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

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  They clattered out of the pub with a cheerful farewell. Despite their teasing, Clarrie laughed as she cleared up and hoped she would see them again.

  ***

  To her relief, Sunday came and a promised late rising. But Clarrie was woken from a deep sleep by knocking at half past six. There were chores to be done and Sunday lunch to prepare before church at eleven. At ten thirty they assembled for the walk to church. Lily, dressed in a navy frock with black coat and black raffia hat, looked askance at Clarrie’s peach dress and Olive’s primrose yellow.

  ‘Do you not have coats?’ she asked.

  ‘Just our shawls,’ Clarrie said. ‘We’ll have to buy coats for winter.’

  ‘You’ll need them before then,’ Lily was adamant. ‘Can’t have you ganin’ to church looking like you’re off to a dance. I’ll look in the thrift shop tomorra. And you can’t wear those hats!’

  She bustled off to find something more suitable and came back with an old-fashioned lilac bonnet, which she plonked on Clarrie’s head. Ignoring her protests, Lily tied it on with a huge black ribbon under her chin.

  ‘That’ll have to do,’ she grunted. ‘Olive’s young enough to get away without a hat. We’ll find her one for next week.’

  Jared and Lily led the way up Cherry Terrace with the sisters trailing behind. So restricted by the bonnet was her view that Clarrie had to swivel her head left and right to see around her. Olive, subdued and quiet all week, got the giggles.

  ‘You do look funny,’ she whispered.

  ‘I feel as if I’m in a tunnel,’ Clarrie said. ‘Let me know if I’m about to be run over by a tram, won’t you?’

  Olive slipped her arm through hers. ‘You look like Little Bo Peep.’

  ‘I feel like Old Mother Hubbard!’

  They smothered their laughter as Lily glanced round with a glare of disapproval.

  At the top of the hill, Lily and Jared stopped to catch their breath. Clarrie gazed about her. It was a sunny day and the first time since arriving that they had left the confines of the Cherry Tree Hotel. The hazy riverside threaded away into the distance, bounded on both sides by industrial sprawl and tightly packed housing. Beyond, though, were gently sloping green hills with clumps of woodland. Clarrie had a passionate urge to be free of the ridiculous bonnet and riding across those mysterious hills.

  ‘Where is that?’ she asked, pointing.

  ‘That’s County Durham to the south,’ Jared answered. ‘But west, and north,’ he swung his arm in an expansive gesture, ‘that’s all Northumberland.’

  Clarrie’s heart missed a beat. Northumberland, the home of her father!

  ‘Can you see Father’s farm from here?’ she asked in excitement.

  ‘No, lass. That was miles to the north — and near the sea.’

  ‘Will you take us there sometime?’ Clarrie asked.

  ‘We’ll certainly not!’ Lily interrupted. ‘We haven’t time for day trips. And there’s nothing up there to see; just grass and water.’

  At that moment Clarrie yearned for fresh grass and clear water. For an instant, she imagined herself back in the clearing by the swami’s hut. The place where fate had thrown her together with Wesley Robson. Strange to think of him now. How he would enjoy seeing her brought so low after she had spurned him, Clarrie thought with annoyance. At least he was never likely to discover her in working-class Elswick.

  She swallowed her disappointment at Lily’s dismissive words, but was all the more determined that she would, one day, discover her father’s old home.

  The Belhavens worshipped at the John Knox Presbyterian Church on Elswick Road, an imposing building with a pillared frontage and a first floor gallery. Its pews were packed. Jared led them into one halfway down the aisle. The church was plain in comparison to the garrison church in Shillong or the nuns’ chapel, with no candles or incense or priests in colourful robes. Jock, notionally Anglican, had seldom taken them to church.

  Yet Clarrie remembered times when her Catholic-raised mother had held simple services in the garden at Belgooree on saints’ days and the air had been noisy with birds. Sometimes her mother had taken her and Olive down to the village to observe the local festivals and to lay gifts of food on the temple steps. Clarrie had loved the exuberance of such occasions, when drums clashed and the people danced and sang, and they all got covered in red dye or garlands of flowers.

  This service was far more sombre, with many prayers and a long sermon. Yet when it came to the hymn singing, the boom of organ and voices nearly took the roof off. Olive joined in, her pale face lighting up at the welcome music like a flower opening in sunshine. So far, Lily had forbidden Olive to practise her violin. ‘Don’t hold with fiddles — instruments of the devil. They lead to dancing and sinfulness.’

  At the end of the long service, the smartly dressed and wealthiest members of the congregation filed out first from the front pews. A handsome middle-aged couple — the man tall, greying, clutching a top hat and walking with a stick, the woman florid with pretty blue eyes and noticeably pregnant — stopped by the Belhavens’ pew.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Belhaven.’ The man smiled. ‘I hope you are well?’

  Clarrie watched in astonishment as Lily blushed and simpered. ‘Grand, thank you, Mr Stock. I hope the steak and kidney pie was to your liking?’

  ‘Excellent,’ he replied. ‘Wasn’t it, Louisa?’ The man turned to the woman hanging on his arm.

  ‘One of your best,’ she assured Lily. ‘Do send Harrison round for an order tomorrow. Mr Stock has clients to entertain later in the week and your pies are always popular at luncheon.’

  Lily did a bob that was almost a curtsey. ‘Yes, Mrs Stock, I’d be pleased to oblige.’

  The Stocks exchanged pleasantries with Jared, Mr Stock giving Clarrie and Olive a curious glance. But when Jared made no attempt to introduce them, he and his wife moved on. Behind them came a tall young man not much older than Clarrie who so resembled Mr Stock that he was obviously a son, and a boy of about twelve with floppy fair hair and attractive blue eyes and an open smile like his mother’s.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Belhaven,’ the younger boy grinned. ‘Do you think you could take out the kidneys next time? Mama and I are not very partial to them.’

  ‘Quiet, Will!’ His father turned to reprimand him. ‘Take no notice, Mrs Belhaven. Will speaks and then thinks afterwards. Don’t change an ounce of your recipes, they’re delicious.’

  As they turned away, Clarrie caught Will’s look and smiled. The boy blushed and hurried after his parents.

  On the walk home, Clarrie asked about the Stocks. Jared puffed up his chest and said importantly, ‘Mr Stock’s a very respected solicitor. Lives in Summerhill off Westgate Road; very posh. I’ve used his services mesel’. Helped me buy them pair of flats in Benwell, didn’t he, Lily?’

  ‘Don’t you go telling the lass our private business,’ she scolded.

  Jared looked apologetic. ‘No, course not, dear.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Anyways, Mr Stock’s a real gentleman, and his missus — well, you can tell she’s a cut above the rest.’

  ‘Mind you,’ Lily sniffed, ‘it’s not very ladylike to be expectin’ at her age, if you ask me. Not right at all.’

  ‘What’s she expecting?’ Olive piped up.

  Lily went red. Clarrie said quickly, ‘I think Mrs Belhaven means that Mrs Stock’s going to have a baby soon.’

  Olive gasped. ‘Really? But isn’t she too old? Her sons must be—’

  ‘That’s quite enough gossip about Mrs Stock and her family,’ Jared interrupted, embarrassed by such frank talk. They continued the rest of the way in silence.

  That afternoon, after a solid lunch of pork pie and vegetables, sponge pudding and custard, the sisters discovered just how dull a Sunday could be with their cousins. Before the Belhavens went off to lie down upstairs, Lily instructed them to wash up.

  ‘Then you can rest,’ she said with a magnanimous smile.

  ‘I think we’ll go out for a walk,
’ Clarrie answered. ‘It’s a lovely day, and I noticed a park on our way back—’

  ‘Walk?’ Lily cried. ‘No, no, there’s to be no ganin’ out on a Sunday afternoon. If it’s exercise you want, you can gan back to church for the evening service.’

  Clarrie stared in disbelief. ‘We’ve had hardly any fresh air all week. What harm will a stroll round the park do?’

  ‘Two lasses out on their own in the park?’ Lily clucked. ‘The place is full of undesirables! You’ll stop in the house and read the Bible, that’s what you’ll do.’

  ‘We’re not children,’ Clarrie replied, trying to keep her temper, ‘and we’re used to more freedom than this.’ She would have said she used to ride on her own every day for hours at a time without coming to any harm, but knew that would antagonise the woman further.

  ‘Well, for better or worse, you’re living with us now,’ Lily said, ‘and you’ll abide by our rules. Isn’t that right, Mr Belhaven?’ She gave her husband a stern look.

  He nodded in embarrassment. ‘Just put your feet up, eh, lasses? Sunday’s a day of rest. Be glad of it.’

  ‘Have the kettle boiling for tea at four o’clock,’ Lily ordered. Jared smiled awkwardly and hurried after his wife.

  The washing up done, Clarrie and Olive stared morosely at the large leather-bound Bible left on the fireside table. It was stiflingly hot in the kitchen. Clarrie thought she would go mad if she did not go out.

  ‘We’ll wait till they’ve fallen asleep,’ she said quietly, ‘then we’ll go.’

  ‘We can’t!’ Olive gasped.

  ‘Yes we can.’

  ‘But she’ll find out,’ Olive fretted. ‘She’s got eyes in the back of her head.’

  ‘Even if she does, what can she do but shout?’ Clarrie shrugged. ‘And she does that anyway.’

  ‘She’ll throw us out and then we’ll have nowhere — not even this hovel to call home. And they’ll put us in the union workhouse and we’ll be separated and—’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Clarrie insisted, putting her arms about her sister. ‘Cousin Lily knows when she’s on to a good thing — she’s got us slaving for her like coolies. And it’s not as if they’re short of money; they’re just mean. Cousin Jared let slip about their having property in Benwell as well as this place. I wondered where he was going yesterday in his suit and bowler hat. He must’ve been collecting rent, ‘cos he came back and handed over money to Lily.’ She squeezed Olive’s shoulders. ‘She’ll not want to lose us, that Mrs Scrooge. For all she pretends that we’re a burden, she’s tickled pink at the idea of having her own servants. Thinks it puts her upsides with the likes of the Stocks.’

  ‘She’s not a bit like them,’ Olive declared. ‘She sounded ridiculous putting on that voice.’

  Clarrie stood up and mimicked Lily, curtseying to her sister. ‘Less kidney in your pies? Yes, Mrs Stock, I’d be pleased to oblige.’

  Olive sniggered. Clarrie carried on.

  ‘Mind you, a woman expecting at your age, it’s just not ladylike. You should’ve spent your Sunday afternoons indoors reading the Bible, not,’ she took a dramatic breath, ‘walking in the park and enjoying yourself!’

  Olive smothered a giggle.

  Clarrie grinned. ‘Come on, let’s go out and look for some undesirables.’

  Olive got up and bobbed towards her. ‘Yes, Mrs Stock, I’d be pleased to oblige!’

  The park that Clarrie had glimpsed on their walk back from church was a sizeable one, neatly laid out with flower beds and benches, bowling greens and a brightly painted bandstand. To their delight, the park was full of people enjoying the sunshine, strolling in families or sitting listening to a brass band. They walked about, taking in the sights and observing the fashions. Their own dresses looked fussy and puffed up in comparison with the straighter cut of those around them. Yet many wore elaborately trimmed blouses and voluminous hats.

  ‘I want one of those hats with huge pink roses and lime green ostrich feathers,’ Clarrie declared.

  ‘You’ll look like the garden at Belgooree,’ Olive teased.

  Clarrie grinned. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Then I want one with a parrot on,’ Olive said, ‘and bamboo leaves.’

  ‘Well, I want one with two parrots and a monkey.’

  ‘Two parrots, a monkey and a hibiscus bush,’ Olive countered.

  Clarrie snorted, ‘Five parrots, a tiger, a betel tree and—’

  ‘A Scots pine!’ Olive cried.

  Clarrie curtsied. ‘Yes, Mrs Stock, I’d be happy to oblige.’

  They both burst out laughing, light-headed at having escaped into the cheery sunlit park. People stopped and looked round, smiling sympathetically at the pretty, brightly dressed pair. They walked on, arm in arm, joking and giggling, drawing the admiring attention of young men who took their hands out of their pockets to tip their caps and grin as they passed.

  Too soon, a clock on the pavilion told them it was already half past three. As they turned reluctantly to go, a steel hoop came hurtling down the path and caught Clarrie on the leg.

  ‘Sorry!’ a boy cried breathlessly, catching the hoop before it veered off into the road.

  Startled, Clarrie turned to see the blushing face of Will Stock.

  ‘That boy!’ his father exclaimed, catching up. ‘I’m terribly sorry. Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Clarrie assured him. ‘I just got a shock.’

  ‘Will! Apologise at once,’ he said crossly, hauling the boy up by his jacket collar. The hoop fell from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

  ‘Sorry,’ Will said, puce-faced. ‘I’m not very good with hoops — or any sports really. Except for riding.’

  ‘The young lady doesn’t need to know all that,’ his father said impatiently. ‘Just sorry would have done.’

  Clarrie touched Will on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll live. I’ll walk bow-legged for the rest of my life but I’ll live.’

  The boy’s eyes widened in alarm. Clarrie laughed. ‘I was teasing. Of course I’m all right. The hoop was nothing. Where I come from you have to watch out for snakes and tigers on a Sunday walk.’

  ‘Really?’ Will gasped. ‘You’re not from Newcastle then?’

  Clarrie smiled. ‘No. We grew up in India. But we live here now.’

  ‘Gosh, will you tell me about it?’

  His father intervened. ‘Not now, Will.’ He scrutinised Clarrie with dark blue eyes. ‘Haven’t we met before?’

  Clarrie nodded. ‘After church this morning. We were with the Belhavens.’

  ‘Ah, yes!’ He nodded. Then he frowned again. ‘But I don’t quite see …’

  ‘I’m Clarrie Belhaven, and this is my sister Olive. We’re cousins of Mr Belhaven and — er — circumstances have brought us here.’

  She was about to offer her hand when she saw how rough and reddened it looked and snatched it back. He nodded to her and the mute Olive. ‘Herbert Stock,’ he said.

  She could see he was intrigued, but at that moment his older son appeared on the path with a slim, well-dressed young woman on his arm. Large hazel eyes dominated her sharp nose and small mouth, which she pursed in disapproval at this interruption to their promenade.

  ‘Father, is Will causing mayhem as usual?’ the older brother drawled. He had his father’s even features and blue eyes, but his hair was prematurely receding and his chin was fleshy from too many rich dinners.

  ‘On the contrary, he’s found us two new friends, the Misses Belhaven,’ Herbert answered. ‘This is my elder son, Bertie, and a family friend, Verity Landsdowne.’

  Bertie nodded at the sisters in a bored fashion, not attempting to shake hands. ‘Are you related to the pie people?’ he asked.

  Clarrie flushed. ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Jolly good,’ Bertie interrupted. ‘Plain but honest fare.’ He turned away.

  Verity sighed. ‘It’s so hot, Bertie. Do you think we could go back in the brougham now?’

  ‘Of course,’ Bert
ie agreed, and they moved off. Clarrie could see a pretty dappled grey mare and a carriage at the end of the pathway.

  ‘Can we offer you a ride home?’ Herbert asked.

  ‘That’s very kind,’ Clarrie said, still smarting from Bertie’s rudeness, ‘but we like to walk. We don’t have the chance—’ She broke off, not wanting to have to describe her menial working week to this sophisticated professional man. In Indian society she would have been on a par with such as the Stocks, but here she was very much his social inferior. Still, that was no excuse for Bertie’s off-handedness. She had found more common courtesy among the labourers of Elswick than he had in his little finger, she thought crossly.

  Herbert doffed his hat in farewell, calling to Will to follow. Will, having retrieved his hoop, gave Clarrie a bashful smile.

  ‘Watch out for the snakes and tigers,’ he joked.

  ‘We will,’ Clarrie smiled. ‘And keep practising the hoop.’

  He waved at them and ran after his father.

  By the time they got back to Cherry Terrace it was almost four and Lily was banging around in the kitchen making tea, her face thunderous.

  ‘How dare you disobey me?’ she upbraided them. ‘You’ve broken the Sabbath day and brought disgrace on my house!’

  Clarrie stood her ground. ‘I’m sorry if we’ve upset you, but we were brought up to rejoice in God’s fresh air and creation.’

  ‘You were raised as little better than heathens,’ Lily hissed. ‘You’ve hardly darkened a church door — so don’t you preach to me about God’s creation. He made the seventh day as a day of rest and that means stopping in the house and reading the Bible.’

  ‘A day of rest?’ Clarrie exclaimed. ‘I’ve been up since half past six doing chores! And Olive and I spent an hour washing up before we went out. Sundays are supposed to be a rest from the working week and that means getting out and enjoying the sunshine as much as sleeping off Sunday dinner.’

  Lily, crimson-faced, was momentarily speechless. Jared came in looking bleary-eyed.

  ‘What’s all the noise about, lasses?’

  Lily stabbed a finger at Clarrie. ‘That one; the wicked tongue on her—’