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

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘… tipped me off that the broker was doing me on the price of Assam,’ Daniel Milner was saying as Clarrie cleared the plates of cold meats and pickles. ‘Broker was quoting me false prices and getting me to bid more for my tea than I needed to.’

  ‘It’s very distressing to hear of agents acting in such an unscrupulous manner,’ Herbert tutted. ‘They’re supposed to be acting in the best interests of their clients, not against them.’

  ‘Aye, well there are those in the tea business who will trample on the little man if they think it’ll harm them just one penny,’ Milner said, ‘and they’ll try all the tricks in the trade to do it. Course the broker denied it when I challenged him, and I can’t find out exactly who’s behind the plot. They’ve closed ranks against me, the outsider.’

  ‘But there’s absolutely no need for such behaviour. There’s plenty of business to go round,’ Herbert said. ‘Tea is booming.’

  Milner grunted. ‘It annoys them to see a working man like me coming in and doing things better than them — undercutting their prices by delivering door to door. They want it all — shops, tea rooms, house-to-house. See me as an upstart.’

  Clarrie had to restrain herself from joining in. It was precisely that attitude that had squeezed her father out of tea growing — powerful families like the Robsons wanting to control everything, buying out the small gardens and consolidating their power. She wanted to shout out that she knew precisely which family would be behind such a plot; nobody would want the Tyneside Tea Company to fail more than the Robsons. Hadn’t the Landsdownes boasted about Wesley’s being the sharpest tea broker in London? She had no doubt he would be behind this attempt to price Daniel Milner out of the market. He was quite ruthless when it came to business; Ama’s luckless son, Ramsha, was testament to how far Wesley would go on behalf of Robson interests.

  Suddenly, Clarrie was aware that the two men were staring at her.

  ‘Is there something wrong, Clarrie?’ Herbert asked. ‘You wish to say something?’

  She hesitated, torn between warning them about Wesley and not being seen as interfering. The fact that the Robsons were related to the Landsdownes complicated the decision. How could she make accusations about Verity’s relations when all the proof she had was her instincts? It would put Herbert in a very awkward position. Clarrie swallowed.

  ‘Would Sir like coffee here or brought up to the study?’

  He gave her a puzzled look. He never drank coffee after midday. ‘No coffee, thank you. Just bring us up a jug of water.’

  Clarrie nodded and left, feeling frustrated at having to keep quiet. As she went, she heard them continue their talk of Milner’s lack of ready cash and Herbert’s offer to invest in his company. She would just have to trust to Herbert’s good sense. Somehow, she was sure that the Tyneside Tea Company would survive with his good guidance.

  CHAPTER 17

  ‘Out of the question, you silly boy!’ Verity cried. ‘Whoever heard of servants being invited to one’s wedding?’

  ‘But I’ll hardly see them if they don’t come,’ Will said in disappointment. ‘I only get the one day off school — I’ll have to go back on the four o’clock train.’

  Verity, who did not care if Will attended her wedding or not, said sniffily, ‘You’re supposed to be interested in seeing your brother and me being married, not gossiping with those wretched Belhaven girls.’

  Clarrie overheard this exchange shortly before Will went away to boarding school for the first time. She was in his room packing his new leather trunk and felt a rush of affection for the kind boy. When he came in looking dejected, she gave him a brief hug.

  ‘Olive and I will come to the cathedral to watch,’ she promised. ‘Miss Landsdowne can’t keep us away from there.’

  ‘But you won’t be at the reception,’ Will complained. ‘There’ll be no one interesting to talk to — just lots of boring grown-ups.’

  Clarrie smiled. ‘I think out of two hundred guests, you’ll find someone to chat to, don’t you? By then you’ll be able to talk to Clive about your new school.’

  ‘Suppose so,’ Will agreed.

  The next day, he left, dressed in his new uniform, looking young and scared. In the privacy of his bedroom he threw his arms about Clarrie, buried his face in her apron and cried. She held on to him fiercely for a long moment while she gulped down her own tears, and then gently pushed him away.

  ‘I’ll see you on the wedding day,’ she reminded him, ‘and it’ll be the Christmas holidays before you know it.’

  After he had gone, the house seemed echoingly empty without the clatter of his boots on the stairs or snatches of song ringing along the corridor. Clarrie kept glancing at the kitchen door, half expecting him to come charging in and swipe food off the cooling racks, but knew that it would be months before he would. Olive missed him too. She spent the mild September evenings playing the violin at the open window in Will’s room, on the pretext of airing it out and dusting his things.

  ‘Poor little mite,’ Dolly would say. ‘Fancy sending him away like he’s done some’at wrong. The bosses’ classes have some strange ways.’

  Late at night, when Clarrie was locking up and going to bed, she would hear Herbert moving around in his study, restless. Sometimes the study light would still be on when she came down in the early morning. She was sure he missed his younger son more than he cared to admit, but his way of coping with this new parting was to immerse himself in yet more work. It was his lifeline and Clarrie was just thankful that he had grasped it rather than drown in despair and grief. With his hair clipped short and his chin nicked with careless shaving, his exposed face was often haggard and careworn. But the occasional smile crept to his pale lips and made his face handsome again; Clarrie was encouraged to hope that in time he might find peace of mind.

  Then the time of the wedding drew near and they were all thankful to be kept busy.

  One morning, Herbert called Clarrie to the study.

  ‘I hope you are looking forward to having a new mistress in the house,’ he said, clasping his hands and looking at her warily. ‘It will be more lively, I’m sure. Bertie and Verity are far keener on entertaining than I ever was.’

  ‘Sir.’ Clarrie nodded, wondering where the conversation was leading.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Verity has pointed out to me that you can’t possibly be expected to manage everything in the new household — that you must have help. I’m afraid I’ve been selfish not thinking of this before.’

  ‘I’m quite happy with my job, sir,’ Clarrie said quickly, ‘and I’m sure with Olive’s help I can easily manage the new situation.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Herbert said, dropping his gaze and moving papers around on his desk. ‘Nevertheless, Verity comes from a large household and has been used to having her own lady’s maid. She will be bringing the woman with her. Er — it means you and Olive will have to share a bedroom. Will that cause any problems?’

  Clarrie felt dismay, but was not surprised. She had been waiting to hear what Verity’s demands on the staff would be. Of course she would want her own hand-picked maid.

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ she assured him.

  ‘Good,’ he said, looking relieved. ‘I’ll leave it to you to sort out the details with Verity’s maid.’

  Two days before the wedding, a large van drew up to deliver four trunkfuls of Verity’s trousseau and her lady’s maid, called Lavender, to unpack it all in the lavishly decorated new bedroom suite.

  Lavender was a stout woman with pinned-back frizzy hair and a large birthmark on her cheek whom the Landsdownes had employed as Verity’s nurse since babyhood.

  ‘Real name’s Mary,’ she told Clarrie as the latter helped her hang up Verity’s dresses in the walnut wardrobes, ‘but Miss Verity chose Lavender ‘cos it was her favourite plant in the garden.’ She gave Clarrie a look of satisfaction as if she should be envious of such an honour. ‘She’s always been such a sweet lass. My little sugar lump; that’s what I’ve alway
s called her. I told her it would break me old heart if she even thought of going without me. So you’ve no need to concern yourself with Miss Verity’s personal arrangements; I’ll be supervising the laundering of her clothes and how her meals are prepared.’

  ‘If that’s what she wants,’ Clarrie said, secretly thankful she would not have to be at Verity’s beck and call.

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s what she wants.’ Lavender was adamant.

  Clarrie left her fussing over an arrangement of handkerchiefs and hurried off to tell Olive and Dolly gleefully that the haughty Verity had been known for years as ‘my little sugar lump’.

  The evening before the wedding day, the Stocks hosted a reception at a club in town of which Bertie was a member. Herbert had refused to let him hold it at the house as originally planned the previous year.

  ‘It’s not appropriate,’ his father had decreed. ‘The year of mourning for your dear mother has not yet passed and this house will not be used for celebration.’

  When Bertie had told him he was being unreasonable, Herbert had shouted, ‘Isn’t it enough that I have agreed to your marriage at this time? Showy receptions are not a necessity in my book. Your mother and I were content with a simple service at the Presbyterian Church and a family tea. You young people are far too demanding!’

  Herbert put in the briefest of appearances at the club, just long enough to be civil to Bertie’s guests, and soon retreated from the merriment and drinking, of which he did not approve. Clarrie took a jug of iced mint tea to his study. She sensed that he was brooding about the day to come, seeing it as an ordeal to be got through without showing his emotions.

  ‘It’ll be good to see Will tomorrow,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, without looking up from his book.

  ‘And Mr Bertie seems very happy,’ she added, pouring him a glass of the sweet-smelling tea.

  He glanced at her. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’

  Clarrie bit her lip. ‘No — well, yes. I think Mrs Stock would have been happy that you’ve allowed Mr Bertie to go ahead and marry before the year’s up. I think it was brave and kind. That’s all.’

  His wiry eyebrows knitted in a frown and she thought he would reprimand her for her impertinence. Then abruptly he snorted with a mix of impatience and amusement.

  ‘Clarrie, you are the most strange and unusual girl. Whenever I think I should be telling you off, I end up wanting to thank you instead. Why is that?’

  Clarrie smothered a smile. ‘Perhaps because I’m a Belhaven and we can’t help speaking our minds. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘It’s refreshing in a servant.’

  She nodded and went out, hiding her irritation at being reminded of her subordinate position. As Clarrie went to bed late that night, hearing the sound of Bertie returning with his best man, an old school friend called Tubby Blake, she thought restlessly of life beyond Summerhill. One day she would work for herself and not be anyone’s servant; she would be a successful businesswoman running her own tea house. Lying in bed, she thought of Jack and what marriage to him might be like. She was very fond of him, yet he did not stir her in the way Wesley had. No one had since. But such strong emotions were not the basis for a sound marriage. To make a success of a shared life together a couple needed stability and common sense — qualities that Jack possessed.

  Also, Jack had ambition to match hers and was level-headed too, despite his pretence at being carefree. If Milner’s company grew and was successful, he would gain quick promotion and perhaps one day have a share in the business. Together they could open their own teashop or cafe. But there again, Milner might be driven out of business and Jack might never be more than just a delivery man. Perhaps thoughts of marrying him were futile?

  What mattered most was that she continued to provide security for herself and Olive. She had promised her sister always to take care of her and that’s what she would do. If Jack could not provide such security, then she would not wed him, however much she cared for him. For Clarrie’s greatest fear would always be the thought of being cast into the world once again, homeless and penniless.

  CHAPTER 18

  Clarrie was up extra early to supervise breakfast and help Olive with carrying hot water to the guests. Three of Bertie’s friends were staying in the house, including the best man, and they expected a hearty breakfast to start the special day. Tubby Blake had brought his valet, who had slept in Clarrie’s sitting room and flirted with Dolly when he wasn’t upstairs polishing shoes and helping the men dress.

  Clarrie enjoyed the sound of their male laughter reverberating in the dining room, and the air of expectation. For too long the house had been a place of sadness and tiptoeing. Their good humour was infectious and even Bertie greeted her with a smile.

  ‘Good morning, Belhaven! Kedgeree smells good. Tuck in, chaps; got to line the stomach for Landsdowne’s champagne!’

  Herbert, who since Will’s departure had reverted to eating a meagre breakfast in his study joined them downstairs. He looked tired and strained, but Clarrie noticed how pleased his sudden appearance made his elder son.

  ‘Papa! Come quickly; Tubby’s eaten most of the bacon already.’

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Please don’t get up,’ Herbert said. ‘I’m sure Clarrie can arrange more if we need it.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ Clarrie hurried off to replenish the dishes.

  There was so much to get done that morning that Clarrie doubted they would reach the cathedral in time to see the bride arrive. But she had promised Will that she, Olive and Dolly would be there. They ended up running down Westgate Road and Collingwood Street, holding on to their hats in the breeze, as the clocks were striking eleven.

  It was too late to see the wedding guests going into St Nicholas’s Cathedral, but they arrived as the bridal party was drawing up outside in two gleaming carriages.

  ‘Doesn’t she look a picture?’ Dolly cried, as they pressed closer to the cathedral entrance to watch. The coachman was helping Verity — in a profusion of silk and lace, her narrow face hidden behind an elaborate long veil — down from the landau. Her maid of honour and three young bridesmaids dressed in lilac satin disembarked from the other carriage to help arrange and lift the long beaded train. Proudly, Mr Landsdowne took his daughter’s arm.

  As they processed into the cavernous cathedral, a blast of organ music announced their arrival. Clarrie felt Olive grip her hand, stirred by the sound.

  ‘Imagine getting wed like that,’ Olive gasped. ‘That beautiful dress, and the organ playing!’

  Clarrie glanced at her sister, whose face was full of longing under the second-hand straw hat. They both had on their best coats and Olive had added fancy trims to their hats, but neither of them would ever be able to afford Verity’s silk wedding dress no matter how hard they worked. Clarrie quelled her resentment at life’s unfairness.

  ‘When your time comes,’ she whispered to Olive, ‘you’ll look twice as pretty as Miss Landsdowne whatever dress you wear.’

  Olive rolled her eyes in disbelief, but did not withdraw her hand from Clarrie’s until the heavy doors shut and they could hear no more. They stood around waiting and chatting to people in the crowd, some of whom knew the families while others had just gathered out of curiosity.

  Just as they were growing bored and beginning to get chilled in the gusting wind, the doors were thrown open once more and the cathedral bells began to peal in celebration. Bertie and Verity were husband and wife. They came out proudly smiling, raising hands to the waiting crowd and giving each other coy looks of satisfaction. Soon their guests were pouring out behind them, laughing and greeting one another.

  Olive and Clarrie gazed at the well-dressed gathering, the men in top hats and tailed coats and the women in beautiful costumes and enormous hats bedecked with ribbons and feathers. They had never seen such opulence and glamour. Bertie was marrying into wealth and he looked particularly pleased with himself, Clarrie thoug
ht.

  ‘Master Will!’ Dolly suddenly shouted. ‘Over here!’

  Clarrie caught sight of the boy, standing awkwardly with hands thrust in pockets. He looked round and for an instant Clarrie saw embarrassment flick across his face. Then he grinned at them from under a shaggy fringe of hair and came loping across, allowing himself to be briefly hugged by all three. They bombarded him with questions.

  ‘How’s school? Are they treating you well?’

  ‘I swear you’ve grown another three inches!’

  ‘Are you eating enough?’

  ‘Tell me about your music teacher. What’s he teaching you?’

  ‘Have you made any friends yet?’

  Will rolled his eyes and told them to stop fussing. Yes, he had settled in fine. He was learning the cello as well as the violin, there was plenty to eat and he had a friend called Spencer-Banks.

  ‘Spencer-Banks?’ Dolly queried. ‘That’s a daft name for a lad.’

  Will laughed. ‘It’s his surname. We all get called by our surnames.’

  Just then, Herbert waved him over. A carriage was waiting to take them the short journey to the Assembly Rooms on Westgate Road. Clarrie’s heart squeezed to think how brief was their reunion with Will. Despite his cheerful greeting, he still looked so young and lost in his tight collar and too-large hat. The absence of Louisa seemed to hang over them, reminding them that she should have been there beside Herbert and Will on such a day.

  Dolly pressed a tin into his hands. ‘Here, I’ve baked you an orange cake. I’m not carrying it all the way home again.’

  ‘Thank you …’ Will began, his voice suddenly croaky.

  Clarrie put a hand on Will’s shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘Take care of yourself. We’ll write if you like.’

  He nodded, his eyes filling up with tears.

  ‘Gan on and enjoy yourself at the party.’ Dolly pushed him away. As he went, she added teasingly, ‘Ta-ra, Stock!’

  He grinned. ‘Bye-bye, Dawson!’

  They watched him re-join his father and climb into the carriage. Other guests were still streaming out of the cathedral.