Once his strength began to return, Tam became restless and itched to get back to work. Scott and McGinty came to visit him from their plantation in the hills and fuelled his desire to be busy with forestry. They talked about the new nurseries of Scots Pines that they had planted up after the rains and Sophie remembered that it was Tam’s reckless visit to them in camp that had got him into trouble with his superiors before she arrived.
When the Watsons laid on a trip out to the ancient ruins at Taxila, Tam took his first faltering steps on the crisp frozen ground and declared he was fit to return to Lahore.
‘Give yourself a chance, man,’ Johnny advised. ‘You’ve been at death’s door and need to build yourself back up.’
‘You’re all making too much fuss,’ he complained, ‘I was never that bad and the best way to rejuvenate is to get back to work and get on with married life.’ He threw Sophie a wicked look.
She blushed in the cold. Kind as the Watsons were, she too was impatient for them to be properly husband and wife in their own home.
So they began to make preparations to return to Lahore and two days later, Johnny discovered that a staff car was going south and could give them a lift.
Sophie had an emotional farewell to Cousin Johnny and Helena of whom she had quickly become fond, inviting them to visit whenever they had leave.
‘I can’t begin to repay you for your help and kindness to me and Tam,’ she said.
‘Not at all, little coz,’ Johnny said, swinging her round in a hug as he used to when she was a girl. ‘It was one tenth medicine and nine-tenths your love and devotion saw that stubborn husband of yours through the worst.’ To Tam he said, ‘I urge you to keep taking the medicine until your stomach is completely settled but I don’t suppose you will.’
Tam grinned and shook his hand warmly. ‘Thank you Johnny, you’re a grand man and a good doctor, but all I want now is the attentions of Nurse Telfer.’
They entered Lahore as the sun was setting and Hafiz was waiting to greet them on the steps of the Davis Street bungalow, the air cool but milder than in Rawalpindi. They ate a light supper of kedgeree, sitting on the veranda looking across at the twinkling lights of the walled city. The smell of wood smoke wafted from the open fire in the compound where Sunbar’s wife was cooking chapattis for their evening meal. Sophie already felt at home in this tranquil part of the vibrant ancient city.
A feeling of nervousness and anticipation hung in the air as the world darkened beyond the candlelit table. Tam eyed her in silence, then sent the servants home, telling them to clear up in the morning.
‘Shall we turn in?’ he asked, but was already on his feet holding out his hand to her. Sophie took it, trying not to shake with sudden nerves.
A lamp was lit in the bedroom and a china pig of hot water had been placed between the linen sheets to take off the chill. Tam looked about to retire to his dressing room.
‘Don’t leave me,’ Sophie said, ‘you can undress in here.’ Whatever happened, she was not going to let him fall asleep away from her bed tonight.
Tam gave an awkward smile then began methodically removing his clothes, placing them neatly on the back of a cane chair. He stood in his drawers looking skinny and hunched, watching as Sophie removed her dress and stockings and dropped them hurriedly in a pile on the floor. She half hoped he would come across the room and help her, but he seemed as suddenly bashful as she was. Surely she wasn’t the first woman he had lain with? She imagined that all men his age were experienced lovers, but perhaps not. Unsure if she was doing what he wanted, she unzipped her corset, shedding the last of her clothing and slipped between the sheets without pulling on her winter nightgown.
Tam went over to the dresser to extinguish the paraffin lamp.
‘Won’t you leave it on for a bit?’ Sophie asked.
‘Prefer the dark,’ he murmured.
The hot mantle glowed for a few moments and then went out. She watched his shadowy figure move across the room, a muted light falling in between the slats of the wooden blinds. He pulled back the covers and immediately positioned himself above her, straddling her with his legs, running his hands over her body and fumbling between her thighs.
‘Tam,’ she said in alarm, ‘kiss me first.’
He stopped. ‘We haven’t done this yet, have we?’ She heard the uncertainty in his voice.
‘No, not yet.’
‘God knows I’ve dreamt of it.’
She reached up and felt his face with her hands, pulling his down gently to kiss his lips, ignoring the sourness of his breath that was a remnant of his illness.
Tentative at first, he soon opened his mouth and began to kiss her with enthusiasm. She was reminded of the heady kisses they had shared on the Meadows, returning from dances at the Palais. Sophie closed her eyes and began to relax, shivering with pleasure as he stroked her breasts and ran his fingers down her stomach.
‘I’ve waited so long for this, my darling,’ he whispered.
Sophie was pleased at the unexpected endearment and the longing in his voice.
‘Me too,’ she murmured, running her hands over his body; he was just sinew and bone.
Without warning, he arched over her and thrust his way inside. She gasped at the pain that shot between her legs and cried out. But Tam continued, perhaps mistaking her cry for pleasure. Moments later, he pulled away and rolled off her. Sophie lay stunned and throbbing in red-hot agony. Tam’s panting subsided. Of all the sensations she expected to feel, the shock and creeping numbness that was spreading through her, was not it.
Tam climbed out of bed and pulled on his new silk pyjamas that Hafiz had laid out for him earlier.
‘Better put on your nightie, lassie,’ he instructed, ‘in case the servants see you in the morning.’
Sophie lay immobile, heart hammering. He got back into bed, leaned over and pinched her cheek. ‘Good night, Mrs Telfer.’
Turning his back, he chucked his pillows on the floor and settled down resting his head straight on the mattress. In minutes he was asleep.
Later, Sophie got up and put on her nightdress, buttoning it up to her throat. With shaking legs she went to the bathroom and sat on the thunderbox; it stung her to urinate. Back in the bedroom she raised the blind and peered out; there was still a glow in the sky from the walled city. She forced her mind not to wander to dangerous thoughts of whether Rafi sat on his rooftop smoking in the dark or with whom he might be. She could hear the murmur of voices and the scented smell of tobacco; Hafiz and Sunbar must be sharing a pipe on the veranda.
She felt overwhelmingly alone. If only Tilly was there to talk to; she would assure her that what had just happened in the marriage bed was normal. It gets better with practice she could hear her friend giggle.
Sophie chided herself for her ridiculously romantic notions of what sex would be like. She had Tam as her companion and husband; that’s all that mattered. Their lovemaking would become more enjoyable as they learned about each other’s bodies and Tam recovered fully from his illness. He was still too weak and lacking in energy to pleasure her first.
She dropped back the blind and returned to bed, settling in beside Tam, reminding herself he was still the same man who had won her heart with his broad smiles and charm on a Scottish hillside.
Chapter 20
Tilly was in shock at India. Calcutta had assaulted her senses like a cyclone; the noise, the flood of people, cattle and traffic, the smells of stagnant water and open sewers, the opulence of colonial buildings next to people sleeping on canvas beds in the street. The stench of the streets made her pregnancy sickness worse.
‘Where do these people live?’ she asked in bewilderment.
‘Just where you see them,’ said Clarrie, clutching a wide-eyed Adela on her lap as they rode in a tonga to their hotel.
Tilly gaped at limbless beggars who looked no older than twelve, and lean mustard-coloured dogs running between bicycles with their tongues lolling. She had seen poverty and stray dogs in Newca
stle – she’d helped out at a mission in the West End one summer with her brother Johnny and his friend Will – but never such precarious living on this scale.
But once within the walls of the hotel garden, there was birdsong and the clink of china cups on saucers, murmured conversation and polite servants padding silently on bare feet. Tilly felt guilty relief at such an oasis and refused the Robsons’ offer to take her shopping or see the sights.
‘And Clarrie told me you were such a city girl,’ Wesley teased as he swung Adela onto his shoulders. ‘Last chance to see a proper shop.’
‘Thanks but I’m too tired.’ Tilly waved them away and retreated to the garden with the first volume of the Forsyte Saga from the hotel library.
She didn’t need shops, she just wanted to get up country and join James. Now she knew how frustrating it had been for Sophie not having Tam there to meet her from the boat; there had been a telegram from James asking Wesley to accompany Tilly upriver to a steamer port in Assam. Unavoidably delayed please bring Tilly to Gowhatty regards James.
Wesley had business to attend to in Calcutta so Tilly had worked her way through the whole of the Forsyte Saga and taught Clarrie to play Mah jong by the time they made their onward journey. The Robsons were kind and good company – Adela was an enchanting chatterbox – but Tilly itched to be reunited with James and prepare for their first Christmas together. The only good thing about the delay was that Muriel Percy-Barratt had arranged to go on ahead.
‘P.B. wants me back at once,’ Muriel announced to the whole dining-room, ‘I’ve been away for so long, you see. And as the Robsons have been chosen to deliver you to James, I don’t see the point in hanging around Calcutta, do you?’
Tilly had agreed quickly which seemed to annoy Muriel all the more.
‘I think I was supposed to beg her to stay with me,’ Tilly said later to Clarrie.
‘Don’t worry about her,’ Clarrie laughed, ‘she didn’t want the expense of a week’s hotel bills so you were doing her a favour. Our Muriel hates spending money – unless it’s someone else’s.’
Tilly was surprised at Clarrie’s view. ‘She was generous to me and Sophie on the voyage out – gave us spending money in Port Said too.’
Clarrie gave her a dry smile. ‘Surely you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘That your husband paid Muriel to chaperone you on the boat.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Wesley told me. James wanted him to be in charge once you got to India, just in case something like this happened.’
‘So James knew that something might crop up?’
Clarrie’s look slid away. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Clarrie, is there something you’re not telling me? James isn’t in any sort of danger, is he?’
‘No,’ she answered firmly, ‘so you’re not to worry. It’s probably just tea garden politics.’
Muriel departed and Clarrie would say no more. Tilly had to curb her impatience.
When they finally pulled out of the crowded station on a train bound for Goalundo, Tilly sank back, heart palpitating.
Clarrie asked in concern, ‘Are you unwell? Is it the baby?’
Tilly shook her head. ‘Everything is fine, thanks. The baby’s kicking like a mule.’
‘Good,’ Clarrie smiled and squeezed her arm. ‘Isn’t it exciting to be on our way? I’ve missed Belgooree so much.’
‘Do you think of it as home now rather than England?’ Tilly asked.
Clarrie looked thoughtful. ‘I love going back to Newcastle and seeing my dear sister Olive and her family but Belgooree is where I grew up. It broke my heart when we had to leave and the place was put up for sale. Now it’s a dream come true that we have it back again and can bring the tea garden back to its former glory. I always have a feeling of coming home whenever I get on the train and see the plains give way to the mountains.’ She kissed the top of Adela’s head as the child distracted her with pointing out of the window in excitement.
‘But most of all,’ Clarrie continued, ‘home is where Wesley and Adela are. Thankfully they both seem to thrive on life in the Khassia Hills.’
‘We thrive on being with you, Clarissa,’ Wesley smiled.
Tilly caught the look of love that passed between husband and wife that she had witnessed so often on the voyage out. She felt a surge of expectation. She had spent her life being looked after by others and told what to do; now she had the chance to forge a new identity that wasn’t dependent on being the Watsons’ daughter or Johnny’s youngest sister. Nobody in Assam would know her as Silly Tilly. She was a married woman – the wife of an important tea planter – and was soon to be responsible for a son or daughter of her own. The idea was daunting yet thrilling.
Tilly gave a sudden snort of laughter.
‘Are you laughing at my soft-hearted husband?’ Clarrie asked with a wry look.
‘No, I’ve just worked out what it is I want.’ She gave another loud laugh.
‘What’s that?’
‘I want to be like you, Clarrie,’ she grinned, ‘just like you.’
***
The next day, they transferred from the train onto an old paddle steamer that took them up the Brahmaputra River. Tilly was in awe of her new surroundings; the vastness of the river that was more like a sea and the jungle-covered hills that began to loom around them.
Jackman, the stocky bearded captain of the boat, and his eager son Sam, pointed out crocodiles dozing on the sandbanks.
‘They look primeval,’ Tilly shuddered as one flicked its tail and slid into the water.
‘They’re no bother at this time of the year,’ the youth grinned. ‘They’ve eaten their fill and will be half asleep for the winter months. So if you fall in it’s unlikely they’ll eat you.’
Tilly gave him a playful push. ‘I’m going to have nightmares about that now, thank you very much.’
She liked his open face and dancing brown eyes. A small monkey clung to his shoulder and kept up an incessant chatter.
‘This is Nelson,’ Sam introduced his pet, ‘he can tell when we’re getting near to the next landing post.’
‘How do you know that?’ Tilly snorted.
‘Because he’ll jump off my shoulder and run to the capstan to help untie the rope.’
Tilly was amazed when two hours later, the monkey did just that. There was a burst of activity as cargo was offloaded, passengers disembarked and new ones came aboard. She sat under an awning at the stern, watching drowsily, and was asleep before they set off again.
Clarrie shook her awake in time for a starlit dinner on the cramped deck. A night breeze was stirring and Tilly pulled on her tweed coat for the first time since Calcutta. Afterwards Clarrie took Adela to their cabin while Wesley stayed above to share a cheroot with Captain Jackman. Sitting in the dark tucked behind a hatchway, Tilly became aware of their conversation.
‘... scores of them still there, poor blighters,’ said Jackman, ‘living under scraps of sacking. Like something Biblical.’
‘I thought the trouble had died down?’ Wesley said.
‘Stalemate,’ the captain grunted. ‘Coolies have no money to pay their way home and they’re too scared to leave the camp in case they’re rounded up and sent back to the estates. Local people are feeding them, but they’re running out of patience too.’
‘The Government will have to do something,’ Wesley was indignant.
‘They don’t want to get involved,’ said Jackman, ‘in case it spreads like wildfire and they have an even bigger exodus on their hands. Sets a precedent, you see, if they help this lot.’
‘It should never have come to this,’ Wesley flicked his cheroot into the water. ‘It’s only a handful of planters who were dead against a small pay rise but it gave Ghandi and his followers the excuse to come stirring up the workers. I tried to get the Association to see sense, but my stubborn cousin wasn’t having any of it; he blocked my proposal.’
Tilly froze. Wesley must mean
James. She held her breath, hoping the men wouldn’t realise she was still behind them eavesdropping.
‘We’re making bigger profits now,’ Wesley continued, ‘and we’re prepared to raise wages at Belgooree, but I don’t want to rock the boat with the other planters. If it was up to my wife,’ he grunted, ‘she’d have them paid the same as labourers in the city, but we all know that the tea estates could never afford that.’
As they moved off, Tilly heard Jackman say something about cholera.
‘ ... won’t be stopping there ...’
‘Don’t tell the women, Captain ...’
‘Koi hai! Sam, I’ll take over ...’
Their voices drifted away. Tilly hunched down, cradling her unborn baby. Cholera? A swift killer that had vanished from Britain but haunted the memories of the elderly. It terrified her that such dangers could be lurking close by; threatening her child before it even took its first breath.
She must have fallen asleep in her chair, for the next thing Tilly knew she was being woken by the excited screeching of Sam’s monkey. It was still night but the sky was lit by a lurid smoky glow. Tilly took a moment to work out what it was. She got to her feet and went to peer over the railings. The far bank of the river seemed to be covered in small fires like a rash. There was a buzz of noise. As they steamed past, the swell of voices became more urgent and the monkey Nelson’s reply grew shriller.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked Sam.
He stared out with troubled eyes that mirrored the flames. ‘It’s the camps.’
‘What camps?’
‘The runaway coolies.’
‘Why are they running away?’
‘They want to go home but the tea planters don’t want them to.’
Tilly peered hard. As they chugged by she could make out scores of figures massed on the riverbank and crowding onto the jetty. Some were wading out into the water, holding up bundles. Sudden realisation came like a blow to her stomach; the bundles were mewling babies.
THE PLANTER'S BRIDE: A story of intrigue and passion: sequel to THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER (India Tea Series Book 2) Page 20
