‘This one is interesting.’ Jocelyn pursed her lips. ‘It may look like a shift but it should make up well in very light cotton and it will be ideal. Until you go to Simla, that is.’
Daisy felt herself being scrutinised and knew that her intention to stay in Jasirapur had already been relayed. Gerald was the only one who could have passed on that small nugget and she felt her mouth tighten at the thought. For a while, she’d forgotten what must lie between this girl and her husband.
‘I’m not going to Simla—but no doubt you already know that.’ Her voice was devoid of any warmth and Jocelyn flushed at her tone.
‘I had heard,’ she admitted, ‘but I was hoping you would reconsider.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ and she got up abruptly to thrust the magazines into a rough pile.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,’ Jocelyn said awkwardly. Then, quite unexpectedly, she reached for Daisy’s hand. ‘I don’t want to intrude, Daisy—it’s your decision, obviously—but staying here is not the best idea. Really, it isn’t. I lived through the summer in Jasirapur one year. Ma wasn’t well enough to travel and by the time she felt better, it wasn’t worth making the journey. But it was hell, I can tell you. You may be coping with the heat at the moment but after weeks and weeks of feeling as though you’re being fried alive, you can start to feel ill. At the very least, you’ll feel utterly miserable.’
‘I know it won’t be comfortable, but Gerald and I are only just married and my place is beside my husband.’ For the first time in her life, she felt a hypocrite. Watching Jocelyn very carefully for her response, she also felt devious. Was she hoping to beard the girl with the reality of Gerald’s marriage or simply confirm her suspicion that they were something more than friends?
But Jocelyn’s face showed only understanding. ‘It must be awful to be separated so soon after your wedding, I can see that. I would hate it too. But the menfolk usually manage to come up for a few days once or twice, so it might not be as bad as you fear. If you change your mind, let my mother know. We’re not leaving for two days and she’ll rustle up a ticket for you in no time.’
‘Thank you, I’ll remember.’ The girl’s seeming innocence confused Daisy and in the face of such evident goodwill, it was difficult to maintain her coldness. ‘Tell me, does the durzi take my measurements, or does he just guess at them?’
Jocelyn giggled. ‘He has a tape measure which he waves around, while rigidly averting his eyes. I’ll go and get him. Have you given him the materials?’
‘Not yet, I’m afraid. I overslept and I’m in a complete muddle.’
‘Not to worry,’ and Jocelyn was out of the front door and calling to the durzi.
Thirty minutes later the man had his measurements, together with instructions as to which picture went with which material.
‘You’ll look a star!’ Jocelyn exclaimed, lovingly smoothing first one bolt of cloth and then another. ‘You’ve chosen beautiful materials. Where did you get them?’
‘Anish Rana took me to the bazaar and introduced me to one of the stallholders. His name was Sanjay, but I don’t remember the name of the shop.’
Jocelyn was looking thoughtful. ‘I hope you won’t mind me saying this, but you shouldn’t make too much of a friend of Anish.’
Daisy thought she knew what was coming, but she still asked, ‘Why not?’
‘He’s an Indian.’
‘But he’s also an officer with the regiment.’
‘I know but there are clear demarcations. It’s fine to socialise with him on regimental occasions but otherwise you should avoid being too much in his company.’ A swift look at her hostess’s face and she was constrained to add, ‘It’s wise to conform, my dear.’
Daisy knew it was pointless to protest. The arcane rules by which the army lived were as illogical as they were baffling.
‘Is there anything else I should know—apart from not making friends with Indians?’ She tried to keep her voice calm but she couldn’t prevent a sharpness creeping in. Jocelyn looked at her a little warily.
‘If you’ve never had servants before …’ she began, and then tailed off, evidently uncomfortable. Daisy smiled encouragingly at her. ‘If you’re not used to servants, Daisy, you shouldn’t be frightened of them. Make sure that Rajiv—it is Rajiv, isn’t it—make sure that he boils all your water and washes the vegetables in pinki pani. And your mali, whoever he is, should be told to get on with the job. The garden is in a desperate state.’
‘You’re right. The garden is hideous but we don’t have a gardener.’
‘No mali? How extraordinary!’
She allowed Jocelyn to exclaim for a while and then asked, ‘Can you tell me what a jemader is?’ She might as well learn as much as she could.
‘He’s the chap who washes the floors and cleans the bathrooms. I suppose you don’t have one of those either.’
‘No, I’m sorry to disappoint. Rajiv does it all.’
‘Then you should talk to Gerald. One man can’t do everything and it’s essential you have help in this climate.’
She remembered that Rosemary Laughton also intended to talk to Gerald. It was hardly the best time and, in truth, she would rather things stayed the same. It would be unnerving to be surrounded by more servants, some of them no doubt as hostile as Rajiv.
But Jocelyn was now in full swing. ‘And you’ve no electricity by the look of it. So that’s a punkah wallah you’ll be needing too.’
‘A what?’
‘He’s the man who sits on the veranda and pulls the rope to the punkah. That’s a big frill of material that hangs across the room—just a very large fan. He sits on the veranda and pulls a string threaded through the window and that moves the punkah. Usually he lays on his back with the string attached to his big toe. Sometimes he pulls but a lot of the time he sleeps.’
Daisy could not prevent a small laugh escaping. The image Jocelyn had conjured was comic.
‘It works,’ her visitor said seriously. ‘Really it does.’ Then she, too, began to laugh.
Halfway through packing the unwanted magazines back into her canvas bag, Jocelyn suddenly asked, ‘How did you two meet?’
‘It was in London when Gerald was on leave.’ If Jocelyn were as close to her husband as she imagined, she should surely know.
‘How romantic that must have been.’ Jocelyn sighed. ‘Usually it’s girls coming out from England to bag a husband rather than a man carrying off his beloved back to India.’
She was beginning to feel less and less sure she’d been right about Jocelyn. The girl was so transparent, or at least she seemed so.
‘The fishing fleet you mean.’ Daisy was pleased that she’d remembered the Colonel’s words.
‘That’s right. When we heard that Gerald was to marry, we knew it had to be true love. Daddy wouldn’t tell us any details though. He’s as close as a clam when he needs to be.’
‘There aren’t many details to tell.’
‘I’m sure there are. But I’m glad Gerald found you. He needs a wise woman.’
‘He does?’ This was a new idea. She was far from wise and she couldn’t see how Gerald had any need of her. ‘Why is that?’
‘He doesn’t always act sensibly.’ Jocelyn’s tone was tentative and her face flushed a bright pink. ‘There are stories … but I shouldn’t worry you. All young men can be a little wild, can’t they?’
‘I don’t know many young men,’ Daisy answered honestly.
‘You soon will.’
‘So how has Gerald been wild?’ If she could persuade Jocelyn to talk, the girl might reveal more than she should of her feelings. Jocelyn was open and sunny, but Daisy couldn’t forget she was also the woman that Gerald had wanted to marry.
‘Wild is probably not the right word. Everyone drinks too much, of course, but sometimes Gerald overdoes it rather. I’m sure it will be different now that you’re here. Everyone gambles too but …’ She left the sentence unfinished and rose to go. ‘I’ll leave you in
peace but I’ve enjoyed this morning tremendously. I’m sorry you aren’t coming to Simla. I’m sure we’d have had fun.’
Daisy only smiled in response for she was already replaying their conversation in her mind. Gerald had been drunk at the altar, not with normal wedding nerves but because he dreaded going through with the ceremony. That was now horribly clear. But according to Jocelyn he regularly drank to excess. And gambled. That took money. Was that why there were no servants other than Rajiv, because he could not afford to pay their wages? And then there was the letter. His father, if Joseph Minns were indeed his father, wanted money too. No wonder Gerald felt bitter towards her. She had been a huge disappointment; she had brought nothing to the marriage, not even a child.
She got up to see Jocelyn to the door and her knees buckled. The girl turned in concern and held on to her arm to steady her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Daisy said. ‘I don’t know where that came from.’ Her head was spinning and she had to stand still for several minutes before she felt able to move again.
‘It’s the heat, my dear, unless …’
‘No,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘Remember what I said about the sun. You’re very new to the climate. It can have some nasty effects. But I haven’t given up entirely on your travelling to Simla. You’ve still got time, just about, and if you decide to come, send me a message and I’ll come over and help you pack.’
Daisy murmured her thanks, though she had no intention of taking up the invitation.
‘When I get back, we must persuade Gerald to move you onto the station, then we’ll be near neighbours. There’s a bungalow vacant, I know, and I can’t understand why he didn’t apply for it. This place is so remote and hardly “Ideal Home”.’ Then she looked crestfallen. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Don’t apologise. I agree with you. The house is certainly shabby and far too isolated. I find that quite worrying. There was a man in the garden in the middle of the night, you know.’ She hadn’t meant to say anything but somehow she’d blurted it out. ‘At least, I think there was. I heard a noise, someone coughing and when I looked out of the window I saw a figure.’
Jocelyn’s eyes widened. ‘What kind of figure?’
‘A man, I think. Dressed in white. A long top, maybe, over baggy trousers. Indian clothes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I should be. It was bright moonlight but, if I’m honest, I can’t really be certain. It was only for a second that I saw him. It was like seeing a ghost.’
Jocelyn perked with excitement. ‘You know, it might have been. Ages ago I was told this land was once a burial site.’ Daisy’s expression reflected her discomfort at this news.
‘I’m sorry, that was thoughtless.’ The girl patted her hand consolingly. ‘But you don’t really believe in ghosts, do you? It’s much more likely to be a local and I’m sure he wouldn’t have meant any harm. There’s very little crime in Jasirapur—maybe he didn’t realise the bungalow was inhabited. It was empty for a long time before Gerald moved in.’
Daisy grasped at the explanation. ‘You must be right. That’s just what it was. Perhaps someone looking for somewhere he could smoke in peace.’
‘Whoever he was,’ the girl said firmly, ‘the sooner you move into the cantonment the better.’ Daisy had to agree. Ghost or peace seeker, she would rather not have an unknown man wandering through her garden at the dead of night.
She watched Jocelyn pedal out of sight and then turned her steps towards the bedroom. It was almost noon; the bungalow was oozing heat and she felt weak and faint from its effects. She lay fully clothed on top of the bed and listened to the whirring of the sewing machine a few yards away. It was a drowsy, soothing sound. She heard Rajiv making his way around the house, throwing buckets of water at each of the woven blinds. Not at hers though. The durzi would not appreciate a drenching as he worked and the thought produced a wry smile. But why on earth was she smiling? What a mess she was in. A mess? The words were wrong. They were too mundane for the situation she faced. While Jocelyn had been with her, she’d been able to forget her predicament. The girl was so natural, so friendly, that she’d largely disregarded the suspicions she harboured. But whether Jocelyn was involved with Gerald or not, last night’s quarrel had happened and it had left her …
How had it left her? She was unsure. She should be broken hearted but it didn’t feel that way. She felt numb certainly, but not destroyed. Something had changed. Was it Gerald’s behaviour since she’d arrived in India? Or had she just thought herself in love with him in London, carried away by the romance of being wined and dined by a handsome young man in a way she had never known before? She toyed with the idea it had been unaccustomed spoiling rather than true love that had broken through the defences she’d built.
She supposed she would never know. The human heart was too complicated and it was the here and now with which she had to contend. She wondered if there would ever come a time when they found a way of living together, of being truly husband and wife. A day when they’d become a family, a day when another baby would feel right for both of them. Her body began to throb with a familiar pain. It felt like a physical wound, a bullet that had penetrated soft tissue and lodged there. That was the true meaning of heartbreak, she realised. It was the loss of the child that hurt her so much, not the loss of Gerald. He had rejected her and that was a humiliation but she’d had plenty of those in her short life. She could overcome humiliation.
She must have fallen into an uneasy doze because when she heard the voice calling her, she started up in a daze. It was the durzi at the front door. She stumbled towards him, her head fuzzy with sleep.
‘Dresses ready for you to try, memsahib.’ The old man offered her a neatly folded pile of materials. ‘You try,’ he was insisting.
She took the clothes from his hands and held out each of the roughly sewn dresses, one at a time. She was amazed at how much he had done in the hours she’d lain sleeping. The clock showed her that it was well into the afternoon and Rajiv had not called her for lunch. Since his water-throwing activities, she had not heard from him at all. She walked past the durzi and out onto the veranda and looked around. There was no sign of cooking in the kitchen. No sign of Gerald either. Lunch must have been cancelled without her knowing.
‘You want me to try them now?’
‘I come back two days. You try before.’
‘Thank you. I will. I’m sure you’ve done a very good job.’
He said nothing more but picked up the sewing machine at his feet and the large bag he carried containing all he needed for his trade.
‘Two days then?’ she checked. He nodded and walked down the path towards the road leading back to the town.
Out on the veranda, the air was blistering and the sun now a pitiless glare. She retreated quickly into the darkness of the bungalow. The day’s air was stale within and cloyingly thick but she was beginning to feel a great deal better. After such a wretched night, she had needed to sleep. She would try on the clothes now, she decided, while she had the house to herself.
The first dress slipped over her shoulders. It was cut from a semi-sheer rayon, a pretty black and white print, and it felt cool and comfortable to the touch. A loose bow finished the v-shaped neckline, and the matching ‘v’ at the back of the dress was decorated with a beautiful black crested button. She stood on tiptoe to see her reflection in the small mirror that hung high on the wall of her bedroom, but was disappointed she could barely make out the neck and shoulders. She hurried into the bathroom where the mirror was bigger and hung at a better angle.
The frock was a perfect fit for her slim form, its skirt cut on the bias, and flaring into a flattering arc as she twirled this way and that before the mirror. Minutes passed as she continued to gaze at the figure reflected there. It was difficult to take her eyes from the girl who shone out of the glass, and an unfamiliar delight stole through her. She had never before had such a pret
ty dress; she had never before looked like this. And there were two more such lying invitingly on her bed. She must try them while she could indulge herself in this wonderful new pleasure undisturbed; with luck Rajiv would stay invisible for a while longer. Eagerly she turned to go, but something bright and glittering caught her eye. It was on the floor beneath the washstand and she wondered if it was a broken ornament or glass that Rajiv had swept beneath the basin, meaning to clear it later. Her vision was slightly blurred by the heat and she bent down to examine the object more closely. Her hand reached towards it—then her heart almost stopped. It was a head that she saw, a head shining amber, amber and grey, now rearing upwards, its spreading hood a fearsome sight. It was a snake and it was ready to strike.
CHAPTER SIX
She tried to scream but no sound emerged. Her mind was telling her to back out through the open bathroom door but her legs would not work. The snake leaned in towards her, angry at being disturbed. Its neck was growing thicker and its tongue and head flicking in a dangerous rhythm.
‘Rajiv!’ Her voice croaked the name.
‘Rajiv!’ Stronger now but still the servant did not come.
‘Rajiv!’ she screamed, and this time the sound pierced the air and caused the snake to rear its head even higher.
Then a sudden noise behind her, and she was pushed roughly aside. ‘Go into your bedroom and shut the door. Stay there until I call you.’
Grayson Harte. Somehow she found the strength to fight her paralysis and was out of the bathroom and into her bedroom in a matter of seconds, shutting herself securely away and sending up a prayer of thanks as she did so. But what was Grayson doing here? And where was Rajiv? Even if he’d gone to the market, he must have returned by now. But he had not answered her desperate calls.
She slumped down on the bed, her limbs shuddering uncontrollably. How long she stayed there she had no idea, only that her mind was filled with the most terrible thoughts. What was Grayson doing? Had he been attacked and was even now lying injured or worse on the bathroom floor? If only her legs would stop this agonising judder, she might gain sufficient courage to open the door and find out.
The Girl from Cobb Street Page 8