The Tea Planter’s Wife (25 page)

As the fear took hold, she could hardly think. There was no way to let McGregor know there were dozens of natives with burning torches who looked as if they were heading for his house. She pressed an arm against her ribs, as if to contain the panic, then ran up the stairs to Laurence’s room, where Verity, Naveena and Hugh were at the window.

‘Look, Mummy. They are going past. They aren’t coming here.’

Gwen opened the window and pointed the rifle. She watched for a moment as the stragglers continued to move past the house. One or two turned to glance back at her. One man shook his torch in the air.

‘Dear God, I hope McGregor will be all right.’

‘The noise will have woken him and Nick McGregor knows how to take care of himself,’ Verity said. ‘But, Hugh, you need to keep back from the window.’

Suddenly a shot rang out and then another. A terrible shrieking filled the air.

‘Oh God, he’s shooting them!’ Gwen said. As Hugh jumped and ran to be folded into Gwen’s arms, she passed the rifle to Verity.

‘Turn off the light. I don’t want them to see us.’

‘They’ve already seen us,’ Verity said. ‘Anyway, he won’t be shooting at them. He’ll be shooting into the air to scare them off.’

‘What if he hits one?’

‘Well, he might hit one or two, but it would be accidental. He’s got to disperse them somehow. Look, it’s working.’

Though she was scared, Gwen pitied the men, and feared McGregor’s pursuit of them, but while the workers’ wretched poverty moved her to tears, she realized that to Verity, they were too poor and insignificant to matter.

She looked across towards McGregor’s bungalow where a scene of immense confusion was unfolding. The men, like bees being smoked from a hive, were scattering; some had turned back and were already escaping. A few torches were burning out, some sizzling as they were thrown in the lake, and there was a sour, acrid smell spreading everywhere. Several failing flames continued to stain the air, but with relief Gwen saw that whatever it had been about, the men seemed to be taking the lake path and none of the stragglers appeared to be coming back up to the house. She prayed that nobody had been killed.

At that point, Verity, still hanging out of the window with the rifle, fired it into the air, the noise so loud it frightened Gwen half to death.

‘Why did you do that, Verity?’

‘I just want them to know that even though Laurence isn’t here, we can still shoot.’

Gwen took over the position at the window and remained watching until there was nothing left to see.

‘I think we should all go back to bed,’ she said after a while. ‘I’ll stay in here with Hugh. Naveena, use the spare room next to us. Now, goodnight, everybody.’

‘I’m not sure it’s over yet,’ Verity said. ‘Please can I stay here with you both? To help make sure Hugh is safe?’

Gwen thought for a moment. It probably would be better if they were together.

‘I’ll have the gun,’ she said, and though she would have done anything to protect her son, the thought of actually pointing the thing at another human being and killing them made her blood run cold.

Once Hugh had fallen asleep, Gwen touched his soft warm cheek, then lay staring at the darkness with thoughts crowding
her mind. She felt ill at ease with Hugh sandwiched in between her and Verity, and wondered how she was going to tell Laurence why the men were so angry and vengeful. It had to be because of the flogging, but McGregor might have been killed – they all might have been killed.

Just before dawn, she sat bolt upright in the bed. Verity was at the door, wrapped in a blanket and speaking with Naveena in whispers. She held a candle and the rifle, and turned when she heard Gwen getting out of bed. She gave the candle to Naveena and put a finger to her lips, then held the door open for Gwen.

‘Quickly. Don’t wake Hugh. Put on Laurence’s dressing gown.’

Gwen did so and then went through to the landing, closing the door behind her.

‘Come on,’ Verity said, sounding excited.

‘What’s going on? Why is the smell worse than before?’

‘You’ll see.’

Naveena led the way along the landing, down the stairs, along the corridor and to the boot room, with only the flickering light illuminating their way. Gwen heard the snapping and crackling before she saw the fire, then through the boot-room window, saw that the sky had turned a dull orange.

In a panic, she pushed past Verity and Naveena to unlock the side door to the courtyard. Her hand flew to her throat as clouds of blue smoke billowed from the left side of the building adjoining the main house. It seemed out of control, with so much smoke that it wasn’t clear what was actually burning. There was a deep rumble followed by a loud crash as the main roof timbers of the cheese room collapsed, sending sparks and embers flying and black smoke exploding upwards into the half-light of the early-morning sky. Gwen’s eyes streamed as the stench of smoke and burning cheese spread right across the yard, and it became impossible to breathe.

The noise continued, though the cheese-room structure itself, built of stone with a concrete floor, was safe. Now the danger
was that the flames might spread to the kitchens and the servants’ quarters via the wooden ceiling beams that connected them, and then the whole house. Terrified by the thought of what might happen next, and worried for her son, Gwen ran forward, but despite covering her mouth and nose, she began to splutter and cough, flapping her arms wildly as she did so.

Verity came after her.

‘Isn’t it exciting! Look, the
appu
and the kitchen coolies are already fighting it. The houseboys are round at the other side.’

As the men rushed about, shouting instructions to each other, she saw Verity’s eyes light up, but as her sister-in-law moved closer, Gwen stepped back from the heat.

It seemed to go on and on as the flames consumed the entire roof structure. Then, spitting and whooshing, they died back as the men dampened everything with pots of water and a hose. Gwen watched in relief, but when, after a moment, the flames burst through again, seeming to grow even wilder, it shocked her afresh. She felt helpless as the wind dragged noxious black smoke to spiral across the lake and orange flames to rise into the air above.

Eventually, as they watched the fire surrender, the men smothered the embers with rugs and Gwen, breathing more freely, wiped her stinging eyes. When it was completely dead, the men grasped each other’s hands, but as the
appu
checked to make certain that nothing more could catch, a heavy pall of smoke hung over the courtyard.

Verity shouted to him in Tamil.

He nodded, and said something Gwen couldn’t understand.

‘What did he say?’ she asked.

‘Nothing much. Just confirming the fire is out.’

Everything was smothered in ash and Gwen felt contaminated by the feel of it on her clothes and in her hair. ‘I’m glad you woke me,’ she said, brushing off the powdery flakes.

Tears pooled in Verity’s dark eyes. ‘Of course I woke you.
Hugh means so much to me. I would never want to put him in danger.’

Together they went indoors. As Gwen went back up to Laurence’s room to be with Hugh, her eyes still smarting from the smoke, she shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if the fire hadn’t been spotted so early. It wasn’t the damage it had done that bothered her – the cheese room could be repaired – it was the damage it might have done. She wiped her face, and as the light slid across the room, she curled up in bed and stroked her son’s cheek. Thank God he was safe.

The only person she trusted to judge if things had become really serious was Laurence. She thought of him and the day he had gone away. She wanted to cry. Really cry. As the image of Christina getting into the car outside the Galle Face Hotel came back, a ray of weak light illuminated the table where Caroline’s face still shone out from its silver frame. I wish I could talk to you, she thought. Maybe you’d know what to do.

It turned into a golden morning, full of delicate light, and with a pale blue haze drifting over the lake. It seemed strange that after such a terrifying night everything should be so still and normal at the lakeside, with the fresh wetness of the trees and the dew coating the grass. However, the smell of burnt cheese still hung about and at the side of the house, where the coolies were cleaning up, an air of desolation crept over the ash-covered yard. Gwen kept Hugh close to her and waited anxiously for McGregor to appear.

Verity came into the drawing room. ‘One of the kitchen coolies was hurt in the fire.’

‘How badly?’

‘I don’t know. The
appu
just told me. I’m going to find McGregor to ask if he knows.’

‘Tell me, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Just as Florence Shoebotham turned up with a bacon flan, Gwen spotted McGregor outside on the upper terrace, waving his arms about while he talked with Verity. Gwen bent her body back in an effort to see but not be seen, but when McGregor spotted her and stared without a smile, she tensed. It was as she expected.

Florence was the last person she wanted to see, but in a way, though she was worried about the injured man, Gwen was pleased to have a reason not to be bullied by McGregor just yet. They would speak soon enough, but in the meantime, she would not seek him out.

‘I came as quickly as I could,’ Florence said, her chins wobbling sympathetically. ‘I heard your entire side wing burned down.’

‘No. Actually, it was just the cheese room.’

‘I am sorry to hear that.’

Gwen was obliged to stay and entertain the woman, and on her instruction the butler brought tea served in the best china and a three-tiered cake stand. As Florence tucked in to dainties that only smelt faintly of smoke, Gwen felt increasingly anxious. She would have to ask McGregor about the injured man sooner or later.

‘Are we likely to be seeing your delightful cousin Fran again soon?’ Florence asked.

‘No, not soon, though she has promised another visit at some point.’

‘You will be missing her, and your husband, of course.’ The woman arranged her face to look concerned and lowered her voice. ‘I do hope everything is all right with Laurence. I did hear he suffered heavy losses in the Wall Street crash.’

‘You have no need to concern yourself, Florence. Laurence is fine, and so am I.’

It seemed to Gwen that Florence struggled to conceal her disappointment that the gossip wasn’t going to materialize in quite the juicy way she had hoped.

‘We are looking forward to him being back with us very soon,’ Gwen continued; she didn’t say that in fact Laurence had wired the agent that very morning, saying he might be away longer than expected, and that she had not passed on the information about the fire.

After Florence had gone, Gwen opened the window but with the smell of burning still lingering she rapidly closed it again, then went in search of Verity and Hugh. She’d wanted to keep Hugh with her, but he’d slipped outside during Florence’s visit. She wandered among the trees and bushes of the garden, calling him, and then stood on the bottom terrace, looking at the islands that dotted the water. A thin layer of mist still floated above the lake and a gust of wind chilled her. When she heard footsteps on the path, and the sound of Hugh’s voice, she spun round to see McGregor advancing, gripping Hugh by the hand.

‘Mr McGregor,’ she said.

‘Mrs Hooper.’ He released Hugh’s hand and the child ran to her.

‘How is the man?’ she said, making an effort to appear calm.

‘The pharmacist is with him.’

‘An unfortunate sequence of events,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘Rather more than unfortunate. Deliberate destruction cannot be condoned. I hope that this is the end of it. I would advise, however, that for the time being you keep the lad close to you.’

‘Let’s hope it was nothing sinister. It may have been an accident, don’t you think? With all those flaming torches burning so close to the house.’

‘I doubt it. But you’re very lucky it was spotted in time.’

She drew in her breath.

He turned to go, took a few steps away, but then glanced back. ‘I knew something like this would happen. Lucky for you the man is still alive.’

She held her hands together to suppress her rising anger. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that this is the sort of thing that happens when somebody interferes with the way of things.’

‘And by that, you mean me?’

He inclined his head and his face stiffened.

She took a step towards him and her efforts at keeping calm fell apart. ‘Actually, Mr McGregor, I do not think I did anything wrong in helping that little girl. Only a person with a heart of stone could think otherwise. It was not I who caused this, but you. The days of flogging a man over a trifle are over, and if they are not, well, shame on you.’

‘Have you finished?’

‘Not quite. You will be very fortunate if the Ceylon Labour Union do not pick this up. You are a mean-minded man who sees nothing but the bad in people. I believe in treating people kindly and fairly, whatever the colour of their skin.’

His face spasmed. ‘This is nothing to do with colour.’

‘Of course it’s to do with colour. Everything in this country is to do with colour. Well, mark my words, Mr McGregor, all this will come back to bite you one day, and on that day none of us will be safe in our beds.’

With that Gwen marched up the steps with her head held high and Hugh in tow. She would not give McGregor the satisfaction of seeing the tears that threatened to spill.

That night her dreams troubled her, with images of men brandishing flaming torches that seemed to rise from the surface of the lake. She dreamt of Laurence too, imagined he was there with her in the boathouse, a lock of waving hair falling over his eyes as he leant over her. The hairs on his arms shone in the moonlight and freckles peppered his cheeks. She put her arm round his neck and he cupped the back of her head with his hand, but then she realized he wasn’t looking at her at all – he was looking through her. It was a dark, unsettling dream and then, first thing in the morning, the news came that the man had died from his burns.

Gwen spent the day trying to find out who his family were, and wanting to see what she might do to help. She remembered the man in question, and it broke her heart to think of his life cut short in that agonizing way – he was not much more than a boy, with a ready smile and a willing nature – but when her path crossed McGregor’s in the garden, he insisted he would deal with it.

‘But he was one of my household coolies.’

‘Nevertheless, Mrs Hooper, I can’t allow sentimentality at this delicate stage. We can’t rule out further repercussions.’

‘But –’

McGregor didn’t reply but gave her a curt nod and walked off in the opposite direction. She gazed at the lake, not knowing what else she could do.