City of Ghosts (29 page)

Bissen nodded. ‘Please,' he said.

Bertie came and sat down by the fire. ‘That's better,' he said. ‘Those windows are damned draughty. I shall have to get the workmen to take a look at them . . .'

Bissen put the book back down on the table and waited for Bertie to continue.

‘I want you to know,' he said, ‘that I'm perfectly happy with your being here. Lillian is very taken with you and I can see that you are a good chap.'

For some reason Bissen found he was waiting for the ‘but'. When it came, however, it wasn't what he'd been expecting.

‘But there are many dangers that we may have to face,' said Bertie. ‘You are officially a deserter and I'm afraid that if you get caught, the firing squad awaits you.'

Bissen nodded. ‘I know this when you take me from the hospital. I happy to take my chance that you give.'

Bertie smiled. ‘And I know how much my niece means to you,' he said. ‘I can see it in your face when you look at her. Lillian is my only family, young man. Her parents died when she was very young and I took her in. To be honest, I thought it might be a mistake; that it might hinder me in some way. I have a rather unconventional lifestyle . . .'

Bissen wondered what he meant but said nothing.

‘I was wrong. Lillian turned out to be the most precious thing I have ever been blessed with,' continued Bertie. ‘I want her to be
truly
happy.'

Bissen nodded his agreement. ‘You wish to know if I will look after her,' he said, beginning to understand.

‘Yes,' Bertie replied. ‘I feel rather foolish in asking; as if I were some overprotective father interviewing potential suitors.'

‘No,' Bissen reassured him. ‘It is correct that you ask me these things.'

Bertie smiled. ‘I'm pleased that you think so, Bissen. I can see why Lillian is so enamoured of you.'

Bissen frowned. ‘What is the meaning?' he asked.

‘Of
enamoured
. . .? How much she
adores
you.'

‘I see.'

Bertie coughed and cleared his throat. ‘I think I'd like a little drink; how about you?'

‘Yes please,' said Bissen.

Bertie went to pour two large brandies. He handed one to Bissen before retaking his seat. ‘Lillian is very sensible,' he said, swirling the amber liquid around the glass. ‘But she is also quite prone to flights of fancy. I don't mean that she is unrealistic. It's only that she is a romantic at heart.'

‘I understand.' Bissen took a sip of brandy.

‘Her feelings for you are so strong,' Bertie told him. ‘If you ever did get caught, I'm not sure how she'd cope.'

‘It could happen. There is a chance.'

‘Yes, there is. You and I need to be prepared for the worst. We must protect the woman we both love. I can see that you are a decent man, Bissen Singh, and I want you to know that I would welcome you into my family. But many of my countrymen have strange prejudices towards people from the East.'

Bissen took another sip of brandy before replying. ‘Some English will not like Indian man with white woman.'

‘Exactly my point,' replied Bertie. ‘I just hope that you can be strong enough to cope with that. God knows, Hamadi has had enough trouble in town over the past few years.'

‘But not all white men are the same. In France some of the
Engrezi
would not talk to us or share their sleeping quarters. They call us savages and heathens. But then there are many more who give us cigarettes and tell us jokes.'

‘It must have been such a strange experience,' Bertie said. ‘To be Indian and fighting in France, I mean.'

‘I did not understand why white men fight other white men,' Bissen admitted. ‘But I wanted to do my duty.'

‘Is it as awful as they say in the news reports?'

He frowned. ‘It is worse,' he replied. ‘The English talk of hell: that is what it is. So many men killed for nothing. At Neuve Chapelle my comrades died all around me. I still see their faces when I dream.'

‘What about India?' Bertie asked. ‘Do you not wish to return?'

Bissen shook his head. ‘I did when I first arrived at hospital, but Lillian change that. If I'm not with Lillian then nowhere can be my home.'

Bertie drank down the rest of his brandy. ‘But if you
had
to be together in India,' he said, ‘would you be able to cope with the prejudices of your own countrymen?'

‘Yes,' replied Bissen. ‘My only wish is to be with Lillian; nothing else. The world is a big place,
Uncle-ji
.'

Bertie grinned. ‘When you call me
ji,
that is a mark of respect for your elders, is it not?'

Bissen nodded. ‘You know Indian language?' he asked.

‘From my time in Delhi,' explained Bertie. ‘I picked up little bits. I loved your country: the people, the climate, the food. I would have remained but I had to come back for Lillian. Not that she is aware of that; I've never told her. When her parents died I was still out there. As soon as I got the telegram, I returned to look after her.' His eyes glazed over as his memory took him back to long-gone days. ‘I left
so
much behind,' he continued. ‘But it was worth it.'

Bissen nodded his understanding. ‘I won't tell her,' he said.

‘Thank you, Bissen. Now, would you care for another drink?'

Bissen shook his head but Bertie ignored him. He poured two more large measures, inspecting the liquid before handing one to Bissen.

‘Far too cold,' he said. ‘Now, tell me what you think of Sherlock Holmes.'

IT HAD SNOWED
overnight; in the morning, Lillian and Bissen woke to find that a white blanket had covered everything in the gardens. They washed, ate breakfast and then decided to take a walk. They spent all morning out in the snow, walking around the gardens and then exploring the rest of estate. Bissen felt as excited as a child. He had never seen snow before: when he picked it up, it froze his hands before melting away into nothingness. He savoured the sensation, picking up handful after handful, until his fingers were red with cold and Lillian told him to stop.

‘You'll give yourself frostbite,' she warned. ‘And then where will you be?'

The look on Bissen's face told her that he didn't understand so she explained herself before fashioning a snowball and throwing it at him. It glanced off his turban and fell down his face. Lillian giggled and ran as he gathered up some snow to throw back at her. His face was red and the tip of his proud nose was frozen. The snowball he threw missed its
target by a distance and he lost his footing, slipped and fell into the snow. He grinned at Lillian when she ran over to see if he was all right.

‘I'm fine,' he told her. ‘Happy. Very happy.'

‘Let's get you inside,' she replied. ‘We need to give you some painkillers.'

They trudged back to the house, where Hamadi was waiting with a worried expression.

‘Is something the matter?' asked Lillian.

Hamadi nodded. ‘Your uncle has been questioned by police,' he told them. ‘This morning . . .'

Lillian's face fell. She gripped Bissen's hand tightly. ‘Is this to do with us?' she asked, although she already knew the answer.

‘They ask about Bissen,' replied Hamadi, confirming her worst fears.

Bissen felt his heart sink like a stone. Deep inside he had known that their perfect world could not last – not without something getting in the way; but for them to find out so soon? It felt as though the ground was falling away beneath him.

‘Your uncle is returning soon – he say to tell Bissen that beard and hair must go,' added Hamadi. ‘I bring you scissors and razor.'

Lillian turned to Bissen and tried to smile. ‘I've always wondered what you would look like without your beard and turban,' she joked.

Bissen nodded, hiding the sadness in his eyes. ‘For you,' he told her, ‘I will do.'

‘How could the police know about him?' she asked Hamadi. ‘He's been nowhere since you helped him escape.'

Hamadi shrugged. Two weeks earlier some men had been at the house, working on the gardens and rebuilding a fallen stone wall, he explained. They had been kept well away from the main residence, but who was to say they hadn't seen Bissen?

‘Your uncle will know,' he told Lillian. ‘Until then you do as he say.'

In the bathroom opposite Bissen's room, he stripped to the waist and began to unwind his turban. His hair fell halfway down his back in thick, shiny waves.

‘Such beautiful hair,' murmured Lillian. ‘What a shame to lose it.'

Bissen shrugged. ‘It is no matter. Hair can grow again.'

Lillian picked up the heavy scissors Hamadi had given her and began to cut off Bissen's thick locks. She worked on small areas at a time and apologized repeatedly. Bissen stopped her at one point and gave her a kiss.

‘If this I need to stay with you,' he told her, ‘then it is of no matter.'

Very soon his hair lay on the floor around them and Lillian turned her attention to his beard.

‘I'll cut away what I can with the scissors,' she told him. ‘Hamadi can shave the rest.'

Bissen nodded. ‘Will you still like me,' he joked, ‘when I look like other man?'

‘Your eyes will stay the same,' she replied. ‘And your smile too . . . I'll get Hamadi to give you a proper haircut – you look like a scarecrow the way it is now.'

Bissen asked her what a scarecrow was and Lillian told
him as she cut off his beard. When she was done, she called for Hamadi, who grinned when he saw Bissen.

‘Is something funny?' she asked.

Hamadi nodded. ‘He will look like Egyptian,' he replied.

Lillian realized that he was right. Once Hamadi had shaved him, Bissen would look totally different. The authorities would be looking for a Sikh man. They would never recognize him once he was shorn of his beard and no longer wore a turban. At least she hoped they wouldn't.

‘I'm going downstairs,' she told them. ‘I'll see you when you are done.'

Uncle Bertie arrived half an hour later; the expression on his face told Lillian that things were not good.

‘It's all over town,' he told her. ‘There was nothing for a few weeks after we helped Bissen escape – the army kept it hidden – but then a newspaper reporter found out and ran the story. Now it's the talk of Brighton.'

Lillian sighed and shook her head. ‘What does this mean for us?' she asked.

‘I don't know, Lillian,' he replied. ‘I've spoken to some friends – they think everything will be fine, but someone has mentioned my name and I don't know who it can be.'

‘How could anyone know? Bissen hasn't left the estate since he arrived.'

‘There were some workmen here,' Bertie told her. ‘Perhaps they saw something. I don't know . . .'

‘Did they actually see Bissen?'

‘I don't think so. But perhaps one of them came into the house while I was out.'

‘What did the police ask you?'

Bertie shrugged. ‘They said that someone had reported a foreigner living at this address and I told them about Hamadi. But he's been here for three years and has papers. Anyway, once I'd explained, they seemed to accept my word and left it at that.'

‘Bissen is shaving,' Lillian told him. ‘He should be down at any moment.'

‘Good, good,' replied Bertie, taking her hand.

‘I'm so worried, Uncle . . .'

‘No need, my child,' he reassured her. ‘Once the fuss has died down, it will all be fine.'

‘I hope so,' answered Lillian. ‘I don't know what I'd do if Bissen were caught. They'd court-martial him for desertion and then—'

‘Try not to think about it, my dear,' said Bertie. ‘If it came to the worst I'd find him passage on a ship to the East – I won't let the authorities capture him, I promise.'

‘What ship?' Lillian asked.

‘There are some Persians who live in Hastings,' he explained. ‘They can take Bissen to London or Dover and put him on a ship.'

‘But then I would lose him just the same,' she pointed out.

Bertie shook his head. ‘No – you'd just have to wait and then go to him. The world is a big place, Lillian. If you can't be together in England, then perhaps you can be together somewhere else. Like India . . .'

Lillian stopped and thought about what her uncle was saying. She knew him too well: he wasn't just theorizing – he was talking about an
actual
plan that he had formulated.
‘You've already arranged things, haven't you?' she said.

Her uncle nodded. For now he would let her believe that things weren't too serious. No point in her getting upset just yet. Not until it was time . . . ‘Just a fail-safe,' he replied. ‘I have to cover all eventualities.'

Lillian nodded. Her uncle had been a rock in her life for so long that she didn't think she'd be able to cope without him. Thank God she didn't have to. If anyone could help her and Bissen, it was Bertie. ‘You are a wonderful man,' she said.

‘If the authorities get too close, then my friends will step in – they are only a telegram away . . . Until then, the newly shaven Bissen should be fine. And if not, there are plenty of rooms in which to hide him here.'

Lillian gave her uncle a warm hug just as Bissen came in. Uncle and niece turned to look at him and Lillian's breath caught in her throat.

‘Well, well!' said Bertie. ‘You really are a splendidly handsome chap!'

Bissen shrugged and looked into Lillian's eyes. ‘You still like?' he asked self-consciously.

Lillian nodded, unable to speak. She studied his high cheekbones and the pallor of his skin; the sculpted perfection of his jaw line; his striking grey eyes. She felt herself blush as a warm, tingling sensation gathered in her belly and worked its way lower. Without thinking, she walked over to Bissen and took his face in her hands.