Sophie was stung into defending Tam. ‘He’s from Scotland and he’s no young pup! Tam is a veteran of the Flanders’ War. He was experiencing horrors that no man should have to – while his seniors in India were safely furthering their careers. My husband has many good ideas – he’s studied hard and learned from experience – and the Service should be glad of what he has to offer.’
She expected Bracknall to take offence; she flushed at her rudeness but the man was insufferable. He said nothing; pulling out a silver cigarette case and offering it to her. She was about to refuse – Tam would hate her smoking – then took one. It might steady her nerves. Bracknall lit hers and then his own, crossed his legs and sat back surveying her.
‘I like that,’ he drawled. ‘I like your loyalty very much indeed.’
Sophie blew out smoke and took a swig of her drink. She couldn’t work him out. Bracknall’s servant refilled their glasses and exchanged rapid words with his master that Sophie couldn’t follow. The man lit two lamps; their weak light illuminated the sheet of rain beyond the balcony.
‘I’m afraid I will have to beg your hospitality for the night,’ said Bracknall. ‘My bearer tells me the road back to the canal bungalow is flooded. He’s going to make us supper.’
Sophie rose. ‘I’ll ask my own cook to prepare a meal.’
He reached out and stopped her. His grip on her arm made her wince.
‘It’s all arranged. Sit down and relax, my dear.’
Three drinks later, Sophie was relieved when they were told dinner was served. She felt queasy and couldn’t stop shivering, even though the air was still warm. They ate at a table in the sitting-room – the house was too small for a separate dining-room – and it seemed uncomfortably intimate with the shutters closed and candles lit. She wondered why she hadn’t seen any of her own servants. Surely Tam couldn’t have taken them all?
Sophie steered the conversation relentlessly back to Mrs Bracknall and away from the senior forester’s prying questions about her.
‘Mrs B thrives on life up in the hills,’ he said. ‘Dalhousie is fine, Mussoorie’s full of low rank army and inferior civil servants; Murree is pretty but not enough social life. That’s why she loves Simla best. Costs me a small fortune but she’s mixing with the right sort.’
‘Tam wants me to go up to Dalhousie,’ Sophie admitted.
‘But you wanted to stay by his side?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She was annoyed that he might be mocking her.
‘It takes a special sort of girl to stick it out through the hot season down here.’ He watched her intently. ‘Some would say a reckless one. And having seen you cavorting in the rain today, I think perhaps that’s what you are.’
Sophie felt the heat rising up from her chest into her cheeks.
‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she muttered.
He slipped a hand across the table and covered hers. She tried to snatch it back but he held on. He fixed her with his pale blue eyes. ‘I like a risk-taker. It was enchanting.’ Abruptly he let go her hand. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded dismissive about Tam’s ideas. You’re right; we need enthusiastic young men like him coming up the line. Tell me more about his ambitions. You can be quite candid with me.’
Once again, Sophie felt caught off balance by the man. She felt uncomfortable in his presence, yet this was a gift of an opportunity to speak about Tam’s hopes and further his cause.
She stood up.
‘Let’s take tea on the veranda and talk more. Help yourself to whisky if you like.’
Opening the doors and peering into the dark, Sophie prayed that Tam and Rafi would still return. Bracknall followed, carrying a large glassful of Tam’s best whisky that hadn’t been touched since the New Year. Instead of the tea she’d ordered, his servant produced a water-pipe and placed it between them. Bracknall took a drag on the pipe and passed the nozzle to Sophie. She didn’t really want to smoke but it gave her nervous hands something to do. It had an immediate calming effect; there was nothing to be gained by fretting over where Tam was.
Sophie grew quite garrulous about Tam’s plans; his hopes of being a head conservator by the age of thirty, of becoming an expert in irrigation and silviculture, of lecture tours and professorships. Bracknall nodded and said little, but she felt his approval. She knew how important it was; Bracknall could either help Tam up the career ladder or block his way. They had already seen how Boz had been sidelined. McGinty too had been kept out of the way in the quasi-autonomous lands near the Khyber Pass. ‘Too radical,’ Tam had said. ‘It doesn’t do to have political views in the Service; Khan should take note.’
When Sophie had asked what he meant by that, Tam had said, ‘Rafi dabbled with Socialism at Edinburgh – that might be fine in Scotland, but it’s seen as sedition in India. He has a hothead of a brother who is mixed up with the Quit India campaign – he needs to distance himself from all that too.’
Eventually Sophie ran out of words. They sat in silence listening to the rain while Bracknall drank whisky and Sophie smoked on the water-pipe. The drumming on the roof was soporific; the falling water mesmerising.
‘They won’t be back tonight,’ Bracknall said, ‘the road’s too dangerous. They’ll put up at the dak bungalow; you mustn’t worry.’
Sophie felt strangely sluggish. ‘I’ll see that the spare room is ...’ she was too tired to finish the sentence.
‘I’ve sent your servants home.’
Sophie focused on him with difficulty. She felt weird, as if she was weightless. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘I’m offering you an opportunity,’ he drawled, ‘a way of advancing Tam’s career.’
‘I don’t understand–’
‘It’s obvious from what you’ve told me that you’re very keen for Tam to get on in the Forest Service. Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes ... course.’ Sophie’s tongue felt too thick for her mouth.
‘Let me come to your bed tonight and I can ensure that Tam is given the Assistant Conservator’s position when Martins is sent up to Dehra Dun.’
Sophie thought she had misheard. ‘Sorry, what you say ...?’
‘You won’t be the first or the last to use your considerable charms to further your husband’s position. What’s so very wrong in that? We can give each other mutual enjoyment. I find you very desirable, Sophie.’
Sophie struggled to clear her head. His words were ringing in her ears. Her reply came out slurred and slow.
‘Bed with you? Won’t betray Tam.’
‘Not betrayal; you’d be helping him.’
‘No, I refuse.’ Sophie shook her head but it just made her feel worse. What had he put in the water-pipe?
‘That would be a pity for you. I know a frustrated woman when I see one. Your husband doesn’t satisfy you, does he? Too many religious hang-ups to let himself enjoy the physical side of things.’
‘Stop it,’ she slurred. ‘Not true–’
‘Of course, if you don’t want him to get promoted ...’ He let the words hang in the air like a threat, his look regretful. ‘It puts a terrible strain on a wobbly marriage to be banished to the North West Frontier. No one will listen to Tam’s schemes in a backwater like that.’
‘You couldn’t,’ Sophie said, struggling to her feet. She swayed off balance. He was quick to catch her.
‘Oh but I could,’ he smiled. ‘I have the ear of the highest in the Service – the Governor is a personal friend too. The forests of northern India are my personal fiefdom, if you like.’
Sophie was bewildered. She thought Bracknall had been on Tam’s side, now suddenly he was making threats to ruin him – and her. How had she misjudged the situation so badly?
‘I won’t do it. Sickens me.’ She pushed him off and tried to walk past. Her legs seemed incapable of taking her in a straight line. She banged into furniture, trying to escape.
He laughed, taking her by the arm and steering her firmly through the house into her bedroom.
‘Lea
ve me,’ she said. But she had no strength to resist.
‘You’ll do yourself harm falling about. Just lie down.’
His laughter rang in her head as she reached the bed and fell on it thankfully. Her head spun. She closed her eyes. He was saying something but the words were jumbled. She passed out.
***
Sophie was woken by a shaft of light piercing the half-closed shutter and stabbing her eyes. She felt dreadful; her head throbbed and her eyes felt gritty. For a moment her mind was a complete blank. She squinted and tried to sit up but the movement made her feel nauseous. She was naked under the sheet. It puzzled her; Tam didn’t like her wearing no bed clothes in case the servants saw her. Sophie lay trying to remember what could have happened the previous night to make her feel so ill.
The monsoon. Tam and Rafi had gone. Bracknall had been there. They’d had dinner together. Her pulse began to race uncomfortably. She’d been smoking a water-pipe and talking too much. But she had no memory of getting to bed. Was Bracknall still in the house?
Sophie turned her head. There was an indentation in the pillow next to hers and the sheets were rumpled where someone had slept. Tam must have returned late at night. But even as she willed it to be true, dread clawed her insides. There was a smell of hair oil on the pillow; Tam never used anything but water on his hair. Her chest went tight with anxiety. It smelled of Bracknall.
Fragments of memory began to return; her slurred conversation, Bracknall’s propositioning her; ‘...offering you an opportunity... advancing Tam’s career ... let me come to your bed tonight...’
Sophie put a hand over her mouth to stop the bile rising. What had she done? Had she agreed to Bracknall’s demands? Getting to bed and what had happened afterwards was a dark void. She struggled to sit up and get out of bed. Last night’s clothes lay discarded on the floor. Head thumping, she pulled on a robe and went to the door. The sweeper was crossing the veranda taking away the contents of the thunderbox. The water levels in the garden beyond had receded leaving emerald green shoots. Inching slowly through the house, she found to her relief that Bracknall and his servant were gone.
Only later, as she waited for Tam to return, did a flash of memory that was more like a dream take her breath away. She could see her prone body on the bed as if she looked down on herself from a great height. A man’s white fleshy body was rising and falling on top of her, grunting with pleasure. Bracknall.
Chapter 28
Lahore
‘Will you listen to your brother!’ Abdul Khan exclaimed, running a hand over his thinning grey hair in agitation.
‘Why should I listen to that Raj-lover?’ Ghulam said with a contemptuous glance at Rafi. ‘Look at him dressed in his khaki shorts like a white sahib.’
‘Don’t be disrespectful,’ Abdul snapped, ‘he is your elder.’
‘It’s all right Father,’ Rafi tried to calm him, concerned that the argument had brought his agitated parent out in a sweat under the formal suit.
‘It’s not all right,’ Abdul said, ‘everything is not at all right. Ghulam was nearly arrested two days ago protesting outside the courts. If I hadn’t intervened–’
‘It was a peaceful demonstration – an act of solidarity with our brothers inside,’ Ghulam defended.
‘You were causing a breach of the peace.’
‘There will be no peace until the British leave our land. They have no right to prosecute our brothers just for calling a hartal.’
‘Hartal!’ Abdul cried. ‘Why are you mixed up in these Hindu practices? They make trouble for us law-abiding Muslims.’
‘It’s a very Indian kind of protest, Father,’ Rafi intervened, ‘a spiritual strike if you like – nothing violent.’
‘Strikes!’ Abdul waved impatiently. ‘They are harming our businesses here in Lahore.’
‘Only the Britishers are boycotting the shops that join the hartal,’ Ghulam pointed out, ‘and we will soon be doing without their custom once we boot them out of our country.’
Abdul slammed his fist on the table. ‘Do not talk such revolution in my house! We have done very well out of British custom – you would not have had such a good education if we had not grown wealthy on their building contracts, don’t forget that.’
‘I owe the British nothing,’ Ghulam said angrily. ‘Can’t you see how they hold us Indians back and give us only the crumbs from the table? They use your labourers to build their grand houses and clubs, Father, but they don’t let you step over their doorsteps or give you membership.’
‘I forbid you to attend your clandestine meetings,’ Abdul blustered. ‘They are outlawed and your so-called brothers are nothing but criminals. They’re not interested in peaceful protest; they blow up cars and snatch people off the streets.’
‘That’s Raj propaganda, Father; they are freedom fighters! And I’m proud to be one of them.’
‘If you get arrested, you will shame me and break your mother’s heart. Tell him Rafi!’
‘Ghulam, little brother,’ Rafi appealed to his favourite yet troublesome brother. ‘As long as you live here, you must respect Father’s wishes. There are other ways of advancing independence for India.’
‘Such as?’ Ghulam scowled.
‘By playing the British at their own game. Use your learning to advance yourself in a career in the law – that way you please your parents and you will be ready to take over the reins of power when the British leave.’
‘When will that be?’ Ghulam was scathing. ‘Fifty years? A hundred? No! They will never give up power willingly – imperialists never do – they just string people along with promises that they will never keep. They have no intention of going.’
‘That’s not true,’ Rafi countered. ‘Men like Telfer and Boswell are quite open about their intention to train up Indians to take over the Forest Service. It will happen in our lifetime.’
‘You’ve been living among the Britishers for too long, believing all their lies,’ Ghulam sneered, ‘you even sound like them. People like you make it easier for them to stay – you take their low rank jobs in the hope that one day you will be promoted to the high ranks of the Indian Civil Service. But they are just laughing at you behind your back – at the way you dress and ape their manners.’
Rafi was stung by his words; the image of Bracknall’s patrician air and patronising slap on the back came back vividly. ‘You see to the horses, there’s a good chap, Khan.’
‘Don’t insult your brother!’ Abdul shouted, his patience at an end. ‘And don’t you defy me. I forbid you to consort with these Ghadaris.’
‘You can’t stop me.’
Abdul shot out of his chair, sending it toppling backwards. ‘If you disobey me, I will throw you out of my house, do you hear?’
Ghulam sprang up too. ‘I love you Father,’ he said, his fierce eyes glinting with emotion, ‘but the cause we are fighting for is bigger than family loyalty. I can’t stop and I won’t stop.’
He flung Rafi a final challenging look. Rafi felt torn; his brother was going about things the wrong way and courting great danger, but he couldn’t help admire his passion and commitment. He and his student friends like McGinty had talked for hours about a new world order of brotherhood and liberty; Ghulam was prepared to put his words into action.
Sadly, Rafi shook his head. His younger brother spun on his heels and marched out of the room.
For a long moment there was silence between father and son. Abdul went to the window and peered through the latticework at the courtyard below, watching in disbelief as his rebellious son left through the gates taking nothing with him and without a backward glance.
Rafi righted the toppled chair and came over, pulling out his cigarettes.
‘Smoke Father?’
Abdul shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears.
‘What have we done to deserve such disobedient children? First you run off to the army and stay away for years, Rehman is nothing but a playboy and now Ghulam is a revolutionary. Onl
y Amir and Noor are married. Why can’t you all just settle down in good jobs and marry the people we choose?’
Rafi lit up, nervous at the turn of the conversation.
‘I have a good job, Father.’
‘A jungli job,’ Abdul was dismissive. ‘You live in one room away from your family or in a tent like a Bedouin.’
‘My needs are few,’ Rafi smiled.
‘Well your needs will be very much more once you are married. The renovations next door are nearly complete; it will make a fine house for your bride.’
Rafi’s heart sank; there had been no mention of a wife since the winter and he had hoped his parents were resigned to his bachelor life. But his father was regaining his former bullishness, latching onto this new project to smother his hurt over Ghulam’s rejection.
‘You will go now and speak to your mother – she has a very suitable girl in mind – a good Lahori girl with a father in banking. And while you are there, you will talk some sense into your sister Fatima.’
‘Fatima?’ Rafi asked in surprise. His demure sister was the model daughter, obedient and studious; she had excelled in her school work at St Mary’s College, proving wrong the conservative relations who had tutted at money being wasted on educating a girl.
‘She wants to be a woman doctor. Have you ever heard of such madness?’
Rafi whistled and stubbed out his cigarette.
‘Let’s hope you have more influence over her than you did over–’
‘Ghulam?’
‘Don’t mention that boy’s name again in my hearing,’ Abdul said, his voice quavering as he turned away to stare out of the window.
***
Rafi always relaxed when he visited the zenana, the women’s quarters of his father’s tall, rambling house. His mother had kept strict purdah all her life but somehow knew everything that was going on in the outside world. She had never been formally educated, yet strove to have her children well-schooled and loved them to recite poetry to her. Outwardly, she deferred to her husband in everything; privately she was the driving force behind the family’s fortune.
THE PLANTER'S BRIDE: A story of intrigue and passion: sequel to THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER (India Tea Series Book 2) Page 26
