Zemindar

by Valerie Fitzgerald

  In her letter she was naturally delighted to know that our voyage had reached a safe conclusion, and hoped that we would all enjoy our stay in Calcutta. However, she exhorted Charles, it would be a mistake to linger in the capital too long. It was Charles’s first duty to make the acquaintance, gain the friendship and win the confidence of his brother in Hassanganj. Then followed a eulogy on the extent, importance and wealth of Mr Erskine’s possessions—with the emphasis on the wealth. She had always regretted not having the opportunity of visiting Hassanganj and seeing her eldest son again: fate and her second husband had both proved intransigent. But now Charles must take the opportunity of securing to himself some at least of those material benefits that his father had been unable to provide. Oliver was unmarried and showed no inclination for marriage. Charles must therefore realize that as Oliver’s nearest relative, he was also his most likely heir. Charles was to give due consideration to this fact and do all in his power to cement the natural ties of blood by subordinating his own inclinations to his brother’s, studying his brother’s wishes, and insinuating himself thoroughly into his brother’s mind and heart.

  She remained, as ever, her dear boy’s fondest mama.

  Letters from home were always read aloud, which was unfortunate in this case. By the time he reached the close poor Charles was red with embarrassment at his parent’s vulgarity, and I was grateful that only Emily and I were present.

  The second factor that militated against my heartfelt desire never to see Mr Erskine again was an interview between Wallace and his commanding officer that took place the morning after my unfortunate visit to Major Cussens’s bungalow.

  Wallace was late getting home for tiffin, and I knew as soon as he entered the dining-room that what he most feared had overtaken him. He had been ‘carpeted’ by Colonel Hande. Naturally we were not told the details of the painful meeting, but its general direction could be guessed at, by me at least, and its outcome could not be hidden. I conjectured that Colonel Hande, aghast at what had been brought to his attention regarding the Averys’ debts and the altogether unfortunate tenor of their affairs, had had no option but to order Wallace to take up one of the civilian administrative posts now being filled by Army officers. The annexation of Oudh earlier in the year, with all the concomitant responsibilities of such a step, had proved too much for the Company’s Civil Service to manage, and in order to bridge the gap between the creation of new posts and the recruitment of new staff, the Army had been asked to second officers to act as civil administrators in many areas. I could not help wondering how adequate an administrator a man with only military training would make, but in Wallace’s case, at least, it was a godsend. As he told me later, the alternative Colonel Hande had offered was retirement from the regiment, and as Wallace was a ‘Black’ or Native Service officer, such a step carried no hope of repatriation. Nor would it have been easy for him to obtain any other employment in India.

  The household was thrown into turmoil by this intelligence; only I had been in any way prepared for it, and even I had not looked to lose the roof from over my head.

  Wallace told us of Colonel Hande’s decision as we sat at tiffin. Perhaps he found it easier to break the news to Connie with others present, and in order to get the worst over first, he commenced by saying, ‘Well, Con, old dear, Hande wants me to go into the mofussil, do a wretched job for the civils who ain’t up to it! Interestin’ and all that. Bit of a pat on the back, really. Only trouble is, we’ll have to put off your little jaunt to England for another few months. There’ll be expenses in the movin’, setting ourselves up in the next place. All that to think of. Money’s going to be a little short again for a time.’

  He was white-faced, and his hands trembled as he raised his fork to his mouth. He did not look at his wife as he spoke.

  ‘Put off England? Again?’ Connie put down her implements and stared at her husband. ‘Oh no, Wally! Not again! Please not!’ She was always pale, but suddenly the red rims around her eyes seemed more pronounced, and her flaccid under-lip trembled as she spoke.

  ‘I’m afraid so, my love. Just for a few months, that’s all. I’ll have things straightened out in no time, but initially—well, you’ve been through it, old lady, you know how much it costs just movin’ the baggage.’ He attempted cheerfulness.

  ‘Oh, Wally! Oh, Wally!’ And without another word Connie got up from the table and rushed to her room.

  Wallace glanced at us miserably, all the ebullience, the silly optimism, drained from his expression, and then carefully and manfully told us of his interview, even mentioning his debts, but not of course their extent, nor how he had acquired them.

  ‘Damned decent of old Hande, really. He’s giving me a chance to fill the old moneybags again. Once we’re settled, the living will be cheaper, I dare say, and I’ll soon be able to get myself out of this little mess. Too bad about Con. She’ll feel it for a while. But things will look up pretty soon, and the country air will be pretty near as good for little Johnny as the sea air would’ve been. I’m sure of that.’

  ‘But, Wallace, she was counting on it so. The disappointment must be terrible. And even in the country, Johnny is going to have to face the heat. Isn’t there any way you can manage to send them home?’ Emily meant well, but gave small comfort to poor Wallace.

  ‘Not just at the moment, no. But as I say, in a few months I’ll see them safe on a ship. Take them down to Calcutta myself, and we’ll have a bit of a well-earned holiday together before she sails. It’ll be just the thing for us both—much better all round than the present plan!’

  But he was not really persuaded of this fact, though he tried to assure us that he was. I saw Charles watching him with compassion and was not surprised when he said, with a hint of embarrassment himself, ‘If money is the only problem, Wallace, will you not allow Emily and myself to help? It would give us the greatest pleasure. You could look on it as a very small return for all your hospitality.’

  I knew a fleeting hope, and saw it reflected for a second in Wallace’s face, but immediately he renounced it.

  ‘Good of you, old man. Very good! But no—of course it’s not only the money. Get that together in no time, as I have said. But once she thinks of it, Connie will realize that she would be unhappy leaving me to settle down alone in a new station. Make her miserable not to know how I’m living, people I meet—all that sort of female business, you know. She’ll want to fix up the house, sort out the servants, put in a few seeds and shrubs and so on. You know what women are! It’s only a postponement, and in the long run it’ll turn out for the best. She’ll see that herself soon. Just a little emotional for the moment is my Con. But it won’t take long for her to see it’s for the best!’

  ‘Please remember—if you should change your mind, the offer still holds, and as we are family after all, you must not hesitate to approach me. Any time. Any time at all.’

  ‘Thank you. Very good of you, and I can’t say how sorry I am that this should have happened while you were our guests. Would never have suggested you coming up-country if I had not felt we would be left in peace here for a while. ’Course, things are rather at sixes and sevens in the mofussil, and I’m not the only one to be banished from Lucknow, ha, ha! No, sir! Two or three others too: men who sling the lingo, y’know, as I do, worse luck. Just as well though that you aren’t entirely dependent on us. You had intended to visit Erskine in Hassanganj, hadn’t you? Everything falls into place, you see, and it’s only the suddenness of the thing that has upset Con.’

  Connie forbore to appear at dinner, and directly after we had eaten, Wallace went out alone.

  Charles, Emily and I sat in the shabby drawing-room and considered our predicament at length. Emily’s condition, of course, was uppermost in our minds, and the expectation of her confinement in early May had already thrown awry the plans we had made in Calcutta. Several alternatives, however, remained open to us. We could return to England immediately by the overland route, but in view of Emily’s c
ondition, this was not a favoured possibility. We could return to Calcutta and await her confinement there. Or we could go to Delhi for a few months and then up to the hills where the baby could be born in the healthful, pine-scented air and coolness.

  Kate Barry and I had both worked hard persuading Emily that it was perfectly possible to bear a baby successfully in India, and now, seeing my cousin’s tranquil acceptance of this fact, I wished we had been less zealous, for the alternative most likely to be adopted and the one most favoured by Emily herself, was a protracted stay in Hassanganj.

  ‘Of course, we would have to be back here … in time,’ she said eagerly.

  ‘Or better still, go up to one of the hill stations straight from Hassanganj,’ I put in quickly.

  ‘Either alternative would mean our going to Hassanganj first, and we have so far received only the most perfunctory of invitations,’ Charles objected correctly.

  ‘Oh, but it was an invitation, Charles!’ Emily pleaded.

  ‘No doubt, of a sort. But he has hardly been cordial … or truly welcoming, or even very interested in us. No, Emily, we will have to have something more explicit before we can take ourselves to Hassanganj. After all, as things are now, it will mean a visit of several months. And there is no saying he would welcome us for so long a stay.’

  Emily’s face fell, and I knew she was thinking spitefully of the baby that had ruined all her plans.

  ‘Anyway,’ Charles continued, ‘we have no idea what life is like in the mofussil, as they term it. You’ll probably find it deadly flat and boring.’

  ‘And what do you think Lucknow has been, with never being able to ride or be seen dancing, or doing any of the things I would like to do?’

  Emily pouted and Charles scowled, and they would soon have been engaged in one of their frequent arguments, but the door opened and Mr Erskine was announced, come to bring just that explicit invitation that was needed to confound my hopes and ensure a further acquaintance with him.

  Emily and Charles between them gave Mr Erskine a rather confused account of Wallace’s ‘transfer’, which he heard with a straight face and every indication of sympathy, while I gave my entire attention to my needlework.

  ‘So, you see, your invitation could not come at a better time, and we will be so happy to be with you,’ Emily laughed delightedly, looking sideways at her spouse. ‘Charles is so anxious to see the place, and his mother will be delighted to know her two sons are together at last!’

  ‘My privilege,’ said Mr Erskine gallantly. ‘I hope you will not be disappointed. I am not a sociable man, and anyway there are few Europeans in the district—none within calling distance. But perhaps we can arrange a small party at Christmas time, if you would care for it. For the rest, well—I am kept fairly busy on the estate, but you must consider the place your home while you are in India, and come and go just as you like.’

  ‘I declare, I am quite excited by the prospect of it all,’ Emily said. ‘We have heard so much of Hassanganj and your house and so on, and I have been so curious to see it all, and then we have been so worried as to what was best to do, with poor Wallace being called away from Lucknow, so it is so nice to know we have somewhere to go—and not among strangers either, which I was not looking forward to—just now!’

  Mr Erskine affected not to understand the last allusion when Emily stopped hurriedly, but her face flushed all the same. He turned to Charles and promised him the best shooting in Oudh ‘if he cared for such things’, and soon they were deep in duck, partridge and quail and then on to crocodile, leopard and tiger. His relatives, one on either side of him, hung on his every word in a most flattering manner, and I sat at a distance, intent on my needlework, inwardly bewailing my fate and wishing Mr Erskine in Hades.

  He had risen to leave when his attention turned to me. He was waiting for his hat and cape when his eye fell on me in my corner and he turned to Charles in well-simulated confusion: ‘But forgive me! I have been most remiss in making no mention of Miss Hewitt. I hope it is understood that I am expecting her company as well as yours?’

  ‘Oh, certainly,’ Emily assured him, ‘Laura is part of the family! We wouldn’t dream of leaving her out of anything. Why, Laura manages us both, and I don’t know where we’d be without her help.’

  ‘I can imagine it,’ Mr Erskine answered, looking me full in the face. ‘I am sure you are a most admirable companion to everyone, Miss Hewitt, and I look forward to making a brief acquaintance into a lasting friendship. You will be most welcome at Hassanganj.’

  I bowed as graciously as I could, and as, quite unnecessarily, he had extended his hand, I had to give him mine. When I withdrew it I found myself clasping a slip of paper. I did not have to examine it to know what it was. Wallace would have one worry the less. But in six months’ time, who could know how many others he would have acquired in its place?

  On the following morning we were joined at breakfast by Kate Barry who informed us that she too had received a call from Mr Erskine—and an invitation.

  ‘Oh, I know I am very wicked to repeat things, but sure and I must tell you what happened! Poor Oliver! He’s distraught, quite distraught I tell you, at the idea of having you girls with him in Hassanganj! “I could manage a regiment of males and not give ’em a second thought,” says he, “but two proper young Englishwomen. Kate, I don’t even know what sort of things they like to eat. Bath Olivers! That’s it; all young English females have to eat Bath Olivers at frequent intervals, isn’t that so, Kate? And there must be other things—but I don’t know what they are. And tea, Kate. I never drink the stuff myself, but I must get in a case of tea. There must be dozens of other things that I should have and don’t have. Scented soap. And … oh, God, what have I let myself in for? I can’t manage on my own, Kate. Come with them, please! George shall join us at Christmas, and we’ll have some capital shooting. Tell him that, and he’ll let you come. Just come for a couple of weeks or a couple of months or however long you care to—just a couple of days if necessary. But come and see that things are as they should be in Hassanganj. It’s so long since there’s been a woman there, Kate!” “True enough, my lad,” I says to him, tapping him on his waistcoat, “and even longer since there’s been a lady,” which took not a feather out of him, mind you! So there you are, my dears. I’m coming to Hassanganj with you—just as soon as you’re ready to go. George is charmed at getting rid of me and my long tongue for a while, and I, I can think of nothing better than a Christmas in Hassanganj after all this long time. And what’s more, I am to come laden with Bath Olivers and tea and scented soaps and anything else the heart of young females can desire!’

  Nothing could have suited me better than to have Kate with us in Hassanganj. My feelings regarding the visit were acutely ambivalent. On the one hand I detested the idea of accepting the hospitality of a man I liked as little as I did Mr Erskine, but on the other hand there was the lure of experiencing India with a closeness and familiarity that would be denied me elsewhere. Kate, cheerful, forthright, shrewd Kate, would provide that neutral and uninvolved presence so necessary to the success of any family party, and would, moreover, be an admirable guide and mentor in the strange life ahead of us.

  It was Charles, of course, who suggested we should remain on in Lucknow to help the Averys with their packing and other arrangements. Emily would have left for Hassanganj the day after Mr Erskine’s visit, and I was glad for Connie’s sake that Charles managed to restrain his own enthusiasm, as I was able to be of some assistance to her before the move. She spent most of the ensuing fortnight in bed or in tears, and poor Wallace was hardly more capable of seeing to his affairs than was his wife. The unhappiness of his parents communicated itself to little Johnny, who whined and sniffed his way among the gathering trunks and chests, bewildered and lost in an adult world gone suddenly awry.

  Wallace had been posted to a station about forty miles north of Lucknow. ‘I shall be in total command,’ he told Connie, with a brief return of his old optimistic
blustering. ‘You’ll be first lady of the station, old girl. That’ll be something, won’t it? You won’t half like being the Burra-mem of an entire station!’ Later we learnt that there were only two other white men in the station, and a mere handful of soldiers and police. But one finds one’s comfort where one must.

  I made an opportunity of speaking to Wallace regarding Charles’s offer of help, imploring him to reconsider his refusal. He shook his head, sighed and said, ‘Perhaps—perhaps, Laura, if only the cost of the passages were involved. But don’t you see, I cannot afford to keep up a home for them in England and another for myself here. Even one establishment, as things are now, is going to be a struggle. So what would you have me do? Explain everything to Charles and ask another man to support my wife and child? Indefinitely? No, Laura, that I cannot do. I have some pride! And who knows, things may yet take a turn for the better. They might!’

  I said no more. Shortly before we left I gave him the IOU he had signed for Mr Erskine, with an ingenious story of how it had been returned as Mr Erskine did not care to win so much money from his host. The story did not fool even me, but he appeared to accept it and did not question me further. His mind by then was on other things.

  We stayed to the very end, and only when the dilapidated buggy had disappeared through the familiar white-washed gate-posts, did we turn our attention to our own journey. Charles had resold the carriage he had bought on our arrival. Mr Erskine had sent his own heavy travelling carriage to convey us to Hassanganj and with it Toddy-Bob, the little Cockney, and eight mounted guards, all uniformed and carrying muskets and looking not very much different from the normal sepoy, except for a certain lack of attention to such details as brass buttons and buckles.

  As we drove down the curved driveway for the last time, we passed a bullock cart laden with Avery baggage on the top of which was strapped the parrot’s bell-shaped cage, carefully covered with a pillowslip. Poor old Polly, what next for you, I wondered as we went by, and from the depths of his covers the bird replied in raucous tones, ‘Good girl, Connie! Goo-oo-ood girl!’