by Rumer Godden
In that moment of inattention a phut-phut taxi had hurtled on to the roundabout across their road and Alix had to brake so sharply that she almost sent Una through the windscreen.
‘Ankh nahin hai?’ screamed Alix through the window. ‘Haven’t you any eyes? Suar ka bacha! Child of a pig!’ The taxi driver screamed back but Una had heard something else; the jerk had sent Alix’s bag across the back seat, the white bag she used for shopping and surely a large one for the elegant Alix? It flew across the seat as if it were heavy, two shapes were still rolling inside its soft leather and Una heard an unmistakable chink. She knelt up in her seat, stretched back, and felt through the white calfskin.
‘What are you doing?’ Alix, driving on, let the car swerve dangerously. ‘What are you doing with my bag?’
‘Looking.’ Una slid back into her seat and, as they pulled up at Bulbul’s, ‘I have looked,’ said Una.
She stayed with Bulbul until the last possible minute; they went to the Ashoka Hotel to swim, ate the lunch that Bulbul cooked as casually as she did everything else, lay on her bed listening to gramophone records, talking and laughing. Som came in and Una had to say reluctantly, ‘I must go home.’ ‘Stay to dinner – you can help me cook,’ said Bulbul, and Som agreed, ‘Yes, stay. Telephone Shiraz Road and tell them. We will go for a walk after dinner in the Lodi Gardens, then drop you home.’ Una thankfully stayed, but Alix must have heard Som’s car because she came out of the drawing room to catch Una on her way to her room.
‘Did you have a good time?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I am waiting for Edward. He will be tired.’
‘Yes. I had better go to bed.’
‘By the way,’ Alix tried to speak casually, ‘I shall tell Edward the whole truth – when it suits me.’
‘So shall I,’ said Una, but, ‘Miss-baba, please, will you come?’ said Ram Chand, and Una found a deputation waiting in her room. Aziz, already wearing Dino’s official kulla of dark blue and gold, his long blue turban, had been busy with dinner for the Swedish guests, giving his orders to Karim and a new young table servant, but here were grouped the older servants, Ram Chand and Monbad, Christopher, Ganesh, and the sweeper, Mitchu. ‘Miss-baba,’ said Ram as their spokesman. ‘We want that you go to the Sahib and speak for Dino.’
‘Because you can speak,’ said Monbad.
‘Because I think you know,’ added Ram.
‘Scotch whisky sell in the bazaar at a hundred and fifty rupees one bottle.’ Christopher, the Goanese, shook with anger. ‘But Dino, he never take as much as one peg. She take,’ said Christopher.
‘But how do you know?’ Una hedged.
‘Baba, we were here when the old lady came.’ Ram Chand spoke like an authoritative grandfather. ‘Miss Lamont not steal for selling; she take to her mother in that hotel. Chinaberry know that hotel.’
‘Then why don’t you make this deputation, all of you, to the Sahib?’
‘Sahib not wish to believe us,’ said Christopher, and Ram Chand said, ‘You, Miss-baba, must tell.’
It was not only the servants. That night, when Edward had come in and, after half an hour’s talk, Una had heard him and the guests go to their rooms and, peeping through her door curtains, knew that Alix had gone to Edward, she slipped down to the hut and found Hem with Ravi. They, too, were waiting for her and Hem spoke with a sternness equal to that of Ram Chand. ‘But how can I tell Edward?’ asked Una. ‘I gave Alix my word.’
‘Oh, you English!’ said Hem. ‘You will break a faithful old servant but not a schoolgirl promise!’
‘Dino has gone …’
‘And I suppose you will tell us Sir Edward was generous not to call the police,’ sneered Ravi.
‘He is generous. He doesn’t dream …’ Una was torn almost to tears. ‘Oh, don’t let such ugliness into our hut.’
‘It is in our hut,’ and Una, though she would have liked to hide her eyes, saw Dino’s face when he had met her on his way from the storeroom; saw the servants – and the trustful way they looked at me, thought Una and, ‘What am I to do? What am I to do?’ she whispered.
‘Be coward? That will improve things very much.’ It was the first time Ravi had taunted her but he was justifiably angry.
Hem came to her; for once, he laid his hand on her shoulder and, He understands the misery and fear, thought Una. ‘We are sorry, Una, but, in his present state, there is only one person whom Sir Edward might believe, and that is you.’
Una looked up into his face, so plain and dark compared to Ravi’s, yet it gave her courage. ‘No. There are two persons,’ she said.
‘Who else?’ asked Ravi. ‘Who?’
‘Alix,’ and Una said, though she quailed, ‘Somehow, tomorrow, I must make Alix tell.’
‘You may be a clever little person,’ said Alix, ‘but don’t forget we made a pact.’
It was not a good time to beard Alix; the day had been full of troubles, a whirlwind of them, and Una had to admit she saw clearly why Edward needed an Alix, admit too that for this role Alix was superb.
In a household of mainly hostile servants – and those on her side were weak-kneed – Alix brought order out of chaos. Sixty or so men of all nations were coming for dinner and there was no Dino in whose accustomed hands everything could be left. Aziz lost his arrogance and wept, saying he could not possibly manage; the new young table servant, pale with apprehension, wanted to leave; worst of all, Christopher, though he had extra cooks, turned surly. It was no wonder: one of the ministers had accepted and now his secretary brought a list of the dishes he preferred to eat. ‘I think that’s rude,’ said Una, but to Alix it was perfectly acceptable. There were to be two long buffets, vegetarian and non-vegetarian; the most orthodox Hindus would accept invitations, but not to eat – nor would Ravi’s family, thought Una – but there were still many for whom dishes must not have the least taint of meat, not even cheese or eggs, not even spices. There would be Muslim guests for whom nothing must be made with alcohol or wine, ‘or pig,’ sighed Alix, ‘which cuts out bacon. The same for Jews and for them, too, no shellfish, and their meat must be kosher.’
‘Then how?’ marvelled Una.
‘Oh, there will be something for everyone,’ said Alix, ‘and they will pick and choose their way.’
Christopher’s chicken curry with curd was famous, his prawn koftas and fish cooked in coconut milk, but there had to be Western food as well.
‘I didn’t know people gave parties like this – in private houses – except places like Buckingham Palace,’ said Una.
‘You must have seen them in Teheran and Geneva,’ but Una shook her head.
‘In Teheran we were too young, and Edward was only Counsellor; in Geneva when he was lent to the United Nations we lived quietly.’
‘Well, don’t you think it’s exciting?’
‘I think it’s dreadful.’
‘Dreadful? This?’
‘Yes, a party like this in a country where people are so poor they can’t exist. If Edward were in his right mind, he would think so too.’
‘Edward is very much in his right mind. You will see,’ said Alix. ‘He will go from strength to strength, but he needs help – background help.’
Una saw that clearly. When Christopher’s hollandaise sauce curdled, he threw the saucepan at Paul, his mate. Alix went in, anointed and bandaged Paul who was burnt – ‘only slightly, thank heaven,’ – diverted Christopher by praising his elaborate spun-sugar toffee baskets, to be filled with ice cream, and made the hollandaise herself, smooth and delicate enough to satisfy even Christopher. ‘Hollandaise is temperamental,’ she said, salving his pride.
Through the Paralampurs she borrowed waiters from the Gymkhana Club, helped Aziz and Karim set out the tables with damask cloths, plates piled ready, rows of polished spirit-lamp chafing dishes that would be lit under the bubbling dishes, while Una, with the new young ‘third’, inspected glasses, counted out cutlery, filled salt cellars and pepper pots. The veranda
h was made into a bar under Ram Chand, Monbad and two borrowed barmen, and everywhere Ganesh set bowls of flowers, white roses and smilax for the buffet tables, more roses for the drawing room while Ravi silently rebanked the steps with pot after pot of fresh carnations. Though Una passed him and he passed Una, he did not give her a glance and she felt his condemnation.
A lorry brought ice, another chairs. Alix went twice to the confectioner’s in Connaught Place and to the Gymkhana Club, but by four o’clock it was all in train, even the kitchen was working quietly. ‘And don’t forget,’ Alix told Christopher, ‘I shall be here in the background if you need me. The dinner is for the Sahibs.’ That was a clever remark; they were not working for Alix but for the honour of the house. They don’t like her but they must honour her, thought Una.
It was not, though, done without toll. Una should have been warned by the glistening of Alix’s skin, the way she walked too quickly, the control in her voice and the frown getting deeper between her eyebrows. She had already been wrought up yesterday and, ‘Alix is getting into a mood,’ Hal would have said. ‘Grown-up people have moods,’ Hal said. ‘When I’m grown up, I shan’t!’ which, Una thought, was probably true. Hal would have concentrated on the party and danced her way through it, but Una could not wait. Perhaps it was the contemptuous thump with which Ravi had set down the pots of carnations and, when Alix went to wash, Una followed her. ‘I must speak to you, Alix.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t wait until tomorrow?’
‘No, I can’t. Una was trembling. ‘Nor can anybody.’ The servants could have, easily, but Una was thinking of Ravi’s taunt, ‘Be coward.’ ‘Nor can anybody.’
‘What anybodies?’
‘Everyone in this house but Edward.’
‘Edward!’ Alix’s eyes seemed to widen, then narrow. ‘Una, keep out of this.’
‘I can’t, because I know now what they know. You know too.’
It was then that Alix had said, ‘You may be a clever little person, but we have made a pact. I thought English schoolgirls were honourable.’
‘I’m not going to break our pact. You are.’
They both saw the door curtain move. ‘You see,’ cried Alix. ‘We’re in a nest of eavesdropping and spies.’ She wrenched the curtain aside, but no one was there – yet it might have been Ram Chand, Monbad, Mitchu and, ‘We can’t talk here,’ said Alix. ‘For God’s sake, let’s get out of this house. Wait.’ Una heard her go to the telephone in the hall but could not follow the rapid Hindi. Then Alix came back. ‘The horses haven’t been exercised today. With all this tamasha I forgot them. It won’t hurt to leave the house for an hour. We’re going to ride.’
‘But—’
‘There is no other way we can be by ourselves; you started this, Una, so you will finish it. Put on your jodhpurs and shoes.’
Una’s nerve gave way. ‘I don’t want to come.’
‘You are coming,’ and, ‘Go and get dressed exactly as I said.’ It was almost a scream.
Alix drove the small Diplomat to the parade ground as if it were a racing car and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust. ‘Get out.’
Maxim and Mouse, with their syces, were waiting in the shade of the trees as they had waited that long-ago morning. Long ago? Only five weeks, thought Una. Has all this happened in five weeks? Gulab, Mouse’s groom, led the little mare out with a smile. ‘Miss-baba ride Mouse again? Good. Very good.’
Una was tempted to tell Alix, ‘I’ll ride Mouse if you will stay here on the parade ground,’ where other horses were being cantered, trotted and schooled, where the pony-club children, so innocent and resolute, were having a lesson in the school, but Alix, on Maxim, was already turning towards the rides under the trees. ‘Come along.’
‘I won’t ride,’ said Una.
‘Walk then. Bring Mouse,’ and, savagely, thought Una, Alix commanded Gulab to let the reins go. ‘Ullu! Owl! Fool! Give them to Miss-baba.’
Gulab hesitated. ‘Miss-baba perhaps like first in the school,’ and, mistaking Una’s whiteness, ‘Mouse good pony, Baba. No give trouble. Good Mouse.’
Una was able to answer his troubled expression with a smile. ‘I’m not afraid, Gulab,’ but, as she walked Mouse along the ride after Alix, her knees felt weak. All at once she knew, too, what she had been missing; she longed to mount the brilliant little mare she had loved so much, and chase after Alix, perhaps race her. A good canter might exorcize us both, she thought, get rid of this evil. It was, too, the sensible thing to do; she might even run away from Alix – Mouse, nimble and small, could turn and twist so that the mare was quicker than Maxim, but some ramrod stiffness in Una would not let her give in, and, her head high, she walked and led Mouse.
They came to a place behind the ruined-tower art school, and the sculptures set up in the grass. Here the trees were thicker so that, more hidden from the rides, there was an open space of red earth patched with dried-up grass. Alix dismounted, led Maxim to a tree and came to Una. ‘Well, what is this ultimatum?’
Facing one another, Una saw desperation in Alix; her face was still the colour of ivory, but old ivory, yellowed from its cream glow; her hair lay in dark rings on her forehead; she was riding bareheaded though Edward had forbidden any riding without hard hats. Sweat glistened on her neck. ‘Well?’
‘It’s just that … Alix, you must confess.’ It was jerked out.
‘Confess? To a priest? Or to Edward?’ Alix was mocking.
‘To Edward.’ Una made herself be steady.
‘And what do I have to confess?’
‘First … about the whisky … for your mother.’
‘Ah! At least you do me justice that it was for her, not to sell in the bazaar.’ For a moment Alix broke. ‘Una, you have seen her and know she has to have it. How else can I get it? Indian whisky’s so bad and you know the price of Scotch. Edward gives me everything but he only pays me a little.’
‘Ask him for more.’
‘Ask Edward for money! That shows,’ said Alix, ‘how little you understand how things are between him and me.’
‘That’s beside the point. The point is you must tell him.’
‘I have told you I will – but in my own time. I must wait.’
‘Dino can’t wait.’ The words were inexorable but Una still felt that pity. ‘I do understand, but tell him, Alix; tell everything from the beginning, about your troubles and your mother and Mr Lobo. Tell him why Chaman Lal Sethji sent you away. The real reason.’
‘You have ferreted that out? Ferreted everything.’ At each name Alix had grown more taut and, it seemed, taller. She was breathing hard but Una was so much in earnest she had forgotten all caution.
‘Tell him how it was you took the whisky – and why. Tell him even about the maths. Edward is a loving person. You can trust him, Alix. Tell.’
‘What if I won’t?’
‘There isn’t a won’t. You must.’
‘“Must” is a word you can’t use to me,’ said Alix, ‘but I can use it to you. You must remember you are only a little schoolgirl who should keep her nose out of other people’s business. I am here to teach you and I am going to teach you a lesson – in obedience. We shall begin with quite a little thing. Get on Mouse.’
‘I have told you – I won’t.’
‘Get on Mouse.’ Alix was advancing, her thonged whip in her hand.
‘Alix! You wouldn’t hit me?’ Una could not believe it. She backed close against Mouse.
‘If you don’t get on Mouse, I shall whip you.’
‘Don’t be absurd.’ Sheer disbelief gave Una courage and she said disdainfully, ‘You can’t whip someone of fifteen.’
‘I can whip an impertinent child. Get on Mouse.’
No answer.
‘Very well then,’ said Alix. ‘Stand away from that pony.’ But Una did not move.
‘Una, I warn you once more; get on Mouse. If you don’t I shall hit you.’
‘Hit me then,’ said
Una and turned her back.
The plaited lash of the whip whistled in the air and fell across her shoulders. It cut and stung but Una shrugged.
The shrug was enough – or too much; the lash fell again with all Alix’s strength behind it as Mouse snorted and plunged and pulled.
‘You are insolent,’ Alix panted. ‘Insolent from the first moment when I held out my hand to you. I held out my hand but you wouldn’t take it. You worked against me, ferreted, gossiped, and I tell you why – because you are jealous. You don’t want Edward to be happy. Let him have love. So …’ For the third time the whip whistled as the lash came down, but Mouse plunged so heavily that she pulled Una over on to the grass and Alix caught herself up with a sob. Then, her voice shaking, she said, ‘Now will you get on Mouse?’
‘I … can’t,’ said Una on the ground.
There was the sound of hooves and someone came cantering through the trees. It was Mrs Porter; stocky and heavy, her khaki breeches and shirt did not become her, but her seat was firm, her hands skilled as she guided her mare towards them but, under an old-fashioned felt hat, she looked flushed and anxious. ‘I found your syces … agitated.’ There was a pause before the words, ‘I’m afraid I don’t speak Hindi and could only understand “Miss-baba”. Has there been an accident, Miss Lamont?’ Then she saw Una on the ground.
‘Why, Una!’ and she was off her mare and came leading it, looking from Alix’s ravaged face to Una.
‘Mouse got away,’ said Alix. ‘Una came off and was dragged, I just managed to catch them on Maxim.’ The way Alix shook was convincing.
‘Is she badly hurt?’
‘Winded … that’s all.’ The words came in gasps from Una. ‘Not h-hurt?’
‘Hold Mary-Jane.’ Mrs Porter gave her mare to Alix and bent over Una. ‘There’s blood on her shirt.’
‘Back’s … a bit … scratched.’
‘I must get her to the car.’ Alix tied the mare beside Maxim.
‘If we helped you up,’ Mrs Porter’s hands went over Una’s legs and thighs, ‘I think there’s nothing broken. If we helped you up, could you sit on your pony? We will lead you.’
