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

  ‘Educating children is such a problem in India, isn’t it?’ Muriel sighed.

  ‘It’s all very well up to the age of seven or eight,’ said Colonel Hogg’s wife. ‘I gave my children their lessons till that age, and they came to no harm. But I pitied the older children who were stuck here during the War; mine were safely through school age by then.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Muriel, ‘I’m thankful the War was all over by the time Henry Junior was ready for prep school.’

  ‘Some of the officer’s children who were already at boarding school, didn’t get to see their parents for the whole of the War, poor blighters,’ Mrs Hogg admitted.

  ‘That’s awful,’ Sophie cried. ‘They would hardly know their parents when they returned.’

  Muriel gave her a frosty look. ‘Hard for the mothers, but at least they knew their children were getting the discipline and educational rigour of first class schools.’

  ‘It’s not so bad in the larger stations for younger children now,’ said an engineer’s wife, ‘places where there are plenty of other British kiddies and nursery schools.’

  ‘Impossible in the countryside where we are,’ Muriel declared.

  ‘Mmm,’ Sophie mused, ‘I certainly have no memory of being sent to school.’

  ‘It’s awful having to say goodbye to them,’ said the wife of a PWD, Public Works Department Officer, her eyes filling with tears, ‘just awful. I’m glad I’ve still got my Hester with me for another four years, else I couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘We all have to bear it,’ Muriel was brusque. ‘It’s what we do best, us wives and mothers.’

  Tilly couldn’t help putting a possessive hand on her stomach where the roundness was already showing under her straight beige dress. Her baby wasn’t even born and she could not imagine sending it so far away from her at such a young age.

  ‘Are there no good schools in the whole of India?’ she asked.

  ‘Few for the likes of us,’ said Mrs Hogg.

  ‘Even if there were,’ Muriel said, ‘it would be selfish to keep our children in India after seven years old. They react badly to the climate – lose their strength.’

  The engineer’s wife nodded. ‘They can become lazy like the natives.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Muriel, ‘you have to put their well-being before your own feelings, my dear.’

  ‘Still,’ the wife of the PWD Officer sighed, ‘it’s very hard and I hate to think that George might be unhappy in his new school and I’m too far away to do anything about it. How do I know if he’s happy?’

  Clarrie, who had been playing with Adela among the deck quoits, joined in.

  ‘There are some very good mission schools. I went to one run by Catholic nuns in Shillong. I hope Adela might go there too one day.’

  The women were shocked into silence. Adela caught sight of Wesley and went hurtling down the deck towards him. Clarrie smiled at Tilly.

  ‘Things are changing slowly in India, but they are changing. Maybe by the time your bonny baby is eight, he or she won’t have to be sent thousands of miles away from you. I have no intention of banishing Adela to boarding school five thousand miles away.’

  Clarrie walked off to join her family.

  ‘Well really,’ tutted Muriel, ‘the cheek of the woman.’

  ‘How embarrassing,’ said the engineer’s wife. ‘We haven’t banished our children.’

  ‘Mrs Robson can be quite forthright,’ said Mrs Hogg, standing up. ‘I don’t think she means to offend.’

  ‘I’m afraid I disagree,’ Muriel said, ‘that woman doesn’t care what she says – and she wasn’t even in our conversation.’

  ‘As we’re all out on deck,’ Mrs Hogg remarked, ‘it was hardly private. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a rest.’ She nodded to them and left. Once she was out of earshot, Muriel fuelled her indignation.

  ‘Well you can guess why Clarrie Robson went to the nuns in Shillong, of course,’ she said.

  ‘Is she Eurasian?’ the PWD Officer’s wife whispered the name.

  ‘Exactly. And you just have to look at the child to see the Indian blood coming out in the next generation.’

  ‘Adela is only one-eighth Indian,’ Tilly spoke up, ‘as if that matters.’

  ‘Oh, I assure you that it does matter,’ said Muriel. ‘I don’t know why they aren’t in tourist class.’

  ‘The husband seems nice though,’ said the PWD Officer’s wife.

  ‘They’re all delightful,’ Sophie stood up, tired of their gossiping. ‘And they’re Tilly’s family now, so you shouldn’t be rude about them.’

  Muriel looked offended. ‘Well, from what my husband tells me, your father never gave that woman’s family the time of day,’ she snapped at Sophie. ‘Bill Logan thought Jock Belhaven was letting the side down marrying a half-caste and producing daughters like her – and he wasn’t shy in telling Belhaven to his face. It was your father made sure the Belhavens weren’t welcome at the club in Tezpur, that’s what my Henry said. Your father knew how awkward it was for the other planters and their families. ‘Course that was all before I came to Assam, but I think your father had the right idea.’

  Sophie felt winded at this sudden mention of her father and she was shocked to hear he had ostracised Clarrie’s family. She swapped looks with Tilly. Was there more to James’s disagreement with Wesley than a difference of opinion over methods of producing tea? Perhaps Clarrie was still a social outcast in India and James wanted nothing to do with her?

  Tilly gave an embarrassed shrug but said nothing.

  ‘I’m going to change for the tea dance,’ Sophie announced, with a defiant look at Muriel. ‘I’m glad I don’t have children to worry over. I’m going to enjoy a bit of life before getting tied down with all that.’

  As she walked off, she heard the tea planter’s wife venting her disapproval.

  ‘That cousin of yours thinks she knows it all, Tilly, but the last thing India needs is modern women with their bobbed hair stirring things up. I hope she’s not going to give that forester of hers the run around. He’ll need to keep a tight rein or mark my words, she’ll land in trouble.’

  ***

  Sophie soon tired of trying to placate the censorious Muriel and ignored her waspish remarks about Sophie’s enthusiasm for the dancing and deck entertainment. She found kindred spirits in young Ella Holland, wife of a surveyor, and a Captain Cecil Roberts, an army engineer who organised impromptu concerts. Sophie sang Scottish songs while the Captain banged out tunes badly on a piano. There was a group of Americans going to work for an oil company in the Punjab who were keen on outdoor sports. They helped Cecil, Sophie, Clarrie and Wesley run a sports day for the children, with wheelbarrow races and an obstacle course of quoits and rope netting. It ended in a mass tug of war and buckets of water being hurled at the winners.

  ‘I’ve heard that Ella Holland and her husband changed their name so that he could progress in the Surveying Department,’ Muriel gossiped. ‘Used to be called Abrams – obviously Jewish. You just have to look at her.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t she pretty?’ Sophie said and hurried from the cabin. She didn’t know how Tilly could stand the woman’s sniping, but her cousin didn’t seem to notice. Tilly was constantly tired and showed no interest in joining in the fun.

  After nearly two weeks of sailing, the ship docked at Port Said, dropping anchor at midnight. The next morning Sophie badgered a listless Tilly to go ashore to explore. Muriel marched them to the emporium run by Simon Arzt to buy solar topees, the ubiquitous sun hats of the British in the tropics.

  ‘Otherwise your brains will fry in the heat,’ she warned. ‘You can fancify them with a bit of ribbon but you mustn’t go anywhere without one.’

  ‘Makes you wonder how anyone survived before they were invented,’ Sophie smirked.

  ‘They didn’t,’ Muriel snapped. ‘Ordinary hats don’t give British heads enough protection.’

  While Muriel was haggling keenly over a blue and yellow vase for
her bungalow in Assam, Sophie and Tilly managed to give her the slip. They wandered among the gaudy stalls, admiring the striped shawls and pretty linens and gawping at tea sellers holding high their brass trays loaded with glasses of tea as they weaved among the crowds and donkeys.

  ‘Clarrie should employ these boys at Herbert’s,’ Tilly said. ‘How do they not spill a drop?’

  ‘Let’s have one,’ Sophie said, glad that her friend was showing an interest in something at last, and paid for two glasses of the sweet black tea.

  ‘I can’t drink it without milk,’ Tilly complained.

  ‘Try it; it’s very refreshing. I remember having tea like this as a child. I’d forgotten till now.’

  ‘I hope there’ll be milk at Cheviot Cottage,’ Tilly sipped and pulled a face. ‘Ugh, I’ve quite lost the taste for tea. Let’s go back to the boat; it leaves at noon and we mustn’t get left behind. And the smells are making me sick.’

  Tilly found the place overwhelming; she had quickly lost her appetite for shopping and meandering around the town. She wished she could shake off her lethargy, but all she wanted to do these days was curl up and sleep. She knew she was being irritable with Sophie but couldn’t help it; she envied her cousin’s ease of making new friends and her boundless energy. This baby inside had turned her into such a moaner – she didn’t recognise herself – but there was nothing she could do to control her emotions.

  ‘You must buy something for James as a souvenir,’ Sophie urged. ‘What would he like? I thought I’d get Tam some Turkish Delight; he and Boz both have a sweet tooth.’

  Tilly was at a loss. ‘I’ve no idea.’ The thought made her tearful. ‘I’m married to him and I don’t even know if he likes Turkish Delight.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sophie said quickly, ‘you can buy something for the house.’ At once she began bartering with a cheerful young boy for a couple of cushion covers for Tilly. He persuaded them both to buy striped shawls and souvenir spoons too. Sophie bought two boxes of Turkish Delight and then hurried her cousin back to the ship where they were met by an indignant Muriel.

  ‘I thought you’d been abducted! You should never have gone wandering off on your own. You need eyes in the back of your head the further east you go.’

  ‘Difficult when you’re wearing a topee,’ Sophie quipped.

  ‘And look at poor Tilly, quite done in,’ Muriel accused. ‘You should take better care of your cousin. All you think about, young lady, is yourself.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Tilly said, ‘just glad to be back on board.’

  Both friends were cheered by letters from their men. James’s was short and businesslike, detailing how he would meet her at Calcutta, but if he was delayed she and Mrs Percy-Barratt must book into the Victoria Hotel and wait for him.

  ‘I’ve just sent a ten-page letter,’ Tilly cried, ‘and get one page back that looks like it’s written on lavatory paper. He’s not the least bit romantic. Look at Tam’s long letter; it’s not fair!’

  Sophie found a quiet corner on deck to read hers; six sides of thin paper headed: Forest Office, Lahore. It appeared that Tam was mainly based in the countryside at a place called Changa Manga and hadn’t seen much of Lahore yet. It brimmed full of enthusiasm for his work and his plans for the plantations; a canal that could be diverted to irrigate the nurseries, a wagonway that should be extended and his keenness to experiment with different species.

  ‘Yesterday I shot a blackbuck at dawn. I organised some beaters among the labourers and we flushed it out. Got him with one clean shot in the shoulder at eighty yards. I’ve had the skin salted and sent over to the Remounts – they’re the lads who supply horses to the army – they have a tailor who can make it into a rug for your dainty feet! My sweet one, I can’t wait to kiss those feet and all the rest of you.’

  Sophie blushed with pleasure and pressed the pages to her lips. ‘Me too,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ve had a bout of fever – nothing to worry yourself about – all us new boys down here have had a dose. It was very hot still when we came out and the ‘moskies’ got busy on me. Just don’t want you turning round and sailing straight home when you catch sight of me at Bombay – I’m a bit of a skeleton compared to when you last saw me. But then maybe I won’t recognise you either with your bobbed hair and we’ll walk straight past each other! I just want the day to hurry up and come, then we can start our new life together. I’m going up to Lahore in a couple of days to see about renting married quarters in one of the cantonments. I board at The Cecil Hotel when in town – it’s run by a kindly old soul called Miss Jones – I know you’ll like her and she introduced me to a Christian Science couple, the Floyds.

  Hugh Floyd works for the Revenue in the Punjab Government and Deidre Floyd is a mainstay of the C.S. Society in Lahore and they often hold the Sunday reading at their bungalow. She has a friend on your boat, a Colonel’s wife, Fluffy Hogg. Have you come across her?’

  ‘Fluffy?’ Sophie laughed out loud. What an unlikely name for such a formidable woman, she thought. She wouldn’t be frightened of her again.

  ‘I’ve so much to tell you,’ Tam’s letter continued, ‘it feels like I’ve been here for years already. I prefer it here in the jungle working all hours and learning Urdu. When I go to town and see all the couples dining and dancing and having the time of their lives, I miss you all the more and the hole in my heart grows bigger. Hurry the day I can hold you in my arms again.

  Yours aye, Tam.’

  ‘I can see from your face,’ Tilly said disconsolately when Sophie returned, ‘that your letter told you more than train times and how to get through customs.’

  ‘It told me what Mrs Hogg’s nickname is,’ Sophie grinned. ‘Have a guess.’

  ‘Brunhilda?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Prudence?’

  ‘Not even close.’

  ‘Charity. Oh, I give up.’

  ‘Fluffy!’ Sophie cried.

  ‘You’re making that up.’

  ‘No I’m not – I have it on the best authority in the Punjab. She must be a Florence or some such but her friends call her Fluffy; isn’t that priceless?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tilly agreed and then for the first time in weeks she felt a strange sensation bubbling up inside. It came out as a snort and then she was consumed in laughter.

  ‘Tilly’s got the giggles at last,’ Sophie spluttered as she fell on the bunk beside her and caught the infectious laugh. For several minutes they rolled around in helpless mirth until Muriel came in and threatened to call the ship’s doctor if they didn’t pull themselves together.

  ***

  The S.S. City of Baroda sailed down the Suez Canal and into the Red Sea. The temperature rose suddenly, the crew changed into white ‘togs’ and the passengers dug out light clothing; white flannels for the men and summer dresses for the women. As they steamed south the heat became oppressive and people preferred to laze and look at the stars rather than to dance. Encouraged by Tam’s talk of learning Urdu, Sophie took up Mrs Hogg’s offer of teaching her a few phrases while sitting on the port side of the deck out of the direct sun.

  ‘Sets a good example,’ said Mrs Hogg, ‘if you can talk to your servants in their own tongue – why should they always have to be speaking English? Besides,’ she said with a twinkle in the eye, ‘it’ll mean you’ll have some idea of what they’re saying about you.’ She had a dry sense of humour under the burra memsahib persona and Sophie grew to like her.

  Tilly waved away any suggestion of joining in ‘Fluffy’s phrase-a-day’ as she called it. ‘I think James’s servants speak Bengali or something else, so what’s the point? And I’ve hardly got the energy to read, let alone take in a language.’ Her tetchiness returned with the heat.

  Aden floated by in the twilight as the ship pushed out into open sea, but there was little relief below deck.

  Tilly found it impossible to sleep. The fug of the cabin and Muriel’s nightly snoring was driving her to despair.

  ‘
We’ll sleep on deck,’ Sophie whispered and grabbing bedding, bullied her friend upstairs.

  Others had had the same idea and the crew had rigged up a sail to divide the deck into two areas; one for women and one for men. They lay in their underclothes, side by side, gazing up at a bright moon. Tilly felt a sudden relief in the mild sea air and reached for Sophie’s hand.

  ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Umm.’

  ‘I’m sorry for being such a dragon. I don’t know what’s come over me.’

  Sophie squeezed her hand. ‘Pregnancy’s come over you.’

  ‘But I shouldn’t take it out on you; the nicer you’ve been to me, the more bad tempered I’ve become. I’m horrible pregnant.’

  Sophie sat up and rummaged under the blanket. ‘Here, this’ll sweeten your mood.’ She opened a box and tore off a piece of sugary sweetmeat.

  ‘That’s Tam’s Turkish Delight,’ Tilly protested. ‘I can’t eat your present.’

  ‘There’s another box.’ Sophie popped a square into Tilly’s mouth and took another. It was nutty and delicious. For several minutes they chewed in silence.

  ‘The stars are different from home,’ Tilly mused. ‘That must be the Southern Cross.’

  ‘Isn’t it romantic?’ Sophie sighed. ‘I wish Tam were here to see it.’

  ‘You’ll be with him in a week’s time,’ Tilly said, ‘then you’ll never need to be parted again.’

  Sophie’s insides clenched. ‘I’ve never been so excited or frightened.’

  Tilly snorted. ‘You never get frightened about anything. I’m the one who’s a bag of nerves. Ever since I knew I was expecting, I keep having these panics and wonder what on earth I’ve done. Not about the baby really – just about me and James. I bet you don’t have doubts it might not work out with Tam and you’ll be stuck there for ever?’

  ‘No,’ Sophie replied. ‘Nothing about getting married to Tam worries me. But I do get nervous at the thought of India; my feelings about the place are so mixed up. I just hope that going back might get rid of the sadness about my parents – lay the ghosts of my childhood.’

  ‘Strange you should say that,’ Tilly murmured, ‘Rafi Khan said as much.’