Fields of Gold

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Of course,’ Brent replied. ‘But I’m not sure I comprehend their status.’

  Fraser sighed. ‘I understand they have friends in southern England. I will hunt these good folk down and see if they can’t be persuaded to give the Sinclairs a home – at least Bella. Ned might make his own way in time, back in England. He is, after all, turning eighteen shortly.’

  ‘But who will pay their passage? Please don’t expect me to —’

  ‘I don’t. I shall raise the money but this donation should take care of them for at least three months?’

  ‘It will.’

  ‘I shall be in contact in due course.’

  ‘Until then,’ the doctor said, with no genuine care in his voice.

  Ned heard the girls arriving with Matron Brent. She spotted him.

  ‘You may meet Dr Brent now,’ she said.

  Ned frowned inwardly as he knocked on the door. Three months, Fraser had said. He had hoped only weeks. And what if Fraser’s sense of responsibility waned the moment he was rid of them?

  ‘Come,’ said the throaty voice.

  Ned grabbed his sister’s hand again and entered the room.

  ‘Ah, the Sinclairs,’ said Brent from behind a desk cluttered with paperwork, books, and a typewriter piled with files. A huge picture window looked out on the compound beyond but Ned’s eyes were drawn to Brent, who was massively overweight. A clear jug of water sat on one corner of the desk, which he bumped as he rose. Its multicoloured, glass-beaded crochet cover glinted as jewels might. Bella was drawn to the glass beads that she’d seen many times over in Britain but not so beautifully illuminated by sunlight. It was the one pretty item in an otherwise drab room. He could smell the sour tang of Brent’s perspiration, the dark damp patches showing through his pale-blue shirt.

  ‘Welcome to our humble, happy place,’ Brent said. His dark blue eyes, buried deep within the folds of his fleshy face, looked like the dull pebbles on the shingle beaches back home.

  ‘We will not press upon your generosity for long, Dr Brent,’ Ned replied, glad that he sounded so determined. ‘I intend for us to be independent swiftly.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Brent replied.

  ‘Yes. I shall write home immediately and seek help from my parents’ friends. Where is Mr Fraser?’

  ‘He had to leave. A ship to catch, I hear. Didn’t he say farewell?’ Brent made a tut-tutting sound. ‘My apologies. It will be at least four to five weeks before we hear from him again,’ he added, his gaze settling on Bella. ‘What a pretty young thing you are, Arabella.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied and broke Ned’s heart when she curtsied again so politely.

  ‘So you are a doctor?’ Ned asked.

  Brent’s hard eyes flicked back to him. ‘With a calling to do some missionary work out here in Burma where my skills can be put to their best use,’ he said. ‘Of course, you’re rather old to be in our care, Edward.’

  ‘I realise that. Another reason why we won’t impose on you for long, sir.’

  ‘Oh, Arabella is welcome. I’m simply concerned that we have no one your age to engage you, although Robbie has longed for someone closer to his age. Nevertheless, I agree that this cannot be a long-term arrangement.’

  Well, at least they were in agreement on something, Ned thought.

  ‘Why don’t you go and take a look around, Edward? Find your dorm, meet the other children. Arabella is welcome to stay here with me for a while.’ He gave a soft, avuncular chortle. ‘She seems rather mesmerised by my water jug.’

  ‘She’s had a lot to contend with recently, Dr Brent. I’d rather keep her close by, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Hurry along, then,’ Brent said coldly, all pretence at benevolence disappearing.

  Ned nodded and reached for his sister’s hand, pulling her out of the room and its claustrophobic atmosphere.

  9

  Ned found himself wandering with Bella by the henhouse. The caged birds reminded him of their own situation.

  ‘What are we doing here, Ned?’ she asked, her hair hanging in damp clumps around her sweet, cherubic face.

  He hugged her, as much for his own consolation as hers. ‘I just need a few days, all right?’

  ‘To do what?’ she asked, deep-blue eyes reminiscent of her father regarding him wide and seriously. There was so much trust in them.

  ‘To work things out.’

  ‘You won’t die, will you?’ Bella asked, anxiously searching his face.

  He forced a tight smile, banged his chest. ‘Hardly!’

  ‘I miss Mama,’ she said and he saw the tears well yet again.

  ‘I know, I know, Bell, darling,’ he said, echoing his mother’s manner, feeling utterly helpless. ‘I can’t bring her back. I miss her too. I wish you weren’t going through this.’ Guilt raged through him again, imagining what his mother might think if she could see her daughter looking so bedraggled. Even from infancy Bella had hated her clothes to be creased or dirty.

  ‘Let’s go home, Ned,’ Bella said, sniffing.

  It made remarkable sense to him. No matter what hardships awaited them beneath the grey skies of Scotland, at least it would look and smell and taste familiar. He was qualified now. He could find work, perhaps enough to pay a live-in housekeeper for Bella. Electricians would be in big demand, so an income was guaranteed if he could just get them back. It sounded like a plan at least.

  ‘We’ll go home soon, Bell. But you’ll have to be patient now because I have to work out how we’re going to do that. That’s going to take me a few days just to think through. Do you understand?’

  She nodded solemnly. ‘A few days? And then we can start on our way back home?’ She asked with so much longing that her big brother could not deny her that hope.

  ‘Yes,’ he promised, almost inclined to cross his fingers behind his back.

  Since then another week or so had passed and they had befriended Robbie James.

  He’d sought them out at meal time on their first night, an occasion apparently not presided over by the Brents.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ Robbie had sauntered over to Ned while Nyunt and two other older women had served the children. Nyunt was piling tiny pyramids of rice into bowls and ladling a watery broth over each.

  ‘For Dr Brent,’ Ned replied.

  ‘He’s not here tonight and his wife is taking her meal alone in her rooms.’

  ‘Do they ever eat with the children?’

  ‘No. Never. They sometimes appear to encourage us to give thanks or to sing for our supper, as you English say. Dr Brent likes to watch us sing.’

  Ned heard something odd in Robbie’s tone but couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps he just hadn’t latched onto Burmese humour or simply Robbie’s quirky manner. ‘Thanks for making my sister feel so welcome,’ he said. They both glanced over to where Bella was stirring her food, her expression making it clear she didn’t much care for what she was looking at.

  Robbie said, ‘Whether she likes it or not, she must eat.’

  ‘Yes, since our mother died she seems to be losing weight by the second.’ Ned gave Robbie a grateful smile. ‘If not for you …’

  Robbie smiled back. ‘Miss Bella is easy to love. She is like an angel.’

  ‘She’s gone through a lot,’ Ned said and then instantly felt embarrassed for he was among others who had little to boast about.

  Robbie didn’t appear to take any offence. ‘You should eat too.’

  ‘What is it?’ Ned wondered, staring into the pot.

  ‘I could give you the proper name but you will not be able to get your tongue around it.’

  Nyunt laughed.

  ‘It is good,’ she said in halting English with her lovely smile and now Ned could hardly say no, even though it didn’t look at all appetising. And for Bella’s sake he should set a good example.

  He reached for a bowl, fashioned from a half coconut shell, and allowed Nyunt to scoop some sticky rice into it, then ladle over the watery, near colourless
broth. After Robbie had followed suit they joined Bella.

  ‘All right?’ Ned asked her gently.

  She sighed. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You think you’re not but your belly needs feeding, Miss Bella,’ Robbie said gravely.

  She giggled. ‘I like the way you speak,’ she said.

  ‘Why? Am I not speaking good English?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Ned admitted and shared a grin with Bella. He too liked Robbie’s singsong voice.

  ‘I’m going to teach some of the children how to play cat’s cradle,’ Bella said, pointing at the long piece of wool she had looped and tied off.

  Robbie frowned. ‘What is that? Cat’s what?’

  ‘Cradle,’ Bella and Ned said together.

  He looked at them quizzically. Bella gave a mock sigh, put down her spoon and in seconds had the wool’s framework set up around her fingers. The wide-eyed children, who had been silently watching the trio talking, crowded around Bella within moments.

  Ned grinned, glad to see Bell so animated. With a theatrical flourish, he too set down his bowl, then plunged into the wool and pulled it up and over onto his own hands.

  The children gasped as one and then all laughed and clapped. Robbie stared.

  ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘It’s a game,’ Ned explained. ‘I think every child in Britain learns it before they turn five!’ He laughed.

  Bella had the wool back on her fingers in a flash. Even Robbie looked enchanted and Ned wondered what sort of future Robbie had here. He’d probably end up like Nyunt, staying at the orphanage and working just for food and lodging and no doubt for a sense of belonging, something Ned could relate to. A wave of sadness washed over him as he watched Bella’s beaming face. He knew he didn’t want Burma to be home, and certainly not an orphanage.

  He stood up suddenly. ‘I might take a stroll around the compound,’ he said. Bella didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he could tell she was enjoying being the centre of attention and would not miss him for the time being.

  Robbie found him later, going about the duties Matron Brent had allotted him. His daily tasks now included sweeping out and cleaning the floor of the older boys’ dormitory. Ned knew the children wouldn’t be in bed for another hour so he had got on with his chore. It helped to keep him occupied but gave him space to think. He’d already swept and was now onto mopping.

  ‘Hello, Ned,’ Robbie said, bringing in his own bucket of water and mop.

  Ned gave him a smile. ‘Where’s Bell?’

  ‘Learning some Burmese dance steps.’ He wagged his head. ‘She is very attractive in a longyi.’

  ‘Well, she does love to play dress-ups,’ Ned said. ‘Thank you again for being so good to her.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Robbie said, falling in tandem with Ned’s mopping, picking up the rhythm and moving alongside him. ‘It is easy. If she were older, I would run away with her,’ he said with a swashbuckling sword flourish of his mop. ‘Have you read Zorro?’

  Ned shook his head.

  ‘Oh, it’s very fine. Dr Brent let me read his copy.’

  ‘That was good of him. He doesn’t strike me as a particularly generous man.’

  ‘He isn’t!’ Robbie said emphatically, and although Ned’s head snapped up, Robbie had already turned his back and moved away.

  ‘Tell me about where you come from? Your home in England.’

  ‘My real home is Scotland,’ Ned began, delighted to have the opportunity to talk about it aloud. ‘Scotland is the very northern part of the British Isles,’ he said, leaning his mop against the wall and forming a triangle with his hands. ‘I lived in a little town not far from the main city, Edinburgh. It’s a very old city with cobbled streets and beautiful Georgian buildings in the New Town. In the Old Town there’s a castle that dominates the landscape.’ He knew he was losing Robbie, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be lost himself in his fond memories. ‘Scotland is cold, wet, overcast for most of the year.’

  Robbie frowned.

  ‘It doesn’t smell of orchids and spice, not like here. I lived in a seaside town, and that smelled of salt and fish and apple pies, of smoking chimneys spewing out their black coal dust, of fresh-mown grass and roses in the summer. It rained a lot but we were never damp. My skin is always clammy here,’ he said, genuine irritation in his voice.

  ‘Do you not like it here, Ned?’

  He wanted to protect his new friend’s feelings but he preferred to be honest. ‘I don’t. I would like to return to Scotland. I can find some proper work there. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude or ungrateful. I know this is your home,’ he said, his nostrils suddenly assaulted by the smell of disinfectant that overlaid a general aroma of damp clothes.

  Robbie fixed him with a gaze. ‘This is not my home, Ned. This is where I live, that’s all. I was your sister’s age when I came here but you must get her away before she turns mad … before she even reaches ten.’

  Ned stopped and stared him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Bella strikes me as someone who is weak.’

  ‘Weak?’

  ‘No, that’s not quite the right word. I mean something that could break.’

  ‘Fragile?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. My English, forgive me, but sometimes I just can’t find the right word.’

  ‘Robbie, you speak my language more clearly than a lot of the people where I come from. Who taught you?’

  ‘Initially my mother. She was born in West Bengal but something went wrong for her in Calcutta. She never told me what happened. She ended up here in Rangoon.’

  ‘Well, your English is very good.’

  ‘Thank you. My mother insisted I persevere because my father was English. I need to improve my reading. Dr Brent has insisted I speak only English and so it has improved a great deal over the years.’

  ‘I’ll help you with your reading, and so will Bell.’ He wanted to ask more about how Robbie came to be the son of an Englishman and a woman from Calcutta but he thought it might be rude.

  Robbie smiled his pleasure. ‘That means a lot to me. While the orphanage says it teaches the children reading skills, it actually makes them spend more time on basket weaving to earn money, and on general chores to keep the place running. I am lucky I have access to Dr Brent’s bookshelves – well, when he’s in a good mood, that is. I think Bell would enjoy teaching me.’

  That reminded Ned of Robbie’s earlier warning. He sighed. ‘Bell’s so young. I can hardly blame her for appearing fragile.’

  Robbie gave him a knowing look. ‘This is only the beginning. The worst is yet to come, Ned. I won’t lie to you.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Robbie began mopping furiously. ‘Look, I like Bella and you. I know we can be good friends even though I hardly know you. Do you understand?’

  ‘No. Make it clearer. I’m past games right now.’

  ‘This is not a game!’ the boy said, leaning his mop up against the wall. He walked away.

  ‘Rob—’

  ‘Shh! Just a moment,’ Robbie said, peeking out of one of the dormitory windows. ‘You never know who is listening.’

  ‘You’ve really lost me now.’

  ‘Do you like Dr Brent?’

  ‘Not especially. No, not at all, if I’m being frank. There’s something sinister about him.’

  ‘Sinister?’

  ‘You know.’ He mimicked a shudder of revulsion. ‘He makes you feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Exactly! He makes one’s skin twitch. Your instincts are telling you enough. So listen to them and get out.’

  ‘Out?’

  ‘Away from here as soon as you can.’ Robbie was whispering now.

  Ned frowned. ‘The orphanage? We’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘Yes, the orphanage, but also Burma,’ Robbie replied, exasperated. ‘There’s a lot of anger in the city. There’s talk of uprising. You people who stay at The Strand and go to your clubs, yo
u have no idea of what’s happening outside in the real Rangoon.’

  ‘Really?’ Ned began, his tone cutting. ‘I am hardly one of “you people”. My father was an infantryman in the war and then decided to go adventuring. My mother had to teach for a living. Now our parents are dead, I don’t have a penny to my name, and we have no support at all!’

  ‘All right, calm down. I’m sorry. But you’re new here. You don’t realise that it doesn’t matter how ordinary your life was back home. Being British still means you’re treated differently here in the colonies. I’d switch places any time.’

  ‘We’re both in this orphanage, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but you are fair and blue-eyed, and you know who both your parents were, and you remember what they look like and you have papers to say your whole family is British.’

  ‘That’s not much help to me right now, is it?’

  Robbie regarded him with eyes the colour of the dark chocolate his father favoured, although Ned could barely remember the taste. ‘What?’ he asked, exasperated.

  ‘You’re going to have to lose all that bitterness if you’re going to survive. No one’s going to help you and you can’t help yourself if you swim in self-pity.’

  ‘Spoken like a champion survivor,’ Ned growled, throwing his mop aside.

  ‘Yes, I’m a survivor. I told you, my mother was from Calcutta. For some reason she came here to work on a rice plantation. She was very pretty with a beautiful voice that I can still remember. I don’t know who my father is. People say he was a soldier. Others told me it was probably the planter himself who liked to toy with the beautiful Indian workers. Either way, I think we know that whoever my father was, he was English.’

  ‘What does that make you?’

  Robbie smiled sadly. ‘I’m what you call Anglo-Indian, Ned. Half-caste.’

  ‘Well, given your name, you sound as Scottish as I am.’

  ‘This is true. And I’m proud to bear the name of Robert James, but it’s probably just a convenient name I was given.’

  ‘What about your mother’s family?’

  ‘You don’t know about the caste system in India yet, do you?’

  Ned shook his head.