Tilly True (38 page)

Jumping up, Tilly paced the floor wringing her hands. ‘I can count, Barney. I ain't completely stupid. I never told anyone, not even Hattie. I might have died if it hadn't been for Miss Barnet who took care of me.'

‘Who the hell is Miss Barnet?'

‘Not one of your toffs, that's for certain. She was a servant, a common woman like me. Not a lady.'

Barney paled beneath his tan. ‘I shouldn't have said that you weren't a lady. It was a joke and I didn't mean it, truly I didn't.'

‘You shamed me in front of your friend. I'll never forgive you for that.'

‘Darling girl.' Barney caught Tilly by the hand, raising it to his lips. ‘I've been a swine but I'll make it up to you, I swear it.'

He was smiling at her, his expressive eyes dancing with golden glints and a persuasive smile curving his generous mouth. The iceberg inside Tilly's chest was melting too fast and she tried to pull away, but their hands were locked by some magnetic force that she could not break.

‘Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. I mean every word I say. I'm going outside to stick my head under the pump, and when I've had a shave and smartened myself up we'll do something together. How about I take you riding and show you the countryside?'

Sulking, Tilly shook her head. ‘I can't ride. I wasn't brought up to be a lady like Hattie.'

‘Then I'll teach you.' Kissing her on the tip of her nose, Barney pinched her cheek. ‘Change of plan. We'll take a tonga into the town and we'll get you kitted out for riding. I'll buy you a new hat, a ball gown, anything you like. Just say what you want and it's yours.'

‘You promised me you would sort out proper married quarters.'

‘That too. Just give me time, darling girl.'

At the end of the day, Tilly was ready to forgive Barney anything. He had sobered up beneath the ice-cold water from the pump, and clean-shaven, almost unbearably handsome in his uniform, he had taken her into Rawalpindi. They had walked arm in arm through the bazaars, where he had bought lengths of brightly coloured silk embroidered with gold thread, fans, gloves, a fur-lined cape and a dashing fur hat. Although she was enjoying herself, Tilly couldn't help worrying about his lavish spending, but Barney told her not to bother her head about sordid money matters with such confidence that she believed him. Having convinced her that money was no object, Barney took her next to a tailor's shop where she was measured for a riding habit that the obliging tailor promised to deliver to the barracks in two days' time. They purchased food from street sellers and picnicked in the park, sitting on the huge roots of a peepul tree in the warmth of the midday sun, laughing at the antics of the small but cheeky striped squirrels that scampered around their feet begging for crumbs.

The sun was plummeting in a fireball to the west. Cuddled up in her new fur-lined cape, with Barney's arm around her shoulders, Tilly was filled with love and confidence as she leaned back against the squabs of the tonga. Last night had been a mistake, Barney had said so repeatedly during the day; he had been tired and embarrassed to admit that he could not provide for his wife in style. All would be different from now on, that was a promise.

‘Just one more night, darling girl,' Barney said, as he opened the door to the bachelor quarters. ‘Tomorrow, I'll pay a visit to the CO and sort out proper accommodation for my beautiful wife.'

Harry met them in the doorway carrying a valise, with Ogilvy close behind him. ‘We thought we'd move in with Blakelock and Travers, old man. Just until you two get fixed up properly.'

‘That's damned generous of you,' Barney said, wringing Harry's hand.

Ogilvy gave Tilly a shy smile. ‘I hope you'll be more comfortable tonight, Mrs Palgrave.'

‘I'm sure I will,' Tilly said, smiling. ‘Thank you.'

‘You're a lucky man, Palgrave,' Harry said, hefting his valise onto the stoop. ‘Chop-chop, Ogilvy. We don't want to be late for dinner in the mess.'

As the door closed on them, Tilly turned to Barney. ‘Will we have dinner in the mess?'

Swinging her off her feet, Barney kissed her until her lips opened and she relaxed against him. ‘Gentlemen only, I'm afraid. But I've got better plans for this evening, Mrs Palgrave. I'll send the bearer out later to fetch us some supper from the cookhouse.'

‘Just a minute,' Tilly said, laying her finger on his lips as he attempted to kiss her again. ‘It's not fair to turn your friends out of their quarters. Promise me that you will sort things out tomorrow.'

‘On my honour,' Barney said, swinging her over his shoulder and heading for the room that Harry and Ogilvy had just vacated. ‘On my honour as an officer and a gentleman.' Setting her on her feet, Barney lit a kerosene lamp. ‘We're not sleeping on separate charpoys and that's final.'

Tilly felt as if her heart would burst with love and her whole body ached with desire as she watched him ripping the mattresses off the charpoys. Having their first real quarrel had been a traumatic and terrible experience, but the look in his eyes as he spread the bedding on the floor told her that making up was going to be pure heaven.

Next morning, they were eating breakfast brought from the camp kitchen by the bearer. The toast was cold and coffee only lukewarm but to Tilly, still glowing from a night of lovemaking, it was a feast fit for a queen. Her heart swelled with adoration as she gazed at Barney who, even though he was unshaven and tousled, still managed to look unbearably handsome.

Seeming to feel her eyes on him, Barney turned his head and smiled. ‘Are you happy now, darling girl?'

Tilly could only nod and smile; she was so deliriously happy that she wanted to cry. But before she could compose herself enough to answer him, there was a sharp rapping on the door.

‘Damn,' Barney said, getting to his feet. ‘Can't they leave a fellow in peace on his honeymoon?' He strode to the door, opened it and went outside.

Straining her ears, Tilly could not make out what was being said, but the timbre of Barney's voice sent panic signals to her brain. Jumping to her feet, she clutched her silk wrap around her naked body and ran to the door.

Barney came back into the room, his face grave. ‘I've got to leave immediately, Tilly.' Without waiting for her reply, he strode into the bedroom.

‘Why?' Tilly ran after him. ‘Where are you going?'

‘There's been an outbreak of fighting at one of the hill stations,' Barney said, searching for his discarded uniform jacket amongst the tumbled bedding. ‘My regiment is being sent to relieve them.'

‘But you can't go now. You can't leave me so soon.'

Shrugging on his jacket, Barney frowned. ‘I have no choice. Believe me, I don't want to go off to some goddamned outpost of the Empire risking my neck against the Pathans, but I'm in the army and that's what I have to do.'

‘But what about me? What do I do?'

‘You sit tight and wait for me to come home, my love. That's what army wives do.'

Once again, Tilly was left on her own. If it had not been for the sweeper who emptied the thunderbox and the bearer who brought her food, she would have seen and spoken to no one. On the third day, bored with being cooped up and alone, she decided to go into town. She found that it was surprisingly easy to leave the cantonment; walking past the guards at the gate, she might just as well have been invisible. She hailed a passing rickshaw and sat back to enjoy the feeling of freedom as they sped along the dusty road. Barney had left her a purse filled with money and Tilly made straight for the bazaar, where she intended to buy some soap for washing her clothes, an item that was severely lacking in the bachelor apartment, and some fresh fruit to relieve the monotony of her diet that had been mainly curry, rice and chapattis.

Having been set down at the bazaar, she wandered in and out of the shops that were housed in rickety wooden buildings. Without Barney to hurry her along, she had time to stop and admire the fragile glass bangles and silver jewellery. There were stalls selling dubious-looking roots, medicines and powders to cure anything from snakebite to dropsy, and all around her there was colour, noise, dust and a heady mixture of scents. The air was redolent with the tang of sawdust as the woodworkers crafted the soft wood of the pine into bowls, walking sticks and furniture. There was the sweet fragrance of mangoes, lemons and other exotic fruit that Tilly did not recognise, all displayed in rush baskets and warmed by the sun. And there was that now so familiar scent of India, the pungent aroma of spices; cardamom, ginger, cumin, coriander and garam masala. Pi-dogs and small children darted about, dodging in and out between the shopkeepers and their customers, and everywhere there was the babble of voices speaking in a foreign tongue. All this was happening under a cloudless azure sky, with snow-capped mountains and pine forests in the far distance.

With the sun warm on her back, Tilly knew that she could never have imagined anything like this. Smoky, foggy, cold London was a million miles away, but quite suddenly she was homesick. Glancing around, she was aware that she was receiving covert looks and disapproving glances. As if coming out of a dream, she realised that the people here were unused to seeing an unaccompanied white woman. She began to feel uncomfortable and quickened her pace, although there was no tangible sign of hostility. She bought soap at one stall and fruit at another, and a rush basket in which to carry her purchases. The sun was high in the sky and Tilly could feel the sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades. It had been cold when she left the barracks and she had dressed accordingly, now she was hot, tired and thirsty.

Quickening her step, she left the bazaar hoping to find a rickshaw or a tonga, but after a while she realised that she was lost. She thought she had taken the road that led to the park where she had picnicked with Barney, but she found herself in a poverty-stricken quarter, a maze of narrow streets lined with dwellings that were little more than wooden shacks. She almost tripped over a blind beggar who sat cross-legged in the dirt holding out a tin cup. Ragged, dirty children swarmed round her plucking at her skirts. The blistering heat combined with the stench of open drains was almost unbearable and the air was thick with dust and buzzing flies.

Clutching her basket and fighting down a feeling of near panic, Tilly held her head high and walked on, resisting the temptation to run. No matter which way she turned, the streets seemed to grow narrower, darker and more menacing. Perspiration trickled down her forehead into her eyes and her clothes were sticking to her body. Her heart was thudding against her ribs and every breath was painful as the heat seared her lungs. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a movement in the shadows, and she began to run. Mangoes and oranges flew out of her basket but she did not stop to pick them up; she ran down a narrow alley praying that it would lead her to the main road, but it seemed to go nowhere. Flies swarmed around her in black clouds and Tilly was certain she could hear footsteps pounding along behind her, but she could run no faster. She felt sick, disorientated, and her breath was tearing from her lungs in ragged, choking sobs. Then, just as she thought she would collapse from sheer exhaustion, the narrow street ended abruptly and she found herself by the side of a main thoroughfare. Doubled up by a stitch in her side and gasping for breath, Tilly sank to her knees in the dust.

In the distance she could hear the sounds of the bazaar and the braying of an ass. Parakeets screeched at her from the branches of peepul trees, and the crows wheeling in the sky above her seemed to be mocking her with their incessant cawing. Struggling to regain control of her breathing, she was suddenly aware of approaching footsteps. For a moment she thought that she must be imagining things, but she could hear men's voices and they were speaking English. Wiping the dust from her face, Tilly looked up and saw a group of soldiers coming towards her. Recognising the uniform, she scrambled to her feet, waving frantically, but the sudden movement had made her dizzy and the arid world around her began to spin.

‘Catch her, someone.'

Someone did and Tilly fell weakly against a uniformed chest.

‘Who is she?'

‘Don't recognise her, but she must have come from the barracks.'

‘Bleeding hell. Tilly?'

Opening her eyes, Tilly peered up against the sun. The shape of the man's head seemed familiar; she knew that voice. ‘Clem?'

Tilly couldn't remember the journey home, but someone had lifted her into a tonga and now she was back in the bachelor quarters, sitting in Harry's favourite rattan chair with a cup of tea in her hand. Clem was standing by the wood-burning stove, staring at her with a perplexed look on his face.

‘I nearly fell over backwards when I saw you there and in such a state, Tilly. I thought I'd got a touch of the sun, but I knew it was you.'

‘I got lost.'

‘And you're not hurt?' Clem's voice was tight with fear.

Tilly shook her head. ‘I'm all right.'

Relief written all over his face, Clem pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. ‘So how come you're here of all places?'

‘It's a long story.'

‘I ain't going nowhere. You can tell me.'

‘So you married him,' Clem said, as Tilly finished telling him how she came to be in India. ‘And he left you here, like this.'

‘It wasn't his fault. Barney didn't have time to arrange proper married quarters.'

‘If you was my wife, I'd have seen to it that you was housed properly. He don't deserve you, Tilly, and that's the truth.'

Too exhausted to argue, Tilly held up her hand. ‘Don't talk like that. Barney is my husband and I love him. He'll sort things out when he returns.'