t we?’ It was more a plea than a question.

  ‘Yes, we will,’ Libby agreed, kissing her father on the cheek, gripped by a sudden sadness that they were being parted again so soon. They were standing in the garden listening to a cacophony of birds as the dawn light filtered through the trees.

  Since the news of Partition and her father’s decision to go home, Libby had felt a new closeness growing between them. Only they had shared the sorrowful farewell to Cheviot View and together they had experienced the heightened emotion of the past few days at Belgooree. It made her think of the kiss her dad had given Clarrie; she couldn’t get the image out of her mind. Would he be greeting Tilly with the same tenderness in three days’ time? She felt a pang of anxiety for him. As an adult, she was just beginning to know her father and he struck her as a much more complex and vulnerable man than the one she had remembered.