The Secrets of the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘How interesting!’ Josey said quickly. She had been keeping quiet behind a gauze of cigarette smoke. Tilly’s friend had a smoker’s grey pallor and nicotine-stained fingers but, Libby had to admit, the thirty-eight-year-old still carried off a certain bohemian style with her multi-coloured jumper and hair bound up in a silk scarf. ‘I have a contact on one of the local newspapers who might give you some work.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sam said with a wide smile.

  ‘That would be so kind,’ said Adela. ‘And I promised Mother I’d sort out Herbert’s Café. Thank you, Libby, for alerting us that Lexy can’t cope any more.’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you but something needs to be done,’ Libby said. ‘Poor Lexy can hardly walk five steps without having to sit down. Her chest is that wheezy. I’ve been helping out as much as I can but I’ve got my boring office job too.’

  ‘Lucky to have a job at all, sweetie,’ Josey said, stubbing out her cigarette in a brass ashtray.

  ‘It just takes a bit of effort, Josey,’ Libby said with a flash of annoyance in her dark-blue eyes. To her mind, their lodger had made no attempt since the end of the War to get paid employment or contribute to the housekeeping. She lived with them for free and it was she, Libby, who brought in enough to pay for Josey’s whisky and cigarettes.

  ‘You’re so much better at humdrum office work than me,’ said Josey, lighting up a fresh cigarette.

  ‘At any work,’ muttered Libby.

  ‘Now you two,’ laughed Tilly, ‘let’s not bicker in front of our guests.’

  ‘Are you still acting at The People’s Theatre, Josey?’ Adela asked.

  ‘I’m doing more directing these days,’ said the older woman.

  ‘We’d love to come and see one of your productions, wouldn’t we, Sam?’

  ‘Very much,’ Sam agreed. ‘I’ve heard so much about the theatre and I’ve been looking forward to meeting all the family and Adela’s friends.’

  ‘And of course you’ve got your own mother in Cullercoats, Sam,’ said Tilly. ‘You’ll be longing to see her again after all this time.’

  Libby thought she saw Sam wince but he forced a smile. ‘My adoptive mother,’ he corrected. ‘Yes, I intend to visit Mrs Jackman.’

  Adela squeezed her husband’s hand. ‘Sam will do that in his own time. It’s so kind of you to let us stay here, Tilly. We’re very grateful and we won’t overstay our welcome. As soon as we find a place of our own—’

  Tilly cut her off. ‘You’ll stay as long as you want. Libby’s already moved up into the attic so you can have the double bed.’

  Adela protested. ‘We mustn’t turf Libby out of her own room!’

  ‘She doesn’t mind,’ said Tilly. ‘And you love birds need it more than she does.’

  Libby rolled her eyes at Adela. ‘Sorry about Mother. And I’m more than happy for you to have the back bedroom. It’s just wonderful to see you again.’

  Adela laughed, her green eyes full of merriment. ‘It’s so good to see you all too. I’ve missed the Robson banter.’

  ‘And we’ve missed you more than we can say, dear girl,’ said Tilly, her deep-set hazel eyes glistening with sudden tears. ‘You’ve always been like another daughter to me.’

  Libby’s heart squeezed. Her mother had never hidden her preference for Adela, even though she was not even a blood relation of Tilly’s. It was through their Robson fathers – James and Wesley were first cousins – that Libby and Adela were cousins. But Libby had always adored her older cousin; she was not only a glamorous entertainer who had performed for the troops during the War but was warm-hearted and good fun. Libby could never resent Adela, yet it pained her that nothing she, Libby, did had ever seemed to please her mother. Long ago, she had given up trying to win Tilly’s approval.

  ‘So did you bring any messages from India?’ Libby asked in hope. She squirmed at the look of pity that flitted across Adela’s pretty face.

  ‘Your father sends his love,’ she said.

  ‘But no letter?’

  ‘He sent tea,’ Sam said. ‘Didn’t he, darling?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Adela got up.

  ‘Don’t worry about that now,’ said Tilly. ‘I want to hear all about your passage home. Did you throw your sola topees into the sea after Suez?’

  Adela laughed, fondly touching Libby’s tangled hair before making for the door. ‘We did. The sea was littered with them. The boat was jam-packed. We were lucky to get a billet.’

  ‘Everyone bailing out of India,’ said Tilly, with a glance at Libby. ‘I’m not surprised with all the violence going on.’

  Adela dashed into the hallway and came back carrying a large lacquered box which she placed on a low inlaid Indian table.

  ‘I remember that!’ Libby grinned. ‘Auntie Clarrie kept her letters in it so they didn’t go mouldy in the monsoon.’

  ‘Fancy you remembering,’ said Adela.

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Darling, you were only a small child when you were last there,’ reminded Tilly.

  ‘All my memories of Belgooree are as clear as photographs,’ Libby insisted.

  ‘Mother said I could have the box,’ said Adela. ‘I wanted something to remind me of h-home.’

  Libby heard the catch in Adela’s throat. She caught Adela’s hand, squeezed it in her own and said, ‘It’s a lovely thing to have.’

  Adela’s eyes brimmed with tears and Libby realised how difficult leaving India must have been for her cousin, despite Sam’s assertion they wanted to start anew in Britain.

  Sam stood up swiftly and unlatched the box. ‘I’ll make us some tea.’

  Tilly shrieked. ‘Certainly not! You’re our guest and a man. Sit down, Sam.’

  ‘I’ll make it with him,’ said Libby, aware that Sam needed something to do. She could sense the pent-up energy in his lanky frame. He must be approaching forty but, from what she’d heard, he was a man who still relished the outdoors. Before being a pilot, he’d once been a river captain and then become an itinerant missionary, planting orchards in the Himalayan foothills.

  While the other women chatted, Libby led Sam to the kitchen at the back of the house. Their cook had left ready a large tray loaded with a tea set and a plate of ginger biscuits. Libby started unloading it.

  ‘This calls for the best china.’ She nodded towards a wooden dresser. ‘Can you reach up to the top shelf please, Sam?’

  While he did so, Libby set about warming the silver teapot and opening up one of the packages. She scooped out black-and-green strands of dried tea.

  ‘This looks nothing like the stuff we’re used to drinking,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘You better get used to rationing.’

  ‘Still?’ queried Sam.

  ‘Gosh, yes,’ said Libby. ‘It’s worse than during the War. The Americans are sending us food parcels. I hope for Dad’s sake that he can stay on in India. He’d hate it here.’

  Sam didn’t contradict her. Instead he asked her about herself and her job.

  ‘I did a typing course at the end of the War and now I’m in a typing pool at a bank. I’m better at figures than the bank manager but they’ll never have a manageress. It’s archaic. So I do my hours and no more. I spend my spare time helping out at Herbert’s Café – but you know all about the tearoom Adela’s mother used to run?’

  Sam nodded. ‘So what job would you really like?’ he asked.

  Libby shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I suppose I miss being a Land Girl. It was very hard work but we had a lot of laughs.’

  Sam smiled. ‘It was like that in the Air Force. You’re thrown together with people you might never otherwise meet and you grow close because you’re depending on each other. And no one else can ever quite know what you’ve been through together. It was like that for Adela in ENSA too.’ Libby saw his expression soften. ‘I know her entertainments troop went through great hardship and danger but she would never admit it. She only ever told me about the funny moments on tour.’

 
‘Yes, that’s it,’ agreed Libby. ‘Life was so important and intense during the War. My friends meant everything at the time. Now it’s all a bit dull.’

  They finished preparing the tea and Sam insisted on carrying the tray. As they walked back through the hallway, Sam asked, ‘Where are your Land Army friends now?’

  ‘Two are married and living down south. One went to America with a G.I. and I haven’t heard from her since. And my best friend is a cook in a castle in the Highlands. I can’t imagine how she got the job – her cooking was terrible.’

  Sam gave a delighted chuckle.

  ‘What are you two laughing about?’ Tilly demanded as they re-entered the sitting room. ‘Goodness me – the Watsons’ best china! My mother loved it but I find the dainty cups so fiddly to handle.’

  ‘Dad’s tea will taste better out of them,’ said Libby.

  ‘Just pop the tray down here next to me, Sam,’ said Tilly. ‘I’ll do the pouring. Libby, hand round the biscuits. Watch your lovely teeth on them, Adela; Cook tries her best but they’re usually as hard as rock.’

  Tilly began pouring milk into the cups.

  ‘I’ll have mine black please, Mother,’ said Libby.

  ‘You never have it black,’ said Tilly.

  ‘This is special tea,’ she replied. ‘I want to savour it just how I remember it.’

  Libby watched the golden liquid being poured into the china cups which she helped hand around. She picked up hers and inhaled the steamy scent. The tea smelled of mango and papaya. Libby closed her eyes and sipped. Instantly, the heat and vivid colours of the tea garden were conjured up – not the oppressive monsoon humidity of the Oxford plantation, but the dappled sunshine and flowery creepers of Clarrie’s house at Belgooree.

  She could hear the raucous birdsong and see the glimmering tea bushes under a canopy of teak trees. In her mind, Clarrie was leaning over the veranda, her skin biscuit-coloured against a white dress, laughing with Libby’s mother. So Tilly had been happy in India once. Libby tried to hold on to the memory but it evaporated as swiftly as it had been recalled, like the wisp of wood smoke from the plantation bungalow chimney.

  ‘This tastes of Belgooree,’ said Libby, opening her eyes and smiling at Adela.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Adela agreed, smiling back.

  ‘Sam,’ said Josey in a stage whisper, ‘do you go all mystical over tea?’

  Sam laughed. ‘Not really. I must confess I prefer to drink coffee.’

  ‘So do I!’ Josey said in delight.

  ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ Sam asked Tilly, even though the air was thick with Josey’s smoking.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Tilly replied.

  Josey offered him a cigarette but Sam fished out a battered packet of Indian bidis. ‘Have one of mine.’

  ‘They look illegal,’ said Josey.

  ‘Oh, not those horrid things!’ cried Tilly. ‘They smell awful and you won’t like them.’

  Josey winked at Sam and took one. A moment later the room was filling with the pungent aroma of their small brown cheroots.

  ‘It reminds me of Cheviot View,’ said Libby, inhaling deeply. ‘The servants sitting on the veranda after dark, smoking together.’

  ‘Would you like one?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Oh, darling, don’t!’ Tilly exclaimed. ‘It’s not at all ladylike.’

  Libby rolled her eyes and reached towards the proffered cigarette. Sam hesitated, not wanting to cause further friction between mother and daughter.

  ‘What would your father say?’ Tilly said in reproof.

  Libby’s patience snapped. ‘I have no idea – and neither do you – seeing as we haven’t seen him in years.’

  ‘He wouldn’t approve.’ Tilly was adamant.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Libby, ‘but you can’t speak for him any more. I’m tired of you telling me what Dad would or wouldn’t like, as if you even cared.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me in that tone,’ said Tilly, flushing.

  ‘And don’t speak to me as if I’m still a child!’

  ‘Keep your hat on, sweetie,’ warned Josey.

  ‘Don’t patronise me, Josey,’ said Libby, ‘this has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘It does if you upset your mother, yet again. And you’re embarrassing our guests.’

  ‘Not your guests,’ Libby said, eyes flashing, ‘they’re my family. And Adela’s quite used to seeing me being belittled by my mother.’

  ‘Stop making a spectacle of yourself,’ Tilly hissed.

  Libby stood up, her heart pounding with emotion. ‘Adela, Sam: I’m sorry if I’ve caused a scene. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to your coming. But I wish with all my heart that Dad had come with you. I can’t pretend otherwise. I miss him so very much.’

  Adela thrust out a hand and grabbed at Libby’s, pulling her back down next to her. ‘I understand, I really do. I still miss my dad every single day. But yours is still alive and you will see him again.’

  Libby clutched Adela’s hand. Her cousin was so courageous. She had been younger than Libby when she’d lost her father – she had even witnessed the appalling tiger attack and cradled him in her arms when Wesley had died. How had she ever recovered from that? But Adela exuded an inner strength and a passion for life. Adela had always made Libby feel stronger and braver when she was around. At that moment, Libby was filled with a sudden purpose. It was quite clear what she should do – would have done months ago if she hadn’t felt duty-bound to help Lexy.

  ‘There’s only one way I can be certain of seeing Dad again.’ She turned to face her mother. ‘And that’s go to India.’

  Tilly’s expression was a mixture of irritation and panic. ‘Darling, it’s far too dangerous now. The riots and killing. Your father won’t agree to it.’

  ‘He will,’ said Libby. ‘His Christmas card said he was longing to see me.’

  Tilly turned to Adela for support. ‘Dear girl, tell her it’s a ridiculous idea. Things are far too unsettled in India, aren’t they? It’s just not safe.’

  Libby saw pain on her cousin’s face; she didn’t want to take sides.

  ‘It’s not unsafe for the British,’ Libby insisted.

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’ Tilly was disbelieving.

  ‘I read the newspapers too, Mother.’

  ‘The wrong sort,’ Tilly exclaimed.

  ‘I admit,’ said Libby, ‘that there have been some terrible atrocities – but the violence has been communal – Hindus fighting Muslims. We British may have caused all the divisions but it’s not our blood that’s being spilt.’

  Unexpectedly, Sam spoke up. ‘It’s true there have been some awful incidents – Calcutta last summer saw horrendous violence – but Libby’s right, the atrocities have been communal. The different communities are vying for power in a future India and sadly this is stoking up fear of each other.’

  ‘That’s my point,’ Tilly said, flustered. ‘The papers say the country’s becoming lawless.’

  ‘But,’ said Sam, ‘the hatred is no longer aimed at us British. They know we are going.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Tilly asked.

  ‘That I don’t think it would be too dangerous for Libby – or any of you – to visit India. The British are not being harmed.’

  Libby felt a kick of triumph. She wanted to throw her arms around Adela’s kind husband for sticking up for her.

  ‘Listen to Sam, Mother!’ she cried. ‘We should both go.’ She gave Tilly a beseeching look. ‘Come with me, please. Dad needs you.’

  Tilly’s round face sagged. Libby couldn’t read the expression in her eyes; was it annoyance or guilt?

  Her mother glanced away. ‘I’m needed more here – the boys still need me—’

  ‘Jamie’s a fully qualified doctor now and only comes home for the odd weekend,’ Libby protested.

  ‘But Mungo’s still so young,’ said Tilly. ‘Perhaps when he’s finished with university . . .’

  Libby s
wallowed down her disappointment. Tilly was always going to put the boys first. She dug her fingernails into her palms to stop herself showing her emotion.

  ‘Well, whatever you decide,’ said Libby, ‘I’m going back out to India – and to Dad.’

  CHAPTER 3

  Lying on the camp bed in the chilly attic room under a pile of blankets and coats, Libby could hear the murmur of Adela’s and Sam’s voices in the room below. Their indistinct conversation was punctuated with Sam’s deep chuckle and Adela’s suppressed giggles.

  Libby felt bad about causing the argument earlier that evening. Why had she allowed her mother and Josey to upset her? Normally she shrugged off Tilly’s chiding remarks and teased Josey back. Their household functioned well enough with Libby largely out at work, Josey at the theatre and Tilly busy with voluntary work for the Women’s Voluntary Service and the church. They had a part-time cook and a maid who came in daily to do the cleaning, washing and ironing. When Mungo was back from university in Durham, Tilly was at her happiest. The days after he went away, Josey would try and cheer Tilly up with trips to the theatre or reading aloud from one of Tilly’s favourite novels, while Libby kept out of the way by staying late at Herbert’s Café doing the bookkeeping.

  But this evening, something inside Libby had snapped. Seeing Adela again after more than three years’ absence had reignited all her longing for India and her father. It had shaken her with the force and suddenness of a monsoon storm. Just one whiff and sip of the scented tea had made her realise that she still yearned as strongly to return to Assam as she had when she was a child. Torn from her family home at Cheviot View on the Oxford Estates and packed off to a spartan boarding school in Northumberland, eight-year-old Libby had cauterised her emotions – and lashed out at her mother for being the one who had abandoned her there.

  Libby had never quite got over the shock of finding herself in the austere red-brick institution with its rigid rules and freezing dormitories. She had been constantly in trouble for exploring beyond the school bounds and answering back in class. She had written plaintive letters home asking for her father to come and fetch her and when he hadn’t she had taken comfort in eating as much of the stodgy school food as she was allowed and spending all her pocket money on sweets and fizzy drinks at the tuck shop.