Zemindar

by Valerie Fitzgerald

  ‘Very, thank you, but they decided to leave early.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s a pity! I’d love to stay and talk, and let the Major get to know you better, dearie, but I’m that hot and thirsty, and we will be keeping you from your friends, I have no doubt, so we must leave you now. We go back to our station tomorrow, so I cannot even hope to see you soon, as the saying goes, but now that I know you are in Lucknow, I’ll write and maybe you can come out to us for a few days—to get to know the Major and let Ellie see you.’

  ‘That would be delightful,’ I lied.

  Then Mrs Wilkins leant towards me and whispered behind the purple feathers of her fan, ‘My! You’re a true heartbreaker in that pink. I always knew you’d be a stunner in a pretty dress; too conservative you are, y’know, as a general rule, but tonight you’re lovely, dear! And I think I can guess why.’ She giggled and winked in the direction of Mr Erskine, who was being polite to her husband; then with more assurances of her affection, she pulled that gentleman away in search of sustenance.

  So I was looking ‘lovely’ on account of Mr Erskine! I wished there were someone with whom I could share the joke.

  I had not given a thought to the Averys since we had all gone in to supper together, nor had I caught a glimpse of them since. But, as Mr Erskine took me back to my seat, I began to wonder where they could be, and hoped they had not forgotten that they were to take me home in their carriage. On looking at my watch, I found it was after three o’clock in the morning. The band still played, but raggedly, without the zest of the earlier hours. A few young people still danced, but many more sat around the room in tired silence, the men easing their feet in their tight boots, the women hiding yawns behind their fans. The flowers had drooped in the heat of the long evening; empty glasses and ice cream dishes cluttered the tabletops, and candles guttered dismally before flickering out in a spiral of smelly smoke. Groups of scarlet-clad servants stood hopefully near the doors, anxious to summon the remaining guests’ carriages.

  I had hardly sat down when Connie, trailing her sad yellow muslin and with her ginger hair all over her face, appeared in a doorway clutching a glass, peered round the room, swaying, and then, spying us, made her way unsteadily across the floor. One of the gentlemen got up hurriedly and offered her his chair—just in time. Connie’s legs gave way under her and she flopped down, shrieking with laughter and waving her glass at the ceiling: ‘Ish been a lovely parshy,’ she informed us, while the champagne she had spilt ran down the side of her face unheeded. ‘Oh, shush a lovely parshy.’

  The glass dropped from her hand, her head sank forward on her bosom and she was asleep before any of us had done more than gasp.

  ‘Wally!’ snapped Kate, getting to her feet. ‘George, go and find Wally! We must get her home. It’s too bad that the servants should see her in this condition.’

  George hurried off, and I picked up the smashed glass and wiped Connie’s face with my handkerchief, horribly conscious all the time of the black bulk of Mr Erskine in the background. Connie was no responsibility of mine, but I was living in her house and for some reason that I could not explain to myself, I was ashamed that Mr Erskine, of all people, should see my hostess in such a condition.

  George was an age finding Wally. Meanwhile, for us who were left with Connie, the embarrassment grew more acute as her snores grew louder, interspersed with hiccoughs and the agitated movements of her hands and feet. One by one the gentlemen who had formed the party around the Barrys made some excuse and took themselves off, so that by the time George returned, only Kate and myself kept watch over the unfortunate woman—Kate, myself and Mr Erskine. Too much of a gentle man to leave us alone, he had seated himself in a chair vacated by one of the others, crossed his long black legs, and proceeded to make light of the whole business.

  ‘Bless you, Oliver,’ said Kate, voicing my sentiments exactly, as the last of our cavaliers drifted away and Mr Erskine sat on, thus publicly giving us his support. ‘We have forgotten her all evening and we should have known what would happen. What can Wally be thinking of to allow her to become like this?’

  ‘What indeed? But if her husband is the stout, florid man with the loud laugh and the loud voice, then I can tell you he is thinking of making money at cards. Or was when I looked around the rooms some time ago. He seemed settled for the night at that time.’

  ‘I’m sure he was!’ said Kate. ‘That would be Wally all right. Oh, thank heaven! Here he is now.’

  Wallace bent over his wife, at once ashamed and concerned, and tried to bring her to her senses. But she was past rousing. He slapped her hands and pinched her cheeks, imploring her to ‘wake up’. Poor Connie merely responded by taking a wild swing at his head and commanding him in slurred tones to go away. Every eye in the room was upon us, and my mortification mounted, the more so as Wallace himself was far from sober and used a voice to rouse his wife that could have been heard across the river. Eventually, all methods of resuscitation having failed, Wallace and George between them half carried, half dragged Connie from the ballroom, and only the servants at the doorway had the decency not to smile as they passed.

  ‘I had better fetch my wrap,’ I said to Kate. ‘I hope Wallace has not forgotten that I am going home with them.’

  ‘No, no, my dear, you must come with us. I do not like the thought of you driving with them now. Why, Wallace is in hardly a better way than Connie!’

  ‘I don’t care for the idea much myself, but Wallace may need my help with Connie when we reach the house.’

  ‘Then he must manage without it! Indeed, I will not allow you to travel with them. You have had enough embarrassment for one evening.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘If I may intrude?’

  For the moment we had both forgotten Mr Erskine’s silent but attentive presence. ‘I would be delighted to take Miss Hewitt home, Kate. I have to pass Mariaon as I am putting up with Major Cussens, and if she will direct me, I can have her home in no time.’

  ‘Oh, no, I really couldn’t allow it. I…’

  ‘But I insist. You cannot go with the Averys, Miss Hewitt, even if they have remembered that you are expecting to, which seems unlikely, and there is plenty of room for you in my carriage. I will be waiting for you at the door when you have collected your cloak.’

  Thus it was that in a short time I found myself beside Mr Erskine in his high, light gig. He handled the reins himself, and behind us on the step stood the odd little man with the high hat with whom Charles had had a passage of arms on our arrival at the ball—such aeons ago. He stood at the horse’s head as Mr Erskine handed me up, and did not recognize me. But I could not be mistaken and I smiled as I realized that Charles would certainly consider him one more point in the disfavour of his employer.

  The fatigue, of which I had been conscious before Connie’s appearance, had vanished in the ensuing agitation, and I felt sufficiently grateful to Mr Erskine for his consideration of Kate and myself to put myself out to be pleasant.

  ‘It was very kind of you to remain with us when George went to fetch Captain Avery, Mr Erskine. It was an unpleasant moment for both of us, particularly Mrs Barry, who had no reason to be involved.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Kate,’ he answered. ‘That poor woman was not the first drunkard she has had to deal with. Not by a long chalk. But you, Miss Hewitt, what reason had you to be involved?’

  ‘Mrs Avery is my hostess. I could scarcely have deserted her, could I?’

  ‘Hmph! And does this sort of thing happen often—in the Avery ménage, I mean?’

  ‘No! Well—that is, not so badly! But poor Connie—well, the truth is she acquired the habit of drinking gin when she was ill at one time, her doctor advised it, and now she can’t break herself of it.’

  ‘I see.’

  I could tell he was smiling, though I could not see his face. It was a dark night now: the young moon had long since descended and the myriad stars were dimmed by great galleons of silvery-grey cloud hurrying
before a chill wind that made me glad I had borrowed Emily’s sealskin cape.

  ‘My relatives appear to have brought you to a rather unfortunate household, Miss Hewitt. A wife too fond of the bottle and a husband too fond of the cards. It must be an education for you. Tell me, what does my brother Charles think of it?’

  ‘I don’t believe he realizes Mrs Avery’s weakness. And since he spends a good deal of time with Captain Avery, I presume he does not object to gambling,’ I answered primly.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘It is no business of mine.’

  ‘Of course, I was forgetting. A “paid companion” must just put up with her lot, I suppose? But don’t tell me that the delectable Emily is as unconcerned? Surely she is shocked by her hostess’s partiality for gin?’

  ‘Yes, she is—and I am very glad she did not see Connie tonight. It would have distressed her.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He drove in silence for a time, sitting forward, relaxed, with his elbows on his knees, and the reins gathered in one hand. I sat very erect and uncomfortably close to him on the narrow seat, so that the skirt of my dress overspread one of his knees. I am not by nature shy, but he made me feel awkwardly aware of myself, and I examined the profile of his face, with its high-arched nose, with some resentment. Remembering the snatch of conversation I had heard from the Banqueting Hall window, I was not surprised, now that I knew him, that he had managed to ‘run the gauntlet of matrimony’ so successfully. He was a disquieting creature.

  ‘How long are you to have the dubious pleasure of sharing the Avery roof, Miss Hewitt?’ he asked after a time.

  ‘I’m not sure. I think it was to have been for a couple of months, and then it was planned that we should move on to Delhi and Agra and go up to the hills for the summer.’

  ‘So Hassanganj was not included in the itinerary?’

  ‘How could it be—since Hassanganj issued no invitation?’

  ‘Curious, that—when I have been told in a long and disingenuous letter from my mother that Charles’s main reason for visiting India was to see Hassanganj! I took it to be a matter of course. But you speak as if your plans have now been changed. Is this because of Mrs Avery’s—er—indisposition?’

  ‘No, not at all! But I think we will have to remain in Lucknow longer than we had thought—at least until we can go up to the hills in April. You see, Emily …’ And I trailed off, realizing suddenly that I had brought up a matter not generally discussed between the sexes at first acquaintance.

  ‘I see, Emily is to become a mother! How inconvenient for you all, and how remarkable that no one should have foreseen such a contingency when you set out. But that’s by the way. All the same, and in spite of my mother’s hints of suitable fraternal affection, I got the impression tonight that my brother Charles has decided to disapprove of me. There is no real reason why he shouldn’t, particularly if he has a ready ear for local gossip.’

  This was true, though I could not admit it, and so, not knowing what to say, I said nothing. There was a moment’s silence and then Mr Erskine chuckled and looked at me. ‘Thank you, Miss Hewitt,’ he grinned, ‘I always appreciate frankness. But I will have to make him alter his opinion of me if you are to see the “real” India, will I not? And I believe that, whatever the drawbacks of my way of life in Hassanganj, you would all be more happily placed in my house than you are in the Averys’ at the moment. I see that I must do what I can to ingratiate myself with my brother.’

  Then you must start with his wife, I thought to myself.

  Mr Erskine raised his voice and called over his shoulder to the little man on the postillion’s step, whom, I suddenly realized must have overheard all that was said: ‘What do you say to that, Tod? How are you going to like having our masculine fastness invaded by the ladies?’

  ‘Not above ’alf, Guv’nor,’ replied the little man in a strong Cockney accent, and very forcefully.

  ‘No, I’m sure you won’t. But still we must make the best of it, I suppose.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said with dignity, but Mr Erskine just laughed again and a voice came through the hood, hopefully, ‘The ladies won’t like it. Too lonely, like. All them blackies and no dancing! Won’t do, guv’nor—leastways not for young ladies. Not for more’n a couple o’ weeks at the most.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, Tod. Perhaps you’re right. We will have to wait and see.’

  CHAPTER 15

  The day that followed the ball was a trying one for all of us.

  Emily and Charles were still on bad terms, a fact communicated to the rest of us by a certain defiant impertinence in Emily’s manner and a silent sulkiness in Charles’s. Connie remained unseen in her room all day, and Wallace, when he appeared at tiffin, was pale, abstracted and quieter than I had ever known him. He had quite forgotten that I was to have come home with him and Connie after the ball, and the Floods were too immersed in their marital wrangle to give the matter a thought, so I said nothing about my ride in Mr Erskine’s gig, nor did I mention Connie’s unfortunate exhibition at the end of the night. In fact it was not a day that favoured conversation, and was spent for the most part in exhausted, self-absorbed quiet, while four members of the household licked their respective wounds, and I tried to keep out of the way of all of them.

  After dinner, the evening being fine and mild, we took our tea on the verandah. Emily had chosen to wear one of her most becoming gowns, a muslin printed with a scattering of small green leaves and trimmed with green ribbons and pleated silk. Settling herself in a large cane chair, with a small worktable before her and a piece of needlework (of many years’ standing) in her hands, she composed herself into a beguiling picture of industrious femininity. Nor was it difficult to guess who was to be charmed by this gracious tableau; every time the clop of hooves approached the gate, she looked up expectantly, and each time they continued along the road without turning in, she returned to her embroidery with ill-concealed disappointment. I thought it unlikely that Mr Erskine would stir himself sufficiently to call so soon after the ball, but could say nothing to allay her vexation. When, therefore, a familiar equipage did turn in at the gate as the khitmagar was clearing away the cups, I was more surprised than Emily.

  The strange little Cockney was driving, and on the step that he had occupied the night before there now stood a huge Pathan dressed in baggy white pyjamas, long white shirt, crimson velvet waistcoat crossed by loaded bandoliers of cartridges, and with a fan of starched and pleated muslin surmounting his high white turban. He had a fine black beard and his moustachios were waxed and curled back fiercely towards his nose. In his cummerbund was stuck a tulwar, a curved, broad-bladed sword. When the gig came to a halt, he hopped down from the step and opened the door for his master with a flourish.

  Charles, who had recognized his brother’s driver, got to his feet with an exclamation of annoyance, Wallace remained in his chair for a moment goggling incredulously at the vehicle and its occupants, so it was left to Emily—Connie was still invisible—to welcome Mr Erskine, which she did very prettily indeed. He did not stay long because he was on his way to another engagement in the city, but it was arranged that he should dine with us on the following night and, said Wallace, ‘We’ll finish the evening with a quiet game or two. We are expecting some other friends, good chaps all of them, and I am sure you cannot object to a little flutter, sir. Be a change for you after your quiet life in the mofussil.’

  Mr Erskine bowed his acquiescence, but without enthusiasm, and left soon after.

  It was the first I had heard of the ‘other friends’ who were expected to dine, but it was kind of Wallace to wish to entertain Mr Erskine in form, even though I realized I would have the bulk of the work in arranging the meal. I hoped that Mr Erskine would not find the cards too tedious, but at least Emily and I would be spared the trouble of having to make conversation with a total stranger all evening—not, I recollected, that he was difficult to talk to. The friends whom Wallace had in mind were Captain F
anning and two other officers of his own regiment, with whom he and Charles spent most of their evenings. At my suggestion, a note was also despatched hurriedly to the Barrys requesting their presence on the grounds of their previous acquaintance with the guest of honour.

  All were delighted to accept, so the next morning was a busy one as I ordered the meal for eleven people, looked out and hastily mended an assortment of tired linen, and superintended a thorough cleaning of the reception rooms. Emily contented herself with arranging the flowers, and Connie, recovered now as much as she ever would be, drifted about commenting without rancour on my management of what were really her affairs. ‘You are clever to make it all look so nice, Laura,’ she said, fingering the edge of her best tablecloth which I had presumed to use. ‘I don’t know how you get them to work so hard—the servants, y’know. They’ll never do a thing I tell them to.’

  ‘I’m delighted to be of some help to you, Connie, and I’m glad it all suits you. It is so good of you and Wallace to want to make Mr Erskine feel welcome.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not me, Laura. It’s all Wally’s idea. He’s so fond of entertaining, but I’m not often well enough to put my mind to it. And then he is so fond of cards too. I expect they’ll start playing directly after the port, and so Mr Erskine won’t object if I go to bed, will he?’

  ‘No, I’m sure he won’t,’ I assured her, relieved to know her plan. ‘He knows you are a little—er—delicate.’