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

  What hurt was the look of admiration and desire on James’s face the moment he had set eyes on Sophie; his handsome blue eyes had never lit in such a way for her and she knew they never would. She would be forever in the shadow of her much prettier, more vivacious cousin; Sophie didn’t even realise the power she had to attract men. At that moment, Tilly made up her mind that she would go and live with Johnny and Helena as the family wished, so that she would forge a new life thousands of miles away and out of Sophie Logan’s shadow. She would marry whoever would have her, and then she could hold her head up high among her relations who thought her so unremarkable and believed that she would never amount to anything.

  Chapter 5

  Plunging into an ice-filled bath, James submerged his head and came up roaring with the cold. It was the best way to dampen down his troublesome sex drive on this trip to England. He did not know where to go in Newcastle to relieve his ardour and would not risk bumping into anyone he knew. At home – strange how Assam felt like that now even though the British there constantly harked on about England being Home – he found that riding hard was just the antidote to a sex problem. Or when things got really bad, he would take himself down to Tezpur and spend a night with one of the girls at The Orchid on the edge of the bazaar.

  As he washed himself vigorously with hard carbolic soap, James wondered again if the whole trip had been a mistake. Ever since he had arrived in the country he had felt like a fish out of water, bewildered at the changes in post-war England: the fashions, the music, the traffic, the pace of life and lack of deference, the new dances he would never be able to master. He found it hard not to stare at all the flesh on show, with skirts so much shorter and bare arms flaunted in summer and in evening frocks. He was pretty sure that the wives and daughters of his tea planter friends were still wearing the high-necked, full-skirted dresses that their mothers had worn when he’d first gone out to Assam in Queen Victoria’s day. But then he so seldom socialised at the Club or accepted invitations to dinner that perhaps he just hadn’t noticed.

  Why had he not spent his leave travelling in the colonies? There was good sport to be had in Australia and South Africa, so he was told. He ducked his soapy head underwater one more time. No, he had come back to Newcastle for one specific reason; to find a wife. It was time he looked to the future and the next generation of Robsons who would take on the mantle of running the Oxford Tea Company, its plantations and exports. They had expanded into tea rooms before the war but sold those at a handsome profit to invest in land in East Africa; his cousin Wesley was supposed to have gone out to supervise their new tea gardens there.

  Wesley, he thought with irritation, had turned out such a disappointment. The brightest and most able businessman in the family, Wesley had lost his head over the strong-willed Clarrie Belhaven, married her and returned to her childhood home at Belgooree in the Khassia Hills. So far they had only produced dark-eyed daughter Adela, so there was no heir to the family firm. And with Clarrie’s dubious heritage – her mother had been half-Assamese which didn’t bother him unduly but made her socially outcast in India – Wesley had sacrificed any chance of taking on leadership of the family firm when he, James, decided to retire.

  So he needed a wife young and robust enough to survive the tropical heat of Assam and bear him sons. Besides, a woman at home to provide a few comforts and make his house, Cheviot Cottage, more homely wouldn’t be a bad thing, and it would please his neighbours the Percy-Barratts who for years had been badgering him to marry. Muriel Percy-Barratt had taken it upon herself to oversee his servants and order his household, but James knew that the long-suffering Reggie Percy-Barratt thought his wife spent too much time over at Cheviot Cottage.

  James leapt out of his cold bath and towelled himself down. Muriel would approve of Tilly; the youngest Watson daughter looked robust and seemed eager to please. She would be the sensible choice. Then Sophie Logan’s athletic figure and pretty face pushed their way into his thoughts again. How alike she was to her bonny mother Jessie. With a pang of longing that he had not felt in years, he allowed himself to think of Jessie Logan. All the young tea planters had been in love with Logan’s wife. Perhaps that had been the real tragedy.

  As he dressed, James decided on action. The waspish Mona Watson had said that her family were leaving for Dunbar tomorrow, so that meant Sophie and her aunt would be too. Even though it was Sunday and he suspected the Presbyterian Watsons would not welcome social calls on a day of rest, this might be his last chance. If his proposal came to nothing, then he would leave Newcastle immediately and head to France for some boar hunting. James struggled once more into a tight starched collar and flattened down his thick wiry hair with brilliantine, wondering why he should feel more nervous now than he had done when coming face to face with a bear on a hunting trip in Upper Assam.

  ***

  ‘Oh, Mr Robson?’ Mona’s mouth turned down in disapproval. ‘I am surprised to see you here again.’ She guarded the door and did not invite him in. James curbed his impatience.

  ‘I’m sorry to call unannounced, but you did say you were leaving for Dunbar this week and I thought this might be my only opportunity–’

  ‘I’m afraid we aren’t receiving visitors,’ Mona interrupted. ‘Mother is resting and my sister is too busy packing.’

  ‘It’s Miss Logan that I wish to speak to,’ James said, standing his ground.

  Mona gave a little gasp and her mouth tightened. ‘Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Sophie and her aunt are out taking the air with Clarrie Robson. They met at the kirk this morning and Clarrie suggested a picnic. I don’t really approve of such things on Sunday but Aunt Amy allows Sophie whatever she wants, as far as I can see.’

  ‘Mona, who’s at the door?’ Tilly called down the stairs, Flossy panting at her heels.

  ‘Mr Robson,’ Mona said, ‘but I’m just explaining–’

  ‘Well, let him in,’ Tilly cried, hurrying down. ‘He’ll think we Watsons have no manners.’

  Tilly flushed pink at the bow James Robson gave her and couldn’t believe her luck that he had decided to call on her again. She had long grown tired of packing and regretted not going on the picnic with Sophie. But then she would have missed James’s visit; he had obviously called to make amends for arriving late and being offhand at her party.

  ‘Please come in,’ she smiled. ‘Would you like tea? The maid’s off duty but I can boil up a kettle.’

  Flossy went straight to James, licking his large hands when he bent to fondle her.

  ‘Hello old girl.’

  ‘Tilly, he hasn’t come to see you,’ Mona said, as James fussed over the dog.

  ‘Oh?’ Tilly’s face fell. How stupid she was to think that he had. Of course, it was Sophie that he wanted to visit.

  James stepped forward, annoyed by Mona’s thoughtlessness. ‘I’d be pleased to take tea with you, Matilda. May I call you Matilda?’

  ‘Of course,’ Tilly brightened, ‘though I’d rather you called me Tilly. Matilda reminds me of being told off for spilling ink at school.’

  James raised an eyebrow. ‘Tilly it is then.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t time to sit around chaperoning you,’ Mona was dismissive. ‘I have all Mother’s things to pack.’

  ‘You have nothing to fear,’ James gave an amused grunt, ‘and I won’t be staying long.’

  Tilly felt her insides plunge at his words; he was here under sufferance. Mona left them standing awkwardly in the drawing-room.

  ‘Please sit down, Mr Robson.’ Tilly pointed at a sturdy wing-backed chair by the empty grate. ‘My father liked to sit there.’

  James gave it a wary glance.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that,’ Tilly flushed. ‘I just meant that it’s a good chair for a large man like you. Not that you’re large – just manly – it’s all the outdoor pursuits you mentioned – that make you ... Oh dear,’ Tilly’s hands flew to her hot cheeks, ‘I really don’t know how to speak to you Mr Robson
. I’m so used to Mother or my sisters doing the talking for me. You must think me very stupid and dull.’

  James hesitated, then took her by the elbow and steered her onto a faded brocade sofa and sat beside her. Flossy flopped down at his feet.

  ‘Not dull or stupid. Your open manner is refreshing Tilly. I usually find the gossiping of women quite tedious.’

  Tilly eyed him and then let out a throaty laugh. ‘Well, that’s very candid of you too. Tell me about the women in India, Mr Robson. Are they very different from us?’

  ‘The British or the natives?’ James asked.

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Well the native women are very hard working; they are nimble with their fingers and make good tea pickers.’

  ‘Do you speak to them in their language?’

  James was surprised by the question. ‘I don’t really get to speak to them. My subordinates deal with them directly.’ Her gaze made him uncomfortable. ‘But I do speak a few words of Bengali –most of the staff come from Bengal – and I can make a stab at Hindustani.’

  ‘So these women are workers not friends?’

  James felt uneasy as he thought of the women at The Orchid he occasionally paid for sex; they would hardly think of him as a friend. He nodded. ‘That’s just the way it is in India.’

  Tilly looked pensive for a moment and he wondered if she thought less of him for having no native friends. But she let it pass.

  ‘And the British in India?’ Tilly asked.

  James felt on firmer ground. ‘The British women in Assam are full of pluck on the whole. There are fewer these days who can’t endure the heat or succumb to sickness.’

  ‘Like Sophie’s mother?’ Tilly asked.

  James nodded briefly, not wanting to be reminded of the Logans and his reason for calling. ‘But most of them make the most of it and thrive on the life.’

  ‘That’s what I imagine my new sister-in-law Helena is like,’ Tilly enthused. ‘Johnny’s letters are full of their social life – gymkhanas and dances and dinners and picnics – it must be so much fun. Do you like Helena?’

  James was taken aback by the blunt question. His impression of Johnny’s new wife was of a social climber who hadn’t wanted a mere boxwallah – a man in trade – like him at her wedding. But perhaps he was being unfair.

  ‘She was jolly enough,’ James said.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Tilly, ‘you don’t like her, do you?’

  James laughed with embarrassment. ‘Your brother adores her and that’s what matters.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Tilly smiled wistfully. ‘He used to think the world of me too.’

  ‘He still does,’ James said gallantly.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he tell you about me?’ Tilly grinned expectantly.

  James recalled vividly. Johnny was just as open and friendly as his youngest sister, with the same refreshing candour that might not go down well with some of his superiors and probably wouldn’t with his sister.

  ‘You don’t have to make up something nice to say that wouldn’t be true,’ Tilly pressed him. ‘So what did my brother say?’

  ‘That you’re good with dogs and never ill.’

  To his surprise, Tilly roared with laughter. ‘Well that’s the truth!’

  Flossy raised her head and gave a small bark at her mistress’s mirth. They both reached for the dog at the same time and their hands knocked against each other’s. Tilly pulled back first. James thought how pretty she looked when she blushed.

  ‘Would you like that cup of tea now?’

  James glanced around the room hoping there might be something stronger. He craved a large whisky and soda but he suspected the Watson women were teetotal as he had never been offered more than tea here.

  ‘Tea would be grand,’ he forced a smile.

  ‘Good,’ said Tilly. ‘You might as well come with me or you’ll only be sitting here on your own twiddling your thumbs.’

  Meekly, he followed her out of the drawing-room and through the green baize door that separated the front of the house from the servants’ domain. Yet it was all strangely quiet, unlike the chatter and singing that rang around his kitchen compound at home. James paced around the gloomy kitchen with its smoky range while Tilly coaxed a blackened kettle to boil enough water for a pot of tea and talked to Flossy about sharing biscuits. The shelves were almost empty of supplies and the coal scuttle was largely filled with dross. Perhaps the Watsons’ circumstances were more straightened than Johnny had led him to believe; or was he unaware of the family situation?

  Tilly reached for a canister of tea and spooned three heaps into the warmed teapot. ‘You’ll drink the cold dregs, won’t you Flossy? None of our tea gets wasted.’

  James could tell by smelling it that the tea was inferior dust tea, but he said nothing. He was enjoying Tilly’s animated conversation and felt suddenly protective towards her; she deserved better than this dispiriting place. Picking up the tray, he insisted on carrying the tea things, barging at the baize door with a broad shoulder and sweeping back into the drawing-room with Tilly chattering behind him about Flossy’s love of Assam tea. As he put down the tray, he glanced out of the bay window and saw Sophie and her aunt turning into the street. The moment he had waited for was almost here. His heart missed a beat at the sight of her fair face laughing as she held onto her hat in the breeze, blonde hair escaping its pins.

  Tilly followed his look and caught sight of her cousin too. She felt suddenly deflated; she had been enjoying having this energetic man’s company all to herself. Alone, he was much more relaxed and appeared to have a sense of humour too. She struggled to hide her disappointment. ‘Oh, there they are. I better fetch two more cups.’

  James turned. Her hazel eyes held his gaze for an instant; kind beseeching eyes like those of a faithful hound. It struck him in that moment that Tilly really did care for him. On his earlier visits that month he had hoped to cultivate a mutual regard between them, even friendship. James had immediately liked her brother Johnny but had found Tilly overshadowed by her bossy sister Mona; until now. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at ease in a woman’s company. He had a sudden gut instinct what to do.

  ‘Tilly, I’ve come here today,’ he began to explain.

  ‘I know why you’ve come, Mr Robson,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘It’s Sophie you want, isn’t it?’

  For a long moment James said nothing. Tilly held her breath though she already knew his answer. It had been exciting pretending for a while that this man might be interested in her. She bent down to hug Flossy; at least the dog’s love was wholehearted and constant.

  ‘Tilly, you’re wrong,’ James said in a stern voice. ‘Will you marry me?’

  Startled, she looked up. ‘Did you say marry?’

  James reached down and pulled her to her feet. His grip dug into her fleshy arms. ‘Yes I did. So will you?’

  ‘Mr Robson, I thought–’

  ‘Don’t think,’ James was impatient. He wanted her answer before Sophie walked in and he changed his mind or lost his nerve. ‘Please Tilly; say you’ll be my wife.’

  ‘Wife?’ Tilly echoed, then let out a gurgle of delight. ‘Yes, Mr Robson, I will!’

  James let go his iron hold and clamping his hands either side of her head, planted a robust kiss on her plump mouth.

  ‘Thank you,’ he grinned in relief. Tilly liked him and wanted him; and she’d saved him from making a fool of himself over the Logan girl who probably would have turned him down flat. ‘We’ll get wed before I return to India. You can follow on later – it’ll take a while to sort out a passage and I’ll need time to fix up the house – but there’s nothing to stop us marrying straight away, is there?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Tilly gasped, her head reeling from her sudden change in fortune.

  They heard the front door open; the chatter between Sophie and Amy grew closer.

  ‘Pinch me,’ Tilly snorted with mirth.
/>
  ‘Pinch you?’ James frowned.

  ‘So I know I’m not dreaming this.’

  Instead, he seized her hand and crushed it in his, as much to give himself courage as reassure Tilly.

  Chapter 6

  Sophie had hoped to return to Edinburgh by the same route they had come south on but Mona insisted that they call in at Dunbar for a night, so they motored up the coastal road.

  James Robson’s hasty proposal to Tilly had taken everyone by surprise. Mrs Watson was tearful but relieved; Mona was not so accepting.

  ‘Engaged?’ Mona had cried, once James had left. ‘You hardly know the man!’

  ‘You’ve been nagging me to find a husband for the past two years,’ Tilly protested.

  ‘You can do better than a tea planter,’ her sister blustered. ‘Johnny will find you a young officer with good prospects.’

  ‘He won’t need to now,’ Tilly was triumphant. ‘Mr Robson runs a very good business – he’s a wealthy man – and I won’t need to be beholden to anyone. Assam sounds amazing – full of exotic animals and polo matches and tea.’

  ‘You’re frightened of wild animals and you hate sport,’ Mona said.

  ‘Well, I love tea,’ Tilly replied.

  ‘I think Tilly will make a wonderful planter’s wife,’ Sophie defended her friend. ‘Her house will be open to everyone. James Robson is a lucky man.’

  ‘Well that’s true,’ Mona conceded, ‘we Watsons are known for our hospitality.’ This prompted her to insist on Sophie and Amy staying at Dunbar on their way home. ‘Can’t have you breaking down in the middle of nowhere and being at the mercy of wild foresters again.’

  Sophie kept to herself that that was exactly what she hoped might happen, for she had thought a lot of the dashing, smiling Tam Telfer over the past couple of days. She was pleased for Tilly who seemed so happy at her sudden engagement, but it stirred up mixed feelings in Sophie. Tilly would be leaving England for good and the Watson’s home in Newcastle sold. After the wedding, she would never be able to visit them again; it would be a painful tearing up of roots.