‘I think I know what you mean.’
‘So?’
He looked completely taken aback, and for a moment Eliza thought she might be too late. She looked at him, hoping for some response, but couldn’t read the expression on his face.
‘Clifford, I’m saying I accept your offer of marriage.’ She paused. ‘If you will have me.’
He was still looking at her without speaking, but then he smiled. ‘I knew you’d come round, old girl.’
Internally she winced at the expression but tried not to show how much she disliked it.
He got to his feet and then came across to where she still perched stiff, strained and sad. He seemed not to notice any of that.
He held out a hand to her and she allowed him to pull her up. ‘You’ve made me a very happy man. I’ll not let you down.’
She bowed her head for a moment and then met his gaze. Her throat felt tight and constricted. Could she say it or would it just come out as a strangled sound? With a puzzled expression he inclined his head as if he already knew there was more, but wasn’t sure what.
‘Is it about your mother? We can bring her out if you like. Or it won’t be too long before I might be able to get a transfer to London. Whatever you want. Your wish is my command. Just fire away,’ he said, now beaming happily as if nothing could spoil this moment for him. ‘You have made me the happiest man on earth.’
He leant across to kiss her but she shook her head and pulled back, feeling guilt-ridden. She tried to clear her throat before speaking. ‘I’m afraid there is one condition.’
There was a slight pause, and she heard the sound of some kind of hooting bird outside in the garden. Probably an ooloo, she thought. Perfect name for an owl. Strange the things that slip into your mind even at such a moment as this. She pulled herself together and summoned her courage.
‘I will marry you,’ she said, ‘but I want you to release Jay with no slur on his reputation and no repercussions. All charges against him must be dropped and I need your assurance that he will not be arrested again.’
‘I’m delighted you have decided not to throw your life away on an Indian. But Eliza, you make this very hard for me.’
She swallowed. ‘I’m sorry.’
He shook his head. ‘I need time to think.’
‘There is no time. He must be released today. He has to sign the agreements with his investors in Delhi. If he fails he loses everything. The irrigation project will fail.’
‘He means an awful lot to you?’
‘He means a lot to me, yes, but so does the irrigation project. He wants to do good, Clifford, you must see that. His brother has done nothing for the people, and when I first met Jay his life seemed so aimless. Now he has a purpose and it’s a good one. You know he would never sabotage his own project. It makes no sense.’
‘And the pamphlets?’
Eliza thought for a moment, and couldn’t help feeling that Chatur was lurking somewhere near the bottom of all this.
‘I think someone has framed him,’ she said. ‘If I were you I’d be looking to question Chatur.’
‘You’d stake your life on that?’
‘I would.’
‘And you’re willing to marry me in order to secure Jay’s release.’ He paused for a moment before looking right into her eyes. ‘Eliza, I have one question.’
She nodded.
‘Do you think you could ever love me?’
She could see the utter sadness in his eyes and gazed back at him, but with the memory of Jay etched within her whole being she could not say yes. ‘I can promise to try.’
‘Well, maybe that will have to suffice. I will need to speak to him again, but consider Prince Jayant a free man the moment I have. Do you realize this little arrangement between us must never be spoken of? It would ruin my reputation. You understand that?’
‘Of course.’
‘I mean it, Eliza. You can’t even tell Jay.’
She nodded.
He went to his office to telephone, and when he’d made his arrangements he came back.
‘So,’ Clifford said. ‘What about a little trip up to Shimla, just the two of us? We can go the day after tomorrow, as long as that gives you time.’
‘Clifford, I’m going to England. As soon as I’ve packed.’
He frowned.
‘Oh goodness! With everything else I forgot to tell you. My mother is terribly ill and in hospital. I have no choice but to go to her. She has nobody.’
He looked disappointed but he nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘I’m hoping to pick up some final copies of my photographs from the printers while I’m in Delhi.’
‘Some are already on their way here, I believe, but you can always check while you’re there. I have a few of the earlier plates here too. I’ll help with your arrangements, and let me take care of the cost of a first class berth on the Viceroy of India. It’s the fastest ship. Just get yourself to Delhi pronto. Your tickets will be delivered to the hotel and from there you’ll take the train.’ He paused. ‘You know the Imperial?’
‘I do, though I’ve never stayed there.’
‘Your bill will be taken care of. All you need to do is wait for the tickets to arrive. Should only take a few days. I’ll wire the shipping company.’
‘I really can’t accept all that.’
‘I insist, and when you come back I’m sure Julian Hopkins and Dottie will invite you to stay with them until the wedding. Do you have any idea how long you’ll need to be in England?’
‘As long as it takes, I suppose.’
‘I have something for you,’ he said, and opened a drawer in the mahogany desk opposite the door. He took out a small velvet-covered box and came over to Eliza. ‘I hope it fits.’
She opened the lid and took out a gold ring studded with diamonds and rubies.
‘It was my mother’s. Do you like it?’
She nodded as she allowed him to slip it on to her finger, and ignored the tears pricking the back of her eyelids.
‘I’ll organize an announcement in The Times,’ he said. ‘There isn’t a car available for a few days. Will the train do?’
She nodded again, and he didn’t seem to notice that all she really wanted to do was curl up and die.
28
May
Clifford was a decent enough man, if a little lacking in sensitivity – he hadn’t even noticed the despair that had crossed her face when she’d agreed to marry him. Or perhaps he had noticed but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. He was a man content with his own view of the world, defined by his rigid stance on all things India. Eliza resolved to find a way to manage, but what if every time he touched her she would die a little death? She made an attempt to console herself, as if she could somehow force herself out of her true feelings. If it wasn’t too late they’d have children: she could be a mother and give her children a comfortable life. That had to be worth something. And she’d carry on with her photography too.
But her soul cried out for the passion and joy she’d experienced with Jay. It was like being given a glimpse of paradise from an open prison door only to find the door slammed shut again. Maybe the euphoria wouldn’t have lasted, but now she’d never know. As she packed the belongings she’d need for England it was with a tight, hard feeling in her chest. She wished she could pack away the memory of his hands on her flesh, his lips on her mouth, his voice and the way it made her stomach flip. It was impossible. She would never be able to parcel away her feelings. Nor would she ever forget the trace of sandalwood and limes. Nor the sight of his amber eyes. What a naïve fool she’d been to think there ever could have been a future with Jay.
She comforted herself with the knowledge that she hadn’t let Laxmi down and that at least Jay would be free to finish his project. As she was thinking that, she heard a gentle knock at the door and Laxmi came in, her long scarf flowing loosely about her. It was only the second time she’d come to Eliza’s rooms.
She held out her h
ands to Eliza. ‘I will always be in your debt for what you have done today.’
Eliza swallowed the lump in her throat and gave Laxmi a little nod but, fearing to express even a little of her terrible inner loneliness, didn’t go to her and simply gazed at the floor.
‘I do know how hard it must have been for you,’ Laxmi added.
Eliza looked up. ‘You have no idea.’
‘I think I do. You have done a deeply unselfish thing. You have freed my son and nobody else could have done.’
‘I had no choice.’
‘Maybe. But not all would have done it. You have shown your true worth as a woman. Had things been different I would have been proud to call you my daughter-in-law. My daughter.’
Eliza’s tears welled up and sadness made her voice break as she tried to reply.
‘Sometimes life leaves us with impossible decisions. I know you care deeply for my son and he for you,’ Laxmi continued, ‘but I hope you understand I have a duty as a mother.’
‘Thank you for all your support while I’ve been here,’ Eliza said, her throat still choked. She admired Laxmi so much, and yet she had been the one standing between herself and Jay.
‘I’m so sorry it couldn’t have ended on a happier note for you.’
‘I’m going to England. My mother is very ill.’
‘Well, my thoughts will go with you for a safe journey. I hope one day you will understand my position.’
Eliza could not reply.
‘Come here, my dear.’
Eliza went to her and Laxmi wrapped her arms around her. Just when she thought she had done with crying, Eliza’s tears fell again.
The overnight journey to Delhi began in the afternoon. The train was almost unbearably hot and the carriage was full of local people. She feared the power of the British Raj over these men and women and did not want to be a part of it, and yet, by marrying Clifford, she would become one of them and would have to keep her mouth shut. More and more she’d become aware that the British should get out of India. Her only hope was that the Nationalist movement would gain control without too much bloodshed. Like many others she felt certain it would happen, because really, the way things were how could it not?
Her dress was already damp from sweat and she was forced to constantly wipe her forehead too. She took off her engagement ring because her fingers were at risk of swelling; that was what she told herself. It came to her that her only hope of enduring the tediously slow train and cramped conditions was to think of all the beautiful photographs she had taken. Nobody could take that away from her.
The images seemed to pop up out of nowhere, and as they filled her mind they kept on coming. First at the simple camp where she had stayed with Jay: the men wrapped in their early morning blankets, sitting cross-legged beside the small outdoor fire. The tiny ponds where boys tended their buffaloes. The lake at dawn and again at dusk. The faces of Rajput men and their camels. The jewel-like colours of the castle. The fairyland night-time illuminations. The way the light played on the water of the courtyard fountains. The parakeets and dragonflies. The concubines brushing their hair. The women with their upright posture, their dignity and their bright shiny clothes. The bazaars. The children. The huge liquid blue skies. The photographs of the royals and of Indi, who gazed out upon the world with eyes that seemed to know everything.
Then she thought of the rains she knew would be coming, and felt unhappy that she would not see the damson skies and thundering torrential monsoon. She had longed to be at Udaipore, the city of lakes surrounded by the Aravalli hills, and the hilltop fort from where they would have watched it all. She had never believed she would really leave India before the rains and yet here she was. Leaving. Her temples throbbing with pain, she couldn’t shut out the sound of the train wheels clattering on the track, so brittle that the clickety click, clickety click, clickety click seemed to be coming from inside her own head. She clapped a palm over her mouth, fearful that the wail trapped inside her would wind its way out. This dark and empty time was taking Eliza from the man she loved and was forcing her to marry a man she did not. Over and over, her fading dreams were mocked by the sound of the wheels on the rails. The man she loved, clickety clack; marrying a man she did not, clickety clack.
Then her thoughts drifted to her mother lying alone in the hospital, facing death with no one who loved her. To have lived your entire life and be left with not one person by your side was a pitiful fate. However rotten a mother Anna had been, she deserved better. And though Eliza’s heart clamped as if a vice was squeezing it, she would do what she could for her. At last she would be a dutiful daughter, thankful that at least she had one final chance to make amends.
When she arrived in Delhi the weather was awful and a kind of hot clammy mist hung over the town. At the Imperial Hotel her room was small but comfortable. She opened the bathroom door to see a rolltop bath tub standing on a black and white tiled floor along with the usual washbasin, lavatory, and a huge looking-glass on one wall. She left the heavy bedroom curtains open so that she could see the sky while she lay on the bed, hoping to snatch some sleep before the next stage of her journey. And she didn’t know if that would be in a few days’ time or if it might be sooner. Tomorrow she hoped to have a chance to pick up copies of some of her prints from the printers to take back to England to show Anna and maybe interest a local paper. Now all she could think of was finding a way to refresh her exhausted mind a little and give her aching body a chance to recover from the headache she’d had since leaving Juraipore.
Although the fan in her room worked, it really was just shifting hot air about rather than introducing a much-needed cool breeze, so after a while she drew the curtains to block out the light and then, still stiff and tense from the journey, lay down on top of a pale blue satin bedspread. But she kept twisting about in the attempt to find a relaxing position and couldn’t stop thinking.
There would be little enough to look forward to, but it was only now, on the verge of leaving India, that she fully realized how much she had grown to think of it as home, just as she had as a child. At least when she came back to be with Clifford she would still be in India, for England could never touch her the way this wild, throbbing country did.
She slipped her engagement ring back on, then twisted it round so it looked like a wedding ring. The symbol of being taken. She couldn’t help feeling as if she were owned, and removed it again. She thought back to when she had raised the subject of women’s suffrage with Anna.
With a raised voice and a disgusted look her mother had been adamant. ‘Women do not need a vote,’ she’d said. ‘That’s what husbands are for. What do we know of politics?’
‘Mother, can we not inform ourselves, make our own choices?’
‘What you need, Eliza, is a husband, not a vote. And, as I’ve said many times before, one cannot have a career and be a wife. Women cannot have everything.’
Eliza had given up after that. Nothing would convince her mother, and some time after that she’d literally bumped into Oliver in the bookshop. And marriage had become a way out.
After an hour of thinking about the past Eliza got up again, washed and then dressed in clean clothes. If she couldn’t rest, then she had to make a move.
The hotel ordered a driver and car for her and once outside she saw that the mist had lifted, which meant she just had time to see the new part of the city before the light faded. Her first stop would be to look at the architectural splendour of the new British centre of government. It had only been finished in February and this was her first chance to see it.
She hadn’t expected to arrive at an imposing gravel road leading in the distance to an extraordinary series of domes and towers, in red, pink, cream, and gleaming white. As the car moved on through the tall archway Eliza was impressed by huge lawns dotted with trees on either side of a grand central drive, known as the King’s Way, and a network of sparkling waterways that seemed to be following the route. The driver told her it was a mile and
a quarter long, or maybe two miles, he wasn’t sure, but he knew it was lined with black lamp-posts right to the end. All the buildings at the end of the drive were glorious but, like something from the Italian Renaissance, it was the Viceroy’s palatial house that took Eliza’s breath away. Suffused with light, the stonework actually shone. With all this brand new splendour it seemed that the British believed they would rule India for years to come.
This was the end result of that triumphant march into Delhi in 1912, celebrating the transfer of the seat of British power, the terrible day the bomb had been thrown at the Viceroy and the day David Fraser had died. Eliza gazed at the glittering fountains as the falling sun turned the sky a deep rose and wished she could enjoy this new city more fully; but it was tinged with too much tragedy for her. Then, as darkness fell, she asked the driver to show her the avenues radiating out from this central point, avenues lined with spacious bungalows in extensive flower-filled gardens. After that, on their way back to her hotel, the velvety sky deepened to black and the city itself exploded into a glittering marvel of lights, a twinkling earth-bound reflection of the heavens.
The next afternoon, after visiting the printers and finding the place closed, she was just about to enter the Imperial when, guided by what she couldn’t tell, she twisted back. A fraction of a second later she heard a single burst of noise, as if thunder itself had been shot directly from a cannon. She gasped at the sight of a huge ball of smoke erupting from the lower window of the building on the other side of the street. The explosion didn’t seem to echo but was followed by the sound of glass breaking and then of bricks or masonry crashing to the ground. Horrified, she watched flames creeping along the wooden frames of the windows on the first floor. Within minutes the glass was gone, and now tongues of orange and yellow were reaching out and licking the air. Through the dust and billowing smoke she couldn’t see exactly what had been damaged, but it looked as if something had exploded inside the very building that held her photographic printers. Flames were tearing through the rest of the building, visible at all the windows on both floors. There was the sound of more windows shattering and a great whooshing sound, and then debris filled the air before raining down on the street below. Huge plumes of black smoke rose up into the sky, and the stalls around the building became powdered with ash, white smoke whisking between them.
Before the Rains Page 24