THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER:A wonderfully moving story of courage and enduring love: First in the India Tea Series

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Ama came hobbling stiffly, wrapped in a shawl. She looked exhausted. Clarrie spoke to her in a mix of Khassia and English.

  ‘How is Ramsha? Did Kamal send the medicine?’

  Ama nodded with a weary smile. ‘Thank you. He is sleeping better. The fever has left him. But he is so weak — just skin and bones. My fear is they will track him down before he is better.’

  ‘Surely he is safe here?’ Clarrie tried to be reassuring.

  Ama’s look was strained. ‘Who knows? The coolie catchers don’t care how far they run away. And there are always those who betray others for a few rupees.’

  ‘You mustn’t worry. We’ll not let anyone touch him. A few weeks of good mountain air and your cooking will cure him.’ Clarrie smiled in encouragement.

  Ama put out her arms. ‘You have a good soul, Clarissa memsahib. Just like your mother.’

  They hugged. Clarrie was struck by how small Ama was now; like a fragile bird. When she had been a little girl, Ama’s hugs had encircled her like a sheltering tree. The nurse had been far more demonstrative than her own mother and Clarrie had followed her like a shadow. Many a time Kamal was sent to fetch her from Ama’s house and scold her for wandering into the servant’s compound. But even as a child Clarrie sensed that Ama was an important person. She was the matriarch of her family and owner of their home, for among the Khassia property was passed on through the women. Clarrie had grown up taking it for granted that the women around her had status and were respected. Her father had encouraged her independence and never thought to confine her to the purely domestic. It always astonished her on visits to other Anglo-Indian homes how restricted and dull were the lives of the women.

  Clarrie was still ruminating over such things as she trotted back up to Belgooree in the dawn light.

  Suddenly, a rider emerged from the trees to her left. Startled, she reined in Prince. She recognised the chestnut stallion and the muscular frame of the horseman before she could make out the rider’s face in the darkness. Wesley.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped.

  ‘Looking for you,’ he said bluntly. ‘I thought you might be out for a dawn ride. Where have you been?’

  Clarrie hesitated, feeling flustered. ‘Just riding.’

  He pulled closer, their horses nuzzling in curiosity. ‘Would you like to ride a little further?’ he asked. ‘See the sunrise?’

  She felt a jolt of excitement, and nodded. ‘Very well. There’s a good view from the top of Belgooree. Follow me and I’ll show you.’

  They rode uphill through the dense trees, skirting the compound and twisting up the steep pathway that Clarrie knew so well. Twenty minutes later, amid a cacophony of birdsong, they emerged into a clearing where the path petered out. Before them was a rocky outcrop. Clarrie dismounted and tied Prince’s reins to a bush.

  ‘If we climb up here we’ll see the sun on the Himalayas. It’s a bit of a scramble. Do you want to go further?’

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Of course, if you can manage—’ He stopped, seeing her derisory look.

  Not waiting for him to dismount, Clarrie headed for the rocks and pulled herself up the first boulder.

  ‘Hurry, if you want to catch the sunrise,’ she called.

  From there it was a hands and knees scramble up a series of rocks and slippery scree, dotted with scrub. In her haste to be at the top, Clarrie lost her footing and grabbed at a small bush. She cried out in shock as a large thorn pierced her riding glove and stuck into her palm. Letting go, she slithered back-wards, skinning her knees through her jodhpurs. Wesley broke her fall by lunging forward and pinning her to the ground.

  They lay panting, Wesley’s athletic body pressed against hers. His breath was warm on her cheek. Her heart hammered like a horse at full gallop and she could feel the thud of his too. Neither of them moved.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he finally asked.

  She gulped. ‘My hand — I grabbed a thorn bush.’

  ‘Let me see.’ He swivelled round, releasing her from his hold to inspect her hand. Gently, he removed the glove. The end of the thorn was still lodged in her palm. ‘Hold still,’ he ordered. With a swift movement he plucked out the remaining sliver.

  Clarrie winced and smothered a yelp. Wesley reached into his jacket and produced a hip flask. He dabbed some whisky on to the wound.

  ‘Ouch!’ Clarrie cried. ‘That feels worse than ever.’

  He grinned. ‘Just give it a minute.’ He held on to her hand.

  Clarrie struggled into a sitting position and he spotted her grazed knees.

  ‘That looks sore,’ he said, reaching for the hip flask again.

  She pulled away. ‘Don’t you dare! I’m perfectly fine.’

  Wesley’s boom of laughter echoed around the rocks. ‘I quite agree.’ They regarded each other in the growing light.

  ‘Why did you really come over so early?’ Clarrie asked.

  ‘As I said; I wanted to ride. I always wake before dawn. Harry’s terrible for getting up at this hour. I thought you’d be up and I was right.’

  ‘So you weren’t out spying?’

  Wesley snorted. ‘Spying on whom?’

  ‘Seeing the lie of the land — the villages perhaps. You’re the kind of man who is always thinking of work first.’ She held his look. ‘You must have half an eye out for recruits up here.’

  ‘And if I had?’

  Clarrie swallowed. ‘Then I would tell you you’re wasting your time. The Khassia aren’t interested in working the big plantations. They are cattle people first and foremost — too attached to the land to wander beyond these hills, no matter how bad the harvest.’

  He leaned closer, his green eyes narrowing. She was held by the intensity of his look, unable to glance away. She felt he could see right inside her and know that she was hiding something.

  ‘You went to the village,’ he said softly. ‘I saw you.’

  Clarrie gasped. ‘You were following me!’

  He did not deny it. ‘Why didn’t you want me to know where you’d been? You’re keeping something from me. Not hiding one of our runaways, are you?’

  Clarrie went hot with panic. ‘Course not,’ she lied. ‘And you’ve no right to be sneaking round Belgooree or watching me!’

  He smiled, not the least bit repentant. ‘You intrigue me. I can’t work you out, Clarissa. At first you seemed to loathe me, then last night you were different. Kind and attentive — and so beautiful. Gone was that wild girl riding about like a native and in her place was a grown woman. I must confess I was captivated.’ He shifted closer still. ‘Were you just being the dutiful hostess, or have your feelings towards me changed, as mine have to you?’

  Clarrie stared at him, her cheeks on fire at his bold words. She should not be out here with him at all. What was she thinking of? She swallowed hard.

  ‘I may have judged you too harshly at first,’ she admitted. ‘We got off on the wrong foot. I don’t want you to think badly of us Belhavens, no matter what’s happened in the past. In fact, I was hoping we might be able to work together — that you and my father might do business.’

  ‘Business?’ Wesley threw back his head and laughed harshly. ‘Oh, Clarissa! All this time you’ve been scheming about your father’s tea garden and here I was hoping that you were being nice because you liked me.’

  ‘I do,’ Clarrie said hastily.

  ‘But?’ Wesley prompted.

  ‘But I also saw it as an opportunity for you and my father to bury your differences for the good of both our businesses. I thought if you saw our estate and its great potential you might be interested in — well — in finding some capital—’

  For a moment, Wesley looked lost for words. ‘You’re looking for investors? Are things so bad for your father that he’d come begging to a Robson?’

  Clarrie was offended. ‘We’d never beg! And things are not bad — it’s just a difficult patch. I’m sure there are plenty of others who would jump at the opportunity to go into bu
siness with my father. I was just giving you the first chance.’

  Unexpectedly, Wesley took her hand and smiled. ‘You are a truly remarkable young woman. Jock Belhaven doesn’t know how lucky he is.’

  He bent his head and kissed her wounded palm. Clarrie gasped at his touch. Their eyes met, and then he was pulling her to him. He planted a kiss firmly on her lips. Her eyes widened in shock, but she did not push him off. He hesitated, gave a half-smile and then took her face in his hands and kissed her again; a long, robust, hungry kiss that left her light-headed.

  Her heart banged against her ribs as he broke off. She was half offended at his brazenness and half wanting him to kiss her again. The experience sent a judder right to her core.

  Wesley surveyed her. ‘You really would do anything for your father and Belgooree, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Clarrie asked hoarsely.

  ‘Flirt with the enemy. Even allow a Robson to kiss you. How far would you go, sweet Clarrie?’ He swept her with an insolent look.

  In an instant, she raised her good hand and slapped him hard on the cheek. He grabbed it, his expression exultant.

  ‘Now you’re going to play the innocent little Clarissa, offended by a man’s advances.’ He laughed. ‘But I’ve seen it in your eyes, Clarrie. I know you’re a woman who responds to a man’s kisses. You might be doing it to get money for your father’s precious tea garden, but I think you enjoyed it none the less.’

  If he had not been gripping her hand she would have struck him again for his outrageous words. The arrogance of the man!

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she blazed. ‘I took no enjoyment from it. But you’re right about one thing — I’m only interested in you as far as you can help us at Belgooree. I don’t suppose that will bother you, though; as a Robson I’m sure your main concern is whether we make a good business prospect.’

  Wesley dropped her hand. ‘Well, you don’t mince your words, do you? Spoken like a true Belhaven.’

  Clarrie turned from him and scrambled to her feet. The rocks around them were glowing pink. Wesley caught her arm.

  ‘Not so fast. You promised to show me the sunrise. Come on,’ he ordered.

  He went ahead, scrambling up the final ascent and reaching down to help her. She allowed him to haul her up past the thorn bush and the next minute they were standing on the hilltop in a ring of jagged rock, just as the sun burst over the eastern ridge. Clarrie pointed north to the snowy peaks of the Himalayas. Wesley gazed at them in awe.

  ‘I’ve never seen them as clear as this,’ he gasped. ‘It’s like the roof of heaven.’

  Clarrie observed him. Most of the time he was either arrogant or mocking, but this was a glimpse of a different Wesley, one who could be humbled by the sight of such raw beauty. His rugged features looked almost boyish in wonderment. They stood in silence as the sun grew in strength. A parrot flew past screeching and broke the spell.

  ‘I should be getting back,’ Clarrie said. ‘Olive will be fretting about being late for the fishing trip. She’s quite taken with your friend Mr Wilson.’

  Wesley grunted. ‘You less so, I think. You should have seen your face when he told you to leave business to the men.’

  Clarrie snorted. ‘I’m used to that sort of attitude — come across it all the time in Shillong. But tell me, what’s so shocking about daughters taking an interest in the family business when there are no sons?’

  His mouth tugged into a half-smile. ‘You have a point, I suppose.’

  ‘Do any of the Robson women get involved in your family’s affairs?’ Clarrie asked.

  ‘No,’ Wesley admitted.

  ‘Well, the day will come,’ Clarrie declared. ‘My generation will not be satisfied with playing second fiddle to men. I’ve read what’s going on in England — things are changing already.’

  Wesley scoffed. ‘A few unnatural women demanding the vote, you mean? They won’t get it — not in our lifetime.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  Wesley laughed. ‘I see Jock Belhaven’s bred a radical in his tea garden. I’m not sure I want to do business with him after all.’

  Clarrie gave him an anxious look. ‘Please just keep an open mind, that’s all I ask.’

  As they prepared to climb down the outcrop, he asked, ‘Why did your father not want you to show me round the estate?’

  Clarrie blushed. ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘Nervous we might become friends?’ Wesley suggested.

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ Clarrie said drily, ‘that he needs to worry about that.’

  She heard Wesley chuckling as they descended.

  Clarrie enjoyed the fishing trip more than she had expected. Harry allowed her to use Wesley’s rod, a special one from Hardy’s in Northumberland.

  ‘Belhaven country,’ Clarrie had declared. ‘It’ll bring me luck.’

  It brought her a medium-sized mahseer that the bearers cooked with rice for their lunch. Afterwards, she dozed in the mellow sunshine while Olive painted and chattered to Harry. But as the shadows lengthened, she grew eager to return and find out whether Wesley and her father had struck up a rapport.

  As she was packing up, Wesley cantered into the clearing, his face stormy. Clarrie tensed. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ He did not dismount. ‘Your pig-headed father has thrown me off his estate and told me I’m not to set foot here again.’

  ‘What did you say to upset him?’ Clarrie exclaimed.

  ‘Hardly a word!’ Wesley snapped. ‘He didn’t give me a chance. But perhaps you will.’ He swung down from the saddle. ‘Listen, Clarrie.’ He took her by the arms. ‘Your estate’s in a worse mess than I thought.’

  ‘Mess?’ Clarrie echoed. ‘Nonsense—’

  ‘The trees you replanted; they’re growing haphazardly all over the hillside — the way the’ Chinese grow them. You should have terracing and they should be much closer together; more bushes, more leaves, more profit. And the soil’s all wrong up here — not sandy enough. Your father bought Belgooree with his heart, not his head; too interested in the fishing to worry about the tea, if you ask me.’

  Clarrie listened to him, stunned. But before she could protest he had started off again.

  ‘And as for the processing; it’s archaic! You still have a shed full of men rolling leaves by hand. You’ll never be cost-effective. The only way you can save your estate from ruin is to amalgamate with the big boys so you can use the modern machinery and change your practices. I tried to tell this to your father, but he sent me off with a flea in my ear!’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Clarrie found her voice. ‘I can see you’ve done your best to insult and belittle him. He was making a good living at Belgooree when you were still in short britches.’

  Wesley dropped his hold on her, his face grim. ‘Times have changed. I thought you had more sense, but I can see you’re just as blinkered as he is.’

  Clarrie sparked back. ‘Belgooree has a future — when we can find someone with the imagination to see how special it is and the drive to do more than just criticise. I thought you might be such a man,’ she said with a look of contempt, ‘but I can see I was mistaken. My father was right; you’re as narrow-minded and full of your own self-importance as any other Robson!’

  ‘And you Belhavens are all the same,’ Wesley shot back. ‘You just can’t accept that we Robsons are better in business than you’ll ever be.’

  Clarrie turned from him in fury. ‘Olive, pack up your things. We’re going home.’

  ‘But I haven’t finished,’ her sister protested.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ Clarrie was sharp, ‘and we’ve a half-hour ride.’

  Harry waded out of the river, alerted by their raised voices. Clarrie could not be persuaded to stay any longer.

  ‘Thank you for today’s outing,’ she said, helping Olive pack her saddlebag. ‘I hope you’ll call on us again, Mr Wilson.’

  ‘Be delighted to,’ Harry rep
lied. ‘And perhaps I could give you tea in Shillong when you next visit?’

  ‘Oh, yes please!’ Olive answered for them.

  Clarrie pulled on her riding gloves and mounted, smiling at him in farewell. ‘That would be very kind, thank you.’

  Wesley stood fuming, his jaw clenched.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Robson,’ she said curtly. ‘I don’t imagine we’ll be seeing each other again in a hurry.’

  He stared up at her, eyes blazing with anger. She felt a brief flicker of triumph that she had rendered him speechless. As she nudged Prince into a walk, he lunged forward and grabbed the reins.

  ‘Let go!’ she cried.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he said urgently. ‘You’re a fool to reject my advice. Belgooree is facing ruin. If you don’t do something soon, you’ll have nothing to offer anybody.’ He held on to the snorting Prince. ‘Quite frankly, the main asset your father has left to offer is you!

  Clarrie’s eyes and mouth widened in astonishment. ‘How dare you!’ she hissed, wrenching the reins out of his grasp.

  She kicked the pony into a trot, forcing Wesley to jump back or be trampled. She fled into the forest, glancing round only to make sure that Olive was following. She could not put distance between her and the hateful Wesley quickly enough.

  CHAPTER 4

  In the weeks that followed, Clarrie had time to reflect on Wesley’s disastrous visit. Visanta, the season of spring, arrived unseasonably hot and without the early light rain that brought forth the delicate first tea buds. They picked what they could, but the agents from Calcutta frowned and grumbled over the pickings and offered them very little.

  Early summer continued hot and dry. The leaves of the tea bushes grew sparsely and too small. They waited in vain for the rains to start.

  ‘Monsoon will come soon,’ Kamal predicted, ‘if it is God’s will.’

  In the village they offered puja to the gods to send rain, for the hilly grasslands were scorched and the cattle growing lean. Clarrie heard the drums beating from dawn till after dusk.