By Eastern windows

by Gretta Curran Browne

  ‘Chut!’ Bappoo almost exploded with laughter. ‘Son of Prince, name of English king, now no pay when sold!’ Still laughing, Bappoo turned to his mistress. ‘Slave boy crazy, Mem-Jane, he tell lies every day. Captain-Sahib must sell him in Bombay to a nabob with a big stick.’

  Jane was about to protest and severely admonish Bappoo, but her attention was distracted as Lachlan arrived, the last to step on board. As soon as he appeared George ran over to him and tugged at his coat. ‘Why we go Bombay?’

  ‘Business,’ Lachlan answered, ‘just military business, George.’ He had received orders to return to Bombay for a meeting at headquarters, but he didn’t know the reason for the meeting. ‘Oh, and Christmas,’ he added, smiling at Jane. ‘As we will be there over Christmas, we might as well enjoy it.’

  *

  British Bombay was just as they had left it, teeming with life and people and parties every night. As soon as they arrived they were welcomed to stay at the home of Major and Mrs Oakes. The first week whirled by as Bombay society came out to welcome them back. Every afternoon British matrons came with their daughters to drink tea with Jane and hear all the news about Calicut and Cochin.

  ‘No negotiations about it this time, dear boy,’ Major Oakes was saying to Lachlan. ‘This time we're going straight in.’

  Lachlan was not listening. He was watching Jane sitting amongst the women with a baby cuddled in her arms, hugging and petting it, and then holding it in the crook of her arm and tinkling a rattle over its face.

  The scene saddened him, reminding him of Jane's genuine love of children, and her desperate longing for a child.

  ‘Oh yes!’ Major Oakes nodded emphatically. ‘The French won't know a ruddy thing about it until it's too late. They may now have possession of Mauritius, but they won't get Ceylon.’

  ‘No,’ Lachlan agreed absently.

  ‘Still, the outcome of these things is never absolutely certain.’ Oakes downed a gulp of his wine. ‘So we may as well make a good bash of Christmas before we go.’

  Christmas was a round of suppers and parties at various houses. John Forbes was very pleased with Lachlan. Not only had he paid off all his debts, but also his share of the prize money for reclaiming Cochin on behalf of the Stadtholder had left him with a sizable sum of money in Forbes's bank.

  ‘Aye, but there’s still one debt I haven’t yet paid,’ Lachlan told him, and then arranged for John to draw up a bank draft and send it to his Uncle Murdoch in Scotland, in repayment of his education fees.

  ‘That should finally shut him up,’ Lachlan grinned. ‘Now he’ll have to find something else to blether about.’

  *

  Three days after Christmas, Jane confessed she was not feeling so good. A feeling of tiredness consumed her. She had lost her appetite, found it hard to sleep, and even her high spirits became very low. Lachlan had never seen her looking so woebegone.

  The doctor could find nothing wrong with her, but suggested that she be encouraged to drink plenty of warm buffalo milk to put energy back into her bones.

  ‘It's Bombay,’ Jane said wearily to Lachlan. ‘I need to get out of the noise of Bombay. Can we soon go back to Calicut?’

  Well, no, they could not, and then Lachlan very nervously told Jane the news he had learned upon his arrival in Bombay, but which he had put off telling her until after Christmas. ‘On the third of January, I will have to leave you again … for service in Ceylon.’

  ‘Ceylon?’ Jane was devastated. Ceylon was a Dutch island beyond the southern tip of India. ‘Why must you go to Ceylon?’

  ‘Because the Dutch Governor of Ceylon has become as rebellious as Van Spall of Cochin, and as friendly with the French. The British cannot allow the French to gain a foothold in Ceylon.’

  ‘How long will you be gone?’

  ‘Hopefully, just a few months,’

  ‘A few months – again?’

  She wept and begged him not to go. ‘You don't have to go,’ she insisted. ‘You have your duty as Major of Brigade to use as an excuse not to go! You could use that as a reasonable excuse, couldn't you?’

  ‘No!’ He looked at her as if shocked that she could even suggest such a thing. She had been a soldier’s wife long enough to know better.

  ‘My duty as Major of Brigade may satisfy you as a reasonable excuse for trying to get out of going, but it would not satisfy the malicious world. You would have them say I used a glorified administration job as an excuse to escape going into battle? They would say I was a coward, bewitched by my wife.’

  ‘I don't care what they say, I only know I cannot survive your absence a second time.’

  He turned away from her, hopelessly trapped between love and duty and honour. And the last, once lost, could never be regained. Honour was the code of the gentleman. Honour was what made a soldier march bravely into battle even though he was inwardly shaking with fear. Honour was essential to a man, and even moreso to a man who was also a soldier.'

  ‘It's a matter of honour,’ he said finally. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Then let me go with you,’ she pleaded. ‘You know I'm no wilting flower. You know I could share all the hardships of a soldier's life during a campaign. You know I could!’

  He turned to look at her, and saw how drawn and pale she looked.

  No, she could not.

  In the days that followed nothing could console her. The nearer the time came to his departure, the more often she lay down on her bed morosely and refused to eat. On the night before he left, he stayed awake with her until the dawn came.

  It was time to leave, and suddenly Jane's arms were tight about his neck, but he talked to her, softly and reassuringly, and she relented.

  He got out of bed and began to hurriedly pull on his clothes. She listened to the sound of buttons clicking and leather creaking.

  ‘I should come and see you off,’ she said.

  ‘No, get some sleep.’

  He bent and kissed her, then said seriously: ‘Now listen, I am leaving you in the good care of Mrs Oakes, with friends all around you, and I have bought you a very good milk cow from Surat for your own personal supply. So by the time I come back I shall expect to find you in good health and high spirits again.’

  He turned down the wick on the bedside lamp, leaving her in a grey darkness more conducive for sleep.

  ‘And Lachlan. . .’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he was at the door.

  ‘Do you still love me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered simply, and went out the door.

  *

  Colombo, the main port of Ceylon, fell to the British in a campaign that lasted less than two days. But the cost to the British had been the deaths of one ensign and eighteen men.

  Jane received a letter from Lachlan informing her of the surrender, frowning prodigiously as she read on:

  Now that Colombo has fallen, I have been entrusted by Colonel Petrie to command a detachment that is to take possession of the fortress of Point de Galle, ninety miles south of Colombo …

  Jane suddenly felt sick, but she had been feeling so very sick of late, unable to do much more than lie on her bed and sleep or read. The words of the letter blurred before her eyes, the nausea was rising in her again, the blood draining out of her face.

  She called out, ‘Marianne!’

  Marianne arrived, as dainty as a flower, her hands joined in a salaam.

  ‘Marianne, tell Mrs Oakes I need her. Tell her I need a doctor.’

  ‘Oh, oh, you art sick? You art sick!’ Instead of running for help Marianne threw herself at Jane in a clinging embrace and began to cry.

  George Jarvis, who had heard Jane's call of distress to Marianne, came running into the room, all eyes and fear. Marianne sobbed to him, ‘Mem-Jane is sick!’

  ‘Are you, Jane?’ Mrs Oakes had entered the room, crossing quickly to place a hand on Jane’s forehead. ‘You do feel quite hot. Is it the nausea again?’

  The nauseous sensation was passing. Jane drew in a deep breath an
d slowly exhaled, a pale smile on her face as she looked at Mrs Oakes. ‘I'm fine now, not sick, well I am a bit sick, but only because I'm pregnant.’

  ‘Pregnant? Really? Are you sure?’

  Jane nodded. ‘I suspected it when the doctor suggested lots of warm buffalo milk. I think he suspected it too, but he wasn't sure, but now I am certain!’

  Mrs Oakes smiled at the expression on Jane’s face. ‘Oh, Jane dear, I’m so happy for you.’

  *

  Lachlan had been at Point de Galle for less than a month when he received a letter from the Commander-in-Chief, General Balfour, informing him of his promotion to major. He was given no time to relish his promotion because in the same post he also received a letter from Dr Kerr in Bombay, stating that he felt Captain Macquarie should be informed that Mrs Macquarie had been in a very delicate state of health for some weeks and, if possible, his return might be beneficial to her.

  Lachlan knew that Dr Kerr would not make such a request unless the situation justified it.

  He requested immediate leave from duty. As soon as he received it, he covered the ninety miles ride to Colombo inside forty-eight hours. His Indian syce had ridden on ahead to find out if any ships bound for Bombay were in port.

  He was about two miles from the town of Colombo, on a lonely road, when his syce came riding back towards him holding out another letter. Lachlan snatched it, was about to shove it inside his tunic pocket, when he recognised Jane's handwriting.

  He dismounted, and sat on a small stone boulder near a tree at the side of the road, opened the letter and began to read, and as he did all his anxiety faded away as she told him that despite the doctor's worries, her health was much improved now.

  ‘And also,’ she wrote, ‘not only is my health improved, but I also have every reason to believe that I will soon be making you a happy, happy father.’

  Lachlan was so surprised, and so delighted, he jumped to his feet and gave a soldiers whoop of joyful victory.

  The syce was standing and staring at him in fright. ‘He is mad,’ he muttered nervously to the horses. ‘The Captain-Sahib is struck with the madness!’

  In the East, madness is both respected and feared, for one so afflicted is believed to have been struck by God and therefore under divine protection. But too close contact and others could also be afflicted by the same madness.

  Moving behind his horse's rump, the syce peeped nervously round a haunch and watched the Captain-Sahib move towards his horse, then spin round and sit down on the boulder again, reading the letter again, kissing the pages and laughing, as if the contents were beyond his belief.

  ‘It is dewanee – the madness,’ the syce whispered. ‘Allah has struck the Angrezi!’

  Finally Lachlan rose and pushed the letter inside his tunic, a faint, abstracted smile on his face as he looked round for his syce, then spied him hiding behind the horse.

  ‘Why are you hiding back there?’

  The syce slowly came out and bowed towards Lachlan with hands joined in a terrified salaam. ‘Praise Allah!’ he wailed, eyes rolling in his head like a frightened mule. ‘The Captain-Sahib hast been charmed by Allah into madness and laughter.’

  ‘Allah and a woman,’ Lachlan grinned as he mounted his horse, and then rode at speed towards Colombo, with his syce following at a safe distance behind him.

  *

  In the officers' mess at Colombo he was toasted with congratulations all round as he announced his good news. Colin Anderson clapped him on the back. ‘Becoming a major and a father, eh? I'm very happy for you.’

  Lachlan grinned. ‘I'm very happy for me too.’

  The following morning he boarded a British ship bound for Bombay. On May 6th she anchored in Bombay Harbour, after being delayed by more than a week due to the violent winds that had struck the Malabar Coast. This time Lachlan had been away from Jane for four months.

  No delay, no delay. Lachlan would not pause to converse with anyone as he mounted a fresh horse and rode at speed out to the country beyond the town of Bombay where he found Mrs Oakes taking tea on the veranda of her house, in the company of Dr Kerr.

  Both seemed to stagger to their feet in a very untidy way when he approached and dismounted. Mrs Oakes laid down the cake-dainty she had been holding and put a hand to her heart.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Mrs Oakes murmured as the returning husband took a jump up onto the veranda and kissed her hand in greeting, smiling at her like a happy adventurer who has at last found his treasure. ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘My dear sir,’ Dr Kerr said, but Lachlan would have none of it. ‘Not yet, Dr Kerr. We can discuss buffalo milk and the necessity for plenty of rest and all that later. But now, if you will excuse me, I urgently need to see my wife.’

  ‘Captain Macquarie – ‘

  ‘Oh, it’s now Major Macquarie,’ Lachlan said with a grin.

  ‘Major Macquarie,’ Dr Kerr said firmly, ‘I really must insist that I be allowed to speak to you before you speak to your wife.’

  Lachlan looked at Dr Kerr, then at Mrs Oakes, at the two faces, one to the other, and slowly realised that something was wrong. Something was wrong with Jane.

  ‘She fancies she is pregnant,’ Dr Kerr said in a soft compassionate voice as the two men walked slowly down the leafy avenue leading away from the house. ‘But she is not, I can assure you most sorrowfully of that. The child she is convinced she is carrying, is nothing more than a delusion of her own wishful thinking.’

  Lachlan remained silent.

  ‘The sadness,’ Dr Kerr continued softly, ‘is that she is positive in her heart and mind that she is pregnant, and when you go in to see her, you will not find a happier mother-to-be in the whole world.’

  Mynah, mynah, mynah . . . Lachlan glanced up at the irritating myna bird and exhaled a long breath, feeling a curious sensation in his chest, half pain, half numbness, as if someone had slyly slipped a knife under his ribs and rent a thin crack down his heart.

  ‘Poor Jane,’ he said softly.

  He looked around him. The sun shone, the flowers bloomed, and the mingling odours of India haunted the air. Above him the green branches of a banyan tree interlocked to form a canopy in which birds frolicked and a tawny monkey busily flew from branch to branch with a baby on her back. It seemed as if Nature, in all her lustiness, was happily mocking him, mocking them both.

  ‘Just one little baby, that's all she wants,’ he said. ‘And why is that too much to ask?’

  ‘Life can be very unfair,’ Dr Kerr murmured.

  ‘But to be reduced to this pathetic state,’ Lachlan continued, ‘imagining bouts of sickness and having fainting spells. She fainted every day in the week before I left Bombay. Did you know that? Yes, every day. I even began to wonder myself if she might be pregnant, but I dared not allow myself to ask. Now it seems it was all a product of her imagination.’

  ‘Oh no, you are quite wrong,’ Dr Kerr said. ‘Her sickness is very real, so are the weak spells. I did not say this to you in my letter asking you to return from Ceylon, but I must say it to you now.’

  It was eerily silent.

  Lachlan looked around him. Something in his head had stopped. Every sound in the whole world seemed to have stopped . . . he glanced up at the silent mynah bird as if wondering if he was having one of those dreams where everyone is speaking but no sound is heard.

  He smiled slightly. Yes, that was it. He was still on board his ship, asleep in his cabin, having a nightmare.

  He shook himself, and then looked at Dr Kerr with a twist of a dubious smile on his lips. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Jane is gravely ill,’ Dr Kerr repeated quietly. ‘I can no longer guarantee her life.’

  ELEVEN

  Jane was beaming with a happiness that nothing could spoil, cheerfully making plans for the life of her child and unaware that her own life was in danger. She unwrapped a beautiful silver rattle she had bought and tinkled it in Lachlan's face. ‘Isn't it sweet?’

  ‘Sweet,’ he agreed, speaking
with a palpable effort and managing a smile.

  She laughed, unaware of the trembling of his hand as he pushed back a dark curl from her brow.

  ‘And now we can go back to Calicut?’ she asked

  ‘Well …’

  A sea voyage, the doctor had recommended. A voyage of fresh sea air, and a holiday in a different and invigorating setting, might restore her.

  ‘Maybe not back to Calicut,’ he said. ‘At least, not for a while.’

  ‘Oh, why?’ She sat up on the sofa padded with cushions and stared at him in disappointment. Indeed, his entire attitude since his return yesterday had been very disappointing to say the least. Not over the moon about the baby, as she had expected, but inattentive, tired, abstracted.

  ‘I need a holiday,’ he said, looking into the pale face of his wife. Her frailness and pallor had shocked him on his return. She herself did not seem to notice it because it had come upon her in imperceptible degrees, day by day, and the reason she had lost pounds in weight, she believed, was simply due to the bouts of early morning sickness she had suffered.

  ‘It's the baby,’ she had assured him. ‘Mrs Oakes says many women lose weight in the early months.’

  ‘I need a holiday,’ he said again, ‘and after the Colombo and Galle campaigns, I have been granted leave to take one.’

  Jane was staring at him, studying his face with concern. ‘You are ill … oh my poor darling!’ Her own selfishness assailed her. ‘While I have been lying here resting like the Queen of Sheba, you have been marching and fighting and suffering all the hardships of a soldier. Yes, you must have a holiday,’ she insisted, holding his hand in tight determination. ‘A holiday somewhere peaceful and relaxing and away from the Army. So where shall we go?’

  Somewhere in the tropics, the doctor had said. No place cold or damp. Somewhere like India in the region of the tropics, but different and new and full of exciting sights for her to see and enjoy, after a voyage of healthy sea air.