The Secrets of the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘I got engaged twice during the War but they both got away!’ said Nance with her infectious giggle. She nodded towards Sam. ‘I might have known you’d end up with a bonny-looking lad.’

  After a week, when no one had come in for the necklace, Adela had to admit that Charlie was probably right. Whoever had lost it didn’t think it worth returning to reclaim it. The stone had only ever been precious to Adela and her mother.

  Adela was at the allotment picking green beans, while Sam pulled up onions, when Joan appeared.

  ‘Jane said I’d find you here,’ she said, pushing back a strand of blonde hair.

  ‘Hello,’ Adela said, putting down her basket of beans and glancing around for Bonnie. ‘Have you brought Bonnie for a visit?’

  ‘No, I’m in town on my own doing some shopping,’ said Joan. ‘Just wanted to come and thank you both for the party.’

  Sam leant on his spade, pushing his hat back to wipe his forehead. ‘No need for thanks,’ he said. ‘We enjoyed it too.’

  ‘Bonnie’s not stopped talking about it,’ said Joan. ‘Don’t know what we’re going to do on her actual birthday. It’ll be so dull for her. I don’t know many folk up at Willowburn yet.’

  ‘I’m sure Mrs Gibson will make a fuss of Bonnie,’ said Adela.

  Joan’s look darted from Sam to Adela. ‘Yes.’ She stood there, hesitating. ‘You see, that’s the other thing.’

  ‘What is?’ Adela asked, wondering if Joan was here to extend an invitation to meet her new friend.

  ‘I – er – well,’ Joan floundered. ‘I sort of borrowed something from Mrs Gibson so Bonnie could wear it at the party. It went with her dress, you see. And Jane said Charlie found it but you have it so I wanted to have it back.’

  ‘The necklace?’ Adela gasped. ‘Bonnie was wearing it?’

  Joan went puce. ‘Yes, I know it’s just an old trinket but it looked so sweet on her—’

  ‘Whose is it?’ Adela demanded, her pulse racing. ‘Where did you get it from?’

  Joan looked startled by her abrupt questions. ‘There’s an old box in Mrs Gibson’s bedroom,’ Joan said. ‘I looked in it one time I was doing her hair.’

  Adela’s heart drummed. ‘Tell me about the box: did it have old photos in?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Joan, bemused. ‘How did you know?’

  Adela scrabbled in her pocket and pulled out the swami’s necklace. ‘Is this what you took from Mrs Gibson’s box?’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Joan in relief, reaching out for it. ‘I’ll have it back, ta very much.’

  Adela held on to it. She was aware of Sam coming to her side. She began to shake. She clamped her teeth together, unable to speak. Sam put a reassuring hand on her back. Alarm flitted across Joan’s face.

  ‘Please, Adela,’ she said, ‘I need to put it back in the box before Mrs Gibson finds out it’s gone.’

  ‘You took it without asking?’ Sam said in disapproval.

  ‘Yes, but I was always going to put it back after the party,’ said Joan, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I’m not a thief.’

  ‘Did Mrs Gibson tell you where the box came from?’ Sam asked.

  Joan shook her head. ‘But she keeps it on her dressing table so I know it must be special. She’s bound to notice the necklace is gone sooner or later. Please, Sam, make Adela give it back. I don’t want to get in any trouble and Mrs Gibson’s been so good to me and Bonnie.’

  ‘Her son,’ Adela said, her voice shaking. ‘How old is he?’

  Joan looked baffled. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Just answer her,’ said Sam.

  ‘He’s eight, I think.’

  Adela felt her knees weaken. Sam gripped her around the waist.

  ‘What’s he called?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Jack. Except they say it in a funny way.’

  Adela let out a soft moan.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Joan looked at her in alarm. ‘What have I said?’

  Adela’s teeth began to chatter as if she was freezing, yet the day was mild and warm. Sam hugged her to his side. He didn’t speak. He wasn’t going to tell her what to do. Adela saw tears trickling down Joan’s face and knew she was terrified of being found out and losing the friendship of the well-to-do major’s wife.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Adela held out her arm and opened her clenched fist.

  ‘Take it,’ she said in a hoarse voice.

  Joan snatched at the necklace in relief. ‘Ta very much.’ She looked contrite. ‘You will come and see us before you go to India, won’t you?’

  Neither Sam nor Adela answered as Joan turned and hurried away. After she was out of sight, Sam said, ‘That was kind of you to give her back the necklace.’

  She turned and looked at him in distress. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? The boy they call Jack or Jacques,’ she whispered. ‘It’s John Wesley.’

  In a tight voice Sam said, ‘It sounds likely.’

  ‘Oh, Sam, what should I do?’

  He put his hands around her face and held her look. ‘I think you have to go and see for yourself if it’s your son. It may not be the right thing to do but I know you will always regret it if you don’t.’ His eyes were full of sadness. ‘I won’t try and stop you. It will only come between us if I do.’

  Adela gulped down tears. ‘Come with me,’ she beseeched him. ‘Please, Sam. I can’t do this without you.’

  He let go a sigh and nodded. She put her arms about him and held on tightly.

  ‘Thank you.’

  It was Sam who suggested that they ask James to take them up to Willowburn to visit the Gibsons. It meant waiting till James got back from St Abbs, but he swiftly arranged for them to go riding on the following Monday, pleased that they wanted to go with him. Adela was dismayed to see James looking pinch-faced and subdued after his holiday, but his interest was immediately sparked by the suggestion of a ride at Willowburn. She felt embarrassed at his eagerness but couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her ulterior motive for wanting to go to the Gibsons’ home. She assumed Tilly would never have told him about her having an illegitimate baby, knowing he would disapprove of scandal in the family.

  All week, Adela tried to keep herself busy and control her nervous excitement but could hardly settle long to any job. Jane was quick to notice her distraction so Sam kept her away from the café by finding Adela lightweight jobs to do on the allotment. As the day of the visit drew nearer, Adela became beset with doubts. What if it turned out not to be John Wesley after all? There might be some other explanation as to how Mrs Gibson came by the swami’s necklace. Then an old anxiety resurfaced: what if she didn’t recognise her son?

  On the Sunday evening, Sam took her for a late walk along the promenade towards Whitley Bay, knowing she would hardly sleep a wink that coming night. Adela unburdened her greatest worry.

  ‘If it is John Wesley,’ she said, ‘how will I know it’s him? I mean really know. He’s an eight-year-old boy. He won’t look anything like the baby I last saw.’

  Sam stopped and regarded her with tired eyes. Adela was suddenly struck by how this waiting and not knowing must be taking its toll on Sam too. She knew all he wanted to do was plan for their future family life back in India, and yet here he was, standing by her once more as she searched for her son.

  ‘Adela, I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘We just have to take things as they come. But we’ll face it together.’

  Adela felt a grateful pang. She slipped her arms around his waist. ‘Thank you, Sam. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.’

  He encircled her in his arms and laid his chin on her head. ‘Oh, Adela,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t want to lose you over this. That is my biggest fear. That’s why I’ll come with you tomorrow and do what I can to support you.’

  She was jolted by his words. ‘Oh, darling Sam, you will never lose me – I love you far too much. Whatever happens tomorrow, my future is with you and our baby – I promise you that.’

  He squeez
ed her to him and they stood in silence watching the evening stars prick the darkening sky, expectant and fearful of what the next day would bring.

  Adela found James preoccupied as he drove them west up the Tyne Valley. She coaxed him into talking about the family holiday at St Abbs.

  ‘It wasn’t altogether a success,’ he admitted. ‘Tilly was still annoyed at Libby for not coming back in time and just sending a telegram with no explanation. I got it in the neck all week as if I’d somehow been party to her delay. Johnny told her to stop going on about it and that Libby was obviously having a good time up at Belgooree.’ James sighed. ‘Of course that just made Tilly crosser. But thank goodness Johnny was there. We spent most of the week out fishing. He’s got a boat. We caught some cod on the long line. Mungo said it was better sport than sitting with a rod thigh-deep in a river for hours. He’s enjoying having his uncle around and Johnny seems to know what to say to Mungo better than I do.’

  They passed Corbridge and then turned north and uphill.

  ‘I’ve left Tilly rearranging furniture for the umpteenth time,’ he said glumly. ‘And she’s acquired a dog – a foolish fluffy thing that will need washing after every walk and be absolutely no use to me as a gun dog.’

  Adela gave distracted replies, thankful that she was sitting in the back while Sam kept up the conversation in the front of the car. By the time they drove through the gates to the Willowburn Estate, Adela was sick with nerves. She feared she might be unable to control her emotions in front of the Gibsons; she seemed to succumb to tears so easily since becoming pregnant again.

  Up the drive lay a Gothic mansion with battlements and towers which, according to James, had been built by a Victorian who had made his money in iron production and shipbuilding. James drove past the main entrance and carried on under an archway bearing a clock tower and parked up in the stables’ courtyard.

  A small, slim woman with permed pale-fair hair, dressed in riding jodhpurs and jacket and wearing dark glasses against the bright late-summer sun, met them with a wave and a ‘Hey!’ James introduced them to Martha Gibson. The woman pushed her sunglasses on to her head and gave them a gleaming smile. So this was John Wesley’s adoptive mother! Adela’s heart drummed and she couldn’t stop staring. The American had pretty grey eyes, Adela noticed.

  ‘So nice to meet you,’ Martha said, shaking Sam and Adela by the hand. ‘Can I call you Adela?’ she asked. Adela nodded, too tongue-tied to answer. ‘And you must call me Martha. We don’t stand on ceremony here. Gus won’t be riding with us I’m afraid – he has a meeting with the land agent or some such. But we’ll catch him later. You will stay for tea after our ride, won’t you?’

  Martha turned from Adela and slipped an arm through James’s. Adela tried to slow her rapid breathing. ‘And James,’ said Martha, ‘I want to hear all about St Abbs and the fishing. Did you catch anything big? And did you dive off the harbour wall with the youngsters?’

  James laughed. ‘I’m afraid my days of swimming in the North Sea are long over.’

  ‘James!’ she admonished. ‘You’ve become such a softie since living overseas. I thought a man of your vigour would be bathing in the sea before breakfast every day.’

  Adela saw him flush with pleasure at her teasing. No wonder her cousin enjoyed coming to Willowburn, being flattered by the attractive American. Martha seemed friendly and extrovert, but was she kind and loving? Sam seemed charmed by her too. Within minutes, she had him telling her all about his time with the mission in the Himalayan foothills and his planting of apple orchards.

  ‘Some of the saplings came from America,’ he told her, as if she was personally to be thanked.

  ‘Well, isn’t that wonderful?’ she cried. ‘I know missionaries in India too: the Hakings. Now where is it they live? Madras, I think. Have you heard of them?’

  Adela couldn’t stop herself saying, ‘India is a very big country.’

  ‘Of course, how stupid of me,’ said Martha with a laugh.

  Sam flashed Adela a look before smiling at Martha and saying, ‘No, I don’t know them but tell me more. Have they been in India long?’

  Adela took a deep breath to calm herself. She wanted to like this woman: if she was John Wesley’s adoptive mother then it was important that she liked her. The American woman was unstuffy – just as Joan had indicated – yet there was something mildly irritating about her over-familiar manner. She was so self-assured, while Adela now found herself completely at a loss for words and unable to make any small talk. But what was Martha like with her son? Adela kept looking about for any signs of the Gibson boy but there were none.

  Tommy greeted them cheerfully and supervised the stable boys readying the horses. Joan, it appeared, had gone into Hexham for the day with Bonnie. Adela wondered if Joan was deliberately keeping out of their way, still too embarrassed by the incident with the necklace.

  They rode out of the grounds, James and Martha leading, and headed up on to the high ground to the north. Adela’s anxiety began to subside as they rode further, enjoying being on horseback for the first time since they had left Belgooree in January. She filled her lungs with the clear air and emptied her mind of everything but the sound of skylarks and bleating sheep.

  As they skirted a copse of wind-blasted trees, Adela allowed herself to ponder a future where she and Sam didn’t return so soon to India. Perhaps she could help him with his photography business on the sales side, promoting his work and making new contacts. They could come regularly to Willowburn to ride and she would have the chance to see her son growing up, even though she could never be more to him than a friend of his American mother’s . . .

  Adela looked at Sam riding ahead of her, easy in the saddle, his long lean back and muscled legs at one with the animal that he rode. Would Sam be able to keep up the charade of them being an ‘uncle’ and ‘aunt’ to Sanjay’s son? Adela felt heavy-hearted at the thought of the tension that might arise between her and her husband over John Wesley and where the boy would fit – if at all – into their future life together. How soon would Sam grow to resent her abandoning a future back in India and plans for him to become a tea planter?

  ‘Sam tells me that you were a Toodle Pip.’

  Adela was so lost in thought that she hadn’t been aware of Martha falling into step beside her as they emerged below the wood.

  She blushed and dragged her thoughts from her son. ‘Yes, during the War I sang with ENSA – that was the Entertainments wing of the Services.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Martha. ‘I saw the Toodle Pips perform in Newcastle. You were terrific. I remember one with a great voice – dark-haired – so it was probably you.’

  Adela gaped at her in astonishment and laughed. ‘Did you really?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, Gus used to give me a night off once in a while and I would high-tail it into town to see a show.’

  ‘A night off from what?’ Adela asked.

  ‘From the kids.’

  Adela’s stomach flipped. ‘You have more than one child? I know from Joan that you have a son.’

  Martha shook her head. ‘No, I mean the evacuees. Gus and I took in dozens of children during the War – and a few of their moms. Gus was like the Pied Piper, leading them all over the estate picking mushrooms and giving piggy-backs and showing them how to climb trees. My husband is just a big kid himself at heart.’

  Adela had a sudden vision of the major carrying a young John Wesley on his back and the boy giggling in delight. Her pulse raced as she asked, ‘How did your son Jack get on with the other children? Wasn’t he a bit jealous?’

  Martha didn’t reply straight away. Adela couldn’t read her expression behind her dark glasses. Her tone became less jocular and more confiding.

  ‘Jacques was one of the evacuees too,’ she said quietly. ‘His parents were killed in a raid over Tyneside. We felt so sorry for him. He cried and wet the bed for a long time – even after being potty trained – but he has such a sunny nature that he became a favourit
e with the other kids and the moms. We couldn’t bear to see him go; we’d come to love Jacques the best of them all. So Gus and I adopted him. I can’t have children, you see. He knows we’re not his blood parents – we’ve been upfront about that. I don’t believe in keeping secrets like that from a child, however young.’

  Adela gripped the reins; she was shaking so hard that she feared she would faint and fall. She managed to ask, ‘S-so there was no extended family on Tyneside who could take him?’

  ‘No.’ Martha sighed. ‘All we were able to discover were that his parents were from Belgium and they were called Segal. Jacques has a box of mementoes that his parents had collected. I’m keeping it safe until he’s older.’

  Adela had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself crying. This was the proof she needed: Jacques Gibson was her long-lost son. Now was the moment to tell Martha about the boy’s true parentage. Adela’s proof lay in the Segals’ box; an Indian stone on a gold chain that she had gifted at birth. She would tell Martha everything; Martha, being an open-minded woman, would believe Adela. The American’s sense of fairness would allow Adela to reclaim her son; Martha would be sad to see him go but if the major’s wife loved Jacques as much as she claimed she did, she would give him up. Adela felt heady as she pictured the future: she and Sam bringing up John Wesley with their child-to-be. The boy would be a half-brother to their baby – and he would have a brother or sister and not have to grow up as an only child. Sam would grow to love him just as much as their other child, because John Wesley was sunny-natured and easy to love. Her family would be complete and her life full of joy.

  Adela looked away and blinked back tears. She was deluding herself! If Martha was the woman she thought she was, she would fight like a tigress to keep her Jacques. There was strength beneath the outward show of bonhomie. If Adela confided in her now, Martha might be so alarmed that she would refuse to let her even meet John Wesley. Martha might send her away and tell her never to come near Willowburn again. Adela knew that she could not bear to leave this place without having set eyes on her son.