The Tea Planter’s Wife (20 page)

Luckily, the doctor had been able to call soon after Gwen had telephoned him and, knowing the powder he intended to prescribe would be on its way, she wanted to do something while she waited. In her troubled state, she was hardly in a position to attend to the cheesemaking and, in any case, she had trained one of the kitchen boys to do the job, so instead she turned her attention to the household accounts.

Over the years she had cleared up the discrepancies between the orders that had been paid for and the deliveries that actually appeared in the house. She’d insisted on seeing for herself when deliveries came, and had checked them off against the bills that were presented for payment. The irregularities had been sorted out, and though at one point she had suspected the
appu
of stealing, it was difficult to prove. She didn’t expect to see any discrepancy now.

While Naveena looked after Hugh, she sat at her desk and forced herself not to think of her worries. As she rubbed her temple to try to ease the headache there, she noticed a payment for an unusual amount of rice, whisky and oil, during the time Hugh had been ill. She went to the supplies cupboard expecting to see a much larger supply of the goods, but even less than the normal amount was there. Only the
appu
had the other key.

In the kitchen, she’d hoped to confront the
appu
about it, but McGregor was there smoking his pipe, with a pot of tea in front of him.

‘Mrs Hooper,’ he said as he lifted the pot and, holding it high, poured. ‘How are you? Tea?’

‘A little tired, Mr McGregor. No tea, thanks. I was hoping to speak to the
appu
.’

‘He’s gone to Hatton with Verity. She’s taken the Daimler.’

‘Really? Why have they gone together?’

‘A bit of business, she said.’

Gwen frowned. ‘What kind of business?’

‘She has been seeing to the ordering while you’ve been occupied with Hugh. I expect they must be picking up supplies.’

‘And she has been making the payments too?’

‘I imagine she must have been.’

‘And are you the one who still goes to the bank in Colombo?’

‘Yes, I bring back the labourers’ wages and the money for the household expenses.’ He paused. ‘Well, usually I do, but we had a huge amount of tea to process this month, and with Laurence so preoccupied, Verity went in my place.’

‘In the Daimler, I suppose?’

He nodded.

Gwen settled Hugh for the night and, hoping the sleeping draught would soon arrive, she asked Naveena to come to her room.

As soon as the woman was sitting, Gwen looked into her calm dark eyes. ‘Why is this month’s drawing late? I need to know.’

Naveena shrugged. What did it mean, that shrug?

‘Is she still thriving? Has something happened to her?’ Gwen continued.

‘Waiting a little longer, Lady,’ Naveena said. ‘If girl is sick I am already hearing by now.’

Gwen felt so tired; it was hard for her to keep track of simple conversations, but she needed to know if Liyoni was safe.

As they were talking, Verity came in. ‘Hello. I’ve got something for you.’

‘Thank you, Naveena,’ Gwen said as she nodded a dismissal.

‘We were in Hatton,’ Verity said after the woman had gone.

‘I heard.’

‘I bumped into old Doc Partridge.’

‘Really, Verity, he isn’t old at all. Just that his hair’s thinning.’
She smiled weakly. ‘You know he’s awfully nice. You could do a lot worse.’

Verity blushed. ‘Don’t be silly. He gave me a prescription to have made up in the dispensary. He was on his way to do it himself, but I saved him the bother. Shall I stir a dose into some hot milk now?’

‘Oh, please, would you mind?’

‘You just settle down in bed and I’ll go to the kitchen and sweeten it with a good squirt of jaggery to take the unpleasant taste away. What do you say?’

‘Thank you. That is kind.’

‘If anyone knows how ghastly sleeplessness can be, it’s me. Though I was surprised, given that Hugh is so much better – I thought you’d be out like a light.’

‘It seems to have made me rather anxious generally.’

‘Right. Be back in a jiffy.’

Gwen got out of her clothes and picked up the white nightdress Naveena had laid on her bed. She held it to her nose and breathed in the fresh flowery smell, then pulled it over her head and fumbled with the buttons. Her guilt had cemented her within a fearful inner space, but squeezing her hands together and wanting to think of happier times, she tried to banish the black thoughts. If Naveena was right, maybe Liyoni wasn’t ill after all, but it was still possible that the drawing had been intercepted.

If she were to lose it all, the very best she could hope for would be to be sent back to Owl Tree, never to see her darling Hugh again. She trembled at the thought of her son without his mother, and pictured Florence and the other women with the same look of superiority on their faces if it all came out. With sly eyes they’d smile and congratulate themselves that it was she, and not they, who had succumbed to the advances of a charming native man.

By the time Verity came back, she was trembling with fear.

‘Goodness. You are in a bad way. Here you are. It’s not too hot, so drink it down straight away. I’ll sit with you while you fall asleep.’

Gwen drank the pink milky mixture, which, though bitter, wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, and very quickly felt her eyes close. She drifted for a few minutes, feeling comfortably drowsy, realized her headache had lifted, wondered what it was that she’d been worrying about and then lost all feeling of wakefulness.

The next morning, she could barely lift her head from the pillow, even though at the same time it also hurt to rest her head
on
the pillow. She heard raised voices going on in the corridor sounding a bit like Naveena and Verity arguing.

A few minutes later Naveena came in. ‘I am bringing bed tea earlier, Lady, but could not wake you. I was shaking you.’

‘Is there a problem with Verity?’ Gwen asked and glanced at the door.

The old ayah looked troubled but didn’t speak.

Gwen felt cold and clammy, as if she was about to go down with influenza. ‘I need to get up,’ she said, and tried to swing her feet to the floor, just as Verity entered the room.

‘Oh, no you don’t. Rest for you, until you feel better. You can go, Naveena.’

‘I’m not ill, just tired. I need to look after Hugh.’

‘Leave Hugh to me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely. In fact, leave everything to me. I’ve already discussed the menus and paid the household staff.’

‘I wanted to talk to you.’ Gwen felt unfocussed and drifted for a moment. ‘I can’t remember. Deliveries, was it? Or something …’

‘There’s a daytime powder for you too. I’ll mix it up with bee honey and tea. You probably don’t need milk for this.’

Verity went to the kitchen and came back in with a glass of cloudy reddish-brown liquid.

‘What is it?’

Verity tilted her head. ‘Hmmm? Not sure. I’ve followed his directions exactly.’

Almost as soon as she had drunk the potion, Gwen relaxed,
feeling the most delicious floating sensation. Blanched of all distress and feeling wiped clean, she drifted off again.

Gwen began to long for the ‘magic potion’ as she now thought of it. When she drank it, she floated in a mist, free from painful headaches and free from worry, but with the stupor came a complete lack of appetite and an inability to hold a normal conversation. When Laurence looked in on her one evening, she tried her best to be herself, but it was clear from the worry in his eyes she was not succeeding.

‘Partridge will be here in the morning,’ he said. ‘God knows what he’s been giving you.’

Gwen shrugged as he took her hand. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Your skin feels clammy.’

‘I just said, I’m fine.’

‘Gwen, you really are not. Perhaps don’t take the mixture tonight. I don’t think it’s doing you any good, and neither does Naveena.’

‘Did she say that?’

‘Yes. She came to me worried sick.’

Her throat constricted. ‘Laurence, I must have it. It does do me good. Naveena’s wrong. It gets rid of the headaches completely.’

‘Stand up.’

‘What?’

‘Stand up.’

She shuffled her bottom towards the edge of the bed and lowered her feet to the floor. She held out a hand to him. ‘Help me, Laurence.’

‘I want to see you do it, Gwen.’

She bit her lip and made an effort to stand, but the room was moving, dipping back and forth, and the furniture was shifting. She sat back down again. ‘What did you ask me to do, Laurence? I can’t remember.’

‘I asked you to stand.’

‘Well, that was a silly thing, wasn’t it?’ She laughed, crawled back under the sheet and stared at him.

In the morning, Gwen sat at her dressing table and opened a drawer where her mother’s scent was preserved in an embroidered handkerchief. She took it out and sniffed. Fortified by the brief connection, she slipped on her silk dressing gown and some slippers, wrapped a fine woollen shawl round her shoulders and then made her way out of the house by the side entrance.

Verity and McGregor were sitting on the verandah. ‘Darling, how are you?’ Verity said with a broad smile.

‘I thought some fresh air.’

‘Do sit for a while. Here’s your drink.’

Gwen drank the mixture but didn’t sit.

‘Won’t you have some breakfast? It would do you good.’

‘I think I’ll just take a walk.’

‘Hang on.’ Verity opened her bag and took out a folded piece of paper. ‘I’d almost forgotten, but Nick just reminded me,’ she said. ‘I’ve been carrying it around since Hugh was ill.’

‘Oh?’

Verity held out the crumpled paper. ‘Can you give it to Naveena?’

As she handed it over a door slammed somewhere in the house. Gwen felt as if her knees might give way, but she made a show of looking at it, while her heart raced and thoughts scrambled in her head.

‘It’s a drawing of some kind,’ Verity said. ‘For Naveena, from a niece or a cousin or something, in one of the valley villages. It’s a bit blurred, and some of the charcoal seems to have rubbed off.’

Emotionally buffeted, the blood drained from Gwen’s face. She folded the drawing up again and hoped the fear she was
feeling didn’t show and that the faint sound of voices was only in her head.

A God-fearing Englishwoman does not give birth to a coloured child.

Nick McGregor, who hadn’t spoken until now, looked up at her. ‘I caught the milk-cart coolie bringing it.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’ve made sure it’s a different coolie doing the milk run now, with strict instructions not to carry messages.’

‘I’ll give it to Naveena.’

‘I wanted to say before, but with Hugh ill …’ He spread his hands in a wide gesture.

Gwen did not dare speak.

‘And I know you haven’t been too well yourself.’ He paused.

‘Gwen, you look pale. Are you all right?’ Verity reached out a hand, but Gwen took a step back. They knew. They both knew and were playing with her.

‘Anyway,’ McGregor continued, ‘I really can’t have my coolies delivering messages, not even for the ayah.’

Gwen searched for words. ‘I shall put a stop to it.’

‘Good. We don’t want the servants thinking they’re entitled to send notes whenever they wish. With the current unrest, albeit minor, there can be no underground channels of communication.’

‘Let us hope the drawing really was from her relative, and not some activist,’ Verity said. ‘I always thought Naveena had no relations.’

Gwen tried not to flinch but she had to get away from the subject of the drawing and, clutching at passing thoughts, she began to speak. Luckily, McGregor stood up, interrupting her, and Gwen took her chance to escape.

The garden was aflame as she wandered past the bushes. With one hand she ran her fingertips over the red and orange blooms, and in the other she held Liyoni’s drawing safely folded up. They would have to find a different method of receiving communications from the village, but at least she now knew what had
happened to the one that had been overdue. Its absence had not been caused because she had failed to confess. Liyoni was safe and well and there was nothing to worry about on that score.

She walked down to the lakeside and thought about a swim, but the medicine was already beginning to take effect, and when the threads of gold in the water began to blur and the colours of the sky and lake melded into each other, she felt unsteady on her feet. She shook her head to clear her mind: the lake dissolved back into the lake, the sky into the sky. She walked to the boathouse. That was the place to be – safe and full of happy memories.

She opened the door and glanced around the room.

The fire was unlit, of course, and it was damp, but she was tired, so she picked up a knitted throw, covered herself and lay back on the sofa.

Sometime later, she heard Hugh’s voice. At first she thought she was dreaming and smiled at the thought of him. Her lovely sweet boy. She’d seen so little of him lately. It was always ‘Verity this’ and ‘Verity that’. But when she heard Laurence’s voice too, and then Hugh’s once more, she was filled with the desire to see her boys. She wanted to touch her son’s hair and feel Laurence’s arms round her. She attempted to stand, but feeling as if she had an enormously thick head, she had to steady herself by gripping the arms of the sofa.

‘Shall we see if Mummy is in there?’ Gwen heard.

‘Good idea, old boy.’

‘Daddy, can Wilfred come in too?’

‘Just let me take a peek inside, and then we’ll see.’

Gwen saw Laurence’s dark shape block the door. ‘Oh, Laurence, I –’

As he came towards her, he seemed to loom so large that he filled the entire space. He said a few words to her and then she blacked out.

When Gwen came back to consciousness, she heard Laurence speaking. They were in her bedroom now, and Doctor Partridge
was standing next to Laurence by the window. She couldn’t see their faces, but they stood close together, in silhouette, with their hands clasped behind their backs.

She coughed and the doctor turned. ‘I’d like to take a look at you, Gwen, if that’s all right.’

She tried to smooth her hair. ‘Well, I’m sure I must look an absolute fright, but really I’m fine, John.’

‘Nevertheless.’

He looked in her eyes, then listened to her heart. ‘You say she fainted, Laurence?’

‘I found her on the boathouse floor.’

‘And has she seemed confused?’

Gwen watched as Laurence nodded.

‘Her pupils are as small as pinpricks and her heartbeat is fast.’ He looked round at Gwen. ‘Where is the last glass you drank the medication from, Gwen?’

‘I don’t know. Outside, I think. I can’t quite remember.’

Gwen closed her eyes and drifted while Laurence went to find the glass. He came back in and passed it to the doctor.

He sniffed, dipped a finger in the remains and put it to his lips. ‘This seems rather strong.’

‘Where are the packets John prescribed?’ Laurence asked.

As Gwen waved in the direction of the bathroom, Laurence went in and brought out a number of folded paper packets.

The doctor took them from him and his brow furrowed. ‘But these are far too strong.’

Laurence looked at him, horrified.

The doctor seemed bewildered. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t understand how this could have happened.’

‘You must have made a mistake with the prescription.’

The doctor shook his head. ‘Maybe they misread it at the dispensary.’

Laurence glared at him and drew in his breath.

‘In any case, Gwen must stop taking this immediately. It’s not suitable for her constitution. She may have some reactions.
Aches, sweating, restlessness. She may feel rather low. Call me if, after five or six days, it doesn’t stop. I will look into it.’

‘I should hope so. This is unforgivable.’

As Doctor Partridge bowed and made his escape, Laurence came over and sat by her bed.

‘You’ll start feeling better soon, sweetheart.’ Then he held out a piece of paper. ‘I found one of Hugh’s drawings on the boathouse floor, near where you fainted.’

‘Oh, I wonder what he was doing in there,’ she said, trying to sound calm, though her stomach was churning. Did Laurence really believe it was Hugh’s?

‘We must have left the place unlocked, but it’s an old drawing I think. His recent stuff is better. At least now you can almost make out a face.’ He grinned as he handed the drawing to her.

She forced herself to smile as she took it. Laurence hadn’t guessed.