The Jasmine Wife

by Jane Coverdale

  “You’ll always be safe here, my dear.” Charles acknowledged the sentry with a haughty nod. “White town is for English Christians only, and no Indians are allowed to enter except for the tradesmen and, of course, our servants.”

  Sara looked behind her at the busy streets and felt a strong pang of longing. It seemed they were leaving life itself behind, and entering a kind of well-preserved tomb, dedicated to a country thousands of miles away.

  Inside the fort was a tidy world of chalk roads and white timber and stone houses of varying sizes, according to the social status of the people within, and bordered with prim English flowers and well-watered lawns. They passed a pretty white church surrounded by struggling rose bushes, and low wide windows open to the outside air, though hung with thick shutters capable of deflecting a typhoon. A middle-aged parson in a flat black straw hat, about to enter the church, stopped for a moment and waved.

  Lady Palmer called to him, and Sara was amused to see how quick he was to respond to her summons. After the initial greetings, Sara was introduced.

  “You’ll have a new face in church this Sunday, Mr Hobson. Mrs Fitzroy, Charles’s wife.”

  The little man squinted up at her through horn-rimmed spectacles.

  “Welcome to our little parish, Mrs Fitzroy,” he chirped. “I think you’ll find our activities will keep you as amused as if you were back in England. We have tea with the other wives every Wednesday at three, you will be very useful in taking the bible readings with the converts Thursdays at ten, and there’s the sewing group where we make articles to sell for charity, which I’m sure you’ll be able to attend …”

  Sara nodded and smiled and, despite doing her best to listen to the man, she found herself unpleasantly reminded of the suffocating rituals that made up most of her life in England. It might not be so easy to escape the stuffy air of parsons after all.

  Chapter 5

  Despite longing to see her own home, lunch at Lady Palmer’s at least put off the inevitable moment when she and Charles would be alone, for better or worse. She sensed he was feeling the same, as he didn’t even attempt an excuse when Lady Palmer insisted they join her for lunch.

  The Palmers’ white stone palace was more like a public building than a home, standing with majestic grandeur in the centre of a neatly manicured wide green lawn, and towering over the surrounding houses of lesser public officials.

  A pack of excited pugs ran down the front steps to greet them and, for the first time, Sara saw signs of genuine affection spreading over the proud features of Lady Palmer as she bent to kiss their wet, snuffling noses.

  Lady Palmer presided like a queen over her staff of at least one hundred servants and, even while claiming she loathed being back in Madras, it was plain being able to command such power over so many was a huge comfort to her.

  A group of servants hovering at her elbow looked at each other as though longing to escape.

  Sara hid a smile. While Charles sipped his tea his mind was elsewhere, till he burst out, not being able to contain his thoughts any longer, “I thought Sabran was a bit thick with the compliments towards you, Sara, my dear.” Charles mimicked Sabran’s heavily accented tones, “‘It’s not often we have such a charming addition to our barbaric shores.’” I almost laughed out loud.”

  Sara squirmed in her chair. What a fool she was, so easily taken in by a bit of fake charm.

  “It was a remarkable coincidence though, Charles, his grandmother having the same name as the baby. Surely you can see that?”

  “He most certainly made that part up. He probably already knew the child’s name, and I believe he was flirting with you. What a cad the man is.”

  Sara was silenced for a moment, then she spoke up, a little fever in her heart telling her he was being unfair.

  “He’s a Frenchman after all. Perhaps he thinks it’s expected of him.”

  “Well, half a Frenchman anyway; the rest of him is pure Indian! And with all it implies.” His voice was raised just a little, but enough to show how deeply he felt.

  “He was being kind … taking the baby …”

  Her words were wasted. Charles was listening to something Cynthia was saying about Paris, but he patted her on the arm as though it should be the end of the matter. Sara was glad they had changed the subject as she wasn’t sure she could contain her temper, though there was no escape from the persistent thoughts buzzing around in her head like a trapped fly.

  I should have taken the child … I should have taken her … The old man meant me to take her …

  Lady Palmer drew herself up and pursed her lips. “No one knows where Sabran gets his money, but he’s most vulgar … He bought a house that rightfully belongs only to those of English blood.”

  “I believe he bought it just to irritate us.” Cynthia sniffed.

  Sara roused herself at last to respond. “You’ve been to his house? Is it far from here?”

  “I most certainly have not been to his house! And I wouldn’t go even if he asked me … but those who have been there say it’s terribly common, and that he has all kinds of dreadful people staying there … Indians and God knows who else.”

  Sara couldn’t help herself. “Well, it is India after all.”

  Cynthia pursed her lips and looked for a moment remarkably like her mother.

  “Even so, he has a bad reputation. They say he keeps a group of dancing girls … to entertain him day and night.”

  The girl looked so excited by the lewd possibilities, Sara laughed out loud. “Surely you exaggerate. He must sleep some time. Poor man, he must be exhausted.”

  Lady Palmer rushed to defend her daughter. “My daughter does not exaggerate!”

  Charles whispered an explanation for Lady Palmer’s unusual attitude.

  “It is Lady Palmer’s particular concern. She believes the dancing girls are responsible for the moral breakdown amongst some of our young single men.”

  Lady Palmer’s lips had shrunk into a thin line. “I most certainly do. Waving themselves about, practically naked, in front of our boys. It’s outrageous!”

  Sara felt a warning nudge from Charles, but her spirit rose within her.

  She laughed again, trying to make light of the situation. “Well, I suppose I’ll find all this out when we go to visit the child.”

  A teacup hit a saucer with a loud crash.

  Charles cleared his throat and was about to speak, when Lady Palmer uttered the words for him. “You can’t be serious, my girl. You can never visit her … ever, especially not alone.”

  “But Lady Palmer, times have changed. Why, in London now it’s not so unusual for a young lady to make visits alone, or to work, and even to have her own rooms.”

  “Well, in that case she most certainly isn’t a lady!” Lady Palmer was emphatic.

  Sara turned to her husband for support. “Well, I’m sure Charles will accompany me, to protect me from Monsieur Sabran’s rather florid compliments.”

  She smiled, with not much humour, hoping to encourage Lady Palmer in a returned smile, but the woman only snorted her disapproval.

  Sara watched Charles’s averted face, but there was no reaction.

  “Charles?”

  “Sabran isn’t received anywhere,” he said at last. “At least not in any decent home.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “He keeps a woman, but, instead of being discreet about it, he flaunts her, and she’s already married … She was with Sabran today …”

  Sara remembered the glimpse of the beautiful face, one not easily forgotten.

  “Her husband’s a very great Maharaja, and very useful to us in the collection of taxes from the farmers in his district. So you can see how I’m placed in a difficult position. He’s insisted I help return her, even though she’s the lowest of his wives.”

  “‘The lowest of his wives!’ How cruel, if she means so little to him, he should let her go.’”

  “It’s a matter of honour for him, and it’s not my place to have
an opinion on the matter.”

  “Perhaps he was unkind to her,” Sara persisted.

  “I want to tell you more about Paris, Charles …” Cynthia had moved a little closer, hoping to turn the topic back to herself.

  Charles mumbled an apology then returned to Sara. “It’s none of our business. My business is to return her to her husband, and Sabran flatly refuses.”

  “He must love her very much.”

  “Love! What a hopeless romantic you are, darling. He could afford a hundred such women. He keeps her to annoy me! That’s the sum of it. The man is arrogant beyond belief, and it’s not clear where he gets his money … We think he has some interests in opium …”

  “Opium!” Now it was Sara’s turn to drop her cup too loudly on the saucer. “But if he’s so bad, why would he bother with a stray child?”

  “Well, it’s not as though he’ll ever see it … One of his servants will take care of it, and he’s as rich as Croesus, and he takes good care to see we British won’t be getting any of it.”

  She felt the frustration rise once more. “Even so, I must see the child once more, just to be sure. Then I’ll have discharged my responsibility.”

  He spoke slowly, as if to give more weight to his words. “Darling, you must never visit him. Things are different here, it’s a small community and people talk. A woman’s reputation is very important, even more so than in England, and remember you’re the wife of the District Magistrate. We must set an example to the natives, otherwise they’ll lose their respect for us. Anyway, he’ll have forgotten about you by now. Your promises mean nothing to a man like Sabran.”

  “He doesn’t seem to like you much either.”

  “He has no reason to like me. We’ve clashed often over various legal issues. He simply won’t accept English justice … fights tooth and nail to defend the indefensible. But I don’t want to talk about him. I’d much rather talk about you.” He bent to kiss her again, giving her at the same time a particularly tender glance. “But we can’t avoid seeing him sometimes, even if I wish him gone to the devil. He’s managed to get his polo team to the finals. There’s the last match of the season in a few weeks and I intend to thrash the brute.”

  “He plays well then?”

  “Too well. So far we haven’t managed to beat him … But this time …” Charles banged his fist down on the table, making the teacups shake.

  Sara was shocked by the anger in his voice. He seemed almost obsessively determined. “Is it really so important you beat him? Really, Charles, does it matter that much?”

  He answered her with a silent nod, then turned away, the conversation at an end.

  Charles rose to join Cynthia on the other side of the room, and Sara’s spirits sank within her. She unconsciously pulled at the neck of her blouse as she looked around Lady Palmer’s over-furnished drawing room. The brilliant day had lost its beauty, and what she had so recently thought exciting and exotic appeared shoddy, ugly and dull.

  She toyed with Charles’s gift of jasmine she had tucked at her waist so to admire it better. Already it had turned brown and hung lifelessly from her belt, its once heady fragrance now sickly and rancid.

  Chapter 6

  Sara hated herself for her failure to like her new home, even though it was one of the largest and best built in the community, and, at her first sight of it, had to struggle to hide her dismay, though Charles spoke with unmistakable pride in his voice.

  “What do you think of it? I like to see it as our own little patch of England.”

  The house was an exaggerated version of a Surrey country cottage, burdened with both mock Tudor features and a prim picket fence. There was something ridiculous about it, like an Englishman Sara had met on the ship, who wore heavy tweeds despite the heat and always carried an umbrella.

  A dainty path bordered by half-dead roses snaked from the veranda across a faded yellow lawn to the front fence. It was clearly her husband’s pride and joy and as he paused at the front gate he solemnly contemplated the grass, poking at the bare patches with his walking stick.

  “My home,” she murmured, but even to her own ears the words seemed wistful.

  The servants appeared to welcome them, laughing and generously bestowing blessings on their new mistress. She was swept towards the house while fragrant flowers were thrown in her path. Only one servant hung back, unsmiling and watchful, her eyes fixed on Sara. Even the drab brown of her servant’s sari couldn’t disguise the fact that she was lovely in a way that set her apart from the rest of the servants.

  Charles seemed not to notice her beauty. Her presence seemed only to inspire him to anger. “There you are! Quick! Come here at once and meet your mistress.”

  The girl crept forward and prostrated herself on the ground before them both, then slowly raised her kohl-rimmed eyes, her expression a mixture of fear and curiosity. She glanced in Charles’s direction as though asking for permission to speak. Despite her heavy gold nose-ring disguising almost half her face, it was plain she was not from South India. Her pale skin and slightly curved nose showed something of Arabic roots.

  Charles gave her permission to speak.

  “I am Lakshmi, memsahib.” Her huge almond-shaped eyes flashed, then were cast down once more.

  “Lakshmi, what a pretty name—it means the goddess of good fortune, doesn’t it, Charles? I hope we will be good friends, Lakshmi.”

  The girl gave Charles another furtive look before venturing to speak.

  “Thank you, memsahib.”

  “That’ll do. Wait over there.” Charles was cross again and Sara couldn’t understand why.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He answered her at last, speaking as though she were a small child who must be humoured. “Darling, you don’t have to be friends with her, but from now on Lakshmi will do everything for you.”

  “Couldn’t it have waited a little? I would’ve liked to choose my own maid. Perhaps we won’t suit each other.”

  “My sweet girl, you know you can’t turn up in your own home without a maid; the servants will despise you if you do. Anyway, it’s not for her to decide if you suit her. She’s here to do what you ask of her; that’s all there is to it.”

  “I would like her to be happy, just the same.”

  “As I said, her happiness is not an issue. She’s a hard worker, that’s what’s important, and trained by Lady Palmer herself. She’s been given to you as a wedding gift and you’re very lucky to have her.”

  “A wedding gift? I was under the impression that slavery was illegal.”

  “We do pay her, you know.” He spoke with a tinge of impatience in his voice. “Very well, as it happens, and she’s very grateful to have the position, I can assure you.”

  “Then I must thank Lady Palmer when I see her,” she replied almost sweetly, though her eyes showed her resentment. “She’s very pretty.”

  “Is she? I hadn’t noticed. One can never think of the Indian women as pretty … but of her type I suppose she’s attractive enough.”

  Sara smiled up at him, wanting to break down the stiffness between them. “Has she a sweetheart?”

  “Of course not …” he spluttered, and shook his head almost violently, as though the idea was unthinkable. “The men won’t have her … She has no family or dowry!”

  “Poor girl … Is that why she seems so unhappy?”

  He frowned, his patience at an end now. “Sara, my dear, you really do have an over-fanciful imagination. How can you tell if she’s happy or not without even knowing the girl?”

  Sara was taken aback by the passion of his response, but at the sight of her shocked face, as soon as the servants were dismissed from the room, he hurried to console her.

  “I’m sorry … Forgive me. It’s just that, after all this time, it’s a strain for us both and,” he added, taking her hand to kiss it, “I’m not used to being in the company of such a lovely and accomplished girl. I’ve forgotten how to behave.”

  The gentle t
one of his voice softened her a little, and she didn’t protest when he put his arms around her.

  “I can’t believe you’re here at last.”

  “I would have come at once if you’d sent for me.” Her tone was cool. She had to admit to having harboured a secret resentment towards him. It had been a niggling and often painful thought in the back of her mind that if he really cared for her there would’ve been no delay. In her heart she felt he should have swept her up in his arms and insisted on taking her on the ship with him, despite her aunt’s sudden illness. Though, even though she thought it, she studied his face and saw the truth of it. Despite his romantic exterior, it wasn’t his way to be impulsive.

  “Well, you’re here now, and we have the rest of our lives together. Anyway, I couldn’t take the risk of you falling ill. You must trust me. We lost two of our community to the cholera this last time, one of them a young woman about your age …”

  “Then you do care for me?” she asked with a smile.

  “Of course I do, perhaps even more than I did before.”

  He put out a hand to touch her hair. “I don’t remember you being so lovely; it’s come as quite a shock to me.”

  “Have I changed so much?” She raised her face to his, while his eyes lingered on the tempting shape of her upper lip. He wondered why he’d never noticed it before.

  “As I said, it’s almost as though you’re a different person. I wasn’t sure if you still loved me.” His voice was almost harsh now. “I suppose I need you to be devoted to me. Like any new husband.”

  “Well, I am devoted to you.” She laughed, surprised at his intensity. “And prepared to love you, even more than I do already, if you give me half a chance.”

  He studied her face as she gazed at him. It was impossible not to see how eager and sincere she was.

  He nodded, satisfied at last. In truth he was a little disappointed to discover he’d married such a beautiful girl. It had never been his intention to marry for beauty. He felt a wife was expected to be a wife, not an ornament. It made him uneasy to think other men might now look at her with lustful ideas. It increased her power over him, and he hated to be at a disadvantage. He changed the subject at once, not wanting to linger on unpleasant thoughts.