Zemindar (33 page)

So they came, the peasants, the shopkeepers, the scribes and the members of the village
panchayats
from all over the Hassanganj estate, the delegation from each village led by its headman, and the whole procession headed by a band of musicians in worn-out uniforms playing cracked brass instruments and drums.

The house servants, gorgeous in scarlet and white, crowded the verandah behind us to watch the fun, and on the lawn had gathered the gardeners, the grasscutters and watercarriers, the stableboys, grooms and craftsmen, and the women and children from the servants’ quarters, all dressed in new quilted cotton coats, their Christmas box.

Mr Erskine stationed himself at the top of the steps, and the ceremony commenced when the senior headman placed around his neck an elaborate and beautiful
har
or garland of gold and silver thread set with brilliants. Then, as each man brought forward his gift, Mr Erskine bowed and touched it with his right hand, after which it was placed at his feet. Immediately, the
abdar
and his assistants bore the gift away to the back of the verandah, where I saw with astonishment that it was examined carefully, then taken apart or dismantled by Toddy-Bob and Ishmial working in concert. Baskets of fruit, trays of nuts and figs, pyramids of sweetmeats, small round boxes of muscat grapes packed in blue cotton wool, all suffered the same fate and were immediately dismembered or split over a succession of waiting trays.

‘Why ever are they doing that?’ I whispered to Kate. ‘Oh, look! That beautifully arranged tray of sweets is ruined,’ as Toddy-Bob dexterously reversed a brass platter of
jellabis
on to a large meat plate.

‘Bribes!’ answered Kate. ‘He must show he is incorruptible by examining everything that is offered. Sometimes they put money, gold coins like sovereigns or gold mohurs, among the fruit, or cook jewels into the sweets. If anything is found, Oliver has to denounce the donor immediately—to teach the culprit as well as the others a lesson. See, they are even shredding the cotton-wool from the grape boxes.’

Three goats and two sheep were now lined up on the verandah, and even these were not immune from suspicion. Four swift hands went all over their coats, and their nostrils, ears and mouths were examined to make sure no diamond had been fastened to the skin with sealing wax.

Some of the gifts were valuable in themselves—to my eye at least. There were Kashmir shawls, lengths of brocade, boxes inlaid with ivory, gold-embroidered slippers and a handsome ebony elephant mounted on its own small table. As the procession passed through the portico, its members subsided on the lawn outside to await the ritual giving of
baksheesh
, only the headmen and elders remaining near Mr Erskine to introduce a relative, explain away an inadequate gift or ask a favour on the strength of a handsome one. The procession numbered several hundred, and by the time the last gift had been placed at Mr Erskine’s feet all the various cacophonies of a major bazaar had broken out on the staid lawns of Hassanganj, accompanied unceasingly by the band which appeared to know but one tune, which, after giving the matter some attention, I realized was the customary exhortation to the Christian God to save the British Queen. Mr Erskine bore it all with patience and, still wearing the gold and silver garland, walked among the people handing out coins to the adults and sweets to the children, laughing, talking and listening with the accomplishment of a politician.

When at last he joined us in the drawing-room, he flung himself down in a chair and called for a brandy and water.

‘Thank God, that’s that for another year!’ he exclaimed as he sipped his drink gratefully. ‘At least I have been spared the marigolds. Can’t stand the smell of the things.’ I had noticed that all the humbler garlands of marigolds had been placed over his head, then removed by the donor and put at his feet, no doubt so as not to dim the radiance of the splendid
har
. Now Mr Erskine removed the shining garland with its heart-shaped pendant, and sat looking at it for a moment. ‘Fine workmanship. Must have cost a fortune. What damn fools they are! They cannot really afford to bring me anything. Not the honest ones anyway, and the
bunnias
bring the least they can, now that they know I will not accept bribes.’ He turned the thing over in his hands as he spoke, then suddenly got to his feet, crossed the room to where I was sitting and placed it around my neck. ‘There, Laura, you have it. It’s too good to give to the servants, and I have a cupboard full of them as it is.’

‘But surely you should not give it away,’ I expostulated. ‘Hasn’t it some sort of significance—a meaning?’

‘Yes. It can mean anything that the occasion requires—welcome, farewell, good luck, thanks—anything you will. Take it. I want you to have it.’

I thanked him.

‘And let us say that its significance this time is … er … companionship.’ He smiled. ‘And it would please me if you would mark the event by not calling me “Mr Erskine” any longer.’

He had begun to call me ‘Laura’ shortly after our arrival in Hassanganj, but I had hesitated to address him with a like informality. Everyone laughed, and the
har
passed from hand to hand to be admired. Mr Erskine then called for Toddy-Bob and instructed him to bring in the Kashmir shawls with which he had been presented, and asked each of us ladies to choose one for herself. Kate decided on a pale green with multicoloured embroidery; after much indecision, Emily finally chose a pink with a design of blue and white; and I took a white one patterned in deep rose pink—a shawl such as I had never dreamed I would possess.

Of course, we had to try them on. I wrapped mine around me and went to a mirror to admire the effect. Holding a fold of the soft stuff against my cheek, I glanced into the glass and there encountered Charles’s eyes as he stood behind me, watching me preen myself. I had been smiling, but his expression sobered me instantly, and I dropped my hand to my side. So we stood, gazing at each other in the mirror for a long moment, in a silent communion more eloquent than words. I shuddered. Someone was walking over my grave, as children say. And there, deeper in the reflection, other eyes met mine. Oliver Erskine’s golden, mocking eyes. I blushed and turned quickly away, but not before I had caught the smile on his face and observed him cock an eyebrow at my confused image.

I was assiduous in avoiding both brothers for the rest of that Christmas Day.

There was no ride for me on the following morning. The men had left the house at dawn to shoot duck. After breakfast, Emily and Kate being busy with their domestic duties, I wandered listlessly into the park to try to sort out my confused and conflicting emotions.

I could no longer hope that my feeling for Charles remained my secret; and it was pointless to ignore the fact that it was, in some measure, reciprocated. That all-revealing meeting of eyes in the looking-glass the day before had served only to confirm what I had for some time suspected. On the voyage out and during our first weeks in India I had managed to assure myself that Charles could know nothing of my regard for him. I had managed also to believe that custom and familiarity would be the best cure for my unhappy heart. How many times had I scolded myself for entertaining a misguided infatuation due only to my ignorance of the world, to the fact that I had known so few personable young men, and that my lonely position made me peculiarly susceptible to kindness? How often had I accused myself of folly in permitting myself to believe that my gratitude, liking and respect were love? Perhaps if I had been given no opportunity to guess that Charles also was not wholly indifferent to me, my feeling for him, whatever it was, might have matured to warm affection and nothing more. But there had been too many other hints of his interest lately, as in the anxiety he had evinced when my horse bolted, and expressed in his anger at Mr Erskine’s more casual reaction to the mishap. There had been glances, words left unsaid, and a hand extended in anticipation of a need—those small things that are sufficient to let one human being know another cares. So, aware now in my heart that Charles could have been as happy with me as I with him, that both were denied an equal delight, my unhappiness was sudden and great. My confusion and my guilt were acute.

How had it come to pass that we should all be so miserable, when less than a year ago everything had seemed set fair for tranquillity and contentment? I knew what had made Emily marry Charles. But what had made Charles marry Emily? And, having done so, how had his affections so soon been deflected to me? We had all been wrong, all made mistakes through silliness, selfishness or inexperience, but only I had been culpable. For, disguise it as I might, I knew I had always loved Charles, and I had been wrong, grossly wrong, to accompany him and his bride to India, whatever the strength of the family pressures that brought that event about. After all, no one would have forced me to leave Mount Bellew. If the worst had come to the worst, I could have divulged the true nature of my feelings to my kind aunt, and have been spared my present misery. But I had lacked the strength to do this, and the inclination. I had allowed myself to be persuaded because I could not bear the thought of Charles’s absence. Now his presence was the torment. Had his marriage been happy, I could have borne my pain with a better grace. But poor Emily, in revealing her unhappiness, had unbared his.

Wandering on through the sunny park I tried to analyse my mind and my motives, and realized with absolute clarity that the most disturbing memory of all was the amused and knowing expression in Oliver Erskine’s eyes as I turned away from the mirror.

So, striving to escape the turmoil of my thoughts, I walked further from the house than any of my previous expeditions had taken me. The eccentric towers of Hassanganj were distant among the trees. Feeling warm and thirsty, I looked around for some pleasant spot in which to rest myself before returning.

Before me was what I took to be a shady grove of trees, but approaching nearer I found that it was in fact a banyan, one of those strange Indian trees that drops tendrils from its spreading branches, which on touching the ground take root and form new trees, separate but conjoined with the parent bole by common branches. Increasing in this manner, horizontally as well as vertically, one seed may in time produce a forest of stalwart trunks and heavy foliage. But this banyan was even stranger. Here most of the dependant suckers had been cut away, leaving only a dozen or so young boles growing at the perimeter of a circle around the original trunk. Other tendrils had but just taken root, or hung loosely, rootlets touching the ground, from the tips of branches, and it was clear that the ultimate objective was to form an umbrella-like tent of foliage with the main bole at the centre and the lesser ones forming supports for the walls. For walls there were to be. One section, rather more than half the circle, had already been enclosed with bamboo trellises, up which clambered a variety of creepers and climbing plants. Within this bosky shelter was a pool on which floated the flat green pads of waterlilies, and around this flourished a profusion of ferns and every kind of shade-loving lily. Best of all, beside the pool stood a white iron bench.

I sat down gratefully, relishing the cool damp air of the place, the musty smell of wet earth and rotting leaves, and the pungent scent of a dozen large white lilies glowing in the semi-gloom by the seat. When it was complete—in a generation? In two?—what an elysium this would be, wrought half by God and half by man, cool, refreshing and beautiful. Had Old Adam thought of it, I wondered? Or Danielle?

For some time I sat in the fernery thinking my sad thoughts, but seduced from them frequently by the charm and originality of my surroundings. As at length I rose to leave, my eye was caught by a small figure walking composedly along the path I had traversed. I got up and followed. Hearing me approach, the child turned and eyed me in silence. Very solemn she was, but quite unafraid. Her diminutive white pyjamas were topped by a shirt of blue satin, and a wisp of veiling hung over one shoulder. Her hair was a lustrous brown with reddish tints, her complexion fair and smooth, and the
kohl
-ringed eyes that regarded me so seriously were as soft and dark as the centre of a pansy.

‘Good morning,’ I said, and then, greatly daring, essayed a few words of Hindustani. ‘
Nam? Kya nam hai?
’

She looked at me without replying for a moment, I think weighing me up, then lisped, ‘Yasmina.’

This was the limit of our conversation, but she took my proffered hand and set off with me contentedly. I was glad to have her company to deflect my thoughts from Charles, Emily and myself. Perhaps she was lost, and I wondered who her parents were and how she had managed to escape them. Her features were too delicate, and her clothing too luxurious for her to be a servant’s child. Occasionally she said something in her own language, gesturing at the peacocks on the grass or the squirrels frisking their tails from the trees, and when I responded in my own tongue, she regarded me from under her level brows with faint disapproval. I gained the impression that I was wanting in manners to pursue my own course in this way, and wished my Urdu lessons had been more productive of small talk with three-year-olds.

Eventually, as we neared the house, she was rescued and identified by Toddy-Bob.

‘Wandered off she has from her mother,’ he said, picking her up and putting her astride his shoulders. ‘She’s always doin’ that, ain’t you, love?’ He said something in her own tongue and she clapped both small hands to her cheeks and went off into peals of laughter. Toddy-Bob grinned his equine grin and winked at me. ‘Real rum ’un this—nothin’ won’t keep her where she belongs. You’ll get used to seeing her around the place, but see she keeps out of the Guv’nor’s way. ’E can’t abide nippers! There, I think I ’ear ’im now, so I’ll away with ’Er ’Ighness! Mornin’, miss,’ and Toddy touched his high hat to which the child was now clinging and disappeared around the house.

As I went inside, I reflected on the natural duplicity of my host. He ‘couldn’t abide nippers’, but no one could have guessed it from seeing him among his tenants’ children the previous day. There was no fathoming the man. If only I could be as sure that he had not fathomed me!