by Dilly Court
Tilly was about to protest and defend Barney, but Mrs Barton held up her hand. ‘I know, you’re madly in love with him and I’m not too old to remember how that feels, but this situation cannot continue. Pack your things, Tilly. You’re coming with me.’
‘Thank you, but if it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’d rather wait here for my husband.’
‘He might be gone for weeks, that’s just the way things are, and that is why we look after young wives like yourself. You simply can’t go on camping in bachelor quarters, my dear. I won’t take no for an answer.’
Although Tilly was used to the weekly communal bath night at home, she was uneasy and embarrassed when undressing in the presence of Mrs Barton’s ayah. Back in Delhi, the paniwallah had brought the water to fill the tin tub, but bathing was a private matter. Hattie had been happy to allow Meera to attend to her most personal needs, but then Hattie had been brought up in a house full of servants. Tilly was not at all sure it was proper to have a woman wash her hair when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. However, it seemed churlish to refuse help and Mrs Barton’s shelves were well stocked with Pears’ soap, scented bath crystals and even tooth powder that must have been sent out from England. After a long, luxurious soak, Tilly felt relaxed and the unpleasant experience in the town was fading into a memory. As soon as she was dressed and the ayah’s skilful fingers had worked their magic on her hair, she was shown into the drawing room.
Mrs Barton set her embroidery hoop aside, smiling at Tilly. ‘Are you feeling better now?’
‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’
‘Sit down, Tilly.’ Mrs Barton’s smile faded. ‘I’ve spoken to my husband and I’m afraid he’s rather cross with Captain Palgrave.’
Perching on the edge of a chair, Tilly clasped her hands in her lap. She could think of nothing to say that would excuse Barney’s behaviour.
‘I’m so sorry, my dear, but my husband has made it quite clear that you cannot be allowed to stay. Captain Palgrave was wrong to bring you all this way without first gaining the permission of his commanding officer, and there simply isn’t a suitable married quarter available.’
‘Oh!’ Tilly stared at Mrs Barton, quite lost for words. ‘Oh, dear!’
Mrs Barton’s stern expression softened into a sympathetic smile. ‘I am sorry, Tilly, but I’m afraid you will have to return to Delhi as soon as travel arrangements can be made.’
‘Not without Barney?’
‘He may be away for several weeks, maybe even months. It would be better all round if you went back to Delhi. I know it’s hard my dear; I’ve been a soldier’s wife for nearly twenty years and I do understand how painful it is to be separated.’
Bowing her head, Tilly bit her lip; she must not argue and she must not cry.
‘You have family in Delhi? Or friends with whom you could stay?’
‘I was staying with Barney’s brother and sister.’
‘Splendid. I’m sure they’ll be only too pleased to have your company again, at least until a married quarter becomes available. As soon as the travel arrangements have been made I’ll see that a telegram is sent informing them of your return.’ Rising to her feet, Mrs Barton gave a tug on the bell pull. ‘Until then, you’ll be our guest.’
‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’
Although the Bartons treated her with nothing but kindness, Tilly felt uncomfortable living in their home and would have willingly gone back to the bachelor quarters had it been possible. During the two days that it took to organise her transport, Tilly was introduced to some of the other officers’ wives at a formal afternoon tea party held by Mrs Barton. Despite their well-mannered reception, Tilly was aware that she was being scrutinised and appraised, and that beneath the smiling veneer these women were just as spiteful and catty as Ethel Bootle. They had known the minute she opened her mouth that she was not one of them, despite her efforts to ape Hattie’s way of speaking and clipped, upper class tones. And why should I change for them, Tilly thought angrily, as she packed her clothes in a valise. Barney loves me for what I am and they’re just a pack of silly snobs. Why should I care what they think? But she did care, very much. Her romantic dreams of life in India had been blighted by the contempt of her class-conscious compatriots and, quite suddenly, Tilly longed for home and for the warmth of her family. Despite the strange but undeniable beauty of India, she found herself yearning for the sights and sounds of London: the pale fingers of morning mist curling over the river, the mournful hooting of steam whistles and the costermongers’ cries.
On the morning of her departure from the cantonment Tilly was up early, dressed and ready long before the ayah came to tell her that the tonga had arrived. Mrs Barton was waiting for her in the entrance hall, and even though she had never for a moment betrayed her inner feelings, Tilly was certain that her leaving was just as much a relief to Mrs Barton as it was to herself.
‘The bearer has taken your valise to the tonga, my dear.’ Mrs Barton presented a soft, scented cheek for Tilly to kiss. ‘I do hope you have a good journey.’
‘Thank you for everything, ma’am.’
‘Don’t thank me, Tilly. I’ve done little enough, but we’ll make sure that your next visit is a happier one.’
‘You will explain everything to Barney?’ Tilly said, handing Mrs Barton a letter that had taken her the best part of the night to compose. ‘Please tell him to contact me as soon as possible.’
‘Of course I will.’ At a signal from Mrs Barton, the bearer opened the front door. ‘I’ll say goodbye here,’ she said. ‘If I go out in the sun without a parasol it ruins my complexion.’
As Tilly made her way along the tree-shaded path she saw a familiar figure standing to attention by the tonga. ‘Clem!’
Holding out his hand, Clem helped her into the carriage. ‘I’ve been detailed to see you safely to Delhi, ma’am.’ He sprang up beside her, signalling the tonga-wallah to drive on.
Clutching her straw hat to prevent it from blowing away in the stiff breeze, Tilly relaxed against the squabs. ‘Thank goodness it’s you. I don’t think I could have stood it another minute if I’d had to put up with some la-di-dah subaltern.’
Clem shot her a serious glance. ‘You don’t sound too happy.’
‘Of course I’m not happy. I came up here to be with my husband but because of a lot of red tape I have to go back to Delhi.’
‘Don’t make excuses for him, Tilly. You know very well that your old man dragged you all the way up here without getting permission, or fixing up a married quarter.’
What Clem said was true, but that only made it worse. Turning on him, Tilly frowned. ‘I’ll fall out with you good and proper if you say bad things about Barney. I made him bring me so it wasn’t his fault.’
‘If you say so, ma’am.’ Clem looked away, staring at the dusty road ahead.
His formal tone and the stubborn set of his jaw might, at any other time, have incensed Tilly even more but she knew that he had only spoken out of his concern for her. His thinly veiled contempt for Barney was both hurtful and annoying, but for all that Clem was a good friend and Tilly relented, reaching out and laying her hand on his sleeve. ‘Don’t do that to me, Clem. We’re friends and always will be, so you can stop calling me ma’am.’
Clearing his throat, Clem stared down at her hand. ‘I’m your friend, Tilly, but you can’t be mine. The army don’t allow fraternisation between the ranks.’
‘I don’t give a tinker’s cuss for the bloody army.’ Tilly slipped her hand through his arm, giving it a squeeze. ‘No more nonsense now, Clem Tuffin. It’s a long way to Delhi and goodness knows what Hattie and Francis will say when I turn up on their doorstep, so we might as we make the best of things.’
Tilly and Clem soon slipped into an easy, companionable way with each other and their past squabbles were all but forgotten. Secretly, for she wouldn’t have admitted it to Clem for the world, Tilly was impressed with his ability to organise their trip. He seemed to know e
xactly how to get the best bargain from the coolies touting for business and even managed to secure an empty compartment. If Tilly was thirsty, the chaiwallah brought them tea; if she was hungry, Clem only had to lean out of the carriage window when they stopped at a station and the food vendors would rush to serve him.
On the second day, they had left the spectacular mountain scenery and the train was making good speed across the plains. Clem had said they would arrive in Delhi at about midday, and as far as Tilly could judge without asking him to consult his pocket watch it must be mid-morning. Sitting back in her corner, Tilly was tired of staring at the scenery flashing past her eyes. Glancing at Clem, she experienced a wave of affection for him that took her by surprise. Perhaps army life had changed him, or maybe she had not known him very well in the old days, back in the East End. But he had certainly matured into a fine-looking young man. The fierce Indian sun had burnt his city pallor away, turning his skin to a golden tan and bleaching his dark blond hair with flaxen streaks. The strenuous physical training had given him a lean, muscular appearance and Tilly sensed in him an air of confidence and authority that had been lacking under the bullying regime of his father.
As if sensing her gaze, Clem opened his eyes and smiled.
Tilly opened her mouth to speak. She wanted merely to enquire as to the time, but there was a sudden jolt and the screaming of brakes, a hideous juddering, lurching, and an ear-splitting cacophony of sound. Thrown forward by the sudden impact, Tilly’s neck snapped backwards in a painful whiplash. The carriage pitched and rolled like a ship floundering in the trough of a huge wave and, for a heart-stopping moment, it hung in the balance.
Chapter Nineteen
The world was upside down and Tilly was crushed between the ceiling of the compartment and the inner partition leading to the corridor. The impact of the derailment had stunned her, and although she had not lost consciousness, it took her a few minutes to regain her senses. For a terrifying moment, she couldn’t move, and the thought flashed through her mind that she was paralysed. The compartment was filled with dust and in the dim light she could just make out the shape of the window above her head. As the grinding movement of the carriages slowly came to a juddering, shattering halt, Tilly could hear the screams, groans and cries for help from their fellow passengers.
‘Clem.’ Coughing and choking as the powdery dust filled her mouth and nose, she peered into the tangled wreckage of their compartment. ‘Clem.’ There was no answer. Gripped by panic, Tilly struggled to sit up, almost crying with relief as she realised that the weight pressing down upon her had been luggage that had toppled off the rack. ‘Clem, are you all right? Speak to me.’ Somehow she managed to wriggle free; she was bruised and sore but at least no bones were broken. Crawling and picking her way carefully through the debris and broken glass, she saw a boot sticking out from beneath a pile of splintered wood and twisted metal. Tearing at it with her bare hands, sobbing and calling his name, she was certain that Clem must be dead. Her fingers touched something warm and sticky and her stomach lurched at the sight of blood.
‘I must keep calm,’ Tilly said out loud. ‘Clem, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going for help.’
Slowly and painfully, she climbed up through the wreckage towards the daylight. Her clothes were torn and her hands cut and bleeding but eventually she managed to squeeze out of the shattered window. The scene that met her eyes was one of carnage and destruction, with wreckage and bodies everywhere. The lucky survivors, many of them with terrible injuries, staggered about beside the tracks searching for their friends and loved ones. Others, who were less badly hurt but in a state of shock, sat with their heads in their hands as if unable to take in the horror of the situation. The uninjured were attempting to drag their fellow passengers from the mangled carriages.
‘Help,’ Tilly cried. ‘There’s someone trapped in here.’ She grabbed a man by the arm, pointing into the carriage and begging him to help, but he did not seem to understand. Staring at her stupidly, he sank to his knees in the dust.
Hesitating for a moment, she knew that there was no one to help them and she could not leave Clem alone in that tangled nightmare. It was like returning to hell, but she had to try and help him. Lowering herself carefully into the compartment, she crawled towards his inert body and was rewarded by a faint groan. ‘Clem. Thank God, you’re alive.’ With the strength of desperation, Tilly tore at the wreckage until she had cleared a space around Clem’s head. The padded squabs had saved him from being crushed but his right leg was trapped and he was bleeding profusely.
Forcing herself to keep calm, Tilly remembered seeing a similar injury on the docks, when a young doctor had been called to the aid of a man whose leg had been all but severed by a moving crane. Taking off her sash, she bound it tightly round Clem’s thigh. Tearing her petticoat into strips, she made a pad and laid it gently over the gash in his lower leg where the fractured bones stuck out in jagged points. Having bandaged the wound, Tilly looked up and, for a terrible moment, she thought that Clem had stopped breathing; his face was unnaturally pale and his hand felt cold and clammy. ‘Clem, speak to me.’ Chafing his hand, Tilly willed him to live. ‘Clem, please don’t die.’
‘Tilly.’ Opening his eyes, Clem stared at her with an unfocused gaze.
‘It’s all right, Clem. I’m here.’ Sobbing with relief, Tilly stroked the hair back from his forehead. ‘Don’t try to move. We’ve had a bit of an accident.’
For what seemed like hours, Tilly stayed by Clem’s side, talking to him, soothing and comforting him until help arrived in the form of a train from Delhi bringing a rescue party of soldiers and medical staff. Wrapped in a blanket, Tilly refused to leave the scene until she had witnessed Clem’s release.
‘I won’t forget what you did for me, Tilly,’ Clem said, grinning weakly as the bearers laid him on a stretcher.
‘You’d have done the same for me,’ Tilly said. And she knew that it was true. ‘Good luck, Clem.’
Covering him with a blanket, the bearers hefted the stretcher and Clem managed a feeble wave as they carried him off towards the relief train.
‘Where are you taking him?’ Tilly asked the young doctor who had attended to Clem’s injuries.
‘To the hospital in Delhi, ma’am.’
‘Will he be all right?’
‘Are you his wife?’
Tilly hesitated for a moment. Her relationship with Clem had seemed so easy and natural these days that she had never given it a thought. If Bert was her brother-in-law, then in a roundabout way that must make Clem her nephew. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m his aunt.’
‘Well, ma’am, your nephew’s injuries are serious. He may even lose the leg. If you’ll excuse me, there are so many injured.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Stunned by the information, Tilly watched Clem being stretchered onto the train with a feeling of inexplicable sadness and loss. If what the doctor had said was true, then Clem would be unfit to remain in the army and he would be sent back to England. The thought of England, London and home brought a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. Her future now was bound to Barney and life as an army wife. She loved Barney, of course she did, and she had wanted so much to see India, but Tilly was engulfed by a wave of homesickness that was even more painful than the cuts and bruises she had sustained in the derailment.
It was late afternoon when the tonga set Tilly down outside the Palgraves’ bungalow. The neat, white building looked peaceful and serene in the shade of the date palms and kikar trees, where the small striped Indian chipmunks kept up a cheerful chatter. As she hobbled up the path to the front door, Tilly could hardly believe that it was less than a fortnight since she had left to start her married life with Barney.
Meera opened the door and her eyes widened in horror. ‘Memsahib, what has happened to you?’
‘An accident on the railway, but I’m all right.’ Even as she stepped inside, Tilly was aware of raised voices coming from the parlour. Meera raised her
hands, shaking her head and sighing. Without waiting to be announced, Tilly opened the door and went in. Harriet and Francis, who had obviously been in the middle of a heated argument, stopped talking to stare at her.
‘There was an accident,’ Tilly said, breaking the silence. ‘A derailment.’
‘Are you hurt?’ Harriet came slowly towards her, staring at Tilly’s bloodstained clothes. ‘Oh dear, just look at the state of you. Have you seen a doctor?’
‘How did you get here?’ Francis demanded. ‘Surely you weren’t travelling alone? I received a telegram from Colonel Barton stating that you would be accompanied all the way.’
Tilly sank down onto the nearest chair. ‘Please don’t fuss. I’m not hurt.’
‘Heaven help us all if the army cannot look after its own,’ Francis said, pacing the floor. ‘As if I have not had enough shocking news for one day, and now this.’
Harriet turned on him angrily. ‘Francis, it’s not Tilly’s fault.’
‘No, I blame Barnaby. He’s always been feckless and irresponsible. He can’t even look after his own wife. I’m going to my study and I don’t want to be disturbed.’ With a withering glance in Tilly’s direction, Francis left the room, slamming the door behind him.
‘What’s up with him? It wasn’t my fault that the train came off the rails.’
‘Francis didn’t mean it,’ Harriet said, wringing her hands. ‘It’s just that we’ve had terrible news today. Our brother Adolphus was killed in a hunting accident.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Yes, it’s dreadfully sad. I was fond of Dolph. But even worse than that, Tilly. Francis insists on returning home to England.’
Tilly’s head was aching as if small demons with picks were hammering inside her temples. Her whole body was sore and it was difficult to think straight. ‘He’d want to pay his last respects.’
‘If only it were that simple. You don’t understand. Dolph only has daughters and that means Francis has inherited the title and the estate. He says he was never cut out for the ministry or to be a teacher and he’s going home for good. That means I’ll be separated from Ronnie, whose father won’t allow us even to become engaged. My life is in ruins, Tilly.’