Secret for a Nightingale (3 page)

“And where is there another SuSu?”

Then she took my hands and looked at them.

“They are like lotus blossoms,” she said.

“Slightly grubby ones,” I pointed out.

“They are beautiful.” She kissed them.

“There is power in these hands.

It must be used. To waste what is given is not good. Your god . my gods . they do not like to see their gifts despised. It will be your task, little one, to use the gifts which have been given. “

“Oh no, ayah dear, you imagine there is something special about me because you love me. My father says that that little boy liked to have me kneel beside him and that was why he seemed to forget his pain.

That was all it was, my father says. “

“The Colonel Sahib is a very great man, but great men do not know all… and sometimes the beggar of the lowest caste has certain knowledge which is denied the greatest rajah.”

“All right, ayah dear, I am wonderful. I am special. I wilt guard my beautiful hands.”

Then she kissed them solemnly and raised her soulful eyes to my face.

“I will think of you always and one day you will come back.”

“Of course I’ll come back. As soon as I have finished with school I’ll be here. And you will have to give up everything and come back to me.”

She shook her head.

“You will not want me then.”

“I shall always want you. I shall never forget you.”

She rose and left me.

I had said goodbye to all my friends. On the last night father and I dined alone. It was his wish. There was a hushe<| atmosphere in the house. The servants were subdued and watched me silently. The Khansamah had excelled himself with one of his favourite dishes which he called yakhni - a soi”| of spiced lamb which I had always particularly enjoyed. But I did not on that evening. We were too emotional to want to eat| and it was as much as we could do to make a show of eating and afterwards to tackle the mangoes, nectarines and grape^ which were set before us. ^ It seemed that the entire household was in mourning for my departure.

Conversation was stilted on that last night. I knew that my father was

trying hard to conceal his feelings, which he did admirably of course, and none would have realized how moved he was except that his voice was brittle and his laughter forced.

He talked to me a great deal about England and how different it was from India. I should have to expect a certain discipline at school, and I must remember, of course, that I was a guest of Uncle James and Aunt Grace, who had so kindly come to our rescue and offered us holiday hospitality.

I was rather glad when I could retire to my room and lie for the last time under the mosquito net, sleepless and wondering what the new life in England would be like.

The ship already lay in the bay. I had looked at it many times and tried to imagine what it would be like when that ship sailed away with me in it. But it is hard to imagine a place without oneself.

The day came. We said our goodbyes, and there we were on board, in the cabin Mrs. Fearnley and I were going to share. The moment had come. We stood on deck waving. My father was standing very straight, watching.

I threw a kiss to which he responded. And I saw my ayah. Her eyes were fixed on me. I waved to her and she lifted a hand.

I longed for the ship to go. This parting was too sad to be prolonged.

The excitement of the journey helped me over the sadness of saying farewell to those I loved. Mrs. Fearnley was a brisk and quite pleasant companion. She was determined to carry out the promise she had made to my father to take great care of me and scarcely let me out of her sight.

I knew I was going to be desperately homesick for my father, for my ayah and for India. Going to a new home was not all I had to face.

There was school as well. Perhaps it was good that there would be so much change, so many new experiences that I should have less time to brood. Everyone was kind, but in a remote sort of way.

Mrs. Fearnley in due course delivered me to the rectory before she departed with the cousin who had met us at the docks with the air of a person who has performed an arduous

task commendably; and I said goodbye to her without much? | emotion. It was only when I was alone in the room with the j low ceiling, the heavy oak beams and the latticed window ? looking out on the churchyard that I realized the enormity of | my aloneness. On the ship there had been too many experiences: the wonder of sailing on a sea which could be wildly | turbulent or smooth as a lake; meeting my fellow passengersci seeing new places Cape Town with its magnificent bay and mountains;

Madeira with its colourful flowers: Lisbon with its|| beautiful harbour such experiences had helped to banishj fears of the future from my mind. | That little room was to become so familiar to me. Everyone| tried to make me feel at home. Uncle James, who was very 3 dedicated to his work and was so serious, tried so hard to be . 1 jolly that his attempts at lightness were always laboured and had quite the reverse effect of what he had intended. Every :

morning he would say: “Hello, Susanna. Up with the lark?” And if I did a little work in the garden: “Ha, ha, the labourer is worthy of his hire.” Such remarks were always accompanied by a funny little laugh which somehow did not belong to him. But I knew he was trying hard to help me settle in. Aunt Grace was rather brusque, not because she wanted to be but because ;

she rarely showed her feelings, and faced v/ith a lonely child she found the situation embarrassing. Ellen was kind in an ;

absentminded way, but she was twelve years older than I and completely absorbed in her father’s curate, Mr. Bonner, who would marry her as soon as he found a living. “’, For the first weeks I hated school and then I began to like it. I became something of a celebrity because I had lived in India and, in the dormitory after lights out, I was prevailed” upon to tell stories of that exotic land. I revelled in the popularity this brought me and invented the most hair-raising ;

adventures. That helped me a great deal during the first weeks. Then because I was up to the standard of my age group thanks to the meticulous care of Mrs. Fearnley -1 was accepted. I was neither dull nor brilliant, which is a far more lovable attribute than being very good or very bad.

By the end of the first year I found school enjoyable and I was during the holiday, caught up in village activities fetes, bazaars, carol-singing and so on. I was part of what was happening about me. The servants took me to their hearts.

“Poor motherless mite,” I heard the cook say to the maid.

“Sent across the world like that to her uncle and aunt… strangers, you might say. And living in heathen parts. That’s no life for a child. It’s a good thing she’s here. I never could abide foreigners.”

I smiled. They didn’t understand. I missed my dear ayah so sadly.

My father wrote regularly long letters about the regiment and the troubles out there.

Sometimes I’m glad you’re home [he wrote]. I want to hear all about it. How are you liking the rectory? Your mother talked about it a great deal. She was homesick for it. The Khansumah was married last week. There was quite a ceremony. He and his bride rode through the town in a flower-decked cart. There was a fine procession. You know what these weddings are like. The bride will be living here. She will do some sort of work in the place, I suppose. I only hope the marriage is not quite as fruitful as everyone seems to be wishing on them. Ayah is happy. She is with a very nice family. Time will soon pass and before long you will be making your plans to come back. You’ll be a young lady, then . finished, as they say. There will be a great deal for you to do out here then, I hope you will like it. You will be the Colonel’s Lady. You know what that means. You’ll have to be with me on official occasions. Well, that’s in the future and I am sure then you will perform your duties with the requisite grace and charm.

After all, you’ll be an English lady, nicely ‘finished off at an expensive school which you will have to go to for the last year. More of that anon.

In the meantime, I send you my fondest love. I am thinking of you, longing to see you again, hating this separation and telling myself that it will soon pass.

What lovely letters he wrote! He was more revealing on paper than in person. Some people are like that. I should be happy to have such a father. And I was. I was lucky to have good kind Uncle James and Aunt Grace and Cousin Ellen who made such efforts to make me feel one of the family.

A year passed then two. There was trouble in India and my father was not able to come home for that promised leave. It was a great disappointment. Then it would seem terribly important whether or not I was chosen for the school play or how many marks I had in history and I did not think of India. One summer holiday I went to the home of one of my friends a very pleasant Tudor manor with acres of land which they farmed. There was a haunted room which intrigued me, and my friend Marjorie and I slept in it one night. The ghost, disobligingly, did not show itself. Then Marjorie came to the . rectory for a holiday.

“It is only right,” said Aunt Grace, ‘that you should return hospitality. “

Yes, I could see they were trying hard to make me feel wanted. These were, on the whole, happy memories. Cousin Ellen’s belated wedding caused a great deal of excited preparation; and after that there was her departure with Mr. Bonner to the living in Somerset. I tried to supply a little of that help which Aunt Grace had had from her, for I wanted to show them that I was grateful for all they had done for me.

I took a greater interest in church activities. I listened to Uncle James’s sermons with assumed interest and I laughed at his little jokes.

Time was passing.

There was one incident which stands out in my mind. It happened just before Ellen’s marriage. I was paying a call with her. I remember it was early autumn because the fruit was being gathered in.

As we came to the Jennings’s farm we saw a group of people under one of the apple trees and Ellen said to me: “There’s been an accident.”

We hurried along, and lying on the ground was one of the Jennings’s sons groaning in agony.

Mrs. Jennings was in a state of great anxiety.

“Tom has fallen, Miss Sandown,” she said to Ellen.

“They’ve gone for the doctor. They’ve been a long time gone.”

“Has he broken something, do you think?” asked Ellen.

“That we don’t know. It’s why we’re waiting for the doctor.”

Someone was kneeling by Tom Jennings and strapping his leg to a piece of wood. On impulse I knelt down on the other side of him. I watched the first aid being applied and I could see that Tom was in great pain.

I took out my handkerchief and wiped his brow, and as I did so I was aware of the feeling which I had experienced before in India when the young boy had fallen under the bullock cart.

Tom looked at me and his expression eased a little. He stopped moaning. I stroked his forehead.

Ellen was looking at me in surprise and I thought she was going to tell me to get up; but Tom was watching me intently as I went on stroking his forehead.

It must have been about ten minutes before the doctor came. He complimented the man who had bound the leg to the wood and said it was the best thing that could have been done. Now they would have to move him very carefully.

Ellen said: “If there is anything we can do, Mrs. Jennings …”

“Thank you, Miss,” replied Mrs. Jennings.

“He’ll be all right now doctor’s here.”

Ellen was rather thoughtful as we walked back to the rectory.

“You seemed to soothe him,” she said.

“Yes. That sort of thing happened once before.” I told her about the boy in India. She listened in her kindly, rather absentminded way, and I guessed she was really thinking about what sort of house she would go to with Mr. Bonner for he had only just acquired it at that time.

But I remembered that incident; and I wondered what my ayah would have thought of it.

It was mentioned during the evening meal.

“He fell off the ladder,” said Aunt Grace.

“I don’t know why there are not more accidents. They can be rather careless.”

“Susanna was very good,” said Ellen.

“She stroked his broi while George Grieves did a little first aid. The doctor said i was the right thing and George is very proud of himself. Bn I must say he did seem to find Susanna comforting.”

“Ministering angel,” put in Uncle James, smiling at me.

I thought about the incident later. I looked at my hands. 1 was just comforting to have someone stroke one’s forehea when one was in pain.

Anyone would have done.

Living in this calm prosaic world, I was beginning to thin, like those about me. My dear ayah had been full of fancies. C course she was. She was a foreigner.

And then at last it was my seventeenth birthday.

It was all arranged. A Mrs. Emery was taking out ht daughter Constance to be married to one of the officers. Sh would be delighted to take me with them. My father wa relieved and so were Aunt Grace and Uncle James. 3 would have been unseemly for a young girl of seventeen t travel alone.

The great day came. I said my goodbyes. I went down I Tilbury in the company of the Emerys and at last I was settin sail for India.

It was a smooth voyage; the Emerys were pleasant companioly Constance was obsessed by her coming marriage and cout talk of little else but the perfections of her fiance. I did nc mind. I had my own obsession.

What an impressive sight Bombay harbour is with its moufi tai nous island fringed with palm trees rising to the magnificea peaks of the Western Ghats.

My father was waiting for me. We embraced. Then he het me at arm’s length, looking at me. ;

“I wouldn’t have known you.” j “It’s been a long time. You look the same, Father.”

“Old men don’t change. It is only little girls who grow int beautiful ladies.”

“Are you in the same house?”

“Strangely enough, yes. We’ve had some troublous time since you’ve been away, and I have moved round a bit, as you know. But here I am now … just as you left me.”