by Rumer Godden
‘I couldn’t have won the Tagore Prize,’ said Ravi when Una, excited, talked to him.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I …’ then Ravi stopped. ‘I didn’t go in for it.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Mrs Mehta said.
‘I don’t want prizes,’ said Ravi. ‘Nor five thousand rupees, nor fifty thousand. I have enough with fifty.’
‘But you want to be published.’
‘I shall be in time.’ No one, thought Una with gratification, could call Ravi expedient, or even adaptable, over poetry – with his poems he was like a rock. ‘Don’t be meddlesome,’ said Ravi and teased, ‘That’s the Westerner.’
‘Indians want to get on too.’
‘Only when they are Westernized, like Hem. You can’t leave anything alone. “Get busy, Ravi,” “Get a typewriter, see how fast you can click,” “Get stamps, forms, envelopes.”’ He was not altogether teasing. ‘You will get me a secretary next.’
‘I will be your secretary,’ said Una.
‘Then I shall run away from you, you and your Ma Mehta. Oh, don’t be so serious, Una, laugh …’ and Una laughed. She could not help it. If anyone, these days, had looked at Una they might have seen a smile that lurked at the corners of her mouth where it had been ‘So serious and prim,’ said Hal; but no one looked at Una. They were too busy looking at Hal.
As soon as they heard Edward come up the steps from the car Una knew that something was wrong; he did not bid his usual courteous goodnight to Chinaberry or say any word to Ram Chand waiting to take his briefcase; instead he came into the drawing room and demanded, ‘Where is Hal?’
‘On the telephone as usual. Why, Edward?’ Alix was concerned. His forehead was furrowed with worry, the back of his hair on end. ‘Read this,’ said Edward. ‘Just read it.’ ‘This’ was a thick-papered typewritten letter in a long envelope with American airmail stamps.
‘What is it?’
‘All I worked and fought for, five years of it, to be undone in a few weeks!’ Edward was walking up and down. ‘Una, you had better go away.’
‘If it concerns Hal, I had better stay. What is it, Edward?’ Una had gone to him, taken his arm, but he shook her off.
‘A letter from Louise’s lawyers. Some busybody,’ said Edward in wrath, ‘some infernal busybody gossipmonger has written Louise a cock-and-bull story about Hal leading a rackety life here in Delhi, going to dances, going to clubs and races and having an infatuation with a young rajah.’
‘Vikram,’ said Una, ‘but it couldn’t be Vikram. Besides, he isn’t a rajah.’
‘Of course he isn’t.’
‘And this isn’t true.’ Alix, bewildered, had finished the letter. ‘It simply isn’t true.’
‘It may not be, but it’s enough.’ Edward was bitter. ‘As Hal is only twelve it makes succulent reading and gives Louise just the handle she wants. They are questioning my custody.’ For the first time he turned on Alix. ‘I trusted you,’ said Edward, ‘yet you let Hal have this – this friendship with young Paralampur.’
Alix seemed unable to speak and Una came to her rescue. ‘It was all our friendships and you knew about it, Edward. You knew we went to the Paralampurs.’ Her calmness seemed to calm him, but why was Alix so cowed? She sat, apparently stricken dumb and raising piteous eyes to Edward. Tell him, Una was urging silently. Tell him it’s you Vik is after and put him out of his misery – or would that be worse misery? And then Una knew why Alix was afraid: I might tell him, thought Una. Shall I? It was a titillating thought but she only repeated ‘You knew about the Paralampurs.’
‘I didn’t know this … this!’
‘You couldn’t, because it doesn’t exist. Vikram likes Hal; she amuses him.’
‘But she’s a little schoolgirl.’ Alix, with a grateful glance at Una, had recovered her speech. ‘Hardly of interest to a young man about town like Vikram Singh. Besides, he has far too much respect for you and your position – and his – to abuse it. Una is right. There’s no harm in it. This letter is a distortion.’ But Edward was too shaken to be soothed.
‘Have they ever been alone?’
‘Only when they were dancing or riding and even then you or I or someone were not far away. For the rest. Una, Sushila and her friends were always with Hal. The Maharani, or I, or their hostesses were always there. What are you suggesting, Edward?’ Alix had risen and now was almost as angry as he. ‘Do you mean I haven’t taken care of Hal?’
‘Of course you have.’ She had given Edward pause. ‘I apologize, Alix.’
‘If it would help you to know,’ Alix was still angry, ‘the fact is that this silly boy, Vikram, has – notions – about me.’
‘You!’ Edward swung round. ‘How dare he?’
‘I told you, he is a silly boy; an empty-headed charmer.’
Cheat! thought Una. You cheat – sacrificing Vikram without a word when you and he … Cheat! Una knew she had only to say that and, in his shaken state, Edward would probably believe her. ‘I am disgusted with you. Alix,’ Una wanted to fling at her. Then why don’t I speak? Because … I have seen, thought Una, seen deep into you. You are not in love with Edward. How could you be? But you and Vikram are two alike … She could still see the Vikram of that moonlit night in his scarlet and white and gold. How can I blame you, Alix? thought Una and held her peace.
‘But who could have written this?’ Edward was still holding the letter.
‘Mrs Porter? She is American.’
‘Gussie wouldn’t embroider; besides, she doesn’t know Louise. No, it’s some highly coloured interfering mischief maker. Who?’ He was walking up and down again. ‘Who wrote it?’
‘I did,’ said Hal, stepping into the room.
‘You!’
‘Yes. I thought Louise ought to know,’ said Hal. ‘She is my mother.’
‘So you wrote this … this balderdash?’
‘It isn’t balderdash. That lawyer person is quite right. I am in love with Vik, head over heels.’
‘But why make him a rajah? Say you are going to dances and races?’
‘I thought it would make it more interesting for Louise.’
‘Interesting! Good God.’
‘Vik should have been a rajah,’ argued Hal. ‘We did go to Sushila’s fancy-dress party; we do dance on the verandah and polo is very like racing.’
‘God almighty!’ said Edward. Una had to laugh but, for the first time in all these weeks, thought Una, he really looked at Hal and, ‘Since when have you been wearing all those gewgaws?’ he demanded. ‘Go and take them off – at once, do you hear? – and that stuff on your nails. Why the hell, Alix, have you been letting her go about bedizened like this?’
Alix palpably did not think Hal was bedizened. ‘It’s only a few bangles, Edward. Girls grow up more quickly now – besides, it’s only in the house. I don’t let her go out in them.’
Una opened her mouth – and thought it wiser to shut it again.
‘Go and take them off,’ said Edward to Hal, ‘and wash your face. Wait. Has Vikram Singh ever … er … kissed you?’
‘No,’ said Hal. ‘But he will. Unless you’re so horribly mean you won’t give me a dowry I shall marry Vikram. Sushila thinks you can probably talk the Maharajah Sahib round.’
‘Oh, can I? May I remind you that you are only twelve years old?’
‘Sushila says plenty of girls are betrothed at twelve … I should have thought you would be glad to get a daughter settled.’ Hal was near to tears. ‘Sushila says it’s quite a business.’
‘Miss Sushila seems to be running our affairs. Well, you can tell her,’ said Edward, ‘that, as soon as I can arrange things, you are going back to England where Aunt Frederica will find you another and stricter school.’
Hal stared at him, burst into sobs and ran to Alix.
‘It’s no use crying,’ said Edward who, as they all knew, could not bear to see Hal in tears. ‘No use, do you hear?’ He was still walking up and down when Ram appeared. ‘Telepho
ne, Captain Singh, Sahib.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Hal, the tears miraculously dried.
‘No,’ thundered Edward, but Hal had broken from Alix and gone.
Edward flung up his arms in despair. Then he, too, had to laugh. ‘But seriously,’ he said and stopped laughing. ‘This is serious. Louise lives to make trouble.’
‘Edward,’ said Alix. ‘I have been thinking and I believe you needn’t be quite so extreme. Sushila goes back to school at the end of this month. It isn’t a “school for princesses”, as Hal likes to think; Paralampur cannot afford even the girls’ school at Gwalior and Sushila goes to the convent in Darjeeling – a humdrum but good convent school. Why not send Hal there for the summer? If you return her to England, it might make these lawyers imagine there is something in this, whereas if she goes with Sushila it will seem natural and you can tell them it is all schoolgirl romanticism, that you are friends with all the Paralampurs, dispossessed rajahs who lead a quiet family life in Delhi, and you send your daughter to the same convent boarding school. That ought to silence any lawyer.’
‘It would solve it,’ said Edward slowly.
‘Then have a word with Paralampur himself. I understand arrangements are going on now for Vikram’s marriage; it should be easy to agree that he shouldn’t visit Darjeeling or the little girls.’
‘Cara, you think of everything!’
Cara! Edward always seemed embarrassed at using English endearments; he had never called Una or Hal as much as ‘dear’, but Una’s heart sank as she remembered how he used to call Louise ‘bambolina’ – little doll. No one could call Alix little doll, but cara … He had, too, put his hand on Alix’s shoulder – even with Una in the room. ‘It seems no harm has been done.’
‘What could have been done?’ Alix’s eyes were wide, theatrical. ‘I swear to you, Edward, it would be impossible for either of the girls to be alone with a young man for half an hour without my knowing it.’
Una had to look down at her hands to hide her smile.
‘Miss Gwithiam,’ Hem said in the hut, ‘you ought not to be here.’
‘Won’t you call me Una?’ But Hem ignored that.
‘Afternoon in the summer house was different. If your father knew about this! Altogether, this is not a suitable friendship for you, nor for Ravi.’
‘On the contrary, it helps us both.’
‘Yes, I think you help me,’ Ravi had admitted. Was it because, except for his mother, he had never had an audience before? Una came to the hut every night, even when they had been late at a concert or cinema or to the Paralampurs and, ‘You are the most still person I know,’ Ravi had said.
Una patiently read aloud, stopping when commanded and sitting without moving or speaking while Ravi turned words over in his mind, or tried to find one. She knew better now than to suggest and sat, an image of stillness, her hands folded on her knee, her eyes looking at the desk, the floor, the roof, the courtyard, anywhere but at Ravi – even a look was an intrusion when he was at work. ‘The most still person,’ he said, ‘and yet you give me power,’ but, ‘It must not be,’ said Hem.
Ravi had slipped out to buy milk and food – the bazaar shops, it seemed, did not close day or night – and Una and Hem were confronting one another.
‘Do you always lay down the rule for Ravi?’ Una, putting back her hair, looked Hem full in the face so that he noticed her eyes, foreign in their green clearness – so much younger than her voice, thought Hem, and he was less stiff as he said, ‘No friendship is suitable if it has to be hidden.’
‘What does Hem do?’ Una asked Ravi when he came in.
‘I told you – he is in medical school.’
‘But isn’t he rather old for that?’
‘He is very old – two years my senior at college – he is also more than clever. He took a first.’
‘Please to stop speaking about me as if I were mere flies on the wall,’ said Hem.
‘Hemango Sharma is our Principal’s, Doctor Babbletosh’s, blue-eyed boy,’ said Ravi.
‘How can an Indian be a blue-eyed boy? Dolt!’ And Hem and Ravi started to wrestle. Una was surprised to see how strong Hem was but she had to stop them. ‘Hush! You will have our watchman here.’
‘Where does Hem live?’ she asked Ravi when Hem had gone.
‘He lives in an annexe at some house in South Extension. That’s a suburb of New Delhi.’
‘Haven’t you ever been there?’
‘No. He gave me a key; he wanted me to go there and take showers. Hem is all hygiene, hygiene, hygiene, but I like my lota pouring in the sun – and I don’t like the new suburbs. Besides, why should I go and see Hem when he comes so often to me? And why are you asking all these questions? What is Hem to you?’ asked Ravi.
‘Only that it seems to me,’ said Una, ‘that Hem cares a great deal more for you than you for him.’
To Ravi this was entirely natural, but, ‘You are Ravi’s best friend?’ Una had asked Hem.
‘There is nothing best about me.’
‘I think there is.’ She said that only to disarm Hem but, as soon as she had spoken, Una had found that it was true. She liked this dark unbending boy who had none of Ravi’s ease and charm, but she knew that Hem would not have made friends with her unless with Edward’s approval; would not have masqueraded as a gardener.
‘Well, Ravi is Ravi, Hem is Hem,’ he said when Una spoke of this. ‘Besides, I am no use at pretending – I haven’t the wit. Either I am a gardener or I am not.’ And you are as honest as the day, thought Una, which was inconvenient when she was in love with secret, scent-filled night.
‘Una,’ said Mrs Porter, ‘I feel I should write to your Great-Aunt Frederica.’
‘Aunt Freddie?’
‘Yes, I seem to remember she had considerable influence with your father.’
‘Write to Aunt Freddie – about what?’ Una almost said it, but Mrs Porter forestalled her. ‘There is a great deal of talk going on. I feel I must write to her about Miss Lamont. It seems Edward is sending Hal away to school; perhaps your great-aunt could prevail on him to send you back to Cerne.’
‘Back to Cerne!’ Una said it in uttermost dismay.
‘I thought that, above all, was what you wanted.’
‘Long, long ago,’ but it was not long, not much over a month. ‘Please, please, don’t write,’ Una wanted to cry. She tried to compose herself and, ‘I don’t think we need worry Aunt Freddie,’ she said. ‘With what you have told me, and all I understand now, I think I can manage Miss Lamont.’
‘My dear, a girl of fifteen is no match for a woman of thirty-five.’
‘Alix is only thirty.’
‘I think she is more. Una, be careful,’ but, ‘I don’t think she heard me,’ Mrs Porter told Lady Srinevesan. ‘She seemed to be sleepwalking.’
A ring appeared on Alix’s hand. ‘What is it?’ asked Hal. ‘A topaz?’
‘Yes,’ said Alix.
‘Did Edward give it to you?’
‘Yes,’ but, ‘Haven’t you noticed I am wearing it on my right hand?’ said Alix.
All the same, there was a new air about her, Alix’s eyes were not as watchful now; they seemed confident and, Something has happened, thought Una, something definite? Nor did she believe the ring was a topaz. For two days she hesitated – ‘I think I didn’t want to know,’ she told Ravi. Then she asked Edward, ‘You gave Alix that ring?’
‘As a matter of fact I did.’ Over any other question Una would have been amused to see Edward look like a small boy as he used to when scolded by Great-Aunt Freddie. ‘Alix has been very good to us – and I was unjust to her, over Hal.’
‘It’s an uncommonly beautiful ring, Edward. What is it?’
‘It’s a brown diamond.’
‘I didn’t know there was such a thing. A brown …’ Words failed Una and Edward looked still more sheepish. ‘But it must be very, very rare?’ she said when she could speak.
‘As a matter of fact, quite rare. I did rathe
r gasp when she chose it.’
‘She chose it?’ I might have known, Una thought silently, Where is he being taken? What is he allowing to happen to him? Aloud she said, ‘It must have cost thousands of pounds.’
‘Not as much as you would think.’ Edward was hedging. ‘Alix happens to have a friend who deals in precious stones.’
‘Has she a friend who deals in concert-grand pianos?’ But he had lost his temporary sheepishness and looked so happy that Una could not say it. ‘I think it looks like Alix,’ and, challenged perhaps by her silence, he said, ‘I should like you to know I was proud to put it on her finger.’
Then it is serious, probably definite. Something like panic filled Una; she felt sweat on her neck and behind her ears, but she pressed her hands tightly together and nerved herself to say, ‘I suppose you know that before – us,’ she could not bring herself to say ‘you’, ‘Alix lived with Chaman Lal Sethji.’
Edward’s slap across her cheek tingled and made her eyes smart with tears.
‘How dare you repeat gossip,’ said Edward. ‘Cruel gossip. Alix has always had to earn her living.’
‘Since Mr Tanson ran away.’ Una held bravely to her point.
‘So they have regaled you with that titbit too, have they? Alix married Tanson as a young, young girl, almost a child. He abandoned her and she hadn’t the means to trace him.’
‘Until you helped her.’
‘I am lucky enough to have some money and influence. As for Chaman Lal Sethji, he is a young Marwari and up to date; he wanted to bring his wife out of purdah and Alix went as companion to his wife,’ said Edward with disdainful emphasis. ‘Being Alix, she became much more.’
‘That’s what they say.’ Una was steady in spite of the smart in her cheeks, eyes and heart.
‘She persuaded him to let his daughters go to college – something few Marwari girls have done – and made it possible for his wife to have some share in his social life.’
‘Why did she leave?’ But Edward was too angry to go on.
‘Never let me hear such talk again. Of all people I abominate,’ he said in fury, ‘it is insinuators.’
