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

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  He seemed happiest on the weekly outing to church, sitting up at the front alone in the Stocks’ pew, singing lustily or deep in thought. As Bertie and Verity spent most Sundays at their country cottage, they seldom attended with him. When in town, Verity preferred to go to the cathedral.

  Clarrie did her best to keep Verity happy and any mutinous thoughts to herself. She would bide her time until Jack’s career progressed and he proposed and then she would have great pleasure in telling Verity and Bertie that she was leaving. Only on one matter did she clash strongly with Verity — over Jack’s delivery.

  ‘I don’t see why we have to have a separate tea delivery,’ Verity complained. ‘It would be much better if we ordered everything through Clayton’s Emporium. I happen to know the tea they import is first class.’

  Clarrie’s jaw clenched. She knew exactly which family sold their tea through Clayton’s: The Robsons. Most of the houses in the square got their tea there and Jack was finding it hard to convince housekeepers to change their habits and order from him. He was having to travel much further afield to outlying areas where no one bothered to deliver.

  ‘The Tyneside Tea Company specialises in tea,’ Clarrie said, ‘and they give very good value for money.’

  Verity arched her brows. ‘I was forgetting you think of yourself as a tea expert. Nevertheless, the Landsdownes have always patronised Clayton’s for their grocery needs and that’s whom I wish to use here.’

  Clarrie hid her annoyance. ‘Perhaps you should consult Mr Herbert first. The Tyneside Tea Company is one of his clients.’

  Verity shot her a look of irritation. ‘Really, Belhaven, I’ll not be dictated to by my housekeeper. And I wouldn’t dream of bothering Mr Stock with such petty domestic detail.’

  Clarrie, though, would not let the matter rest. She made an excuse to go into Herbert’s study the following evening with a plate of fresh shortbread. He regarded her over his spectacles.

  ‘You have something on your mind, Clarrie?’

  She nodded and told him of her concern.

  ‘Certainly, Mr Milner needs all the help he can get,’ Herbert sighed, putting down his pen. ‘But I’ve told Bertie I won’t interfere in the way his wife runs the house and it seems to me—’

  ‘But sir, it just takes one or two well-to-do customers to cancel their delivery and then word gets around and others follow. Surely you don’t want your client to go out of business after all the hard work you’ve put into saving him?’

  Herbert stared at her in surprise. ‘I’m impressed by your loyalty,’ he said. ‘But something tells me your worry has more to do with the fate of the delivery man — what’s his name? Jack? — than Mr Milner’s business.’

  Clarrie blushed. ‘Sir, Jack Brewis and Mr Milner’s business depend on each other.’

  Herbert surveyed her for a long moment and then nodded. ‘Leave it with me, Clarrie — and thank you for the shortbread.’ Then he bent once more to his work and she left him alone.

  Jack’s tea delivery stayed. Verity, furious at being overruled, took her pique out on Clarrie by making sure she was occupied upstairs whenever Jack called. Somehow, probably through Lavender, she had learned of Clarrie’s fondness for the delivery man. Every Thursday afternoon Verity detained Clarrie in the drawing room, serving tea to her friends, or sent her out on some errand to the milliner’s or tailor’s that she would entrust to no other. Under Verity’s regime, Clarrie was needed most evenings until late and it proved almost impossible to arrange a night at the cinema or the music hall with Jack.

  Frustrated though she was, Clarrie could do nothing about it save pass on messages through Olive. Once, when Verity and Bertie were leaving on Saturday for the country instead of Sunday, she told Olive eagerly, ‘Tell Jack I can get away Saturday evening if he wants to go to the Pavilion.’

  But back came the disappointing answer that Jack would not return in time from his round.

  ‘Says he’s up to the pit villages round Stanley and won’t be back until nine.’

  It began to dawn on Clarrie that Jack was making little attempt to see her and she began to fret.

  ‘Do you think he’s found another lass?’ she asked Olive. ‘He must meet dozens on his travels.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Olive said. ‘He always asks after you when he calls.’

  ‘But he never tries to call back at other times of day to see me.’

  ‘Cos he’s working that hard,’ Olive pointed out. ‘He can’t keep calling on the off chance you’ve got five minutes to spare.’

  ‘But he won’t meet me on a Sunday afternoon either,’ Clarrie said.

  ‘You know his mam’s religious and they have to stop in after church,’ Olive replied. ‘It’ll be different once he’s put enough by for his own place.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Clarrie admitted. ‘But that might not be for ages.’

  ‘You’ll just have to be patient,’ Olive shrugged, ‘like you’re always telling me.’

  Apart from waving to him from the upstairs window, Clarrie only managed two outings with Jack that whole autumn, once to the pictures and once for a walk in Elswick Park. Jack was subdued, almost wary of her.

  ‘Tell me what the matter is,’ Clarrie insisted.

  But he shrugged and told her it was nothing. Clarrie put it down to his worrying over his job. She was encouraging. ‘Mr Stock has great faith in Mr Milner — thinks he’s going to build a grand tea business given time.’

  Winter came, and Verity’s demands for lavish entertaining grew in the lead up to Christmas. By then, Clarrie was seeing so little of Jack that even Olive was growing alarmed.

  ‘He’s talking about Mr Milner changing his rounds — giving him south of the river.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Clarrie asked in dismay.

  ‘Milner’s expanding and Jack’s his best salesman, I suppose. He’s good at talking folk into becoming regular customers.’

  Spurred on by Olive’s warning, Clarrie managed to arrange a rare evening at the Pavilion with Jack, and then Verity sprang an unexpected dinner party at which she had to preside.

  She sent Olive along in her place so as not to disappoint Jack. Afterwards Olive was critical.

  ‘You can’t keep on like this.’ Olive was blunt. ‘He thinks you don’t care for him.’

  ‘But I do,’ Clarrie insisted.

  ‘Well, not enough. You’re going to do it again.’

  ‘Do what again?’

  ‘Miss your chance at marriage,’ Olive declared.

  ‘Don’t bring that up!’ Clarrie said crossly.

  But Olive was working herself into a state of indignation. ‘Well, it’s true. If you married Jack now we could get out of this place.’

  ‘And do what?’

  ‘Set up our own cafe the way you’ve always wanted to do,’ Olive said. ‘Work for ourselves instead of that stuck-up Verity.’

  Clarrie gave a huff of impatience. ‘I’d like nothing better. But we can’t afford it yet — not on the sort of wages Jack makes. We’d still have to work for others.’ She saw Olive’s face crumple and rushed to console her. ‘One day we will have our own tea room, just you and me.’

  But Olive pushed her away. ‘Don’t treat me like a baby. You’re happy here — more than me. You’ll just stay here being loyal to Mr Stock till you’re an old maid.’

  ‘No I won’t,’ Clarrie protested.

  ‘If I were you I’d be marching Jack up the aisle double quick before he finds someone else,’ Olive said.

  ‘You’ve changed your tune,’ Clarrie retorted. ‘A few weeks ago you were telling me to be patient and wait.’

  ‘Aye,’ Olive cried, ‘and a few weeks is a long time. If you don’t marry him now I worry that we’ll never get away from here.’

  Clarrie lost patience. ‘You’re not being practical! Jack still lives at home with his mam. He’s hardly got enough to support me, let alone you as well. And I’m not about to give up this place just to be at the beck and ca
ll of Jack’s mam. Maybe in a couple of years me and Jack will have put enough by to afford our own place.’

  The look of disbelief on Olive’s face made Clarrie’s heart sink. She determined that she would waylay Jack on his next visit, no matter what Verity had planned for her.

  The following Thursday, Olive took her place upstairs, so she could do so.

  ‘Come and have a cuppa in my sitting room,’ she said, pushing Jack through the kitchen before Dolly or Sarah could delay him. He perched on the edge of the sofa looking nervous, clutching his cap.

  ‘I can’t stay long,’ he said.

  Clarrie nodded, dismayed at how ill at ease he looked. She poured him some tea and handed it over. He slurped his drink, avoiding her look.

  ‘Olive says you’re expanding south of the river,’ she began.

  ‘Aye, business is picking up,’ he said, looking more comfortable. ‘We’ve doubled our customers in the past month. Folk are getting used to the idea — ‘specially when they see us coming back regular. They know we won’t let them down.’

  Clarrie let him talk about business, but feared a bell would jangle overhead and summon her away before she had a chance to bring up what was on her mind. Eventually, she blurted out, ‘Jack, I need to know if we’re still courting.’

  He flushed and put down his cup. ‘I’m not sure.’

  Clarrie’s throat dried. Only now did she realise just how much she was relying on Jack for her future plans. Escape and security were bound up in Jack’s advancement — in forwarding that advancement.

  ‘Is there someone else?’ she forced herself to ask.

  His brow furrowed. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  Clarrie looked at him, nonplussed. He sounded accusing.

  ‘You’re the one I care for, Jack.’

  Abruptly he stood up. ‘I thought you did,’ he said, ‘but I’ve heard otherwise.’

  She stood up too. ‘Heard what? From who?’

  ‘Talk. Round the square,’ he said. He was scarlet with embarrassment.

  ‘What talk?’ Clarrie was indignant.

  ‘You were seen late at night with another lad,’ he accused her, ‘cuddling and that.’

  Clarrie laughed at such nonsense. ‘That’s not true! I hardly ever get to meet you, let alone other lads. I don’t know any others and I wouldn’t want to.’

  He eyed her, his look more hopeful. ‘So you never met another man in the garden?’

  ‘No, Jack, I promise!’

  He looked relieved. ‘Knew I shouldn’t listen to gossip. That lass across the square was just trying to cause trouble. Said you were covered in a shawl so as not to be seen, but you still waved at her bold as brass before ganin’ to meet some posh lad. Must’ve been someone else she saw. I thought maybe’s you’d been seeing him and that’s why you’ve been avoiding me. Mind you it was ages ago — the night of the Stock weddin’.’

  Clarrie gave a small gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. Jack gave her a sharp look.

  ‘Oh, that.’ Clarrie reddened. ‘She did see me — but it wasn’t what she thought. I was just getting a breath of air — had no idea he was in the garden.’

  ‘Who?’ Jack’s expression tensed.

  ‘Mr Robson.’

  ‘So you did know him?’

  Clarrie hesitated. ‘Well, me and Olive knew him before — before coming here. But there was nothing—’

  ‘Did he court you before me?’ Jack demanded.

  Again Clarrie hesitated too long before denying it. ‘No, not courting — it was complicated. But he means nothing to me — quite the opposite.’

  ‘That’s not how the lass tells it,’ Jack said stonily.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Clarrie said in panic. ‘He was just one of Mr Bertie’s guests — I had no idea he would be there. It was just a chance meeting.’

  ‘Maybe it was,’ Jack said, ‘but you didn’t rush off as soon as you saw him, did you?’

  Clarrie felt her cheeks burning. ‘Nothing happened — never could happen.’

  ‘Cos he’s too posh?’ Jack said scathingly. ‘But you would if you could. I can see it all over your face. You still fancy him, don’t you, Clarrie? I’m just a delivery boy, not good enough for the likes of you.’

  He jammed on his cap and strode to the door. Clarrie went after him, grabbing his arm.

  ‘Stop, Jack, please! You couldn’t be more wrong about him. It’s you I want to wed.’

  He shrugged her off. ‘I’ll not be second best to anyone,’ he said, ‘least of all some posh bugger who thinks he can have any lass he wants.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Clarrie gasped, ‘it’s not true. Why won’t you believe me?’

  As he wrenched open the door, he said, ‘I’ll never be good enough for you, Clarrie. Deep down, that’s what you think. And after what I’ve heard today from your own gob — you’re not good enough for me neither.’

  He stormed through the door, past a gaping Dolly and Sarah, who had been hovering to listen. When Olive returned downstairs, she found the women consoling a weeping Clarrie. Only later, when they were alone, could Clarrie confess to her sister what the argument had been about.

  ‘You never told me you’d spoken to Wesley,’ Olive said, astounded. ‘What did he say once he knew we were working here?’

  ‘He doesn’t — I pretended to be Dolly and in the dark he never guessed.’ Clarrie’s upset turned to anger. ‘That wicked man!’ she hissed. ‘Is there no end to the trouble he causes us? Now I’ve lost Jack—’

  Olive hugged her in comfort. For once she did not chide Clarrie or say ‘I told you so’. She just held her sister until her weeping subsided, as so often Clarrie had done for her.

  CHAPTER 20

  Christmas came and Will returned for the holidays. His arrival was a blessed distraction for Clarrie. When he came down to the kitchen, she flew at him and hugged him in delight.

  ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you!’ she cried.

  He laughed good-naturedly and hugged her back. ‘Can I help stir the pudding?’ he asked, shovelling a newly baked scone into his mouth.

  Sarah eyed him in wonder, never having seen any of the Stock men venturing so far below stairs.

  ‘You’ll get used to him,’ Dolly said. ‘Right little scavenger.’

  But after that, Will spent most of his time visiting his former school friends or being taken shopping by Verity and fitted out for bigger clothes. Snow fell just before Christmas and he disappeared for a day’s sledging with Johnny. On Boxing Day, Bertie and Verity took him off to the Landsdownes’ country estate to hunt and shoot rabbits. All too soon it was time for him to go back to school.

  Clarrie worried that Herbert had hardly paid him any attention and suggested they go for a walk together on Will’s final day. Herbert grew irritable.

  ‘Can’t you see I’ve too much work, Clarrie? I’ll thank you not to interfere.’

  Will hid his disappointment. ‘It doesn’t matter — I was planning on going riding with Johnny anyway.’

  The following day he was gone and they did not see him again until the Easter holidays. By then, Verity was being unusually difficult and demanding, staying in bed until late and craving sweet biscuits and sarsaparilla in large quantities.

  By high summer she was announcing to close family that she was expecting a baby. Bertie was thrilled and fussed over her more than ever. But the excitement in the household was soon marred by a battle between Verity and her father-in-law over converting Louisa’s old bedroom into a nursery.

  Verity railed tearfully at Bertie, not caring that Clarrie was in the room. ‘But the room’s been standing empty for nearly two years. It’s such a waste! It’s the ideal size for a nursery. You must tell him.’

  ‘Dearest,’ Bertie tried to calm her, ‘you know how difficult it is — Papa’s very sensitive about that room.’

  ‘It’s creepy — he treats it like a mausoleum.’ Verity shuddered. ‘It’s time he came to terms with his
loss.’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Bertie said, ‘but it is his house, after all.’

  ‘Well, it’s my baby!’ Verity wailed. ‘I’m making myself ill with worry over where it will go. Can’t you see that?’

  But Herbert was equally stubborn.

  ‘There’s plenty of room on the second floor,’ he told Bertie. ‘She has a dressing room the size of my study. Besides, I don’t want to be disturbed by a baby crying when I’m trying to work. Babies and children should be kept upstairs out of earshot.’

  Clarrie agonised over whether to intervene. She understood Verity’s frustration over a large room going to waste, but to Herbert it was more than just a bedroom, it was a shrine to his dead wife. Everything remained untouched, as if he feared that changing anything would somehow be a betrayal of her memory. She also wondered if Herbert was privately dreading the arrival of a baby in the house. It would be a reminder of the stillborn daughter he had lost three years ago that had precipitated Louisa’s ill health and death.

  To her surprise, it was Bertie who came to her for help.

  ‘Belhaven, you seem to have some influence over my pig-headed father,’ he said bluntly. ‘Do you think you could make him see sense over this nursery business?’

  ‘It’s not my place,’ Clarrie demurred.

  ‘That’s never stopped you before,’ he retorted. Clarrie said nothing. ‘Listen,’ he said, trying to be conciliatory, ‘I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I can see that you’ve done a competent job here — and Verity thinks you’re a good housekeeper for someone so young.’ He reddened at the effort to be complimentary. ‘I’d be grateful if you could do anything to persuade my father to change his position — Clarrie.’

  It was the first time he had ever called her by that name. Clarrie felt a small flicker of triumph. Bertie was acknowledging how indispensable she had become to the Stocks.

  ‘I’ll try,’ she agreed.

  She waylaid Herbert on his return from his early evening walk. He had got into the habit since Verity’s arrival, so as to avoid pre-dinner drinks and inconsequential chatter. On the watch, Clarrie saw him turn into the square and went out to snip some roses in the central garden.