Now, after a few hundred yards, the two of them veered off into the orchard and Eliza spread out an old tartan blanket for Anna to sit on. Eliza opened the lid of the small picnic basket.
‘When did you get this?’ she asked.
‘I’ve had it for years.’
‘We never used it?’
‘Just once.’
‘Well, at least we’re using it now.’ Eliza swallowed her distress at the thought that this was possibly the last time. Then she remembered the other picnic. The one with James Langton. She glanced up at the sky where a few lazy birds were half-heartedly flying from one tree to another. The whole world seemed to have stilled, and Eliza took off her cardigan. ‘Warm, isn’t it,’ she said.
Her mother’s head was bowed.
‘Mum?’
Anna looked up. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what, Mum?’
She flapped her hand. ‘I don’t know. The picnics we didn’t have. Everything.’
‘I survived, didn’t I?’
Anna smiled, as if she’d suddenly thought of something and was bursting to share it with her daughter.
‘Climb a tree. Go on, climb a tree.’ She glanced about excitedly. ‘There, that one. Climb that one.’
Delighted by her mother’s sudden gaiety, Eliza got to her feet. ‘You mean it?’
Anna nodded.
‘Not sure if I still can,’ Eliza said, as she estimated the height of the drop should she fall.
‘I never knew where your grazed knees came from.’
‘Until he found me in the tree?’
Anna nodded.
‘Right. Here we go.’
Eliza managed to get a foothold easily and was up on her old favourite branch within moments. She tested to see if it was strong enough to bear her adult weight and deemed that it was. Then she edged along a short way and sat with her legs dangling.
Her mother’s laughter carried up to her.
‘I used to sing when I sat up here,’ Eliza said.
‘Sing what?’
‘Childhood songs.’ She began to sing I do like to be beside the seaside and after a while her mother joined in: the two of them singing at the tops of their voices until it ended in gales of laughter and a side stitch for Anna.
Eliza slid back down. ‘You all right?’
Anna nodded.
‘What happened with him?’
‘James?’
It went suddenly quiet.
Anna looked at Eliza as if gauging how much to say. ‘He’s gone away with his new wife.’
‘Well, let’s not spoil a lovely day with thoughts of him. Let’s eat.’
Her mother clapped her hands. ‘I hope we have ginger beer. I love ginger beer.’
‘I never knew that.’
‘There’s lots you don’t know. Lots and lots.’
Eliza was glad that for the next couple of days her relationship with her mother carried on in the same vein, with Anna happier than Eliza had ever seen her. It was as if Anna’s words were unstoppable, like water suddenly released from a previously blocked pipe. Then the postman called. Anna didn’t receive much mail. In fact nothing had been delivered since Eliza’s own arrival back home, but she spotted the Indian stamp the moment the postman gave it to her. She had been wondering if Clifford would write, and had lived in dread of hearing from him. For now, out of sight was out of mind. It was more than she could hope that it would contain news of Jay.
She heard her mother’s shrill voice.
‘Is there mail for me?’
The envelope was addressed to Anna, so Eliza handed it over the moment her mother followed her into the small hall. For a split second she had considered opening it herself first and then claiming she hadn’t noticed it was actually for Anna.
Her mother took the envelope and went up to her bedroom, leaving Eliza perplexed. She hadn’t recognized the writing, but surely the letter must have come from Clifford. Who else knew her mother’s address, though why write to Anna and not to her?
When her mother didn’t come back down, Eliza thought she must have decided to have a nap and set about spring-cleaning the old attic, the place Anna had stored all sorts of unwanted stuff. Eliza didn’t mind the dust or the scent of sandalwood, though it had never seemed so pungent before. She’d expected the childhood scents to have been stronger, the way that colour was once so bright, yet despite that, it did feel like one of those lonely summer days when she’d run up the stairs to crawl beneath a dustsheet while her mother went outside to drink. After a while she would stand on tiptoe to peer over the bottom of the tiny dormer window to watch. The fields opposite the house had seemed so wide, inhabited by stout farmhands rubbing the small of their back as they straightened up.
She glanced out at them – they were only small rectangular allotments now – then she moved aside a few rolls of wallpaper and shifted some of the boxes. At the back an old-fashioned leather trunk had been pushed against the wall. It had metal studs and two canvas belts wrapped around the middle. She squatted down to undo the buckles, the key turned, and the lid was lighter than it looked.
She didn’t know what she had expected, except perhaps for the trunk to be full, but, surprised to see a small bottle of sandalwood oil, at least she’d found the source of the aroma. There was a suitcase inside the trunk. She lifted it out and picked up the bottle to sniff it. The aroma, stirring the memory of his skin, seemed to spread around her as if it were he who had been carried on the air. She hurriedly put the bottle back down. She had told herself she would get on with her life, get over the loss of Jay, learn how to live again, and that would be an end to it, but she couldn’t erase her feelings so easily. At least while she remained with her mother she did not have to confront the reality of her impending marriage. And though she had tried so hard not to think about Jay, when she realized this little piece of India had lived inside the trunk all these years, once again it occurred to her that a hidden hand had taken her back to India. It had to have been for a reason. It couldn’t all have been for nothing.
A luggage label pasted on the front of the case showed a grainy line drawing of a grand building and a name: Imperial Hotel, Delhi. Inside it something rectangular had been wrapped in white paper and tied with string. She undid the string, then tore the paper and pulled it off to reveal a framed photograph of two people with a small child, now faded and stained. She turned it over and saw the name of a photographic studio in Delhi.
Later she went to Anna’s room, wanting to ask about the people in the picture. Her heart sank when she opened the door; the bedroom reeked of gin. Eliza went over to Anna. She stroked her mother’s thinning dark hair away from her damp forehead – so different from her own thick hair – feeling such unbearable sadness. No longer judging her mother, she felt only pity. She glanced around to see what had happened to the letter, thinking something in it must have upset Anna, and soon spotted it in the bin, torn in two. She pieced it together and read that Clifford had informed Anna about his engagement to Eliza. She had hoped there might be some news of the explosion in Delhi. Not that Clifford would be likely to tell Anna what had happened to Jay, but he might have mentioned whether her prints and plates were safe or not.
By the time the afternoon had dragged on and the shadows outside were lengthening, she was thinking of making something for supper when she heard the hiss of breath.
‘You’re leaving.’ It was a statement, not a question, and spoken in a slurred voice.
‘Not yet, Mum. Not for –’
Her mother interrupted. ‘You always go. It’s what you do.’
‘And what you do is drink. Why? Why now? I thought you were happier.’
She waited for a reply, but her mother just snorted and looked away.
‘Mum?’
‘I haven’t been happy since you were five.’
‘But that isn’t my fault,’ Eliza said, fearing all the old recriminations were starting again.
‘You read the letter?’
Anna pursed her lips before she replied. ‘And yet I had to hear it from Clifford.’
‘I’m sorry. Really.’ She held out a hand to Anna but, when her mother did not take it, let it drop.
Her mother coughed weakly, then began to speak. ‘You were only five years old when I found out about your father.’
‘About the gambling?’
‘The whore.’
‘You said there was more. In your letter. What more, Mum?’
Anna shook her head and closed her eyes. When she didn’t open them again it seemed as if she had fallen asleep. It was dark now and getting colder, so Eliza found an extra blanket for her and then went downstairs.
Two days later Anna had not recovered enough to come downstairs. Eliza cared for her mother, fussing over her by day and, at night, leaving both their bedroom doors open in case Anna might need her. And then one night Eliza heard her call out. Eliza grabbed her dressing gown and quickly went through.
She turned on the bedside lamp in time to see Anna shaking her head. A slow, sad little shake.
‘I have a small post office account in Cheltenham. A trifling sum but it will be yours.’
‘Never mind that now, Mum.’
Eliza gulped back the lump in her throat as she watched Anna open her eyes, say something else, and then close them again. She carried on mumbling but it was impossible to follow her words. Eliza had an awful flashback to all the other times when she had been drinking. She took a deep breath. This was different. The room was terribly quiet but for Anna’s laboured breathing, and they remained mostly silent. But then Anna groaned, drew her brows together and flapped her hands.
‘Can I get you something, Mum?’
Anna smiled lopsidedly and when she spoke her voice was thin, more air than sound. Eliza tried to comfort her, but her mother just stared and then her eyes filled up.
‘I did something wrong.’
‘Please don’t upset yourself. What does it matter now –?’
‘It matters.’ She paused as the tears spilled over.
Not understanding, Eliza wasn’t too sure what to say.
Anna brushed the tears away and tapped her hand, but then began to cough and was unable to speak for another moment or two. When she did, her eyes were fierce and her face had changed. Eliza’s heart lost a beat as she saw a trace of Anna’s old anger, but it was over in moments and all that was left was her hollow eyes and paper-thin skin. It was becoming harder to remember her any other way.
Anna grasped her hand and was trying to smile, but her eyes were red and watery. ‘Please. It’s too late for me, but if you …’
There was a short silence as Eliza attempted to figure out what she meant.
Anna began to cough again and Eliza held a glass of water to her lips. After she had taken a sip she made a small sound, not quite a cry, more like the whimper of a frightened animal, and then spoke again. ‘You might put it right.’
‘I don’t understand?’
Anna took a breath, managed not to cough, and then spoke in an urgent, breathy voice. ‘I want you to find your sister.’
Eliza’s mouth literally fell open. Her sister? She didn’t have a sister. There had only been the two of them for as long as she could remember. Surely she wasn’t serious? She glanced at Anna, who had now fallen asleep and whose breath was very faint. Eliza watched for a few minutes and then crept downstairs.
Later Eliza brought down the bottle of perfumed oil to fragrance the room, but the smell of sickness hung in the air. And when her mother smelt the oil she began to weep, so Eliza took it out and put it in the shed where it could upset no one.
She tried to ask about the sister she’d mentioned, but Anna seemed to have forgotten all about it, and so all Eliza could do was watch her mother looking at her as if she did not know who she was. Then out of the blue she whispered, ‘Half-sister. Found her in the house once, dirty little thing.’ After that she was too far away to say more and, as Eliza sat holding her hand, she watched her mother’s life being erased.
Then, with no particular warning, and while Eliza was out of the room making a cup of tea, Anna’s heart stopped beating. She was just sixty. Eliza stifled a sob and held her hand. Then she half sang, half sobbed one of her favourite childhood songs to her dead mother. After that she wept like she had never wept before. It had all been too late and now there could be no going back.
31
India, July
Armed only with the little photograph she had found, Eliza returned to India. She had been away for just over two months, though it felt like a lifetime. The house had not belonged to Anna, so once the death had been registered and the sad little funeral was over, Eliza no longer had a reason to stay.
To begin with she checked into the Imperial in Delhi and tried to track down the photographic studio where the photo she’d found had been taken. Sadly it was long gone, and Eliza wondered if she’d ever discover whether her mother had simply been delirious or if she had been telling the truth about the half-sister. The one thing that almost convinced her was that the man in the picture had a look of her father, though not at all the way she remembered him.
After Calcutta and Delhi she travelled on to Juraipore, where Clifford met her at the station. She asked him about the explosion in Delhi and was told that Jay had recovered from his injuries. She was immensely grateful for the news and thanked him for his kindness. But the heat was shocking and, although already pink, he flushed scarlet and she felt a little bit sorry for him. She had promised to try to love him but knew instantaneously that she never could. Before he delivered her to Julian and Dottie, he also explained that Eliza’s prints and plates had not been lost in the explosion. Apart from one batch, they had already been sent back to him in Juraipore when the explosion happened. She breathed a huge sigh of relief, but when he kissed her she struggled to find a way to lock out all thoughts of further intimacy. With the smells of Rajputana rising unbidden in her nostrils, she managed better in shutting out her feelings of grief over Anna’s death. It was all she knew to do, and yet she couldn’t prevent a growing feeling of hopelessness.
The busy first couple of days at the doctor’s house were passed in a small cocktail gathering, a tea party, and an evening of bridge. After that, as it was so hot, they did not go out, and though Eliza gave the illusion of functioning well, for her it seemed as if the very foundations of her life were being slowly eroded. Before long she almost forgot the smell of English moisture in the air and gave herself up to the dry air of the desert.
One morning, hot and feverish, she woke with a terrifying image in her head of herself as a red ball of fire encircled by a golden cage of flames. She began to sob and the doctor’s wife heard her.
Dottie was motherly, although she had no children. She clucked over her husband and now she clucked over Eliza too. It was well intended, but Eliza longed to clap her hands over her ears and yell at her to go away and leave her alone. It wasn’t really fair, as Dottie had always been kindness itself, but Eliza wanted to drown in her sorrow, not be comforted out of it. And though Dottie did her best to persuade Eliza to get dressed and come downstairs, Eliza turned her face to the wall, with silent rage consuming her.
A little later she heard the heavy tread of footsteps from the landing and then a light tapping on her door. She wanted it to be Jay and for one mad moment hoped that it was, and quickly sat up in her bed. When Clifford came in, she sank back down again and refused to look at him.
‘Come on, darling,’ he said. ‘I’m so happy you’re home but this really won’t do.’
She didn’t reply. Didn’t even move a muscle.
‘The Viceroy will be passing through next week. I really will need you in tip-top condition.’
She rolled towards him and opened her eyes. ‘I’m not a bloody horse, Clifford.’
She could see the exasperation in his eyes but could do nothing about it. She won
dered if he might know anything about a sister, but when she raised the subject he just looked blank and said Anna must have been delirious. There was nobody left to ask, so Eliza felt inclined to let it lie.
She put up with his wet kisses and luckily he expected no more, but when she thought of what was to come she felt sick. Every time he asked her to set the date she made an excuse. Too close to her mother’s death. Too hot. Too late in the year.
When she wasn’t feeling the slicing pain of being parted from Jay, she thought of her mother, crushed by life, and at the end a broken woman. It was unbearably sad. But then she wondered if her mother had ever really glowed with inner light. Had she ever been happy? If she had, was it David Fraser who had snuffed the light out, and had she herself been dazzled by her father and never really considered her mother?
A half-sister?
The words frequently slipped into her mind, leaving her restless. Another day passed and then another. On the following morning Eliza went into the bathroom, leant against the wash-hand basin and stared into the mirror. She gazed at her ashen skin and her lank hair and saw that the changes were not an improvement. She ran a bath and, afterwards, her spirits picked up.
The bedroom had been heavily curtained and Dottie had left it that way once Eliza claimed the light hurt her eyes. But now Dottie marched in carrying a box. ‘Now, Eliza,’ she said. ‘This is for you, but first I am going to open the curtains. It’s stuffy in here and you need light and air.’
Eliza glanced at the only shard of light visible in a small gap between the curtains; it stung like a knife in her eyes and she turned her back.
‘I don’t care,’ Dottie said. ‘Turn away if you must, but I am airing this room.’
Before the Rains Page 26