‘We haven’t talked much of our families. I don’t think Gerald was at home a great deal. He left as a young boy to go to boarding school.’
‘I know. Hanbury.’
The single word startled her. Gerald had often spoken of Hanbury but her companion’s calm announcement had shocked her. It was as though an explosion had been detonated between them. He saw her face and tried to explain. ‘I was at school there too. It’s the kind of place you get sent if your family has military connections. Or wants them. Any connection in fact to the Empire, particularly to India.’
‘So you knew Gerald?’ She held her breath.
‘I recognised him the other day in the bazaar,’ he said carefully.
His tone told her everything. He knew of Gerald’s double life. He had to. ‘And what was Hanbury like?’ She was playing for time, hoping she might lure him into admitting he’d known her husband as Jack Minns.
But if he had, he was keeping his counsel. ‘It was like most such schools. There were good things about it and bad. I remember a good deal of bullying but then there always is at public school and some boys have a knack for it. It’s not always the rough stuff either, the blows, the kicks, the hair yanking. But more insidious things like blackmail. Spying on you, for instance, watching your every move so that if you fall foul of a school rule—and there are plenty to fall foul of—you’re threatened with disclosure. Unless, of course, you polish the boy’s shoes or tidy his room or give him the rather nice cake your aunt has sent.’
It was clear Grayson was relating his own experience. But was it Gerald he was speaking of? His tale was too detailed, too specific, not to have one particular boy in mind. It might have been Gerald, she thought—she’d been on the receiving end of that same cold calculation—but Grayson was not about to enlighten her. She supposed it was not the kind of thing you said to a man’s wife.
She shaded her eyes and looked up at the sky. ‘The sun is much lower now.’
‘It must be time to go then. Our journey back should be cooler.’
He offered her his arm and she felt the warm touch of skin. She looked up and caught his expression just for a moment, then quickly looked away. He was careful not to touch her again as they picked their way back through the scattered boulders to the pony who had been happily grazing by the side of the track.
By the time they approached the village once more, twilight was dropping fast, and wood smoke mixed with the beautiful smell which drifted off the fields on either side. Neither of them spoke during the short journey and when they drove up to the bungalow, Grayson made no move to get down from the buggy. It was better this way, she thought; a meeting with Gerald would be too difficult.
She clambered down unaided and looked up at him, feeling a sudden shyness. ‘Thank you, Grayson, thank you for the temple. I shall remember it.’
She walked a little way towards the house while he remained where he was, watching her. But before she reached the veranda steps, a thought brought her back to the carriage. ‘Thank you, too, for despatching the cobra.’
‘I won’t say it was my pleasure but I’d urge you to tell your husband what happened. He should know there are cobras around. And he needs to make sure your servants come when you call them.’
‘There’s only Rajiv to come.’
‘He’s the only man you employ?’
‘Yes. But I know all about malis and jemaders and punkah wallahs.’
‘Do you indeed?’ He sounded amused. ‘Then you and British India are getting truly acquainted.’
Gerald arrived minutes after the pony and trap had disappeared in a cloud of red dust. He strode through the door, according Daisy a perfunctory nod, and then disappeared to change his clothes. They were creased and sweaty from games at the Club. That was the afternoon’s entertainment, she knew, though at this time of the year little more than billiards or cards. When he reappeared, Rajiv was already waiting to serve dinner. The man had arrived back at the compound as mysteriously as he’d vanished earlier in the day. She wondered whether or not she should tell Gerald of his absence. Grayson had advised her to but Grayson was not here, nor did he know the dire state of their marriage.
The meal was eaten quickly and in silence and, when the last plates had been cleared, Gerald stood up and stretched his long limbs. ‘I’m off to the Mess. A couple of chaps and I have got a game going. Don’t wait up for me. You look all in, you should have an early night. I expect you’ve had too much sun. I did warn you.’
So they were not to discuss their situation and she was to be left alone once more. Her spirit hardened. ‘Something happened today which frightened me a great deal.’
His eyebrows rose slightly but otherwise he looked less than interested. ‘A snake, a cobra found its way into the bathroom. I nearly picked it up.’
‘You would have had a problem. They weigh a ton.’
He went across to the desk and began gathering together several packs of cards and a small heap of notes and coins.
Daisy bounced up from her chair. ‘I’m serious, Gerald. They’re very dangerous, aren’t they? It was only the fact that Grayson Harte decided to call that saved me.’
‘Harte! What was he doing here?’
‘You know him then?’ He must do, she thought, but he wouldn’t want to acknowledge it. That would bring him perilously close to declaring his true identity.
Her husband didn’t answer and she went on, ‘He came to say hello, nothing more, but it was fortunate that he did. He killed the snake.’
Gerald still said nothing but edged towards the door. She wanted to shake him. He seemed oblivious to the danger she’d been in. ‘I called for Rajiv, two or three times, but he didn’t come. He simply disappeared and for the whole day. At least I think he disappeared. I didn’t go near his quarters so I can’t be sure.’
‘On no account should you. I don’t expect he heard you calling.’
‘I screamed. And if he was in the kitchen, he was only a stone’s throw away. He must have heard me.’
‘Then he wasn’t there. He’d probably gone to the bazaar to buy food.’
‘He didn’t tell me he was going and he usually does. Grayson thought it odd that I was alone here.’
Gerald glared down at her. ‘I find it odd that Grayson Harte has the time to pay social visits. I gather from Club gossip that he’s a District Officer, or supposed to be. So why isn’t he up country? What’s he doing in Jasirapur?’
‘I know nothing about his work, except that he appears to be very busy.’
‘I bet he is, interfering in people’s lives.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, why was he here?’ he repeated. ‘Why appear out of the blue just when you needed help? Was it so he could rush in and play Sir Galahad?’
She looked perplexed, unsure of what he was getting at.
‘You knew him on board ship, didn’t you?’ Her husband was getting into his stride. ‘He was in the bazaar too, you told me. In fact he’s developing quite a habit of hanging around. Perhaps he’s taken a fancy to you and it doesn’t worry him that you’re a married woman. It will worry everyone else though. If you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t London. You’ll be a prize for the gossip mongers.’
‘That’s ridiculous, Gerald. He has no personal interest in me.’ She wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but she must banish the idea from both their minds.
He grunted. ‘Maybe he’s out to impress then, and just likes playing at being a hero.’
‘Are you saying that Grayson planned to rescue me from the snake, so he could show how brave he was?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘But then he would have to know I needed rescuing. He would have to know a cobra would find its way into the bathroom.’
Gerald shrugged his shoulders. ‘Work it out for yourself.’
She gasped. ‘You’re suggesting that he deliberately left the snake there? That’s even more ridiculous.’
‘I’m not suggesting
anything,’ he backtracked. ‘All I’m saying is that he’s a pretty odd character, certainly nothing like any of the ICS chaps I know. He doesn’t come to the Club and no one there knows him personally. They know his name but they don’t know him. None of the Civil Service bods have a clue about his work. You should watch your step, Daisy, that’s all I’m saying. It will do neither of us any good if you get talked about.’
‘I don’t think I’m in any danger from Mr Harte.’ She wasn’t entirely sure of that either but she would do well to forget any attraction she felt. And well to say nothing of their visit together to the temple.
Without another word, Gerald strode past her. She was left feeling bewildered. The suggestion that Grayson would deliberately have put her in danger was too crazy to contemplate. And crazy, too, that somehow he liked her more than he should. He was an honourable man, a decent man. Yet this afternoon at the temple … She’d been leaning against the boulder’s warm surface, feeling herself merge with the stones and the statues and the setting sun. And then she’d become conscious of his eyes. They were of the deepest blue, eyes that saw clearly she was sure, but also eyes that were appreciative. She’d felt herself come alive beneath his gaze but had immediately suppressed the feeling. Whatever the truth of Gerald’s absurd accusation, Grayson Harte was one complication she must do without.
She wandered disconsolately into her bedroom. She supposed she must have an early night. She was feeling weary from the heat and from the day’s events and there was little else for her to do. Sleeping alone was becoming the pattern of her married life. The dresses she’d been trying on were still spread-eagled across the bed and she folded them into a neat pile for the tailor’s next visit. She no longer felt happy and excited at the thought of them, for what use were pretty frocks if her husband would not even look at her? Somehow she must break the pattern, somehow recover the ardent lover she had known in London. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow a new Indian dawn and despite her unhappiness, she realised she was looking forward to it. She went across to the bedside table and took from its drawer a small wad of papers held together by an elastic band. From this, she extracted a worn photograph and nestled it on her lap. Her mother looked out at her but Lily Driscoll’s expression gave little away. It was professional, business-like, without a hint of the trouble to come. And there had been trouble, Daisy knew. She’d told Grayson Harte that her father’s name did not appear on her birth certificate. What she hadn’t said was that in the space where it should have been, the word ‘Illegitimate’ had been scrawled in harsh black ink. Her mother had never married, despite the child she’d borne. Was that because her sweetheart had been sent to the Front and perished like so many others in the killing fields of France—the date was certainly right—or was it because she’d refused to marry, because her experience had been shorn of love and too much like Daisy’s own, a night of false promises?
She looked again at the photograph, peering intently at the image. There was the stiff white cap sitting proudly atop her mother’s soft waves, the sharp white cuffs, and the starched dress, caught at the neck with a pendant-shaped brooch. The very same emblem that she had seen this afternoon. She’d felt sure of it at the temple and she’d been right. So her mother had an association with this place, even though it was one bought in a shop on a distant shore. Nandni Mata meant ‘daughter’, and somehow that seemed significant. It was part of that strange feeling of belonging that from time to time had washed over her since she’d arrived in India. It was a feeling she’d not known before. She had never belonged at Eden House and never belonged with Miss Maddox, though that lady had been so very kind to her. But for the first time in her life, here in Jasirapur, she was beginning to feel a sense of connection, a connection that went far deeper than disillusion over her marriage and terror at a rogue snake.
She had fallen into a thick sleep and woke, bleary-eyed, several hours later. There’d been a noise, she was sure. Not from the cicadas and jackals and not from a man in the garden this time, but a noise loud enough to wake her from the deepest slumber. She tried to work out what she’d heard. It seemed to be coming from outside her bedroom door, a dragging sound across a wooden floor, something heavy, something too heavy to carry. She got up. Her watch showed two o’clock, the middle of the night, and the room was inky-dark except for stabs of starlight that found their way through the woven blinds. She could just see the outline of the door and she padded across to it. The noise had appeared to come from directly outside. She turned the handle and pulled, but nothing happened. She repeated the action, pulling harder this time. But still the door did not budge. She peered through the keyhole but could see nothing. She should be able to see something, unless—unless there was a key the other side. She’d not even known there was a key to the room, but surely if there were, it should be on this side of the door. Her dazed brain tried to make sense of what she was seeing. A key the other side of the door, and a door that wouldn’t open. She was locked in. Someone had locked her in!
CHAPTER SEVEN
After that there could be no sleep. She was a prisoner in her own home. Who had turned the key on her and why was a frightening mystery and, though her mind restlessly sought to uncover a likely explanation, she could find none. She dozed fitfully, always alert for any sound that might help to make sense of her captivity. But nothing further occurred to disturb the peace of the night and when she finally crawled from her bed early in the morning and stumbled to the door, it was to find it opened to her touch. There was no sign of a key on either side of the door.
She padded into the sitting room as Gerald was about to leave. He was silhouetted in the doorway, his khaki shirt and shorts smartly pressed, and a topi in his hand. From beyond the veranda, she heard the harsh churn of a car engine. He was in a hurry, ready to say a hasty goodbye, when Daisy moved with surprising speed towards him and clutched hold of a pristine shirtsleeve.
‘I must talk to you.’
‘Not now. I’m late.’
She gazed at the corner clock whose hands had barely passed seven. ‘I won’t keep you long.’
He shifted impatiently but she was determined he would hear her out. ‘I woke in the night. Something woke me, though I’m not sure what.’
‘And you’re keeping me from work to tell me that?’
‘The noise isn’t important. Well, maybe it is …’ She encountered a scowl and stuttered to a close, but then gathered her forces again. ‘It was when I went to find out where the noise had come from, that’s what’s really important. I couldn’t get out of my room. The door was locked.’
‘Locked, Gerald!’ she repeated when he remained impassive. ‘Somebody had used the key to my bedroom and locked the door from the other side.’
‘That’s impossible.’ His laugh was not entirely easy. ‘You must have been sleepwalking.’
‘I wasn’t. I was as wide awake as you are now.’
‘Then if you weren’t asleep, you were in some kind of daze. Your door couldn’t have been locked. There are no keys to any of the doors. Even the front door has no lock.’ He turned once more to go but she moved in front of him.
‘I was locked in.’ She felt vulnerable and slightly foolish standing there in her thin nightdress and bare feet, but she knew she was right and she was not going to allow him to brush the matter aside. Hadn’t she spent half the night in fear?
He took her by the shoulders, his voice a little softened. ‘You thought you were locked in. Imagination, Daisy, very likely the effects of the sun. I warned you how bad it could get. You’ve been here a while and it’s beginning to cloud your judgement.’
Her lips shut tight. It wasn’t the heat playing with her mind, she was certain. But then, what else could it be? What other explanation? If Gerald were right and there were no keys at all in the bungalow, the door could not have been locked.
He seemed to sense his opportunity to leave. ‘You probably tried the door and it stuck a little. Then you imagined you were locked i
n, tried to tug harder and made the door jam even more. That can happen. Maybe you started to panic and think you weren’t going to get out.’
He was right. She had been in a panic. She’d crept back to bed, her pulse hammering and for a while hidden herself entirely beneath the bed’s one cotton sheet. Perhaps he was right, too, about the heat. It was creeping up on her unnoticed, just like Jocelyn had warned, creeping up and slowly turning her crazy, fermenting her imagination to invent the silliest of dramas. She didn’t know this country, didn’t know its power. Thinking she belonged here was so much moonshine. She didn’t belong, that was brutally clear.
Two days later, she rose even earlier than usual. The durzi was due today and she was dressed and waiting for him before the clock struck seven. But once she’d given him the dresses to finish, she was left with nothing more to do for the rest of the day except contemplate the bungalow’s four walls. And contemplate them alone. The solitude was beginning to play more and more on her nerves and she wasn’t sure why—the noises in the night perhaps, the locked door, a servant who was there and yet not there and, of course, the snake. She wanted to be as far away from the house as possible, but had no idea where to go. They lived a distance from anywhere she could name—from the civil station, from Jasirapur itself. She wondered why Gerald had chosen such an isolated place, when according to Jocelyn Forester, he could have rented accommodation within the cantonment. She supposed it must have been for money reasons and felt a familiar heaviness descend. He’d accused her of forcing him into marriage at too early an age, when he was unable to afford a wife for several years. What he hadn’t said was that he needed to marry money, or at least a woman with worthwhile connections. But Daisy knew it for the disagreeable truth.
She strolled onto the veranda. The morning was still early enough to be fresh and though she knew that would very soon change, the cool air on her cheeks reinforced her restlessness and made her itch to walk out. Except there was nowhere to walk and it would hardly be sensible to do so.
The Girl from Cobb Street Page 10