THE PLANTER'S BRIDE: A story of intrigue and passion: sequel to THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER (India Tea Series Book 2)

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  She asked him about the War. He’d started as a private in the Scottish Horse then transferred to Artillery; finished up as captain in the mortar division.

  ‘Boz and I were ‘mortar-mongers’ – went through the whole thing together.’

  ‘Did you know Major Bruce MacGregor in the Scottish Horse?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Knew a captain of that name – must be the same man. Tall with a bushy moustache.’

  ‘Walks on crutches now; lost a leg,’ Sophie said. ‘The Memsahib belonged to him. He wouldn’t let me pay for it. Said my befriending him was worth ten motorcycles.’

  Tam gave her a sidelong look. ‘I think I’m jealous of the major.’

  She laughed and blushed. ‘Tell me more about France.’

  But Tam seemed reluctant to talk of the War.

  ‘You tell me about India first. I need to know all there is before I go.’

  Sophie sighed. ‘I’m afraid I’m the wrong person to ask; I remember so little. You see, my parents both died of fever when I was six; it was all terribly sudden. I know my father was a tea planter in Assam and my mother came out from Edinburgh to marry him, but I wouldn’t even know what they looked like if Auntie Amy hadn’t kept their photo on the mantelpiece. Isn’t that sad?’

  Tam stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You poor girl. No brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No, just Auntie and my second cousins in Newcastle.’

  Tam squeezed her shoulder. ‘Well from what I can see, Auntie Amy’s been as good as any mother could be – worth at least ten motorcycles.’

  Sophie’s eyes pricked with tears as she smiled back. ‘Yes, she is. And Cousin Tilly’s worth another half a dozen.’

  ‘There you are then – rich in relations,’ Tam declared.

  They walked on, comfortable in each other’s company, swapping stories about life in Edinburgh. Tam lived to the west of the city in Roseburn and talked with affection about his formidable mother and older sister Flora who had been suffragists before the War and now were passionate about Christian Science.

  ‘What’s that exactly?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘I suppose it’s about the power of prayer – and the mind – to overcome weakness in the body; to heal.’ He gave her a wary look as if she might find such talk embarrassing.

  ‘Go on,’ she encouraged.

  ‘Rather than just sit and listen to a sermon and be told what to think,’ he went on, ‘we Christian Scientists read to each other and concentrate the mind on making each other better – doesn’t matter where you are in the world.’

  ‘Like positive thinking?’

  ‘More than that,’ Tam said, enthusing, ‘it’s tapping into the creative force – mother, father, God – whatever you want to call it.’ He looked at Sophie with eyes that shone. ‘Sometimes, in the trenches, I’d get so exhausted that I could hardly drag myself out of my billet – completely physically and mentally done in. Then this friend I met – an American – encouraged me to do some Science. I thought it sounded a madcap idea but did it just to please. Suddenly I had all this energy again – the lads thought it was the toffees Mother sent me,’ Tam smiled, ‘but I knew it was more than that. Christian Science gave me the strength to carry on and now my mother and sister practise it regularly too. They like the idea that the philosophy was started by a woman.’ There was a note of defiance in his voice. ‘I can see from your look that now you think I’m quite mad.’

  Sophie shook her head and smiled. ‘I think you look extremely fit, so there must be something in it.’

  Tam laughed. ‘I like you, Sophie Logan.’

  They walked on and suddenly were through the woods; the view opened up, taking Sophie’s breath away. The hills rolled into the misty shimmer of dawn, a skylark trilling high above.

  While she gazed into the distance, Tam studied her, entranced by her fresh pink-cheeked looks, huge brown eyes and full lips parted in wonder. Her blonde hair fell in untidy waves about her shoulders and he imagined her soft tresses spread across his pillow on the bunk bed he had vacated for her. Dangerous thoughts, he warned himself.

  ‘Can I see you again, Sophie?’ he asked, though he hadn’t meant to.

  She turned and smiled in surprise, her face suffused in the morning light. He took her hand and held it in his for a moment, warming it in his rough, dry palm. Sophie’s insides fluttered with desire.

  She swallowed hard and replied, ‘Yes Tam, I’d like that very much.’

  Chapter 3

  Newcastle

  Tilly was watching at the bay window of the terraced house in Gosforth and flew outside at the noisy arrival of the motorcycle. Flossy the West Highland terrier waddled at her heels, barking. Small children stopped play to gape at the women on the bike; the pony of a tea delivery van whinnied and stamped in alarm in the normally quiet street.

  Tilly flung plump arms about the dismounting Sophie. ‘You must have driven like the wind to get here so quickly.’

  ‘We came from Carter Bar this morning,’ Sophie grinned and hugged her cousin.

  ‘Carter Bar?’ Tilly exclaimed.

  ‘Aye, we were kidnapped by wild forest men,’ Amy said, clambering stiffly out of the sidecar.

  ‘How exciting,’ said Tilly, nearly tripping over fat Flossy as she went to help. ‘But with you two, nothing surprises me. Welcome Auntie Amy.’ She kissed her on the cheek and chattered non-stop as she helped her up the steps, while Sophie carried in their bags.

  When Tilly’s father had been alive, the Watsons had employed a butler-cum-footman to fetch and carry, but since his death during the War, the family had lived more modestly. The paintwork of the once grand frontage was peeling and Tilly had confided recently that the house was becoming too much for her mother to manage.

  Tilly’s older sister, Mona, appeared and greeted them. ‘Let Tilly carry one of those cases,’ she fussed. ‘How was your journey? I can’t imagine why you didn’t come by train.’ Useless for Sophie to explain that the motorcycle was her one bit of adventure, for Mona continued without pause. ‘We’ll have tea in the drawing-room just as soon as you’re settled. I’ll tell cook you’re here. Mother’s resting. She’s having a bad day with her chest – probably the pollen.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Amy.

  ‘You can go in and see her later. Oh Tilly!’ Mona called after her sister and holding onto Flossy. ‘Do be careful with that case; you’re bashing it off the banister.’

  ‘Oh, silly me,’ Tilly said, flustered.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sophie reassured, ‘the case is ancient.’

  ‘But the banister is not,’ Mona replied. ‘Lift the case higher; that’s it.’

  Pausing for breath on the landing, Tilly rolled her eyes. ‘I will still be five years old in Mona’s eyes, when they’re wheeling me about in a bath chair.’

  ‘Us both,’ Sophie grinned.

  ‘No,’ Tilly shook her head. ‘She may pretend to disapprove but she secretly admires your independent spirit. All we Watsons do.’

  Over tea and sponge cake, they caught up on news. Tilly’s other sister Jacobina was doing well as a governess near Inverness but was too far away to attend the birthday party. Mona dominated the conversation. When she’d exhausted the topic of her married life in Dunbar and how well her husband’s grain business was going, she turned her critical eye on her youngest sister who was feeding titbits to their old dog.

  ‘You shouldn’t feed her cake, you know, she’s fat enough as it is. Would you like more tea, Aunt Amy? Of course Walter’s been very good about me coming down here to help with Tilly’s birthday celebrations. She has an admirer, has she told you?’

  ‘Hardly that,’ Tilly said, her round face going crimson under her mop of red curls. She began a vigorous patting of Flossy.

  ‘Called twice this week and sent a huge bouquet of flowers and it’s not even her birthday yet.’

  ‘They were for Mother too.’

  Sophie noticed how Tilly’s hazel eyes shon
e and her cheeks dimpled at the teasing. ‘Tell me more at once. You said nothing in your last letter about bunches of flowers.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘James Robson,’ Mona said on her sister’s behalf, ‘the tea planter. I’m surprised Tilly hasn’t mentioned him – especially with your father’s connection to the Oxford Tea Company. They were managers together, weren’t they? Mr Robson said he knew you as a child before your parents sudden passing away.’

  ‘Mona, I don’t think Sophie wants reminding ...’

  ‘I don’t mind, really,’ Sophie said at once. No one had ever understood that it was the not-speaking about her parents that she found the hardest to bear. She gave Tilly a quizzical smile. ‘Mr Robson, eh? The one who got on so well with Flossy?’

  ‘He – he’s quite sweet really,’ Tilly stammered and fiddled with a strand of wavy red hair.

  ‘A bit on the old side,’ said Mona, ‘and you’ve got to wonder why he’s got to the age of forty five and never married.’

  ‘How on earth do you know his age?’ Tilly exclaimed.

  ‘I asked Clarrie Robson of course; she knows everything about the Robsons with her being married to James’s cousin. Was a bit guarded when I asked her opinion, but admitted he was shrewd in business.’

  ‘Mona! You had no right to go asking about Mr Robson – not on my behalf. I hardly know him.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Mona, ‘that’s why I needed to make enquiries. Didn’t want our little Tilly making a fool over him. More tea, Aunt Amy?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Amy held out her cup. ‘I’m sure Tilly is quite able to assess Mr Robson for herself, Mona dearie.’

  ‘And Cousin Johnny knows him, doesn’t he?’ Sophie said. ‘Trusted him to bring back his wedding photos.’

  Mona pursed her lips. ‘Met him over a few whiskies in some club in Shillong, which is hardly a recommendation.’

  Tilly protested at this. ‘It wasn’t like that. Clarrie and Wesley introduced them when Johnny was posted to Shillong as doctor to the Ghurkha regiment there. James Robson was suffering terribly with a bad tooth and as there wasn’t a dentist for hundreds of miles, Johnny extracted the tooth. Mr Robson was so grateful, he gave our brother a couple of days shooting in return.’

  ‘So your Mr Robson is toothless as well as old?’ Sophie grinned.

  ‘Oh be quiet, he’s not my Mr Robson,’ Tilly giggled and slapped Sophie’s hand, making her spill tea down her skirt.

  ‘Tilly, look what you’ve done,’ Mona scolded. ‘You are the clumsiest girl!’

  ‘Sorry Sophie.’ Tilly thrust her linen napkin at her friend.

  Sophie dabbed. ‘It’s fine – and I deserved that.’

  ‘Tell me about your wild foresters, Auntie Amy,’ Tilly said, steering the conversation away from Robsons.

  ‘Wild foresters?’ Mona repeated, alert to fresh gossip.

  Amy briefly described their rescue in the rain.

  ‘And you stayed with them overnight in their camp?’ Mona gasped in shock.

  ‘And lived to tell the tale,’ Sophie said dryly. ‘Some of them are training for India.’

  ‘I wonder if any of them will go to Assam?’ Tilly asked. ‘Clarrie will be interested. She and Wesley helped fund a young Indian friend through forestry training at Dehra Dun.’

  ‘Indian?’ Mona frowned. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘He’s the great nephew of her old head servant or some such. Fought in Flanders.’

  ‘There was an Indian among the Edinburgh students,’ Amy said, ‘Rafi Khan they called him. That’s a Mohammedan name.’

  Tilly shook her head. ‘No, that wasn’t it but we’ll ask Clarrie at the party.’

  ‘Goodness me!’ Mona cried. ‘Let’s change the conversation from forestry men and Indians before Mother comes in.’ She rang the bell for Cook to remove the tea tray. ‘And Tilly, you had better help Sophie change out of her wet skirt and give it a sponge down before it stains.’

  The friends jumped up at the opportunity to escape upstairs.

  ***

  Tilly’s messy bedroom was crammed with books and postage stamp albums; an old nursery table was covered with envelopes and piles of stamps still to be sorted, mounted and labelled.

  ‘Johnny’s sent me some Indian ones – and he’s friendly with an Australian padre who’s going to collect for me too. I do miss Johnny though,’ Tilly sighed and plonked down on the bed. ‘No one to stick up for me when Mother and Mona are nagging.’

  Sophie changed out of her skirt. ‘I’ll have to put my jodhpurs back on – I only brought one skirt and a dress for the party.’ She dabbed at the stain with cold water from the washstand. ‘So you think you’ll go out and visit Johnny then?’

  ‘I may have to,’ Tilly shrugged, sounding suddenly dejected.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Tilly twirled hair around her finger; a sign of nervousness that Sophie knew well.

  ‘Tell me.’ Sophie abandoned the skirt and sat down beside her cousin.

  ‘I’m not supposed to say until after the party.’

  ‘You can tell me anything,’ Sophie encouraged, ‘you know I’ll keep it secret.’

  Tilly’s shoulders sagged. ‘Mother is going to live with Mona.’

  ‘Yes, you said in your letter. But just for the summer?’

  ‘No,’ Tilly shook her head, ‘for good. Mother is selling the house. I offered to be housekeeper here – do the cooking – if it meant Mother could stay on, but Mona and Walter said it’s out of the question and that I couldn’t possibly cope.’

  ‘Yes you could!’

  ‘It’s worse than I realised,’ Tilly shook her head. ‘There are debts to pay. Johnny’s medical training took all of Mother’s savings. Walter says the sale of the house will pay them off and leave a bit over for them to keep Mother in comfort.’

  ‘But what about you and Jacobina?’ Sophie cried. ‘This is your home too.’

  ‘Not for much longer. And Jacobina doesn’t mind like I do; she loves the Highlands and won’t ever return to a life in the city.’

  Sophie saw the tears welling in Tilly’s eyes. She put arms about her friend’s plump shoulders.

  ‘Don’t worry, it won’t be that bad. Dunbar is a pleasant town and it’ll be nearer for us to visit each other.’

  Tilly shook her head. ‘Mona has convinced Mother that it would be better for me to go to India and stay with Johnny and Helena – my best chance of finding a husband. Mona doesn’t want me in Dunbar being a drain on their household.’

  Sophie snorted. ‘She was boasting about how well Walter’s business is doing.’

  Tilly gave an unhappy look. ‘That’s just Mona putting on a brave face. Things are tough for farmers since the War ended.’

  Sophie asked. ‘What do you want to do?’

  Tilly was torn. ‘I want to see Johnny again of course ... But I don’t know what’s more terrifying; being married off to someone I hardly know or not finding anyone who wants to marry me and being sent back to Mother and Mona as a failure.’

  ‘Oh Tilly!’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘I bet the young officers in Pindi will be queuing up to marry you. You’re the prettiest, kindest girl I’ve ever known.’

  Tilly blushed and suppressed a smile. ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘Not nonsense,’ Sophie declared. ‘And if you don’t find anyone worthy of you, then you can come back to Edinburgh and live with me and Auntie.’

  ‘Can I?’ Tilly brightened.

  ‘Of course.’

  A tear spilled from Tilly’s eye and her chin wobbled. ‘You are the best friend anyone could ask for,’ Tilly gasped and they hugged each other tight.

  Chapter 4

  Stepping from the dusty drab street of Newcastle’s West End into Herbert’s Tea Rooms, Sophie was assaulted by colour. It was decorated with party streamers and Chinese lanterns, the tables laid with starched white cloths, vases of multi-coloured flowers and tiers of dainty sandwiches, fruit scones and slices of chocol
ate cake – Tilly’s favourite.

  Sophie gazed at the Egyptian-style décor of golden sphinx, bejewelled pharaohs and black hieroglyphics painted onto bright yellow walls, with palm fronds standing in brass holders on the black and white tiled floor. Incongruous, she thought, to pass from the gritty working-class quarter and the clank of industry into this dazzling oasis of gaudy glamour and the strains of a string quartet.

  Tilly gripped Sophie’s arm in alarm. ‘Why is it set out for so many? I only wanted something small.’

  A handsome dark-haired woman in an old-fashioned tea dress, rushed to greet them.

  ‘Happy Birthday Tilly!’ she planted a kiss on her flushed cheek. ‘How bonny you look in blue.’

  ‘Clarrie, this looks wonderful,’ Tilly gasped at her hostess. ‘You’ve gone to so much trouble. I don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Of course you do, and it’s no trouble at all,’ Clarrie smiled, ‘Lexy and the girls have done all the hard work.’ She turned to Sophie, her eyes widening at the sight of the shapely young women in a short cream crêpe de chine frock, jaunty green hat and kid gloves. ‘Can this beautiful young lady be little Sophie Logan? Do you still like custard tarts?’

  Sophie laughed and shook hands. ‘Yes I do! Are you still making the best ones in the land?’

  Clarrie put a hand on her arm. ‘Still a little charmer, I see. And yes, they are just as good. You’ll please Lexy no end if you eat as many as you can.’

  ‘It’s such a beautiful café,’ Sophie enthused, ‘better than anything I’ve seen in Edinburgh – and we do cafes very well.’

  ‘Again I can’t take the credit – my sister Olive re-designed it all to suit modern tastes,’ Clarrie said. ‘Since I went back to live in India, she helps Lexy run this place. My husband and I really only help with the finances now.’

  ‘Where’s Adela?’ Tilly asked. ‘I hoped she’d be here.’

  ‘Olive is looking after my wild lass this afternoon – she’s being spoilt rotten by her big cousins.’