by Umi Sinha
Bhagalpur, 2nd April 1882
The hot season is with us again. We have gone through the upheaval of the yearly exodus of women and children to the hills and it seems very quiet. Miss Ramsay did not go with them. She says that her father is unwell and cannot be left, but I suspect that none of the mems has offered to take her under her wing. I do not know whether through Roland or some other agency, but it seems word has gone round about Mr. Ramsay’s past – it appears that he may have lost his job as a tea-planter because he could not keep his hands off the tribal women – and, as a result, Miss Ramsay has become increasingly isolated. I believe jealousy to be the true reason, however, for it has been apparent from the first that the mems have never warmed to her because she makes their daughters look plain. I have heard spiteful comments being made in voices loud enough for her to overhear, and the other girls no longer speak to her. She pretends not to notice, but she looks paler and more fragile every time I see her and my heart aches for her. I know from school what it is to be isolated and friendless, and once again I am regarded with suspicion because of my friendship with Hussain.
Roland is as obsessed with her as ever, and I have become useful again as a chaperone now that the winter season of balls is over and there are not so many opportunities for them to meet. So we all three, accompanied of course by her ayah, drive out to the tanks and sit by the water, or ride in the early morning before Roland goes to the Lines. I know I am being made use of but I find it hard to turn down the chance of spending time with her.
20th May 1882
Last night a party of us – some of Roland’s fellow officers, some Eurasian girls chaperoned by their mothers, and Roland, Miss Ramsay and I, closely shadowed by her ayah – drove out to one of the tanks that provide the town’s water. Miss Ramsay was wearing a spotted white dress made of yards and yards of some diaphanous material that made her seem more ethereal than ever. The party began to walk around the lake, the young ladies trailed at a discreet distance by their chaperones, but when Miss Ramsay’s ayah tried to follow us Miss Ramsay turned on her and hissed something so ferocious that she dropped back. After that I began to feel uncomfortably de trop so I decided to take a walk up a nearby hill to a small temple on top that promised a good view of the tank. It was a bright moonlit night and from the top of the hill it was easy to follow the progress of the party as they walked. As I approached the temple I thought I saw a movement inside.
‘Who is it? Show yourself!’ I called in Hindustani.
A dark shape moved forward but remained in the shadows, the brilliance of the moon illuminating only the base of a fluted pillar and a pair of sandalled feet, which, marbled by the intense light, looked like those of a Greek statue with their high arches and long, elegant toes.
‘Come into the light.’
The figure came forward hesitantly and I recognised Miss Ramsay’s ayah. She salaamed, her hand pulling her veil closely around her face as she turned to leave.
I said quickly, ‘Wait. Don’t go. You were here first.’
She turned back and said in a panicky voice, ‘I must go. Missie Baba may need me,’ but I knew her real fear was of leaving Miss Ramsay alone with Roland.
I said reassuringly, ‘They’re not alone. Come and look. You can see them quite clearly from here.’
She stepped towards the edge of the platform and I pointed to Miss Ramsay, whose white dress made her easy to pick out from the other girls. She stopped near one of the pillars, looking down, her face turned away from me.
In an attempt to make conversation, I asked her how long she had been caring for Miss Ramsay.
‘Since she was born, sahib.’
I noticed that her voice was low and her speech refined. Her accent reminded me of the bibi’s. ‘You’re from Lucknow?’
She glanced round, surprised, then lowered her face again. ‘Yes.’
‘And you knew Miss Ramsay’s mother?’
She nodded.
‘What was she like?’
She hesitated. ‘She was a good woman.’
‘Is Miss Ramsay like her?’
‘How?’
‘Was she very beautiful?’
She shrugged. ‘Some say so.’
I sensed her reluctance to answer and wondered why, but before I could press her further she said abruptly, ‘What kind of man is Sutcliffe-sahib?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, taken aback by her presumption.
‘Is he a good man? A man of honour?’
I said pompously, ‘I hardly think it’s your place to ask such a question.’
She said quietly, ‘I mean no offence, sahib. I want only what is good for her. She has no one else to care for her.’
‘Surely she has her father?’
She made a sound of contempt that surprised me, considering she was speaking of one Englishman to another, and I was about to say something sharp when she gave a gasp of alarm and I followed her eyes. Below, most of the walkers had returned and were sitting in small groups by the side of the tank. There was no sign of Miss Ramsay’s white dress. Before I could react the woman had taken off down the hill, so fast that I was afraid she’d fall.
I caught up to her and said, ‘You look on this side of the lake. I’ll take the other.’
I knew Roland wouldn’t thank me for disturbing his tête-à-tête, so it was a relief, when I finally found him, to learn that Miss Ramsay’s ayah had discovered them first and insisted on taking her home. Roland was seething. ‘I’d only had a few minutes alone with her before that virago found us. Oh, Henry, she’s the most mesmerising creature. Sometimes she’s all ice and at others she’s all fire.’
‘Roland, you didn’t…’
He snorted. ‘Chance would be a fine thing! We were getting on splendidly and then… then that harridan burst in on us. I’d made a bit of a mess of Rebecca’s dress and if looks could kill I’d be dead now. She told me she’d tell Rebecca’s father… if he complains I’ll be up before the C.O., but it would be worth it. I just wish I’d had a little longer alone with her.’
I wanted to hit him, and yet I am no better than he, because lying in bed last night I found myself fantasising about what it would be like to be with her and I knew that Roland was right: she would be wild, passionate. I have never envied anyone the way I envy him. I would give anything for her to care for me, but she has eyes only for him. I cannot bear to watch them any more so I have decided to take some of the leave I have due to visit Father. Perhaps this time I can find out a little more about my own past.
Cecily
Entrenchment, Cawnpore, 4th June 1857
Dearest Mina,
You will probably never receive this letter as the mail has ceased, but writing to you comforts me. It is the worst thing, waiting for something to happen. Everything is quiet, yet we can feel the tension in the air: a storm waiting to break. It is horrible being cramped up here in the dark in this little room, and I am so filled with fear, but of course we cannot show it for the sake of the children, who are as happy and excited as if we were on a picnic. To them it is all a game. I heard Freddie say to Sophie this morning, ‘You fire shells and I’ll return shot from my battery,’ and despite our fears Louisa and I exchanged a sick smile. She is, as always, brave and resolute. How I wish I were like her, but I am not. All I can think of is the terrible things they say were done at Delhi to pregnant women and innocent children. Louisa says I must not think of them, but I cannot get the pictures out of my mind. How could human beings be so cruel, and why do they hate us so much?
The heat and dust are stifling. Yesterday the lid of my writing bureau, my wedding gift from Mama, split in two.
Later
We have just heard the news that Capt. Hayes and Lt. Barbour are dead – cut down by their own sowars. General Wheeler had sent them out a few days ago to rescue any civilians who might have survived. Today he recalled two patrols of Arthur’s troops, who are trustworthy, and instead sent out some troops from the 56th, who have been showi
ng signs of disaffection. Everyone knows his purpose is to get rid of them. Their poor officers went bravely, not showing that they knew their fate. One of them is Lt. Tremayne, Emily’s husband. I do not know how she will manage without him.
All the officers have now been ordered to sleep in the entrenchment. Arthur alone is permitted to sleep in the Lines because his troops are the only ones who have shown no sign of disaffection. I truly do not believe that Ram Buksh and Durga Prasad would allow their men to hurt us, but I cannot help remembering that many of the worst atrocities in Delhi were done to helpless women and children by their own servants. When Ram Buksh came back with Arthur I felt so guilty for doubting him that I could not meet his eyes.
5th June 1857
Our case now seems hopeless. This morning we were woken by shots and went out to discover that the 2nd Native Cavalry had rebelled and shot their risaldar-major who tried to stop them. I was frightened for Arthur, but he and his men turned out on to the parade ground, together with the remainder of the 56th under the command of their native officers, where they remained standing to attention and ignoring the pleas of the rebels to join them. Soon after, the 56th too rebelled, firing at Col. Williams who rode out to intercede with them.
To my relief, General Wheeler summoned Arthur to the entrenchment along with his native officers, but then, for some reason that no one can understand, Gen. Wheeler ordered our native gunners to fire upon Arthur’s men, even though they were standing quietly in their ranks and showing no signs of rebelling. Arthur tried to stop them but Gen. Wheeler overruled him. When the first shot landed near them they looked startled but seemed to think it was a mistake and remained at attention, but when two more landed among them they broke ranks and ran for their Lines.
No one knows why Gen. Wheeler should have ordered such a thing, but James thinks it may have been to test the loyalty of the native gunners, who have been behaving sullenly. If so it was a mistake, for they became so uncooperative afterwards that Gen. Wheeler offered them an opportunity to leave the entrenchment and they all took it.
I have never seen Arthur so upset. He begged for permission to go to his men but Gen. Wheeler forbade him to leave the entrenchment. Arthur went white and for a moment I truly thought he would attack the general but at that moment Ram Buksh leapt on to Arthur’s horse, which he had been holding, and rode away. Our sentries fired after him but fortunately missed. He told us when he got back this evening that he had remembered that our guards were on the Treasury and Magazine and, fearing that when they learnt that their fellows had been fired upon for no reason they would hand the buildings over to the mutineers, he had ridden off to stop them. But it was too late, for when he got there he found that both were already in the hands of the rebels and that Nana Saheb has assumed command over them! It is strange how calmly we took the news, almost as though we expected it, although poor James feels terrible about having trusted him.
General Wheeler has recalled all the officers and assigned them a position along the walls. As Arthur no longer has any men to command, he has volunteered to serve under Captain Moore. It must be humiliating for him to take orders from a junior officer, but he says this is no time for pride and every man is needed now. Ram Buksh has been allowed to remain, along with a few other loyal native officers. Durga Prasad wanted to join them but Arthur asked him to go out and round up their men. He returned with them a few hours ago but when he asked them to collect their rifles they refused to pick them up for fear we should fire upon them again. Gen. Wheeler will not to let them enter the entrenchment, so they are in a barracks outside, where Arthur says they are exposed to fire from every side. Durga Prasad is to command them. Arthur and James have given him all the money they have for food and provisions, as it is of no use to us now.
When Arthur came back from parting with Durga Prasad and his men, he broke down and wept. In the last few days I have seen his strength, courage and kindness, his unfailing generosity and patience, and the comfort and reassurance he dispenses to everyone around him. I truly have grown up, Mina, and if – through God’s mercy – we survive this, I shall never doubt him again.
My darlings, if I do not see you again in this world, I know I shall see you in the next.
Your ever-loving Cecily
6th June 1857
James has just told us that General Wheeler has received a strangely courteous note from Nana Saheb stating his intention of attacking us at ten o’clock. It is now ten minutes to ten. May God have mercy on us.
Lila
After Jagjit left for India, I went into a kind of hibernation. That summer was the hottest and driest I can remember in England. Day after day the sun shone, and seemed to mock my misery. There was a weight in my chest formed of grief and dread that threatened to rise into my throat and choke me. I woke with it in the morning and went to bed with it at night.
Each day I took a book from my great-grandfather’s library and went up on the hill behind the house to my old hideout. Books had been my comfort throughout childhood when Father was away; imaginary worlds filled the emptiness of knowing that no one cared for me most, not even Ayah, because Mother’s needs always came first. I had lost myself in stories then, but they could not console me now; I could no longer forget who I was and become poor orphaned Pip or Jane Eyre, alone and friendless, taking comfort in my shared unhappiness. But the story I went back to repeatedly was ‘The House of Eld’, puzzling over the meaning of Jack’s tragic story.
About a fortnight after Jagjit’s departure, Aunt Mina called me into the morning room. She was reading through some papers, and looked up at me.
‘Sit down please, Lilian.’
I pulled up a chair to the desk and sat opposite her, wondering what she wanted. Again there was that feeling of awkwardness between us. I had lived with her for seven years and still we did not know what to say to each other.
She put down the paper she was holding and looked at me. ‘Do you still wish to go to university in London?’
I did not know what to answer. The application date had passed and I had given up the idea. Nothing had seemed to matter very much except the fact that Jagjit might be killed. Although I tried not to believe it, I could not help feeling that everyone I loved was destined to be taken from me.
‘I don’t know, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?’
‘I spoke to Mr. Beauchamp a few weeks ago and he agreed to speak to the Provost for me. Because so many students have joined up they have unfilled places, and if you are still interested you could go up for an interview next week.’ She handed me the letter.
‘But I thought you didn’t want me to go.’
‘It may seem to you, Lilian, as though I make a point of always standing in your way, but I know what it is to live in uncertainty. I have always found it better to keep oneself occupied and not have too much time to think. Studying may be the answer for you.’
So she had noticed my unhappiness. Once again I was lost for words. ‘Thank you, Aunt Mina.’
In the event I never did get to university, because in the next few weeks it became apparent to the authorities that this was a war different from any they had ever known. As the scale of the slaughter became apparent, and the casualty lists grew longer, the recruitment drive intensified. Mr. Kipling was touring the country, making inspiring speeches with his new anthem, ‘Jerusalem’, set to music by Mr. Elgar. Mrs. Pankhurst suspended the Votes for Women movement till the war was over and transferred her energies into recruiting men to go and fight, handing out white feathers to those who were laggardly, while Mr. Keir Hardie, who was an ardent pacifist, was trying to organise a general strike to protest against the war. Mr. Beauchamp told us he had been jeered in the House of Commons for addressing anti-war demonstrations and defending conscientious objectors. He was no longer invited to the house.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Beauchamp, like the mothers of many young men who joined up, had thrown herself into war work and arranged for me to join the Women’s Voluntary Aid
Detachment in Brighton. So, less than two months after Jagjit’s departure, I was working at the new military hospital on Dyke Road.
Being a V.A.D. opened my eyes to many of the things Mrs. Beauchamp and her suffragette friends had talked about. For years I had heard them discuss the lot of working class women, but now I experienced for myself what it was like to do hard physical work all day. Unqualified to nurse, V.A.D.s did all the menial jobs: washing unending piles of greasy dishes, emptying bedpans, serving meals. My hands were raw from eczema and being scrubbed with carbolic; my muscles ached. At night I was so tired that I fell asleep on the tram back to the nurse’s hostel, and barely had the energy to make myself a cup of cocoa before collapsing into bed. For the first time I thought about the life of our maids, who rose at five every morning to scrub the grates and make up the fires and went to bed after we did.
I think the tiredness took some of the edge off the shock of the other sights we saw. For the first few months I worked mechanically, scrubbing and cleaning, fetching and carrying, following orders. We were treated with impatience by Matron and with contempt by the professional nurses, who regarded us ‘lady nurses’ as spoilt and useless. But to complain was unthinkable. When one saw the state of the young men, little more than boys, who were being brought in, it was impossible to feel sorry for ourselves. We were called upon to help hold limbs steady while they were bandaged, to carry amputated limbs to the sluice room, to help bathe men who were the same age as ourselves, to sit with dying men and to comfort shocked and grieving relatives. Overnight, girls who had led sheltered lives were exposed to a level of suffering that was unimaginable to them. In some ways I adapted better than some of the others because I could understand at least something of what these young men had been through. I knew what it was to see violent death; I knew what the inside of a man’s head looked like. I knew what it was to have one’s world come to an end.