The Foundling’s Daughter

by Ann Bennett

  She shakes her head. ‘No, Tommy. Not one.’

  ‘He must have found them and thrown them away. I had to send them to the house, just in the hope you would get to the post first. That was my biggest regret, Connie, believe me, leaving you behind, knowing you would be distraught and angry. That you’d end up hating me.’

  ‘Never, Tommy. I never hated you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I knew there must have been a good reason for you leaving. I always hoped you’d come back.’

  ‘When the war ended and I came home I was a changed man. All those years in prison camps in the jungle, suffering starvation and disease had taken its toll. I was skin and bone. I got lodgings in London and found a job in a garage in the East End. I asked around and found out that Ezra Burroughs was still alive and well and living in Weirfield just as before. I knew that if I came back he would carry out his threat. He wasn’t a man to forgive and forget.

  ‘I met a girl in the end. Nancy. She worked in the office in the garage. We started walking out together and one thing led to another. She was a lovely girl, Connie, but she was never like you, Connie. No one was like you.’

  He reaches out and takes her hand. His hand feels bony and cold, but that doesn’t matter. Just the touch of it is a comfort.

  ‘So, you see, Connie,’ he goes on, ‘That’s what your precious father was capable of under all his bluster and charm. He was a brutal, dangerous man. But I think you knew that all along really, didn’t you?’

  Twenty-Seven

  Sarah

  ‘We’ve completed our investigation, Mrs Jennings,’ says Sergeant Coxon. He’s standing in the corner of the kitchen at Cedar Lodge, sipping a coffee.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s going to be very difficult to find anything out about the provenance of the bones,’ he goes on. ‘As I mentioned yesterday, our forensic team dated them to the early thirties. We spoke to Miss Burroughs, but she claims to know nothing about it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Between you and me, she seems to have become very forgetful in her old age. I don’t think we’re ever going to get anything sensible out of her. And she’s the only person who might be able to shed light on this.’

  ‘Well that’s a real pity,’ says Sarah. ‘I was hoping you’d be able to find something out. It would have been good to have some sort of explanation.’

  She exchanges glances with Matt who’s sitting opposite her at the table.

  ‘I’m afraid a case like this isn’t a top priority for us,’ the sergeant goes on. ‘With all the current crimes we’re having to investigate. Not to mention the cut-backs. We’re short-staffed now at the station as it is. There’s even talk of closing us down altogether.’

  ‘So what will happen now?’

  ‘We’re going to have to close the file on the case, Mrs Jennings. I wanted to tell you in person.’

  ‘Close the file? That’s a disappointment.’

  ‘I understand how you feel. But I’m sure you’ll appreciate our position.’

  He drains his coffee and puts his cap on. ‘I’d best be on my way. If anything does happen to turn up on the case, I’ll be sure to let you know.’

  ‘What about the bones?’ Sarah asks suddenly. He pauses.

  ‘The bones? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, the baby… the skeleton. What will happen to it?’

  He turns and stares at her. ‘In cases like this, remains are usually incinerated at the hospital.’

  A shudder goes through Sarah. ‘Won’t there be a funeral? After all, it was once a tiny human being.’

  ‘If you like, we can release the remains to a funeral home. They’ll be able to arrange a funeral for you.’

  Sarah feels responsible somehow. ‘I’ll pay for the funeral,’ she says suddenly.

  ‘That’s a very generous gesture, Mrs Jennings. If you’d like to pop round to the police station in the next couple of days, we’ll arrange all the paperwork for you.’

  After he’s left the house and driven away, Sarah sits down and puts her head in her hands. She feels stunned. Matt’s arms are around her shoulders.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I just can’t believe how casual they are about it. How they can give up on it so soon? It’s only been a few days.’

  ‘Well, like he said, it’s not a priority for them.’

  Sarah’s thinking hard. ‘I don’t think I can just let it rest like that. It would feel odd to go on living here with that hanging over me.’

  ‘But what can you do? If the police can’t do anything…’

  ‘I’m not sure. But there must be some way of finding out.’

  Her mobile buzzes and her father’s number shows on the screen. She answers quickly. He doesn’t normally call at this time of day.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Sarah. Are you OK?’

  ‘Of course, Dad. Are you? Has anything happened?’

  ‘I’ve just been listening to the local news on the radio. There was something about Cedar Lodge. You found some bones?’

  ‘Oh, Dad! I’m sorry. I had no idea it would be on the radio. I should have warned you.’

  ‘I thought you were a bit preoccupied when you came round yesterday evening. Was that what it was about?’

  ‘Yes. I was trying to find a way of telling you. But in the end, I didn’t have the courage. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘What a dreadful thing to have happened. Are you alright? Should I come over?’

  ‘No, I’m fine thanks, Dad. Someone’s here. It’s Matt from work.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, it’s good that you have company. You know they said on the news that the remains dated from back in the 1930s.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. That’s what the police told me. I’ve no idea how the radio got the story.’

  There’s silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘Are you still there, Dad?’

  ‘You know, Sarah, I can’t help thinking that there are a lot of unanswered questions from that time. It’s such a shame we haven’t been able to find out more.’

  ‘We can carry on trying,’ she replies. ‘It’s early days yet.’

  There was another short silence, then he says in a quiet voice, ‘I’m not sure how long there is left for me, Sarah.’

  She catches her breath and tears prickle her eyes.

  ‘Please don’t talk like that, Dad. Shall I come over and see you, if you’re feeling down?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. There’s no need. It’s just that I have the appointment with the consultant at the end of the week. He’ll have the results of the tests they ran last week. He might want me to stay in…’

  ‘Oh, Dad, perhaps the news won’t be as bad as you’re expecting. ‘I’ll be there with you, whatever he says.’

  ‘I know. I know. I’m sorry to burden you.’

  ‘It’s no burden.’

  ‘I’ll let you get on. I’ll see you this evening, then.’

  ‘Poor Dad,’ Sarah murmurs as she rings off. ‘He’s desperate to know more about his past. You know, Matt, there are so many mysteries surrounding the orphanage.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and talk to Miss Burroughs about it?’ asked Matt. ‘She might talk to you.’

  ‘You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that? I should go and speak to her. She wouldn’t speak to me before, but I could tell she was holding something back. She wouldn’t talk to the police. Perhaps she felt intimidated. Maybe she’ll talk to me.’

  Anna’s Diary

  1st August 1933

  Today I got up and tried to carry on as normal. But Manju noticed something was wrong as soon as she saw me.

  ‘Memsahib looks very sad today,’ she said, concern brimming in her soft brown eyes. She had brought clean clothes fresh from the dhobi into my room to put away. I was sitting at the dressing table brushing my hair. How did she know? She is so perceptive. She seems to pick up on my moods even before I know them myself.

  I ate little at breakfast and
decided I couldn’t face the club this morning. I kept picturing Donald strolling through the bazaar, appraising a young, fresh-faced Indian, their eyes meeting, Donald following him to a hot grubby room in the backstreets. I wondered how many of them in the Club know. Although Celia Smethurst had assured me it was a well-kept secret, I know how gossip spreads in British Indian stations; like wildfire through dry grass.

  But my gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the tailor who had come with his assistant to hang the new curtains in the living room. He is a flamboyant character, who shows off his work with a flourish and a toothy smile, and I couldn’t help entering into the spirit of the occasion and laughing with him as he worked. To an extent, the need to supervise their work took my mind off my troubles. By lunchtime the curtains were up at every window in the living room, transforming it from a bare place with an institutional feel to somewhere attractive and homely. I thanked and paid the tailor, giving him a handsome tip, and sat down to a lonely lunch of cold chicken in the dining room. Once again the dark cloud descended upon me and I found it hard to swallow even a bite.

  At two o’clock I was standing out on the veranda, ready and waiting with my sketch book for Rajiv to appear round the bend in the road. I was determined not to give in to my sadness. I knew I needed to get out of the house. My sprits always lift when I see Rajiv pedalling towards me enthusiastically, his white robes flapping round his ankles, his broad smile displaying teeth stained red with betel nut.

  But today he didn’t come. Instead, on the dot of two, I heard the sound of a car engine. After a few seconds a familiar vehicle nosed its way around the corner and approached the house. My heart did a nervous lurch. It was Charles Perry’s car. It pulled up next to where I stood. Charles leaned out of the back window.

  ‘Hop in, Anna. I’ll take you for a ride.’

  ‘I can’t I’m afraid. I’m waiting for my rickshaw-wallah to come. He’s normally here by now.’

  ‘He won’t be coming today.’

  ‘Oh? How do you know?’

  ‘I saw him at the maidan. I paid him handsomely, so he won’t lose out. I asked him to stay away this afternoon.’

  I stared at him, blinking with astonishment. His imperiousness was astounding.

  ‘I can’t believe you did that,’ I said, my voice brittle. ‘You had no right.’

  ‘I thought you might take it like that. But I had the best of intentions, Anna. I saw you coming out of the club yesterday with old Ma Smethurst. You looked very upset. I thought I would take you out and cheer you up.’

  ‘I was looking forward to my rickshaw ride actually. And what business is it of yours whether I’m upset may I ask?’

  He got out of the car and approached the veranda. He took off his hat and looked up at me.

  ‘It is no business of mine as you say, and you’ve every right to be annoyed with me. I just felt… well, I won’t say sorry for you, because that would be patronising. I felt a certain empathy for you, that’s all. As I mentioned before, you and I have a lot in common. I thought we could console each other when things get difficult, Anna.’

  He was staring up at me with such a genuine look in his eyes that I couldn’t help softening a little. I relaxed and smiled at him.

  ‘So, will you come out with me this afternoon?’ he asked.

  ‘Perhaps. Where were you thinking of?’

  ‘There’s an old abandoned summer palace beside a lake in the next valley. It’s too far to go in a rickshaw. If you don’t go in a motor car, you might never get to see it. And it’s worth seeing, believe me.’

  My interest was piqued. ‘Abandoned palace? Is it derelict?’

  ‘No. Not derelict. It’s just not used anymore. The last maharajah used to go there in the summer season with his beloved maharani, but when she died, he stopped going there. It is still beautiful though. It’s just as he left it. As District Officer I have access to the key, if you’d like to look round. You can bring your sketch book if you like.’

  ‘All right. I’ll come along,’ I said, on an impulse, picking up my bag and going quickly down the steps towards the car before I could change my mind. My heart was beating fast. I wasn’t really thinking straight. I just knew I wanted to be distracted; to be away from the house and to forget Donald and my troubles for at least a couple of hours.

  We had soon left the cantonment and the straggling outskirts of Kandaipur behind and were heading out on the long straight road towards the distant mountains. I stared out of the open window at the dreamy peaks ahead.

  ‘Have you ever been up into the hills?’ Charles asked following my gaze. I shook my head. ‘I’d love to go, but haven’t managed to get there yet.’

  ‘So, Donald hasn’t taken you?’

  At the mention of Donald’s name, I stiffened. I could feel my fists clenching involuntarily.

  ‘Donald is often busy on the station,’ I said quietly, without looking at him.

  ‘I know. My wife is often busy too.’

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say but I knew what he was getting at.

  ‘Sometimes she goes through a phase when all she does, from morning until night, is drink. I can’t get through to her then. She seems hell bent on repelling any help, on rejecting any human contact. I know she’s unhappy, but I don’t know what to do about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ was all I said. I didn’t want to tell him about Donald’s drinking, although I knew that was what he was expecting from me in return for his confidence.

  ‘It would have been different if we’d had children,’ he went on. I wished he wouldn’t speak like this. I didn’t feel I knew him well enough to share these intimacies.

  ‘But it hasn’t happened, I’m afraid. She can’t. Or I can’t. It doesn’t matter either way.’

  I remained silent, still studying the distant hills.

  ‘What about you and Donald?’ he said after a pause. ‘It’s a well-known fact that he drinks, Anna. Everyone thinks you’re a saint for taking him on.’

  I carried on staring out of the window.

  ‘Not many women would have been prepared to face such a challenge. Especially a young and beautiful woman like you. You must have had the whole world at your feet when he snapped you up.’

  I gave a short laugh.

  ‘Well, didn’t you?’

  My anger was mounting. I turned to face him, ‘I don’t know why you want me to talk about Donald. I’m very sorry to hear about your wife. I’ve seen her in the club, and I can guess what you must be going through. But I have no wish to discuss my husband, and no need to either.’

  He laughed. ‘Quite the little tough nut, aren’t we? But I can tell that under that hard exterior, you are quite soft and vulnerable really. So, tell me, why on earth did you marry a known drinker? He must have something quite special to offer.’

  ‘I didn’t know about it, if you must know,’ I burst out. I wanted him to stop talking about it. I stared out at the flat endless Indian plain flashing past, at the mud huts, the buffalo and the cattle being herded on the brown grass by children.

  Why was I here with this man? I already knew it was a mistake.

  ‘Didn’t know about it? Well, well, well. So, Donald tricked you into tying the knot, did he? I thought he had more honour.’

  ‘Could you please stop talking about Donald? I have no wish to discuss it as I said before. I shouldn’t have come. I see that now. Could you ask the driver to turn round and take me home.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Anna. I’m sorry. I just thought you might want to confide in someone that’s all. God knows, you probably can’t talk to those old harridans at the club.’

  I smiled, in spite of my anger.

  ‘Now, if I promise not to mention Donald anymore, would you agree to carry on to the palace? I’m sorry for mentioning him at all. I thought you might want a shoulder to cry on. But I was obviously wrong. Now, let’s put it behind us, shall we?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said reluctantly.
>
  ‘Good. Now, let’s enjoy our day.’

  The road began to rise as we entered the foothills, and to wind upwards on switchback bends. But as soon as we were over the ridge it descended again and we had crossed the pass and were into the hills. Then we were travelling through a narrow rocky valley beside a fast-flowing river. I watched the rushing white water as it flowed over rocks, into whirlpools, over waterfalls. The road was bumpy here and driving through that desolate gorge seemed to take an age, but at last, after a few miles, the mountains became gentler and the valley opened out. Ahead of us lay a vast shimmering lake, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the craggy hills that surrounded it.

  The road began to skirt the edge of the lake and soon I could see the outline of the palace at the far end. I caught my breath as we got closer and I could make out its Moorish domes and crenelated arches and spires, and closer still I could see the detail of its elaborate masonry. It was built of honey-coloured stone and blended perfectly into its surroundings.

  When we finally reached the palace, the driver pulled the car through some gates and into a cobbled courtyard. An old servant emerged from a gatehouse, and after exchanging smiles and greetings with the driver, handed him a bunch of keys and waved him through an archway into a further courtyard.

  We left the car and driver there. Charles took the keys, led me across the courtyard to the entrance and unlocked some huge double doors. He beckoned me forward, up some stone steps and into the serene cool of the palace itself. He led me through the ground floor, a series of high-ceilinged rooms where the sun streamed through stained glass windows throwing colourful patterns on the marble floors. There was not much furniture – just the odd oak chest or carved wooden bench. I followed Charles through the pillared echoing halls, entranced at what I saw. He showed me silk hangings of exquisite beauty, depicting myths and historical tales, and pointed out beautifully carved sculptures of elephants and gods which graced every corner and recess.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I breathed. We had reached the other side of the building by now.