‘This area’s called Charing Cross – that’s the Shahdin building – excellent restaurant run by a Mr Lorang and a couple of dance halls every bit as good as Edinburgh’s.’
‘Hope you haven’t been doing too much dancing without me,’ Sophie nudged him.
‘There are twice as many men at any dance, so my chances have been limited,’ Tam winked. ‘You’ll be in huge demand.’
‘Well, you’ll have to get your name down on my dance card quickly then, won’t you?’ Sophie teased back.
‘Ah, there’s the cathedral where we’re getting married,’ Tam pointed out a large red brick church set back from the road. ‘Four days to go, Miss Logan. Hope you’re not having second thoughts.’
Sophie slipped her hand into his. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Padre Rennie of the Fusiliers has agreed to take the ceremony.’ Tam squeezed her hand. ‘And the Bracknalls have kindly offered to host the wedding tea party in their garden.’
Sophie was surprised. ‘Bracknall who wouldn’t let you come to meet me?’
Tam frowned, his thin face scored with lines in the sunlight.
‘That was the wee Martini’s decision not Bracknall’s. Besides, Bracknall is the chief of our division so it’s a great honour that he’s throwing us a party. Isn’t that right, Boz?’
‘Aye,’ Boz grunted. He had hardly spoken since they’d left the train. Sophie glanced at him but he just smiled and looked away.
‘They’ve also insisted on you staying under their roof until we’re married,’ Tam said.
Sophie was dismayed. ‘But I thought you said I’d be staying at the same hotel as you and Boz.’
‘Edith Bracknall said that was out of the question,’ Tam shrugged. ‘They take chaperoning very seriously out here and she thinks it’s very hard on you coming out on your own without family. You’ll be much better looked after at the Bs than among us crowd of bachelors.’
Shortly afterwards, they dropped off Boz at the Cecil Hotel where he and Tam were boarding, and then turned south into the civil cantonment; a grid of wide straight streets and orderly lines of bungalows set in pretty gardens.
‘The army cantonment is further out,’ Tam explained. ‘Once you’re settled in, we can send out some visiting cards, get you introduced to a few folk. Though by the sounds of it, you’ve been making plenty of friends on the way. It doesn’t surprise me,’ he smiled. ‘You’re the sort of lassie I can take anywhere and you’ll find something to talk about. The Bracknalls will love you. And December is a good time to be in Lahore – so many important people come to town for Christmas Week and there’s lots of socialising – that’s what the Bracknalls say.’
They pulled up outside a large bungalow in Mayo Gardens with a huge sweep of veranda around three sides and tidy lawns under feathery trees bordered by regimented beds of pansies and chrysanthemums.
Edith Bracknall, a small attractive woman about twenty years senior to Sophie, appeared on the veranda and beckoned to them.
‘Do come in, so lovely to meet you, you’re every bit as pretty as Tam said. Has the journey been awful? You must be longing to get out of your travelling clothes. I’ve had the servants boil up hot water – and the iron’s been heated up too if you want to press your clothes – people new to India don’t realise how much cotton crumples, I always wear crêpe de chine on trains. Tam, you sit and have an iced drink while I show Miss Logan to her room.’ She waved an instruction to her bearer.
Sophie could hardly get a word in edgeways as she followed her hostess through a cluttered central sitting-room, high white walls covered in dark hangings and landscapes of English countryside in heavy gilt frames.
‘Mr B and I have our rooms to the right,’ Edith continued, ‘you’re in the guest room on the left. It’s our son Henry’s room but he’s at school in Cheltenham. Been there five years now so I’m used to him being away. That’s a photograph of him in his cricket whites. Handsome boy, isn’t he?’
Sophie nodded. He had the same heart-shaped face and dark hair as his mother.
‘It wouldn’t be fair to keep him in India,’ Edith said, ‘not with him being an only child. He needs boys around him of his own age – friends for life – that’s what my husband says about boarding school.’
Sophie saw the fleeting sadness in the woman’s face and then the bright smile returned. ‘Your bathroom is through that door – not what you’re used to at home no doubt – no flush lavatory I’m afraid, just the thunderbox as we call it. The sweeper will empty it when you’re out. And it’s a tin bath but there’s endless hot water.’
‘It’s fine, I’m used to–’
‘Ah, that sounds like your baggage arriving. I’ll have it brought straight in – you’ll want to unpack and rest up – I’ll chase Tam away. He can come back for supper of course – such a fine young man – you’ve chosen very well. Mr B thinks Tam has a good career ahead of himself – as long as he doesn’t rock the boat and try to teach his superiors to suck eggs as it were. Best way to get on in India is to listen to the wise words and example of the men who have been running the country for years. But Tam is a sensible chap and knows what’s expected. And with you at his side he’ll thrive I’m sure. You play tennis and ride, I hear?’
‘Tennis yes–’
‘Splendid, we’ll fix up a game of doubles at the Gym this week.’
‘Gym?’
‘Gymkhana Club of course,’ Edith said. ‘Mr B is proposing Tam for membership but we can sign you in for tennis as our guests in the meantime. It’s the best club in Lahore by far. Army top brass like to use it too.’
Edith bustled out, ordering her house servants to fetch and carry. Sophie hardly had time to say goodbye to Tam before he was being dispatched from the house.
‘I’ll come back after I’ve done the office dak,’ he promised.
Sophie retreated to her room, head pounding and lay down on the narrow bed marooned in the centre of the bedroom under mosquito nets and promptly fell asleep.
She heard Bracknall before she set eyes on him; shouting orders at his servants in a cut-glass accent. Emerging washed and changed into her new red dress, Sophie was plied with a large whisky and soda by Tam’s boss, who swept her with an appreciative look.
‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Logan.’ He was as tall as Boz with an athletic build, thick hair going grey at the temples and pale blue eyes.
‘It’s so kind of you to have me to stay,’ Sophie smiled nervously.
That evening over dinner, Tam was keen to talk to his superior about the shortage of labour in clearing land for planting down in Changa Manga.
‘It’s tough work,’ said Tam, ‘and we’re really stretched. Do you think we could borrow some labourers from the Farms Department? I’ve just met Percy Porter today and he seems like a decent man who might help us.’
‘Don’t want to be beholden to the Agrics, Telfer,’ Bracknall was dismissive. ‘You’ll have to go and talk to the chap at the Criminal Tribes Bureau. See if he can rustle up some Crim families as cheaply as possible.’
‘But the Crims are unreliable in my opinion. I caught one smoking in Compt 21 – the whole place could have gone up in flames.’
‘If it happens again, flog ‘em.’
‘What are Crims?’ Sophie asked.
‘Certain tribes are designated as criminal,’ Tam explained, ‘because they have criminal tendencies. They’re restricted in where they can go or the work they can do –’
‘Telfer, I really don’t think this is a suitable topic of conversation for the ladies,’ Bracknall cut him off. Tam’s pale face flushed; Sophie could tell he was holding onto his temper. Her dislike of Tam’s boss increased.
‘Sound like Border Reivers,’ she joked, trying to come to Tam’s defence. ‘My family are descended–’
‘Tomorrow Tam,’ Edith cut in, ‘I’m going to take your sweet fiancée shopping in the bazaar so she can chose some furniture for your married quarters. Harnam Das in Anarkali is much ch
eaper than Mohammed Hayal in the Mall, and it’s better to rent your household goods rather than buy at this stage in your career – you can be sent off at a moment’s notice and there’s enough packing up to do without having to worry about what to do with the furniture. Wouldn’t you agree, Henry?’
‘You’re always right on the domestic front, my dear.’ Sophie was unnerved by the way he kept staring at her when others were talking to him.
‘You can treat yourself to one or two items, of course,’ Edith continued. ‘The Elgin Mills have beautiful blue durries and they’re practical as floor rugs – you can have them washed and they roll up easily and don’t weigh too much – perfect for trekking.’
‘I thought I would take Sophie over to view the bungalow in Davis Road tomorrow,’ Tam said.
‘Of course you must,’ Edith agreed, ‘but you’ll be busy during the day and we girls can get to know each other. I find Bijja Mals is best for crockery – as long as you are prepared to barter. Or we can go to Ram Chand’s.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ her husband interrupted.
‘Oh? Why is that, Henry dearest?’
‘There’s a rumour he’s been involved with troublemakers.’
‘Oh my! What sort of troublemakers?’
‘The kind of blackguards who stirred up native troops in the War, trying to get them to revolt.’
‘Do you mean Ghadaris?’ Tam asked.
Bracknall shot him a look. ‘What do you know about them?’
‘Nothing really. It’s just something we boys discussed on the boat coming out – the ‘free Hindustan’ movement – there was a debate in Uni’ before we left. Rafi knew a bit about it.’
‘Rafi Khan?’ Bracknall frowned.
‘Yes. His family are here in Lahore – one of his brothers is a bit of a hothead by all accounts – but Rafi’s been out of the country for so long he doesn’t really know what he’s been up to.’
‘Well Khan better take care,’ Bracknall warned. ‘Anyone found being involved with the Ghadar Party or any other such treasonable outfit will be executed as quickly as those war traitors were.’
Sophie could see by Tam’s look that he was as taken aback as she was by the harsh warning . She’d never heard of the Ghadar Party.
‘Sophie,’ Edith said quickly, ‘we’ll retire to the veranda while the men have a port and cigar, shall we? And I’ll tell you some more about the shops in town.’
Sophie threw a look of longing at Tam; he gave a tiny shrug. She knew he didn’t like either port or cigars. He sat there looking ill and perspiring under the electric light. Her worry for him mounted; she hoped his overbearing boss wouldn’t keep needling him. The sooner they got into their own home and they could shut the door on the world outside, the better.
Chapter 17
Too tired to sleep, Sophie sat up and wrote a letter to Tilly.
‘ ... I know Mrs Bracknall means well but I don’t know if I can get through three more days of incessant chatter and advice. I think I might be driven to running out of the house stark naked and screaming like a banshee if Mrs B carries on with her outpourings. She probably wouldn’t even notice, or if she did, she would run after me with a blanket from the Elgin Mills and tell me to wrap it round me in case I caught ‘winter sniffles’.
Do I sound very mean and ungrateful? She’s really quite sweet (in the way that we used to be sweet but irritating at ten years old) and I like her better than the Big B. He’s a cold fish and full of his own importance. Every time Tam suggests some forestry improvement or new idea, B slaps him down like he’s dealing with an over-eager puppy. My heart bleeds for my beloved man and I can see the frustration all over his face. But he’s going to have to learn to be patient or end up on a collision course with his boss. Tam’s not been well since he got here – keeps catching bouts of fever Boz says – and to be honest I didn’t recognise him at the station, it was quite a shock.
Tilly, you must write to me as soon as you get to Assam and tell me all about it. By then we will both be planters’ wives! I hope you and the baby-to-be are doing well. I know you are as eager to get started on married life as I am. In four days’ time, I’ll be Mrs Telfer of the Trees. I’m so excited at the thought of seeing your brother Johnny again too and thrilled that he has agreed to give me away in marriage. He’s due in Lahore the day before the wedding, Tam says. He and Helena will be staying at the Sunnyview Hotel – and yes I will write immediately (or maybe after a day or two!) to let you know what my impressions are of your new sister-in-law. We are to travel back with them after the wedding for a few days of honeymoon at Flashman’s Hotel in Rawalpindi. If the weather allows, we might get up to the Khyber Pass, which would be a thrill, but just to be alone together at last will be all the honeymoon I want.’
Sophie finished off the letter and propped it against a noisy clock on the bedside table, ready to send.
The next day went swiftly, Sophie relishing her trip to the lively shops around the Mall, entering into the bartering and coming away with a set of dinner plates in green and blue glaze, table mats, a brass ashtray and a solid storage chest called a yak dan.
‘For all your best dresses,’ Edith Bracknall advised, ‘so that the white ants don’t make a feast of your glad rags.’
She arranged to have the purchases sent on ahead while she took Sophie for tea and sandwiches at Nedous Hotel.
‘Nedous is nicer in the spring,’ she said. ‘They have military bands playing in the garden. Not that we really get spring in Lahore – it just goes from warm to wretchedly hot to unbearably hot and wet. But then you must know about the climate, having lived here as a child?’
‘I was in Assam,’ Sophie replied, ‘so we never got the extreme heat, but I do remember the rains and how the ground disappeared under a blanket of steam when the monsoon finally came and the tea bushes seemed to sprout higher in front of your very eyes.’
‘I go to Simla as soon as it starts to get unpleasant here,’ Edith said. ‘After tiffin we’ll go to the Arts and Crafts Depot – you might find some cheap rugs for your floors – and there’s always something quaint you can pick up for next to nothing – papier mâché cigarette box or a mirror. It’s good to patronise the Punjabi craftsmen so they can make an honest living, don’t you think?’
That afternoon, Sophie saw tantalising glimpses of the old part of the city – tall buildings with ornate balconies and stucco arches peeping over trees and the dome of a large mosque glinting in the mellow sunshine – but Edith Bracknall was astonished she should want to go there.
‘It’s smelly and dirty like all native towns and the children pester you for money if you so much as glance in their direction. The bazaars around the Mall are as far as you want to go – the shopkeepers know that you don’t want to be pestered so they keep the beggars at bay. But if you want to do some sightseeing I can certainly arrange that. You must see Kim’s gun and the armoury – if you like that sort of thing – and of course there are the Shalimar Gardens – though they’re not at their best at this time of year.’
‘Can we call in at the Forest Office on the way home?’ Sophie asked. ‘I’d like to see where Tam works.’
‘We don’t want to disturb the men at their work, dear. I’ll take you over to Davis Road later and send a chit to Tam to meet us there. I’d like to take a look at your new home too – make sure the agent isn’t taking advantage of Tam’s inexperience in such things. And while we’re there we can drop off some of your calling cards to let people know you’ve arrived.’
‘I don’t have any printed yet,’ Sophie said.
‘Oh, I’m sure Tam will have sorted that out. I’ll tell him to bring some along. And you really should be wearing your topee – that straw hat is very stylish, I’m sure, but it won’t protect your head from the heat. All the new arrivals make the mistake of thinking they won’t get heatstroke in the winter. We don’t want you fainting on your wedding day, my girl.’
By the time they got to the bungalo
w in Davis Road, the sun was already dipping. Tam was waiting impatiently with the agent who introduced himself as Jit Singh. Tam seemed distracted and kept taking off his hat to mop his brow. His shirt was dripping and stained dark with sweat.
‘I thought you were never coming,’ he muttered.
‘Neither did I,’ Sophie gave a rueful smile.
‘So,’ Edith Bracknall said, leading the way inside, ‘it’s really just half a bungalow. I can see that over the wall is already occupied.’
‘Yes, Madam,’ said Mr Singh, ‘but it is very spacious for one couple.’
‘It’s very stuffy Tam,’ she said, walking around and sniffing the air. ‘Are there no electric fans?’
‘These bungalows are very light and airy with the aid of a punkah,’ Mr Singh pointed at the large cloth fan that hung like a huge sail from the ceiling. Sophie was immediately reminded of the rhythmic creaking of the punkah being pulled by an old man in her childhood home. What was his name? Sunil Ram; that was it. Though she had always called him the Sunny Man.
‘You must insist on at least two electric fans being installed, Tam,’ said Edith, ‘one in the sitting-room and one in your bedroom as a minimum.’ She turned to Jit Singh. ‘And you will have the whole place spruced up with phenyl and whitewash – they can’t move in here when it’s in such a filthy state.’
‘Madam, it has been whitewashed–’
‘You’ve got two days left in which to get it sorted, Mr Singh.’ Then she berated Tam. ‘Really, you shouldn’t have left all this to the last minute.’
Tam’s jaw clenched. ‘It’s not ideal,’ he admitted, ‘but I’ve been down at Changa Manga for weeks.’
Edith Bracknall was hurrying outside again and peering across at the separate servants’ quarters. ‘I presume the compound will accommodate at least a cook, a bearer and a sweeper. You can share our mali to begin with; the garden isn’t big and you’ll be spending much of your time down in Changa Manga.’
THE PLANTER'S BRIDE: A story of intrigue and passion: sequel to THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER (India Tea Series Book 2) Page 17
