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

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Stop,’ Clarrie cried, pressing hands to her blushing cheeks. ‘Did I really say that? I sound like a commercial traveller.’

  Herbert chuckled. ‘I’m very proud of you, my dear.’

  They were sitting either side of the study fire, having eaten a late supper on the card table.

  ‘Where’s Olive?’ Clarrie asked. ‘I meant to tell her how popular her paper flowers were. Is she still upstairs painting?’

  Herbert folded the newspaper and set it aside. ‘I don’t think she’s back yet.’

  ‘Back from where?’

  ‘Wasn’t she going to a concert?’ Herbert asked uncertainly.

  Clarrie yawned. She could not remember the last time she had been to a concert or a film. Well over a year at least. Her only night off in the week was Sunday when she wanted nothing more than to go to bed early and sleep. But she was glad Olive was getting out and about. It was a long time since her sister had complained of being bored and without a role as the sister-in-law of Herbert Stock.

  ‘She’ll have gone with Rachel, I imagine,’ Clarrie said. ‘It makes me feel less guilty at not seeing her.’

  Herbert frowned. ‘You don’t need to drive yourself so hard, my dear. Why don’t you take a day off during the week so you can do something more frivolous?’

  Clarrie gave a wry smile. ‘As you do, you mean?’

  ‘I’m not very good at being frivolous, I admit,’ Herbert said ruefully.

  They sat for a while longer as the fire died down, Herbert reading and Clarrie dozing. Eventually, they heard the front door open and close. Clarrie stood up.

  ‘That’ll be Olive coming in,’ she said.

  Herbert looked up with an expression of surprise. ‘Has she been out this evening?’

  Clarrie glanced at him sharply. ‘It was you who said she had, remember?’

  ‘Did I?’ His face clouded.

  ‘You thought she was at a concert,’ Clarrie reminded him.

  ‘Ah, a concert.’ Herbert nodded, still looking unsure. Clarrie approached him and stroked his brow.

  ‘You’re tired. It’s you who should be spending less time at work, not me,’ she chided him.

  He took her hand and squeezed it, his look affectionate. ‘What would be the point of that if you weren’t here with me? It would be very dull indeed.’

  ***

  When Will came back from Durham for the Easter holidays, he caused a stir by helping out in Herbert’s Tea Room. He was full of ideas about University Settlements where privileged students lived and worked alongside the poor in the slum areas of big cities. Some of his friends were choosing to do so in East London and Johnny had stayed to help at one in Edinburgh rather than come home for the holidays.

  The news brought a censorious Bertie to their door. ‘It’s bad enough having that woman using our name and mixing with all the riff-raff of Tyneside,’ he told his younger brother, ‘but you should know better. It’s common and demeaning.’

  ‘For who?’ Will asked in surprise.

  ‘For all of us!’ Bertie blustered.

  ‘Not for me,’ said Will. ‘In fact it’s tremendous fun.’

  ‘Well, it’s awkward for me and Verity,’ Bertie snapped. ‘We have a standing in society. How do you think it looks when I’m entertaining influential business clients and they ask me if I’m anything to do with the Bolshevik cafe in Elswick? They don’t like it one bit. And as for Verity’s family, they shudder every time it’s mentioned.’

  ‘Have they seen it for themselves?’ Will asked mildly.

  ‘Of course not,’ Bertie shouted. ‘Don’t be so impertinent!’

  ‘Then they can hardly judge, can they?’ Will smiled.

  ‘Listen, Will,’ Bertie commanded, ‘I’m asking you to stop making a fool of yourself and steer clear of that place. I see it as a matter of family loyalty. You should be studying in any case, not slumming it down there with the hoi-polloi.’

  To Clarrie’s delight, Will ignored his brother’s lecturing and continued to help her in the cafe and play his violin for customers on wet afternoons. Dark-eyed, giggling Edna was particularly smitten with Will’s good looks and friendly easy manner. She flirted with him and he teased her in return.

  ‘That would really give Mr Bertie a seizure,’ Lexy joked, ‘Mr Will running off with our Edna.’

  When Will had to return to Durham for the summer term, Edna moped for days and no amount of ribald teasing from the regulars lifted her spirits. Clarrie felt a pang of envy at the girl’s transparent adoration of Will. What must it be like to be so simply and completely in love, she wondered.

  Returning home late one evening, Clarrie found Herbert looking distractedly out of the sitting-room window. It was odd because he hardly ever used the room, preferring to keep to his study at all times. Clarrie knew that Olive sewed in there by the light of the large windows, because she left her sewing basket on the window seat. Otherwise it was largely unused.

  ‘Herbert, is everything all right?’ Clarrie asked, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled, seeming relieved to see her. ‘Quite all right.’

  ‘Then why are you standing in here in the half-dark?’ Clarrie asked in amusement. ‘Are you hiding from someone?’

  ‘Hiding?’ He frowned. ‘No. I had something to tell you …’ His voice tailed off.

  Clarrie felt a flutter of alarm. He was becoming increasingly absent-minded.

  ‘Was it important?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I rather think it was. Stupid of me,’ he said, growing agitated.

  She took him by the arm and steered him to the door. ‘Not to worry. It’ll come back to you if it’s that important. Let’s find some supper. Is Olive about?’

  ‘Olive,’ he repeated. ‘That’s it!’ he cried. ‘I remember now.’

  Clarrie smiled. ‘What was it? Olive’s gone to the pictures again?’

  ‘No, no, much more than that,’ he said in excitement. ‘That young man came to see me about Olive.’

  ‘What young man?’ Clarrie asked.

  Herbert’s face twisted in annoyance as he searched about for the name. ‘Oh, you know who he is! Cheerful — ruddy-faced — tea.’

  ‘Jack Brewis?’ Clarrie guessed.

  ‘Brewis, that’s it.’ He beamed. ‘Brewis.’

  Clarrie waited for him to say more, but Herbert just stood smiling.

  ‘What did he want?’ Clarrie prompted. ‘You said he came about Olive.’

  ‘Olive? Yes, yes, that’s right. He came out of courtesy — to ask if I had any objection. He wants to marry Olive.’

  Clarrie gawped at him, dumbfounded. ‘Marry my sister? When did he — how — I had no idea—’ Her insides knotted. ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘Said it was entirely up to Olive,’ Herbert replied, patting her hand, ‘but that he had our blessing if that’s what they wanted. We’d help with the wedding costs, of course.’

  Clarrie felt sick with shock. How had she not known about this? Olive had never even mentioned she was courting. And Jack, of all people!

  Herbert looked at her anxiously. ‘You don’t seem pleased. Did I say something wrong? It is a good thing, isn’t it? Brewis seems a personable young man and Daniel — Daniel?’

  ‘Milner,’ Clarrie prompted.

  ‘Daniel Milner speaks most highly of him as an employee,’ Herbert finished.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Clarrie said, feeling breathless. ‘It’s wonderful news.’

  All of a sudden, a sob rose up in her throat, and to her shame she burst into tears.

  Olive was defensive when Clarrie tackled her later that night in her bedroom.

  ‘You’ve never asked me if I was courting. You’ve always been too busy with the tea room to care what I was doing.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Clarrie protested. ‘I’ve always cared. I just assumed you were going about with Rachel — not gallivanting around town with Jack.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Olive s
aid impatiently.

  ‘Because I would like to have known,’ Clarrie chided her. ‘My own sister and Jack Brewis. Am I the last person to be told?’

  ‘Maybe I never said anything ‘cos I knew you’d be like this.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Disapproving.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Clarrie said. ‘I’m just surprised.’

  ‘Surprised that Jack could fall for poor little Olive, the timid, less pretty sister?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Clarrie said, springing towards her. Olive fended off her attempts to cuddle her.

  ‘I’m not a child any longer,’ she gulped, ‘and I don’t need your permission to marry. I’m sorry for your sake that it had to be Jack, but that’s the way it is. Why do you think he’s carried on delivering tea here instead of letting one of the boys do it? We’ve known each other long enough now to be sure we love each other. I just want you to be happy for me.’

  Clarrie felt chastened. ‘I am, and I’m sorry. It’s selfish of me to expect you to stay here with me for ever. I just thought you were happy here.’ She spread her arms in a helpless gesture. ‘I did all this for both of us. Remember how I promised to always take care of you?’

  Olive’s look hardened. ‘I don’t want you to take care of me any longer — I’m tired of you thinking I need your protection. It may make you feel better, but it doesn’t me.’

  Clarrie looked at her, aghast. ‘You think I’ve done all this just to make me feel self-righteous?’

  ‘Yes!’ Olive cried. ‘Sometimes I feel like one of your charity cases.’

  ‘You’re my sister and I love you—’

  ‘Yes, I’m your sister, but you have no idea what I want from life. You never spend five minutes with me any longer to find out — otherwise you would have known I’m in love with Jack. I hate living here like some useless orphaned relation beholden to the Stocks, painting pretty pictures for my successful married sister and expected to be for ever grateful.’

  Clarrie felt winded by her accusations. How long had her sister bottled up such resentment? She lashed out in her hurt.

  ‘You’re right, I don’t know you. I had no idea you hated living with me and Herbert or that you were so ungrateful for the sacrifices I’ve made to take care of you,’ she said angrily.

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying,’ Olive shouted tearfully.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘You don’t need me — you’ve got your precious tea room and that’s all you really want. Well, Jack needs me. I’m going to run my own home and be his wife and hope one day to be the mother of his bairns.’

  ‘What about your painting? Your music?’ Clarrie cried. ‘After all this, you’re going to settle for being the wife of a tea delivery man?’

  Olive looked so angry Clarrie thought she would strike her. ‘Yes,’ she hissed, ‘I am! And it’ll be a proper marriage, not one of convenience like yours. That’s what really frightens you, Clarrie, isn’t it? Being left alone with a man you don’t love!’

  Clarrie stormed from the room, before Olive could see how much her words had wounded her. She locked herself in her bedroom and buried her face in a pillow to muffle her racking sobs. How she had wanted to slap Olive’s haughty ungrateful face!

  But as the night darkened and the house fell deadly quiet, Clarrie was tortured by the truth of much of Olive’s attack. They had grown apart without her realising. She had been too wrapped up in the cafe to notice. It had not occurred to her to ask about Jack or question why he still came to Summerhill even though he was now Milner’s master tea blender. She had no right to belittle Olive’s choice of Jack as a husband and was ashamed of her hypocrisy. There was a time when she would have gladly married Jack.

  Was it true that she had not wanted Olive to grow up so that she would always have an excuse to take care of her? She had always loved her sister with the intensity of a mother and with Olive around she could justify her sacrifice in marrying Herbert. Despite her remorse at her words, Clarrie was seized again with anger at Olive for throwing all she had done for her back in her face. Let her go to Jack Brewis if she wanted and discover just how hard it would be in the world without her. No one would love or care for her the way she had. No one!

  CHAPTER 27

  After their row, Olive hardly spoke two words to Clarrie. The wedding was set for the end of August. In return for one of Olive’s paintings, Daniel Milner gave Jack and his fiancée the deposit on a terraced house in Lemington so as to be near the Scotswood depot. It was Rachel’s help not Clarrie’s that Olive enlisted in helping choose the material for her wedding dress and linen for her new home. Herbert seemed not to notice Olive’s coolness, but Will did.

  ‘She’s flexing her wings,’ he told Clarrie. ‘Don’t take it too much to heart. You’ve done a good job. The Olive I remember as a boy wouldn’t have had the temerity to thumb her nose at anyone, least of all you,’ he teased.

  She was grateful for his kindness and his help in the cafe over the summer. It was Will who persuaded Olive to accept Clarrie’s offer of holding the wedding reception at Herbert’s Tea Rooms. Will knew it was Clarrie’s attempt to mend the rift between them.

  Olive and Jack were married in the Methodist chapel on Elswick Road, in front of a small group of family and friends, and then walked down to the tea room in the hazy sunshine. Lexy and Edna had gone to great lengths to decorate the cafe with fresh flowers and ribbons, and the tables groaned with food.

  Clarrie was tearful throughout the day, from the moment she saw Olive in her lacy dress to the time the married couple left the cafe. Olive looked flushed and happy on Jack’s arm, and he so adoring of his new wife that Clarrie felt ashamed of her jealousy and doubts about the marriage.

  She pushed her way to Olive’s side and hugged her tight. ‘I’m sorry for the things I said,’ she whispered. ‘I do love you, you know — more than anyone. Come back and see us whenever you can.’

  Olive’s slim face crumpled at the fond words and she clung to Clarrie. ‘Yes, I will, I promise.’

  A touch from Jack on Olive’s shoulder made her pull away.

  ‘Time to be off, lass,’ he said, with a wary glance at Clarrie. ‘Ta for all you’ve done for us — the tea and that. We’re both very grateful.’

  Clarrie nodded, still holding on to Olive’s hand. ‘You will take good care of my sister, won’t you?’

  He regarded her with solemn hazel eyes. ‘Aye, I will. She means the world to me.’ He slipped an arm possessively round Olive’s waist, and Clarrie noticed a tender smile pass between them. She let go of Olive’s hand.

  As everyone gathered in the doorway to wave them away in one of Milner’s vans, Clarrie felt the first real stab of loss. In a few turbulent weeks, she had gone from chief carer and confidante to a bystander in Olive’s life, waving her off to a new life with Jack. Perhaps Olive would be more suited as Jack’s wife than she would ever have been. Olive craved her own home and cosy domesticity, and had done ever since being wrenched from Belgooree. She would create a comfortable nest for Jack and in return he would give her security. But would it be enough for her artistic temperament? Remembering the smile she had seen her give him, Clarrie rather thought it would.

  It was still only mid-afternoon and the cafe, at Herbert’s insistence, would be closed for the rest of the day. Clarrie wondered how she would get through the long hours before bed.

  ‘Change out of those clothes,’ Will instructed when they returned to Summerhill. He laughed at Clarrie’s startled look. ‘Johnny’s back for a few days, and we’ve arranged to go riding. I’m to meet him at the stables at four and I’m sure he’d be delighted if you came along too.’

  ‘That would be grand,’ Clarrie gasped and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You wonderful lad!’

  An hour later, they were saddled up and riding north-west out of the city with Will’s old friend. It was an age since Clarrie had ridden and she relished the familiar feel of horse and rider moving as one. At times she rode ah
ead alone, at others dropped back to join in the men’s conversation. They stopped at a farm trough so the horses could drink and sat against a warm stone wall, watching the sunset bleed into the sky like an angry wound.

  Will and Johnny resumed their discussion of politics. Johnny was full of admiration for Keir Hardie, the fiery Scots leader of the Independent Labour Party, whom he had heard speak at the Edinburgh Settlement.

  ‘I’m thinking of joining,’ he said eagerly.

  The ILP?’ Will asked, looking shocked.

  ‘Yes, why not?’

  ‘They’re Socialists. Your father would blow a fuse,’ Will exclaimed.

  ‘He’s always encouraged debate in our house, so he can hardly complain,’ Johnny replied. ‘Besides, I’ll tell him what you’re always saying, that Christ was a Socialist. He’s a minister’s son — he’ll have to approve.’

  ‘Yes, but I just say that to annoy my father and brother.’

  ‘What do you think, Clarrie?’ Johnny asked unexpectedly.

  Clarrie tore her gaze from the sunset. ‘About the ILP or you joining it?’

  ‘Both.’

  The young men watched her keenly, as if her opinion mattered to them. Two years ago, she would not have known what they were talking about, but she had gleaned much about current politics from the groups who used her cafe.

  ‘I think Hardie is a good man, and the working class need a champion like him. Women too. He was one of the first men to speak up for women getting the vote. Now that seems as far off as ever,’ she sighed.

  ‘Clarrie,’ Will cried in mock horror, ‘are you a closet Socialist just like Bertie feared? Pass the smelling salts.’

  ‘Don’t faint,’ she said wryly. ‘I’m a cafe-owning member of the bourgeoisie, remember?’

  ‘I’m serious, you two,’ Johnny said impatiently.

  Clarrie put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry, I was trying to be too. If you believe wholeheartedly in something then you should pursue it, no matter what your father or anyone else thinks. Only you can decide. Why don’t you come to the cafe before you go back to Edinburgh and listen to some of the debates we hold?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Johnny agreed eagerly.