Adela turned to Sam and beckoned. ‘Come on, let’s share it.’ She tore the hot bread in two, stuffing a piece into her mouth. It tasted strongly of corn. ‘Delicious,’ she said, beaming.
The women laughed and pulled their shawls over their hair as Sam came striding towards them, grinning. Munching some chapatti, he struggled with a few words, which made them laugh harder.
‘What did you say to them?’ asked Adela.
‘I was trying to thank them,’ Sam murmured, ‘but maybe I’ve just proposed marriage.’
Adela laughed. He reverted to Hindustani and thanked them again. One of the little boys hung on to Sam’s hand and pointed at his camera.
‘Would you like me to take your photo?’ he asked. The boy grinned. Sam asked permission of the women. There was much loud discussion, and then one of the older women decreed that he could.
Quickly he took pictures of the children, and then the young woman who had given the chapatti stepped forward and solemnly posed, regarding the camera with bold dark eyes. The older women upbraided her and chased her inside the tent.
‘Time to go,’ Sam said, swiftly packing away his camera in the hard brown case, ‘before the men find us distracting the breakfast makers.’
Adela, wanting to give them something in return, pulled an embroidered handkerchief out of her pocket and held it out to the older woman who had sent Chapatti Girl indoors and seemed to be in charge.
‘Please,’ she said, smiling.
The bemused woman took it, running her work-roughened fingers over the flowers that Clarrie had once embroidered in bright silk threads. She gave Adela a gap-toothed smile of thanks. As Adela and Sam retreated, the woman was handing around the handkerchief for the others to admire.
Back at the treeline, they retrieved the horses. The sun was now up.
‘Sorry I’ve made you late for the clinic,’ Sam said with a rueful look.
‘I’m not sorry at all.’ Adela smiled. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. You’ll show me the photographs someday, won’t you?’
‘Of course. It’ll give me an excuse to come into Simla and see you.’ He winked.
Adela’s stomach fluttered. ‘I’d like that.’
He gave her his hand and helped her up into the saddle, even though they both knew she didn’t need it. She held on to his strong grip, looking down at him.
‘Auntie said you called at Briar Rose Cottage while I was away at Belgooree. Did you come to see me, Sam?’
She saw the colour creep into his jaw. His hazel eyes held her look.
‘Yes, I hoped you would be there.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t.’ A muscle twitched in his lean cheek, as if he struggled with whether to tell her something.
But he dropped his hold and turned away. ‘Better get you back to the mission before Fatima sends out a search party.’
Disappointed, Adela coaxed her pony into a trot and set off into the forest, leaving Sam to follow.
Later that day Hunt returned from Nerikot in a foul mood.
‘Mandalists are causing no end of trouble. People don’t feel safe to come out to prayer meetings, in case they get caught up in a demonstration.’
Scandalised to find two unchaperoned young women living under the same roof as his fellow missionary, he turfed Fatima and Adela out of his room and sent Sam off to distant Sarahan to plant more apple trees.
‘Take my room,’ Sam insisted to the women. ‘Sorry about Hunt – he’s not usually this territorial. The protests in Nerikot have unnerved him. I’ll be back before you leave.’
‘We need to speak,’ Fatima said, taking him aside. Adela observed them in the garden, heads bent together and talking intensely. Soon afterwards Sam packed and left.
In frustration Adela watched him go. She was sure that he felt something for her, but perhaps not as deeply as she did for him. There was something about Sam Jackman that was always held in check, as if he didn’t trust himself to show his true feelings. Or maybe she was wrong and he just didn’t share those feelings.
She drove herself at work, filling every minute so that she wouldn’t dwell on his absence. Hunt stayed out of their way and ate alone in his room, though he did help Adela collect supplies for the nomads. She persuaded Fatima to make a visit to the Gaddi encampment and take ointment, bandages, children’s clothes and blankets, as it was still cold up the mountain. She liked the friendly, independent nomads, who welcomed them to their tented homes and sat around in the evening sun smoking hookahs while their women cooked and sang songs.
Only one man seemed to resent their presence and gave them hostile glances. He appeared to be the guardian of the bold young woman with the braided hair who had befriended Adela previously, for he shouted at the girl for her curiosity. The Gaddi girl – who was called Pema – stroked Adela’s wavy hair and creamy skin with smiles of appreciation. Adela gave her two hair clips, which delighted Pema but enraged the older man. He hit the girl with a stick and chased her inside the tent. When Adela and Fatima protested, the man snarled at them to leave. The others seemed afraid of him. How Adela wished that Sam could have been there to stand up to the bullying man; Adela was worried that he obviously mistreated Pema.
Lying at night on a camp bed in Sam’s room under one of his blankets, next to his bed where Fatima slept, Adela was consumed with thoughts of him. A week later there was still no sign of him.
Just before they were due to return to Simla, two agitated Gaddi shepherds appeared at the clinic carrying a young woman bundled in cloths and shrieking in pain. While the woman had been sitting by the fire, someone had knocked over a cauldron of boiling water and badly scalded her right side from her hand to her cheek.
Adela gasped in horror. ‘It’s Pema!’
Fatima got to work immediately, tending and binding her burns.
‘From the looks of it they delayed bringing her here,’ Fatima said in frustration. ‘One of her wounds is infected.’
Adela tried to calm Pema and hide how upset she was to see her new friend in such agony. She kept watch at the clinic overnight. The men wished to take her straight back to the camp, but Fatima was adamant Pema should stay in their care.
‘She’s feverish and shouldn’t be moved; her injuries are serious.’
The young men said that they were due to move on very soon to Spiti, where they had grazing rights.
‘We’ll take good care of her at the mission,’ Adela promised. They seemed nervous about leaving the girl behind, but reluctantly went.
Fatima delayed their return to Simla, deeply worried about her patient. ‘Thinking of that bullying man,’ she said, ‘it makes me wonder if it was really an accident.’
That night Pema’s temperature soared and she babbled incoherently. Adela stayed by her side, singing to her softly and wiping her brow, occasionally allowing one of the auxiliaries to take over while she snatched some sleep. After three days Pema’s fever went, and she was comfortable enough to move up to the mission bungalow. Even though her face was still half-hidden in a dressing, Pema rewarded Adela with her wide smile. They made a bed on the floor in Sam’s room, where the girl was happier than on a framed bed. Nitin, Sam’s cook, made her soups and dals that were easy to eat. When he discovered she had a sweet tooth, he made her rice pudding with cinnamon and gur.
Through Nitin – a hills man who understood her language – Pema explained that her parents had died in an avalanche, so she belonged to her uncle. He was a strong, loyal man, but had a terrible temper, especially after drinking sur, their homemade liquor.
A few days later the belligerent uncle returned with half a dozen henchmen to claim Pema, insisting that they had delayed long enough. Pema was upset at their abrupt arrival, but when Fatima tried to stall them, the uncle shouted at her and raised his stick. Fatima prepared a bag of fresh dressings and impressed upon the younger men that they were for Pema and that her dressings had to be changed regularly. The young Gaddi woman wept in distres
s as she said hurried goodbyes. Adela gently hugged her and told her they would meet again. She pushed a handkerchief into Pema’s pocket that was wrapped around a cheap chain Adela sometimes wore that Pema had admired. She hoped Pema’s uncle wouldn’t take these from her.
There was nothing now to keep them in Narkanda. The next day Fatima and her helpers packed up the clinic and returned to Simla.
Sam returned two days later.
‘I can’t say I was sorry to see them go,’ Hunt said, emerging from the sanctuary of his room. ‘Those women took over the whole house, as well as the garden. What a noise they made, laughing and chattering till all hours. And we had a dozen ruffians at the door demanding the return of some shepherd girl. I know we’re here to serve the natives, Jackman, but in future they can stick to their clinic in the village, can’t they?’
Sam was deeply disappointed to have missed them. He could just imagine the house ringing with Adela’s fits of laughter. How quiet it would be without her.
‘What shepherd girl?’
‘One of those Gaddies. Badly burnt. Terrible business, but that man who came for her looked like he would gladly cut all our throats. Anyway, they’ve all gone,’ Hunt said and sighed with relief. ‘Now we can have a quiet supper. It’s lamb chops. Bet you’re glad to be back.’
It was Nitin who explained the drama of Pema’s injuries, of her being rushed down to Narkanda and then recuperating at the bungalow.
‘Dr Khan saved her life, and Miss Adela looked after Pema like her own sister. Now they are gone.’ Nitin gave a mournful shrug. He seemed as sad as Sam that the bungalow was empty of guests. Sam sat on his bed, pressing his face to a blanket that still held a scent of Adela.
He would have come back sooner if it hadn’t been for Fatima’s request that he seek out Ghulam. On his way up the Sutlej Valley, Sam had come across the activist openly distributing leaflets in Nerikot, just as Fatima had suspected. Sam had found Ghulam a highly persuasive man, and had given him sanctuary at the remote bungalow at Sarahan, knowing that Boz and his foresters would not be using it until midsummer.
Ghulam had rekindled in Sam his fierce anger at the injustice suffered by the poorest in India at the hands of the rich and powerful. Ever since his boyhood, when he’d watched impotently as destitute and starving tea pickers had thrown themselves into the Brahmaputra River and tried in vain to reach his father’s steamer, Sam had raged that such things were allowed to happen. It was why he had joined the mission. It was why he must remain single and dedicate his life to bringing about a better world. Ghulam was the same, though he believed in revolution by force if necessary, whereas Sam was against violence. Yet meeting Fatima’s brother had reminded Sam that only by being single-minded and without emotional ties could you hope to achieve such goals.
Sam steeled himself to put away the blanket and bury his desire for Adela. He knew that she cared for him – it shone from her beautiful green-brown eyes – but she deserved better. The warm-hearted Robson girl would find no difficulty in attracting others to her – of that he was sure.
CHAPTER 9
Adela, in camisole and knickers, was rifling through the wardrobe in the green room looking for the yellow sari she was to wear for the tableaux. Deborah was already dressed in green pyjama-trousers, a tunic and a gold-edged shawl, and was applying her make-up.
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in, Tommy!’ Adela called. ‘Any idea where my sari is? Tommy, if you’ve hidden it, I’ll string you up by you know what—’
Deborah’s squeal cut her off. Adela emerged from the wardrobe to see a handsome young Indian in a glittering gold coat, tight white trousers, curling slippers and a magnificent blue turban studded with jewels.
Adela gaped.
‘I’m terribly sorry, ladies,’ he said in a cut-glass English accent. ‘I’m looking for Mr Villiers; I’m to be in his play.’ By the amused look on his slim moustachioed face, he didn’t look at all sorry. Adela dived behind the wardrobe door, pulled on a silk dressing gown, and re-emerged with a smile.
‘I thought you were Tommy Villiers; he’ll be here somewhere. Do you want me to find him for you?’
‘Well, that’s most kind’ – he eyed her – ‘but shouldn’t you put something on first?’
‘Oh, Tommy’s seen it all before,’ Adela said, and then laughed, ‘hasn’t he, Deb?’
But her friend was too shocked at the appearance of an Indian in their dressing room to speak.
‘I must say,’ Adela said, padding barefoot to the door, ‘you look terrific in that outfit. Wardrobe have really pushed the boat out for this production, haven’t they? Are you with the Indian Army?’
‘No, I’m not.’ He gave her a bemused look.
‘You’re not with the forestry lot, are you? It’s just that you look familiar.’
He looked amused. ‘No, not the forestry either. But I think I know who you are. Miss Robson from Belgooree, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Adela smiled. ‘So you’re something to do with tea?’
He shook his head. ‘Sophie Khan told me to look out for you.’
‘You know Auntie Sophie? How lovely!’
She led the way into the corridor and stopped in astonishment. Two liveried guards, standing either side of the door, saluted. For a dazed moment Adela thought they must also be part of the production of The Arabian Nights. Then realisation dawned; they were wearing the yellow-and-turquoise livery of the Raja of Gulgat.
She turned and stared at the Indian actor, blood rushing to her cheeks.
‘Oh Lord.’ She gasped. ‘You’re – are you a real prince?’
He gave a charming smile. ‘Sanjay Singh of Gulgat, the Raja’s nephew.’
Adela dropped in a curtsy, clutching her dressing gown and feeling ridiculous. ‘I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I thought you were an Indian officer or someone on leave – just dressed up for the play.’
He chuckled and swept her with a look. ‘No need for ceremony, Miss Robson, especially given the circumstances.’ He held out a hand. ‘My friends call me Jay.’
‘Call me Adela, please.’ She shook his hand. ‘What a fool I feel.’
‘Your openness is refreshing,’ he assured her. ‘I prefer it any day to the fawning of courtiers or the stuffiness of British officials. And yes, I am dressed up for the part. You’re much more likely to see me in cricket whites than all this.’ He swept a mocking hand over his appearance.
‘We must find Tommy,’ she said hastily, pointing up the corridor. He insisted she went ahead. ‘It’s very good of you to volunteer for the play,’ she said over her shoulder as she led the way. ‘Have you acted before?’
‘No, but Colonel Baxter approached me at the club – he’s an old friend of my uncle’s – and I didn’t think it would take a great deal of effort to play an Eastern prince. I gather I just stand around looking decorative and don’t speak.’
Adela laughed, liking his droll humour. ‘Colonel Baxter is a dear. How are Auntie Sophie and Uncle Rafi?’
‘A couple of junglis,’ said Sanjay. ‘I don’t know how they stand being in Gulgat all year round. Even the Raja’s wife, Rita, insists on getting away to Bombay or France once in a while. I’ve spent the last three years in Europe, so Gulgat is a bit of a shock I can tell you.’
‘I was hoping they might come to Simla this summer to see me in a play.’ Adela stopped outside Tommy’s door.
‘If I’d known there was a Belgooree rose blooming in Simla,’ he said, smiling, ‘I would have come a lot sooner too.’
They stood for a moment assessing each other. He was stunningly handsome in his princely garments, but she remembered how his demanding behaviour had caused Sophie and Rafi to argue one Christmas. According to Sophie, Sanjay had been sent off to university – was it Oxford? – to keep him out of palace intrigues and give him an elite education. He was a man used to getting his own way – a spoilt brat, Sophie had called him – but that was years ago, and no doubt he had matured.
‘We’ve met before,’ Adela said, wanting to wrong-foot him for catching her half-dressed and causing consternation.
‘We have?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘On a hunting trip when I was six and you must have been about ten. You threatened to skin my pet tiger and made me cry.’
His dark eyes widened an instant. ‘What a little brute I must have been.’ He laughed. ‘I hope you won’t hold it against me for ever.’
‘I forgive you as from now.’ Adela smirked.
‘Good,’ said Sanjay, ‘and I will endeavour to make amends. You must come out to the villa at Mashobra – with your guardian of course – and I can tell you all about the intrigues of the Gulgat court. That is what women like to hear, isn’t it? The latest gossip? And I’m sure Sophie Khan will have given you quite the wrong impression of me. Promise me you will come, Adela.’
She couldn’t help but be flattered. ‘Promise.’ She smiled and then knocked on Tommy’s door and walked in before he answered.
It soon became backstage gossip that Adela was being pursued by the young Prince Sanjay, who spent his days riding or playing polo at Annandale and his evenings in the clubs and card rooms of Simla, with the occasional appearance at the Gaiety for rehearsals, causing a flutter among the young actresses.
‘You should watch your step with that one,’ Deborah warned. ‘Prince Sanjay’s got a reputation for trying to get his way with European girls. I know someone who knew someone who was with him at Oxford. Word has it he was sent down for having a woman in his rooms.’
‘Stop listening to tittle-tattle,’ Adela said breezily. ‘Jay’s a perfect gentleman. Aunt Fluffy is always there chaperoning me anyway, and she thinks he’s a real charmer. They share a love of Tagore’s poetry.’
She dismissed Deborah’s disapproval as a dose of envy at Jay singling her out rather than her friend; blonde Deborah was used to basking in men’s attention during the Simla season. Why Jay had done so, Adela wasn’t at all sure, except that she was young, unattached and popular among the theatre crowd, and he was in Simla to have some fun.
The Girl From the Tea Garden Page 15