On Saturday evening our carriages trundled down Boat Club Road, through dappled sunlight, and turned into the gates of the Adyar Club. It was the loveliest club we’d visited the whole time we’d been in India, with tennis courts, a golf link and a smooth green croquet lawn. Mr St John said it was the best club in Madras for music because it was actually a ladies’ club.
As we strolled across the lawns, Tilly and Ruby were almost drooling at the clothes the ladies wore. ‘Look over there,’ said Tilly, ‘the lady in the blouse that’s simply dripping with lace jabots. She must have mohair pads to plump her bosom and backside. See how snugly that bertha fits her? I love how she’s nipped in at the waist.’
‘I’m surprised she can breathe in this heat,’ I said.
‘Sometimes you have to suffer for beauty’s sake,’ said Tilly.
Everywhere I looked, there were women in lovely costumes. There were even some who’d come in low-cut evening dresses and white kid gloves with little pearl buttons. We were glad to be in our Florodora costumes and not our day clothes. It made us feel less like charity children.
We thought we’d perform on the terrace as there were people milling all over the lawns, but Mrs St John hooked her arm through Ruby’s and Tilly’s and led them down to the water. I followed behind. All along the water’s edge, chairs and long benches were arranged as seating.
‘We thought a water fete would be just the thing on a night like tonight. When you’ve won your case against that wretched man, you’ll be able to think of Madras fondly, as a city that treated you with care.’
All along the river, boats were hung with lanterns. The soft light shimmered on the river’s surface. Twenty feet from the shore, festooned with garlands of flowers and hung with lamps, was a wide raft set up as a stage. Lascars stood waiting beside little rowboats to take us out to the floating stage. Two hundred people sat on the lawns watching as twelve of us climbed out of the boats as elegantly as possible.
I stood on the edge of the floating stage and stared at our faint reflections rippling on the surface of the river. We seemed very insubstantial – six girls in lacy petticoats, six boys in oversized dress coats and top hats. The stage was moored so it didn’t move at all but I felt as though I had lost my anchor. For the first time, I felt a terrible stage fright. I was glad to be at a distance from the audience, the men smelling of gorgonzola cheese, relish and spirits, the women stinky with perfume that only faintly masked the ammonia they had dabbed beneath their arms to prevent sweat stains.
Once we started singing ‘Tell Me, Pretty Maiden’ I became myself again. When I sat on Charlie’s knee and sang ‘If I lov’d you, Would you tell me what I ought to do, To keep you all mine alone’ he didn’t look at me but at the audience.
I knew he was waiting for the song to be over so he could do his magic, so I didn’t mind. As soon as we’d finished, the lascars rowed the five other boys and all us girls back to shore while Charlie stayed behind. This was Charlie’s moment. He stood alone in the centre of the floating stage, surrounded by a circle of unlit candles.
He set up a tiny folding card table beside him and on it placed three glasses of water. Then he stretched his arms wide. ‘Before I came to India, I imagined it a country of darkness. But in India I have found friendship and I have found Light.’
As he snapped his fingers, one by one the circle of candles magically lit themselves.
‘And in the light of India I have found the sweetness of fire.’
He held up two tiny white cubes beneath the glow of the lanterns so everyone could see that they were sugar-lumps. Then he put one into the first glass. Instantly fire appeared on its surface. Charlie held the glass up and it glowed a strange blue against the dark river. Gently, he blew on the glass until the flames looked like waves. Then he did the same with the other two glasses. And as he blew, first on one and then the other, the blue flames rose out of the glasses like waves. Then he flung the water onto the surface of the river where it flared for a moment before disappearing.
‘In India, my mind has become lit with magic,’ said Charlie. ‘There are wondrous forces at play in the subcontinent that can turn a simple boy into a master of the invisible, a reader of minds. To help me demonstrate this gift, I call upon my assistant, Miss Poesy Swift.’
This was my cue to stand up and curtsey. There was a snicker from the Kreutz brothers, but the audience played along.
‘Miss Swift will offer you playing cards,’ continued Charlie, ‘and through the power of magic I will enter your minds and all your choices will be revealed to me.’ Charlie closed his eyes and waited as I offered the fanned-out cards to a lady. She picked the Queen of Hearts.
‘Suit?’ I cried to Charlie. He put his fingers to his temples as if he were trying to draw the answer from the ether.
Little beads of sweat trickled down my neck, I was so nervous for him.
‘Hearts,’ he replied at last.
The lady who’d drawn the card nodded to the audience and there was a smattering of applause.
‘Value?’ I cried.
‘Queen,’ answered Charlie. ‘The lady has drawn the Queen of Hearts.’
The woman stood up excitedly and waved the card at the audience. ‘That’s exactly right,’ she cried. ‘Isn’t he clever?’ And everyone applauded.
Once we’d provided a few more demonstrations of Charlie’s cleverness, he drew two doves from his sleeves and sent them winging out into the hot night air. I was so glad to see them disappear across the water. I’d been worried that they might not survive being inside his jacket for so long in the heat.
As Charlie gave a bow, the Kreutzes were rowed out to the stage for their Tweedledum and Tweedledee battle and then Daisy sang Fifi Fricot’s song from The Belle of New York. To close the evening, the whole troupe performed ‘When You Steal a Kiss’. Tilly sang the verse but everyone sang the chorus, twenty-four voices floating across the water to the crowd on the lawns. Behind the audience, the Adyar Club glowed like a temple.
I’d always thought it was a silly song but I found myself looking at Charlie every time we sang ‘turtle dove’.
Words are not the only thing when you are making love,
Your eyes are always whispering ‘Come be my turtle dove’,
Every time you take her hand she knows your love is true,
And lips are only needed when you steal a kiss or two.
Suddenly, he looked straight into my eyes, as if he’d heard my voice above all the others. I felt a strange shiver course through me as we sang the next line. It was as if, for a fleeting moment, Charlie and I were the only two people on the Adyar River, the only two people in the world.
56
BENEATH THE BANYAN
Poesy Swift
Laughing and breathless with our success, we marched up the grassy slope to the ballroom. It had a beautiful dance floor that begged our shiny black shoes to tap out a rhythm and all the girls began to dance with each other.
I danced with Flora until I noticed something that made me feel awfully uncomfortable. They didn’t have electricity at the Club yet, so there were two rows of little Indian boys tugging on the ropes of the punkahs with a hypnotic rhythm. One of them looked like Prem and it made me horribly uncomfortable. All my cheery feelings drained out through the soles of my dancing shoes and I remembered where I was. Tomorrow, we would be back in the courtroom. Tomorrow, the barristers would call for more of the children to repeat their statements to the judge.
I left the dance floor and wandered outside. The Adyar River flowed lazily past the south verandah. I leaned against the balustrade next to Charlie, watching as two small boats rowed past the club towards the mouth of the river and the sea.
‘I wish we could jump in a boat and row away like that.’
‘I thought you wanted to stick around to see Mr Ruse cleared and Old Percy punished.’
I hung my head. ‘I’m so afraid, Charlie. They’re going to call Daisy tomorrow. What if they ask me to take
the witness stand too? Tilly will kill me if I change my story but I think I’d rather die.’
Charlie was silent for a long moment, staring out at the water. ‘I’d gladly run away. I hate being Lionel’s brother. I hate the way everyone talks about him as if he’s a sneaking ass.’
‘He can’t hear what they say behind his back,’ I said.
‘That doesn’t make it any better.’
I couldn’t stop a sigh escaping from between my lips.
We both propped our chins on our elbows and stared out at the river.
‘What are those lights, over there?’ I asked.
‘That’s the Theosophical Society Headquarters,’ said Charlie.
‘Where Mrs Besant lives?’
Charlie nodded.
‘Charlie!’ I cried. ‘That’s the answer. Mrs Besant can help us. We won’t have to stay with the others any more. We won’t have to go to court either. And she’ll know what to do. She can help you and me and Lionel. Maybe she can even help Lizzie. We have to throw ourselves on Mrs Besant’s mercy. ’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ said Charlie.
I stepped close to him and cupped my hands, whispering hot and warm into the shell of his ear. ‘We can take a boat across. Please, Charlie. Please. If you won’t come, I’ll row myself there. Please.’
He pulled my hands away and held my wrists tightly, studying my face. ‘You can’t, Poesy,’ he said.
‘I have to. I can’t go to court tomorrow. I simply can’t say those things that I said in my statement.’
‘What did you say, Poesy?’
I couldn’t tell him. ‘Please come away with me, Charlie.’ The Adyar Club ladies had decided to put us up at the Club for the night so Charlie and I waited until after lights out and then met in the shadows of the Club. We stumbled past the badminton courts until the ground grew squishy beneath us and we knew we were drawing closer to the boat ramp.
‘I wish I’d thought of doing this sooner. You must know this is the right thing to do, Charlie. Mrs Besant says there is no religion higher than Truth,’ I said, tugging at the rope that held the rowboat. ‘So I’m going to tell her the truth. I’m going to confess everything.’
The Adyar River was blue-black in the darkness, like a river of ink flowing down to the warm sea.
I could see the Theosophical Society, a shadowy grey building against the dark undergrowth. The moon rose over the sea and cast a blue light on the water. I flinched when a black fish jumped near the boat. Drawing closer to the southern shore, there was a dense forest of mangroves. Charlie steered us into a safe haven and climbed out first, tying the boat to the twisty root of a blackened tree.
‘What if there are snakes or tigers?’ I asked, suddenly fearful.
Charlie put his hand out to me. ‘We’ll be all right,’ he said.
We walked into the forest, through a tangle of banyan tree roots. There was a light on in a grand old building ahead of us, but suddenly it switched off and we were plunged into darkness. We stood among the roots of the banyan tree, holding hands. Charlie looked at me. I could see his eyes shining, as if what little light was in the forest was coming from inside him. ‘Poesy,’ was all he said, the single word an admonition.
‘I know. She won’t want to help us,’ I said. ‘We’re actors, not Indians or avatars or anyone important. We’re kids caught up in a stupid fight.’ I sat down in the dry grass and red dust. ‘I’m such an idiot.’
‘It was a bit of a nutty idea,’ said Charlie. ‘But you meant well. I can row us back now and no one will know. I’m glad we came. It’s good to remember I can still slip away so easily.’
I started to sob. It hurt my chest. It hurt every part of me.
‘Oh Charlie, you can’t run away. If you leave the troupe, I’ll have no one. You can’t stay in India, you simply can’t.’
‘I know,’ he said, slumping down on the ground beside me.
The moon shone through the roots of the banyan tree and cast shadows across his body. He looked like a strange animal, crouching in the grass beside me. Suddenly, I realised he was crying too.
‘I can’t leave Lionel. Not now. He’s trapped, and because of him I’m trapped too. Once old man Percy loses the case, and he will lose, Lionel will have to come back to the troupe. Everyone will be cruel to him and Freddie and Max will bully him. If he had to go home and face Ma alone, after all this, it would kill him. I can’t abandon him.’
‘What are we going to do?’ I said, putting my head on his shoulder.
‘You have to finish what you’ve started and I have to stick by Lionel.’
We sat for a long time beneath the banyan tree. I took Charlie’s hand in mine and held it in my lap because touching him made everything seem less frightening. Then I held his hand to my face and kissed his palm. It was only a little kiss. It was only meant to be a ‘thank you’. But suddenly our faces were close to each other, the warm evening air seemed to squeeze the breath from me and I pressed my lips against his. He smelt of the river, of sugar, of sulphur, of heat and dark. He was so still it was as if his body had turned to stone, but his lips were like soft, warm butter. Then he pushed my face away, very gently, and put his arms around me. He held me as if I might break, he held me as if I was made of glass.
For a long time we sat like that, fragile and silent. I wanted to kiss Charlie again but I was too afraid of what might follow. The moon rose over the river and the gardens, and the night was full of sound, of scuttling creatures and night birds, of insects and the lapping of the Adyar. Charlie and I were silent, as if we were both waiting for something so dangerous that we dared not speak its name.
Suddenly I understood. I understood why Lizzie had given up everything for Mr Arthur. I turned to Charlie and stole another kiss.
I kept my lips pressed to his until he pushed me away.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘I forgot to breathe,’ he said.
Suddenly we were both laughing like little children, lying beneath the banyan tree giggling until our sides hurt, until we had forgotten our pain and our kisses.
57
THE TRIAL
Tilly Sweetrick
Every morning before we left the hotel, I inspected every Lilliputian. We had to dress carefully for court. We had to look as innocent as the day. The boys wore dark shorts, black stockings and white shoes and they’d brushed their fringes so much that the hair stuck to their foreheads. We girls wore our best dresses with black stockings and either black boots or white sandshoes to match the boys.
The High Court was grander than the Maharajah of Mysore’s old palace, with its turrets and towers, and barristers in black gowns flapping across the dusty courtyards. We climbed wide stairways and walked along black-and-white tiled corridors lined with dark wood panelling to reach our courtroom.
Little squares of coloured light fell from the high windows and speckled our white dresses with patches of red and green and gold. We sat in a group, the fans spinning lazily above our heads and the polished benches growing warm beneath us, and watched our fate unfold.
Mr Ruse had organised us a most delicious barrister, Mr Browning. He and Mr Bowes found witnesses from all over Madras who spoke in our favour. The only witnesses that the Butcher had been able to find to speak on his behalf were his little toady bacha, Lionel, and that old chamcha, Mr Shrouts.
When it was finally the Butcher’s turn to take the stand, after weeks of evidence, he positively writhed in the witness box.
Mr Browning tore him to shreds. Every tatty little piece of the Butcher’s follies and mismanagement was brought to light and every lie exposed. When Mr Browning started to question the Butcher about our education, you could see a ripple of disgust move across the gallery. It was hilarious. The more the Butcher tried to defend himself, the deeper he dug his own grave.
‘The bigger girls taught the little ones in the afternoon,’ he said.
Ruby and I looked at each other and smirked.
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‘But you claimed in an interview with a newspaper reporter in Calcutta that Myrtle Jones was a teacher registered with the Australian government.’
‘All right,’ admitted the Butcher. ‘I said Myrtle was a teacher for advertising purposes.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ asked Mr Browning.
‘When she was asked, she was to say she was a schoolmistress. Look, she’s not been much with the Company so she ought to be educated. I’ve seen her write her name – she’s not a complete fool.’
Myrtle looked a little hurt at this, but some of us stifled a giggle. She did have simply the worst handwriting.
‘The success of the company depends on the goodwill of the public,’ continued the Butcher slowly, as if he was explaining something to a crowd of idiots. ‘Stories of gross cruelty or improper conduct on the part of a manager would affect our success, so of course I will defend our public interests. Meddlesome people have interfered but this company is of a professional standard. I’ve had no trouble anywhere else.’
‘I believe the Police Commissioner was called to investigate in Bombay?’ said the lawyer.
‘That was because of a meddlesome person from Melbourne. The report emanated from Melbourne, not Bombay. Can’t you see, the girls are lying?’ the Butcher almost shouted. ‘Ruby Kelly and Matilda Sweeney wanted to go back to Melbourne to work in the variety shows. That’s all. They are lying to have their own way.’
‘Miss Kelly and Miss Sweetrick, whom you refer to as “Sweeney”, are not the only children who have given evidence of your immoral behaviour. Other children have said that you hit them and took money to buy drink.’
The Butcher gripped the balustrade of the witness box, trying to contain his rage. He leaned forward and spoke so slowly it seemed he was having trouble breathing.
‘They are lies. None of the accusations are true.’
‘Are you suggesting that Miss Poesy Swift is a liar?’
I could feel Poesy stiffen in her seat beside me. Thank goodness the Butcher didn’t look at her as he replied. It would have unravelled the witless girl.
India Dark Page 24
