Belonging (9 page)

Dear Mina,

Happy New Year, though I do not know when you will receive this letter, for I am writing to you from somewhere in the jungles of northern India.

Although I was dreading the thought of this march, I find myself enjoying it. We are travelling cross-country, so the officers, and we ladies who wish to, ride, while the rest are carried in palanquins. We rise at two each morning and cover fifteen miles before stopping to make camp for the day. Fortunately it is the coolest time of year, and often quite cold when we rise.

The system of marches is splendidly organised. We have every comfort, for all our furniture (including our bathtub!) is carried on the heads of coolies. There are two of everything, including the tents, so one set can go ahead of us and when we arrive our new home is waiting, complete with steaming tub, and we are able to dismount and bathe before lunch. It is all remarkably civilised, rather as I imagine the Romans travelled. In the afternoons we rest or walk in the countryside. I take my sketchbook and try to capture
the picturesque ruined temples and tombs that one finds in the most remote places, sometimes half-buried in jungle, but they never look as charming in my pictures as they do in reality. I am enclosing a few, but you will have to imagine the screeching of the crickets and rustling grass as serpents slither away!

I was dreading sharing a tent with Arthur, but I scarcely see him, he is so busy with his men. He rides alongside them when they are marching, which the other officers leave to their N.C.O.s, and goes hunting with them in the afternoons. In the evenings they have a wrestling match or a nautch. I never realised how many camp followers a regiment had until we crossed the first river and a raft full of native ladies was washed downstream and stranded on the opposite bank. A company of sepoys had to be sent to rescue them. Lt. Tremayne’s wife, Emily, tells me they are fallen women who are kept for the sepoys’ pleasure and then she gave me a sly look, which made me wonder if Arthur’s bibi is among them, for I do not think he would leave her behind. It is horrid to think everyone is talking behind our backs.

Fortunately, perhaps because of rising so early and taking so much fresh air and exercise, I sleep very soundly, despite sometimes being woken by the howls of jackals or the weird cackling laugh of the hyaenas.

One of the other lieutenants, Lt. Thomson, and his friends go pig-sticking whenever possible, so we often eat wild boar, and sometimes venison, for dinner. Several times Arthur has been tiger-shooting with his men, for the villagers seize the opportunity of Englishmen passing through to settle their quarrels with any man-eating or cattle-killing tigers in the area. I went out with them once, and kept watch in the machan, but I was relieved when nothing came, for I cannot
help feeling it is we, and not the tigers, who are out of place in the jungle.

Arthur’s jemadar, Ram Buksh, has had a nasty accident. They were tracking a wounded tiger when it charged him and he ran – you will hardly credit this but Arthur assures me it is true – straight into the arms of a bear! Arthur says he does not know who was more surprised, but they grappled with each other and went rolling down a slope. Fortunately the fall must have stunned the bear, and Ram Buksh managed to get away from it before it recovered. Arthur followed them and fired at it, but it ran off into the jungle. When they brought Ram Buksh into our tent, I thought at first he was dead. He had fainted and was covered in blood where the bear’s claws had raked him behind the shoulder.

Arthur sent one of the sepoys to fetch Dr. Sheldon, and he himself cut off Ram Buksh’s shirt and cleaned up the wound so he could see how bad it was, while I tore up some towels to staunch the bleeding.

You would have been proud of me, Mina – I did not faint or behave missishly. Fortunately when Dr. Sheldon arrived he said it was not serious. He disinfected and dressed the wound and advised that Ram Buksh not be moved until the bleeding had stopped, so Arthur cancelled the next day’s march. The servants erected another tent for us nearby and Dr. Sheldon said he would send one of those women to care for him but Arthur said he and I would do it with the help of his batman, as Ram Buksh and Durga Prasad had helped us so much when he was ill. I could see Dr. Sheldon was surprised. He looked at me as if expecting me to refuse, but it was the least I could do, Mina, after all the help they have given me. And truthfully I did not have much to do except to place wet cloths on his forehead when his temperature rose
and give him his medicine, for Arthur’s batman took care of everything else.

When Ram Buksh recovered consciousness he seemed so embarrassed at finding me sitting by his bed that I too felt quite shy, but by the next day we were all laughing together. I understand now why Arthur spends so much time with his men, for they are so much less stuffy than his fellow officers and their wives, who are always standing on their dignity.

This journey has been so delightful that I shall be quite sad to leave India. I shall write from Cawnpore with details of my passage.

Your loving Cecily

My darling Mina,

I received your presents and letters forwarded from Cuttack when we arrived but have been unable to write for weeping. I cannot believe that Mama has been dead since November and I did not know! It is too cruel to be so far away at such a time. How is poor Papa? I wish I had been there to say goodbye to Mama and to comfort him. Oh, Mina, how shall we manage without her? I never realised how much I depended on her gentle strength. I cannot imagine her gone, or how the house will be without her.

Please give Papa my dearest love, and tell him I will be with you very soon.

My dearest love to you both,

Cecily

Oh, Mina, you will hardly believe my news. I am expecting a child! I am amazed that I am able to write the words so calmly. I could scarcely believe it when Dr. Sheldon told me and I burst out crying. He laughed; he thought me so foolish not to have known it myself. ‘Do your mothers teach you nothing?’ he asked. He said he had suspected it for some time, when he noticed how much I was sleeping on the march, but felt it better to say nothing until we reached Cawnpore and were settled.

I do not know what to do.

Your bewildered Cecily

A fortnight before the boys returned to school, I went over to the Beauchamps’ after lunch as usual. It was raining so I took a book – a novel by Maud Diver – that Aunt Mina had given me for my birthday. I hadn’t looked at it before because she usually gave me books by Mrs. Molesworth or Charlotte M. Yonge, featuring pious, dutiful heroines whom I could not see myself in, but, glancing into it while hunting through the bookshelf for something I hadn’t read, I found that it was set in India. I assumed she must have bought it in ignorance, since she always avoided any mention of India in my presence.

That afternoon I sat in the window-seat reading, while Jagjit and Simon played Ludo nearby in the light from the window. I had read a few pages and then put the book down and was gazing out of the window at the garden. One of the things I like about England is how different things look from day to day: some days the air is so clear and dry that one can see for miles and every detail stands out sharply, while on others the landscape seems to shimmer in opalescent colours through shifting layers of gauzy mist. But that day, through the rain-spotted window, the garden looked like an Impressionist painting, the bushes and trees blending into a palette of smudgy green and brown brushstrokes.

Behind me Simon said, ‘I say, Jagjit, listen to this!’ He began to read, in a put-on prissy voice,
‘It was after some talk of the natives themselves, and the girl’s confession that she had not yet conquered an instinctive distaste and dread with which they had inspired her from the first…’
I turned and made a grab for the book but he held it out of my reach, his pale grey eyes glittering up at me. ‘No, wait, it gets better:
…that she broke a rather protracted silence with an abrupt request.’
He paused and assumed a simpering voice.
‘“Of course, I’m abysmally ignorant – you’ve discovered that already! But I want to know exactly what people mean by a half-caste; and why the word so often goes with a tone of contempt.” Laurence shrugged his shoulders…’
Simon threw his chest out and assumed a deep manly voice.
‘“Well – I suppose one has no business to be contemptuous,” he said. “But the half-caste out here falls between two stools, that’s the truth. He has the misfortune to be neither white nor brown; and he is generally perverse enough to pick the worst qualities of the two races, and mix them into a product peculiarly distasteful to both. The Anglo-Indian’s contempt of him is a mild affair compared to the scorn of the high-caste native, who regards him simply as a low-born, a creature without either the birthright of caste, or the prestige of Sahib-dom. Seems hard luck on the poor devils; but they really are a most unsatisfactory crew on the whole. Clever enough, some of ’em: but there’s a want of grit in their constitutions, physical and moral. It’s a bad business all round, the mixing of brown and white races in marriage.”’

He lowered the book and grinned at us. ‘You two had better not get married, then.’

‘Don’t be an ass, Simon,’ Jagjit said. ‘I’ve never heard such drivel.’

‘Well, it’s Lila’s book. What do you think, Lila?’

‘Ignore him, Lila. He’s being childish,’ Jagjit said. There was an edge to his voice I had never heard before.

Simon flushed and his voice went up, as it always did when he was angry. ‘Oh, buck up, Jug Ears! You’re saying that a “high-caste native” like you wouldn’t mind marrying a half-caste?’

Jagjit looked at him in silence. Then he said calmly, ‘I’m a Sikh, not a Hindu. We don’t observe caste; and if I found the right girl I hope I would judge her for herself and not for her parentage.’

‘Just as well, since there’s such a mystery about Lila’s past.’

Jagjit’s face changed but before he could say anything Simon stood up, dropped the book on to my lap and left the room. Jagjit turned to me.

‘I’m sorry. He can be very spiteful when he’s jealous.’

But why should Simon be jealous of me, I wanted to ask, when he has everything – a family, a home of his own, friends…?

‘Lila – ’ He knelt up and put his hand on my shoulder, but sat back down as there was a knock at the door. The Beauchamps’ maid put her head round it.

‘Tea is served in the drawing room, Master Simon…’ Her voice trailed off as she realised he wasn’t in the room. She looked at us curiously.

‘We’re just coming, Enid,’ Jagjit said. ‘I’ll tell Simon.’

She smiled at him and withdrew.

I stood up and Jagjit followed me to the door. ‘You
are
staying for tea?’

I shook my head and started down the stairs.

He touched my shoulder. ‘Lila, don’t go…’ But I did not want him to see me crying, and I did not turn round.

That night, as I was reading in my room after supper, there was a loud banging at the front door. I looked at the clock
on my mantelpiece. It was nine o’clock and getting dark, late for a caller. A few minutes after that there was a knock at my bedroom door and Ellen put her head round it. ‘It’s Master Jagjit… for you, miss.’

Alarmed, I went down. Aunt Mina was waiting at the foot of the stairs. ‘That Indian boy wants to speak to you. I told him you had gone to bed but he insisted. I find his behaviour quite extraordinary.’

I waited, making my face blank.

She hesitated, then said reluctantly, ‘I suppose you’d better find out what he wants. Don’t be long. I shall wait here for you.’

Jagjit was standing just outside the front door, breathing deeply, as though he had been running. He took my hand, pulling me away from the door. ‘Don’t look so worried; it’s nothing bad. I just wanted to talk to you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Can you meet me in the old greenhouse in half an hour?’

I hesitated.

‘Please, Lila. It’s important.’

I waited till Aunt Mina was safely settled in the drawing room before I crept downstairs. I could hear Cook and Ellen washing the dishes and talking in the kitchen as I slipped out the side door. I made my way to the vegetable garden and the old greenhouse with its broken panes, where we had sometimes played when we were younger. A faint light glowed through the smeary, cobwebbed windows and, although it was a warm night, I found myself shivering.

Through the panes of the door I could see that Jagjit had pushed the old planting tables aside to make a space in the centre. He had fixed a lighted candle into the bottom of an upturned pot and was sitting cross-legged on the floor,
staring into the flame. Through the dirty glass the light from the candle glowed gold, smudging and softening everything. Suddenly I was afraid. I took a deep breath to stop myself shaking and pushed open the door.

His face under his ochre turban turned towards me and he rose to his feet in one supple movement.

‘I’m afraid it’s not very cosy in here. But come and sit down.’ He gestured to the floor where some gunny sacks had been pulled together to form a sort of rug. There was a strong smell of mildew. ‘They’re a bit damp, I’m afraid.’

We sat down opposite each other with the candle between us. The floor was gritty, and I shifted uncomfortably as I waited for him to speak. He seemed to be finding it as difficult as I was; I noticed his hands were trembling, and that made me nervous but also gave me courage.

‘I’m sorry to drag you out like this, Lila, but I wanted to see you alone and it’s impossible to get away from Simon.’ His voice shook with irritation and I looked at him in surprise. He flushed. ‘I’m sorry. I know that sounds unkind, but we’ve just had the most filthy row. You must think I’m rottenly ungrateful, especially as he and his family have been so good to me… but sometimes it feels as though he thinks he owns me.’

I shook my head, trying not to show the secret pleasure I felt.

There was a silence while we both stared at the candle and I began to wonder if he had anything to say to me at all. I could feel the damp rising from the sacks and shivered again.

‘Here, put this on.’ He took his jacket off and stood to drape it round my shoulders. It held his scent, and I remembered his body beside me on the beach, his finger touching mine, and again that surge of warmth travelled through me. I turned my face away and held myself perfectly still.

‘Lila!’ He knelt opposite me and leant forward. ‘I just wanted to say that… that I really value your friendship. That’s the reason Simon made that scene today… he can’t bear it if I show a liking for anyone else and he’s jealous because he knows that I like you. You don’t mind my saying that, do you?’

I shook my head.

‘It’s just that I know how your aunt dislikes me. But, to get back to why I’m here… I wanted to apologise for the way Simon behaved today, and… Oh, hell, Lila, the truth is I just wanted to have you to myself! I’m sick of never being able to tell you how I feel. Don’t look so surprised – you must know I care for you. It’s obvious enough! Sometimes I’m afraid even to look at you when we’re in company because I think everyone will see it…’ He laughed uncomfortably. ‘You look so blank! Do you have any idea at all what I’m talking about?’

I nodded, though I wasn’t really sure. Could he really mean what I thought he did?

‘Do you like me, Lila… even a little bit?’

I nodded again.

‘Really? You’re not just being polite?’

I hesitated and looked down. ‘Yes.’ It was a whisper, so I said it again, louder. A croak: the frog princess. I looked up. He was staring at me.

‘Say it again.’

I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Yes, I do.’ Too loud. I grimaced. ‘Is that how you imagined it?’

‘What?’

‘My voice.’

‘Absolutely. Like a sergeant-major!’

We laughed and then, somehow – and I am still not sure how it happened – we were talking as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was the dark and
the quiet and the soft circle created by the flickering candle, or maybe the forgotten warmth of being held in someone’s loving gaze, but after the initial groping and fumbling for words, and stumbling over my tongue, the dam burst and everything I had locked away came pouring out, and I found myself telling him everything about my life in India, and my friends, and Father’s missions, and Mother’s strangeness. And finally I found myself speaking about what happened that night, as though I was just talking to myself as I watched the candle flame flicker.

When I had finished, there was a long silence and I felt empty and peaceful. Then he sighed and moved the candle out from between us and pulled me towards him. I knelt up until my face was level with his and he kissed me, first on the forehead and then on the lips. It was the most gentle and innocent of kisses, almost like a blessing, but it cannot have looked like that to Aunt Mina and Mr. Beauchamp, who chose that moment to burst into the greenhouse.

Twenty minutes later I lay in bed, seething with anger and defiance at being made to feel guilty when we hadn’t done anything wrong. Aunt Mina had said nothing to me except to order me to my room in a cold voice, but I could hear the three of them talking downstairs. Then Mr. Beauchamp and Jagjit left and I heard Aunt Mina go to bed. I lay awake for ages thinking of him: how it felt to be held by him and to talk about Father without being judged or pitied; to be really listened to. I knew there would be consequences but I didn’t care. There was nothing they could do to us.

I was woken the next morning by stones clicking against my window. For the first time that I could remember since Father’s
death I did not think of him first, but of the night before. I smiled and stretched and got out of bed, smoothing my hair back before lifting the sash. But it wasn’t Jagjit. It was Simon.

‘Come down!’

I dressed quickly, wondering where Jagjit was.

As soon as I emerged from the front door Simon rushed up to me, almost spitting with rage. His face was white. ‘What did you do? You selfish rotter! You’ve ruined everything – everything!’

I stared.

‘Father’s sent him away! I listened at the study door when they came back – there was the most frightful row. Father said that no gentleman would have behaved the way he did with a girl as young as you are. Jagjit said nothing had happened, that you were just talking, but Father said your aunt was upset and Jagjit had to go back to school. He made him promise not to write to you and he put him on the early train, and he says he can never come in the holidays again because your aunt won’t permit it! And it’s all your fault – your stupid fault!’

‘No, it isn’t. I bet you told your father because you were jealous, you telltale sneak!’

His jaw dropped. ‘You’re talking!’

‘Yes, but you needn’t worry, because I’ll never speak to you again!’

I turned and went into the dining room where Aunt Mina was having breakfast and screamed at her that I hated her and would never ever forgive her. They were the first words I ever said to her.

A fortnight later I was sent away to school.