The Peacock Spring

by Rumer Godden

  ‘I didn’t insinuate,’ said Una. ‘I said it.’

  What is happening to Edward, Una thought? Then, What is happening to me? Edward was quite right to slap me. I said that about Chaman Lal Sethji in malice. ‘You malicious!’ She seemed to hear Mrs Carrington’s voice, meet her eyes; they haunted her all the next day. ‘If you have hurt anyone, acted uncharitably,’ Crackers had once said, ‘you will not be comfortable until you have done something to atone. Take the first opportunity to do, for that person, something kind,’ and, next evening, ‘Edward, couldn’t you get a horse for Alix?’ Una asked. He knew without telling she was trying to make amends and smoothed her hair. ‘She rides so well,’ said Una.

  ‘It would be much better than a ring,’ said Hal. ‘She could ride Snowball when I’m gone, when you have got rid of me,’ – Hal was mournful – ‘but she’s too big for him and so is Una.’

  ‘And it is hard on her being left when we two go off riding together,’ said Una.

  ‘You want Alix to come too?’ Edward was pleased and Una had to say, ‘Of course.’

  She was startled by his next words. ‘As a matter of fact I bought Mouse for Alix.’

  ‘Mouse?’

  ‘Yes, but we couldn’t find a suitable horse for you and Alix insisted you should have Mouse. She said we could easily find or borrow a mount for her.’

  ‘So Alix gave me Mouse,’ said Una slowly.

  ‘In effect, yes. Typical of her,’ said Edward. ‘Completely selfless.’

  Is she? Una burned to say it with Lady Srinevesan’s inflection. All the antagonism was back. Alix wouldn’t be selfless for nothing – or am I being horrible? Horrible or not, Una’s pride and joy in the little mare was gone, as it had gone from her chess set. That was back on its board; Ram had mended it, or had had it mended, so finely that no one knew it had been broken, except Una, Hal and himself, but Una was certain she would never touch it again – ‘And never ride Mouse,’ she vowed.

  Ram Chand brought them a card: Mrs Jacques Lamont with, crossed out on the corner, an address: Flat 2, Sea-view, Rue Suffren, La Ville Blanche, Pondicherry. The card was old and not clean – it looked dirtier by contrast with Ram’s polished silver salver. ‘Mrs Lamont? Who can that be?’ asked Hal and Una said, ‘I think it must be Alix’s mother.’

  It was Hal’s last afternoon. Though she had protested, stormed, sulked, wept, Edward had stayed adamant and, with Sushila and the rest of the school party, she was travelling to Darjeeling tomorrow. She had been mollified a little by being given a farewell dinner to which the Paralampurs were to come that night, including Vikram, ‘under my eye,’ said Edward. At four o’clock Alix had said, ‘Girls, do you think you could manage if I went out for an hour?’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Una.

  ‘I had hoped Mrs Porter would ask you to go swimming. I rang Lady Srinevesan but she is at a meeting.’ Alix had had a fright over Hal and was uneasy at leaving them. ‘But there’s something I have – neglected. It’s been such a rush getting Hal ready.’

  ‘Another ghastly uniform.’ Hal’s gloom came back.

  ‘I have to go or I wouldn’t leave you.’

  It isn’t to Vikram, thought Una. You haven’t changed or put on scent; in fact your hair is untidy and you have your big white bag, the one you take for shopping. Perhaps this time it’s genuine.

  ‘Promise me you won’t go out. Stay together in the garden or here in the drawing room. Hal can practise, Una can work at the writing table, and …’ And don’t tell Edward, Una finished silently for her.

  Alix had scarcely gone when a bicycle rickshaw turned, or tried to turn, in at the gate. It was stopped by the gatemen.

  ‘Alix’s mother?’

  ‘She say she not go away until she sees Miss-babas.’ Ram was disapproving.

  ‘Of course she mustn’t go away. Ask her to come in – at once,’ Una commanded, and she and Hal ran down the steps to meet her.

  The rickshaw-man’s thin legs had to pedal like flywheels to bring the rickshaw along, its load was so gargantuan. Mrs Lamont seemed a mountain of fat, made fatter by her cushions. Alix had had made for her mother dresses like her own, plain, of silk or cotton in suitably quiet colours but, ‘I don’t like quiet,’ and, ‘I don’t like plain,’ Mrs Lamont had said. ‘I like loud,’ and her dress was a remnant of Pondicherry days, ‘when I went to the races,’ but, ‘She must have a dressing-up box,’ whispered Hal, which happened to be the truth. Mrs Lamont’s dress was of white lace over violet silk and with it she wore a feather boa. ‘It was my mumma’s.’ ‘Oh, I wish I had that,’ said Hal. The silk straw of the hat was a little crushed – it, too, had lain in the dressing-up box – it was trimmed with black velvet and had a mammoth crimson rose. The hair was frizzed in an imitation of Alix’s auburn – once it must have been the same glorious colour, but the dye had turned it to rusty orange; the face, too, was rouged and powdered into a travesty of Alix – and, Alix could be like this when she is old, thought Una.

  Mrs Lamont carried a card case, a handbag – its white had yellowed – and a red parasol with which she prodded the rickshaw man. ‘Agē! Chelo, chelo … !’ As the bicycle stopped at the foot of the steps, waves of Flowers of Heaven engulfed Una and Hal.

  ‘Well, here I am at last,’ cried Mrs Lamont. ‘My God! This is a wonderful place you have here. A palace, m’n? No wonder they would not let me in.’

  ‘We are so sorry,’ said Una. ‘They didn’t know who you were.’

  ‘No matter now. No matter.’ Mrs Lamont waved the insult aside. ‘The gatemen tell me my Ally is out.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Come, girls. Let’s make hay until she comes back. Take my things.’ Hal took the card case and bag while, using the parasol as a stick and with Una’s help to heave herself up, Mrs Lamont struggled from her cushions as the rickshaw man bent himself double to try and get his breath. ‘You must show me your house, your rooms that Ally told me she got ready. Ally’s room too, and all your dresses, m’n? I want to see everything. My God! Why am I so fat? Ally tells me it is my own fault – I eat too many sweet things, but what is life if you don’t eat? Pull, girls, pull.’

  One each side, they brought her into the drawing room where she collapsed on a sofa. ‘On all of the sofa,’ Hal said afterwards.

  ‘You must be Una,’ said Mrs Lamont. ‘Ally said you were disagreeable. You don’t look disagreeable at all. Come, give me a kiss. And Halcyon … why, you are lovely,’ – it came out unmistakably as luv-el-ee. ‘My God!’ said Mrs Lamont, looking round. ‘This is as big as Government House in Pondicherry. What lucky girls you are, m’n?’

  ‘I will order some tea,’ said Una.

  ‘Tea,’ declared Mrs Lamont, ‘is bad for me. It gives me much indigestion and swelling – you never saw such swelling. Girls, I will take a little Scotch.’

  ‘Whisky? At four in the afternoon?’ They were surprised.

  ‘Scotch whisky,’ but, ‘Is no whisky,’ said Dino when he was summoned.

  ‘No whisky?’

  ‘No whisky, Missy-Sahib.’

  Una looked at his obstinate face. ‘There is plenty. Bring whisky and soda – at once.’ It was Edward’s voice but, as Dino turned to obey, Una added, ‘Dino, she is old.’

  If Una had known it, she could have made no stronger appeal; Indian reverence for the old is innate and, for all their disapproval of Alix, the servants saw nothing wrong in Hal sitting on the floor rubbing Mrs Lamont’s feet when she had kicked off the high-heeled satin shoes in which she had tottered up the steps. ‘Press them a little for me, darling. They swell like boils in my shoes. I should have brought my old Terala, but that lazy owl of a rickshaw wallah said he wouldn’t pull her as well. Besides, Ally would have been shamed. If Terala is so shabby, shouldn’t Ally have brought her a new sari when I asked her, m’n? Ten rupees it would have cost but, my God, it might have been a hundred.’ Una brought a small table to hold the glass Dino had brought – a single whisky in a tumbler. ‘No, no soda,’ said Mrs Lamont and, ‘Haven’t y
ou a decanter? I didn’t think Sir Eddie would measure pegs.’

  ‘Bring the decanter, Dino.’

  ‘Better no more, Miss-baba.’

  ‘Bring the decanter.’ Grumbling, Dino submitted. Una went to the pantry to fetch cakes, poured a second drink – ‘The Little Flower will bless you, darling.’ Una doubted if the Little Flower would, the whisky disappeared so fast. Three times she picked up bag, handkerchief, card case. ‘Give me back my card. Now I have found my way to you, why should I not call on other of Ally’s high friends, m’n? Why should I be hidden away, I ask you? Ally is a good daughter but, yes, she hides me away. It hurts me very, very much,’ and Mrs Lamont wept a little, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief which seemed to have been steeped in scent. ‘Can you believe it, I shouldn’t have known your address, or met you dear girls, if Ally had not dropped a letter that Mr Lobo found.’

  ‘Mr Lobo!’ said Una.

  ‘Yes, he is my very good friend, but Ally uses him as if he were a pig. A pig! And so he brought this letter to me. “Ally does not want me to go there,” I told him, “and I, Hortense Marie Lamont, do not go where there is not welcome for me.” Girls, am I welcome, m’n?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Hal and Una, ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not, indeed? That is what Mr Lobo told me. “Besides,” he said, “you should go. You should certainly go. You are her mother, and should see what this Sir Eddie is up to. If you make Miss Ally angry …”’

  ‘Miss Ally,’ and Una remembered Alix’s ‘Muslim form of greeting.’

  ‘ “If you make her angry,” Mr Lobo said, “all the better.” He said that but Ally cannot help herself. God help her with that God-awful temper.’

  ‘Has she a God-awful temper?’ Hal had seen only a tinge of it in that lesson morning on the verandah. ‘And Una was the worst,’ Hal remembered.

  ‘Well, let her be angry.’ Mrs Lamont held out her glass. ‘One little drink more and you shall show me over your place and I will tell you tales about Ally, m’n?’ Her eyes were snapping with delight – and the alcohol, thought Una. She had not dreamed Mrs Lamont could drink so much; the decanter was half-empty. ‘Try and put my shoes on for me, sweetheart,’ she told Hal, ‘and we shall go.’

  Hal was struggling with the swollen feet when there was the sound of a car stopping in the porch, a door slammed, angry steps; then Alix was in the drawing room and they had a glimpse of the God-awful temper.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ She towered over her mother.

  ‘I came to see you, Ally.’ It was a whimper.

  ‘And I had gone to see you. Get up – get up at once. How dare you come when I expressly told you not to. Dressed up like a guy,’ scolded Alix. ‘Disgracing yourself and me. It was Lobo set you on to this, that disgusting pig.’

  ‘Alix, don’t, don’t,’ pleaded Hal, but Alix shook her off.

  ‘She wants to see the house,’ said Una. ‘At least, now she is here, Alix, let her see what she wants.’

  ‘You keep out of this, both of you.’ Alix hoisted her mother from the sofa and propelled her to the steps.

  ‘My shoes.’

  ‘Never mind your shoes. You can go barefoot.’

  They saw the old puckered face where tears were making runnels through the powder; the hat, with its nodding rose, was on one side, the boa trailing as, between silent watching servants, Alix thrust Mrs Lamont in front of her down the steps and into the Diplomat. Una gathered up the parasol and card case, Hal followed with bag and shoes. Alix snatched them and threw them into the back seat. ‘We didn’t want you to go,’ said Una loudly to Mrs Lamont, and Hal, dodging Alix, leaned through the open car door and kissed her.

  There was silence between Una and Hal after Mrs Lamont and Alix had gone. Hal looked as dazed as if a balloon had exploded in her face – and it was a balloon, thought Una. At last, ‘Did you know Alix could be like that?’ Hal asked.

  ‘Yes, I knew,’ said Una.

  ‘Poor, poor old lady.’ Hal covered her eyes with her hands as if to shut out Mrs Lamont’s face; then she took her hands down. ‘I’m glad I’m going away to school. I don’t think I want to stay here any more. Una, why don’t you ask to go back to Cerne?’

  It was Mrs Porter over again and Una said, ‘I couldn’t possibly go back.’

  ‘Then let’s talk to Edward and perhaps he will send Alix away.’

  ‘That isn’t likely. Besides …’ and Una contemplated what it would mean if Alix were sent away. It wouldn’t suit me at all, thought Una. It would be the end of our freedom, mine and Ravi’s. ‘One must be fair,’ she said aloud. ‘Alix has had a hard time and, remember, she is in love.’

  ‘I’m in love with Vikram but I wouldn’t treat Louise like that – and Vik wouldn’t let me.’

  Neither would Ravi, thought Una. ‘Nor would Edward,’ she said, ‘if he knew …’

  ‘But why doesn’t he know? Why doesn’t she tell him?’ Deceit always made Hal desperate. ‘Why? Why? Why?’

  ‘It’s difficult for you to understand,’ and, You are only twelve, thought Una. You haven’t had time to be stained, she thought with a pang of guilt. She could not say that to Hal and so used Alix’s words: ‘You have nothing to hide.’

  ‘If I had I wouldn’t hide it.’ Hal was fierce and, I’m not fit to stay in the same room as Hal, thought Una.

  ‘Alix is a juggernaut, a cruel hypocrite juggernaut. Lend me your handkerchief, Una. I’m going to cry.’

  ‘Then Vikram will see you with red eyes and a swollen nose.’

  ‘If Vik is going to marry me, he had better see me as ugly as possible,’ and again Una felt respect for her young sister. She put her arms round Hal and hugged her. Hal broke down. ‘I loved Alix. I worshipped her.’

  ‘I know you did.’

  ‘She’s a beastly bitch,’ said Hal, drying her eyes.

  ‘Not altogether.’ Una was judicious.

  ‘Why does she have to be so mysterious?’

  Because she is afraid – but Una did not say that; instead, to divert Hal, she began to invent, as only Una could, tales of Alix, Mrs Lamont and poor fat Mr Lobo; how they were part of a circus in which Alix did haute école, Mrs Lamont was the elephant, Mr Lobo the clown; how Alix was a siren from the sea off Pondicherry, half-woman, half-mermaid – ‘That’s why she sings so well.’ She had been spawned by a white whale – ‘Half-brown, you mean,’ said Hal – who was always followed by a faithful seal which smiled, with no idea how hideous he was. When Alix came back she found them in fits of giggles.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’

  ‘You,’ and Hal spluttered, ‘Oh Alix! You told Una your mother was a quiet old lady who lived in a home.’

  ‘She could well be in a home!’ That was Una as again they collapsed. The giggles were deadly to Alix. She began to breathe quickly.

  ‘Don’t be offended,’ said Una, wiping her eyes.

  ‘We liked her,’ said Hal. ‘She asked us to tiffin and said she would give us a proper prawn curry. What is tiffin?’

  ‘My mother is – not quite right in her mind.’ Alix was immensely dignified. ‘Sadly, she is a little mental which is why she dresses up and talks … also why I have kept her away.’

  ‘Oh Alix! Don’t put on so much lace.’ Una did not care how rude she was. ‘She isn’t mental and we’re not fools. We can see what your mother is, and why shouldn’t she be? Hal is right. We liked her.’

  ‘She is much nicer than you.’ Hal too, did not care now what she said.

  ‘You will have a good tale to tell Edward, won’t you?’ Alix was white, her nostrils dilated.

  ‘We’re not tattlers,’ said Hal but, ‘Ask us not to tell him,’ Una taunted. ‘Go on. Ask us.’ Then, suddenly, she did not want to be cruel but serious. ‘There is someone who ought to tell him,’ she said gravely to Alix. ‘You – for your own good,’ and the stately Alix crumbled and started to cry – as if all the fright had come back, thought Una, watching. She had a strange instinct to go to Al
ix and steady her; to say, ‘Hush, hush. It will be all right, if you will trust us and tell the truth.’ A strange thing to say to my enemy, thought Una.

  Seven

  ‘Will they send you too away to the hills?’ asked Ravi.

  Hal had gone. She and Sushila had been handed over at the airport to a large capable escorting nun of whom ‘Even Aunt Freddie would have approved,’ said Edward.

  ‘Will they send you away too?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Una. ‘They still need an excuse for Alix living here. No, I’m still gooseberry.’

  ‘Gooseberry? What is gooseberry?’

  ‘Having to be there when you are not wanted,’ said Una.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to go to Bulbul this evening?’ said Edward.

  ‘Mrs Mehta has asked you to the music festival. You should go,’ Alix urged.

  ‘Lady Srinevesan rang.’

  ‘They can’t get rid of me enough,’ said Una. For instance, they had fallen in easily with her not riding Mouse.

  ‘My back aches.’

  ‘Then perhaps you had better not ride.’ To Una it had become a point of honour but they scarcely noticed.

  ‘I thought you loved Mouse,’ Edward did say on the fourth day. At that tears rose but, ‘I do, but my back aches,’ she managed to say.

  Alix was sharper. ‘You are doing this to make me unhappy.’

  Una opened her eyes wide in pretended innocence. ‘But it should make you very happy. Haven’t you a lovely little horse to ride?’

  ‘You are an abominable girl.’

  Una shrugged. Her shrug was one of her best weapons. It always nonplussed Edward, silenced Hal; it had even disconcerted Mrs Carrington and, pleasingly, it infuriated Alix.

  Una drove out with them to the parade ground and walked while they rode. She treasured these solitary early mornings; nobody spoke to her, though now and again she had to step back out of a horse’s way as she wandered in the fresh coolness under tasselled trees that dappled the paths with their shadows. Sometimes she climbed up to the ruined monument on the knoll; it was used now as an art school and the students’ attempts at sculpture were set up among the bushes. She saw a mongoose; hares; often peacocks with their hens; and heard partridges, the cock calling ‘pateela, pateela’. At this time Ravi was busy with the morning watering, or swishing the lawns with those long bamboo canes, or gathering flowers for the house before they wilted in the sun; but Una could say his poems, murmuring them as she walked.