The Secrets of the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘I’ll see you back to Sudder Street,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  Downstairs, Ghulam hailed a rickshaw. They sat in silence as it bumped along Park Street and Chowringhee Street, before turning into Sudder Street. As the vehicle swayed and jostled them together on the short journey, Libby was acutely aware of their arms and thighs touching for the last time and savoured every last painfully sweet moment. It was over all too soon. As Libby dismounted, she felt misery claw at her insides.

  ‘Will you write to me?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘If you’d like me to.’

  ‘Yes, very much.’

  The street was still busy. People were glancing at them in curiosity.

  They stood for a moment, gazing at each other with regret. Libby thought she would always remember the tender look he gave her. He took her hand and held it, squeezing it in encouragement.

  ‘Take care of yourself, Libby,’ he said.

  ‘And you,’ she answered, swallowing down tears.

  He disengaged his hand and clambered back into the rickshaw but waited to see her walk safely into the building where the Dunlops lived. Libby smiled and waved and turned away, forcing herself to walk into the building and not look back. She failed. As she glanced round to give one more wave, the rickshaw driver was already pulling away. All she could see was the back of Ghulam’s dark head as the rickshaw vanished into the sultry night.

  CHAPTER 30

  Belgooree, August

  Sitting out on the veranda after dinner on her first night in the hills, Libby caught up with Clarrie’s and Sophie’s news.

  Libby had been surprised and delighted to find her childhood friend Manzur was now living on the Belgooree estate. Clarrie, hearing from Libby about his ambition to be a teacher, had swiftly offered him a position as a schoolmaster in the plantation school.

  ‘I know that the schooling here has always been rudimentary,’ Clarrie admitted, ‘and that it’s high time the education for the pickers’ children was improved.’

  ‘I’m sure Manzur will be just the man for the job,’ Libby enthused.

  ‘Oh, he’s already making a difference,’ said Clarrie. ‘The children love him and he’s so full of energy. I really can’t thank you enough for tipping me off about him wanting to leave the Oxford.’

  ‘I’m glad it’s working out,’ said Libby. ‘Though Dad will probably tell me off for interfering.’

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ Clarrie had replied. ‘Your father is pleased that Manzur is doing a job he loves.’

  ‘So you’ve heard from Dad since he’s been back in Newcastle?’ Libby exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, an airmail came a couple of days ago.’

  Libby flushed. She was longing to hear how the reunion between her parents was going. ‘I haven’t heard a thing – except to say he arrived safely. I know he’s not the world’s greatest letter writer.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll have written to you too. Perhaps it’s just missed you in Calcutta. James wouldn’t have known that you were staying at Flowers’s flat, would he?’

  ‘No,’ Libby conceded. ‘So how is he? What does he say? Is he getting on all right with Mother?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he is. They’ve been looking at houses together,’ said Clarrie.

  ‘To buy?’

  ‘To rent to start with,’ said Clarrie. ‘They can’t agree on town or country, so they’re going to do both for a short while. James is keen to rent a house on the Willowburn Estate up the Tyne Valley.’

  ‘He’ll want somewhere he can keep horses and dogs,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Why does the Willowburn Estate sound familiar?’ asked Libby.

  ‘According to Adela,’ said Clarrie, ‘it’s where Joan Brewis and her daughter Bonnie have gone to live.’

  ‘That’s right!’ Libby remembered. ‘Joan’s new husband runs the stables there. George told me. That sounds just the sort of place Dad would be happy.’

  Libby caught a look pass between Clarrie and Sophie.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Apparently he still has to persuade Tilly,’ said Sophie.

  ‘That’s why renting is such a good idea,’ said Clarrie with an optimistic smile. ‘Give them both a chance to see if it’s a suitable family home.’

  ‘Well, Tilly should just be happy she’s got her husband back and can start afresh on married life,’ said Sophie. ‘I can’t wait to be with Rafi again.’

  ‘Is that likely to be soon?’ asked Libby.

  Sophie smiled. ‘I’m hoping so. He’s more or less certain he’s going to be offered a job in the Rawalpindi Forest Office. Rafi’s old friend Boz is staying on in the new Pakistan too – they trained together in Edinburgh – and Boz has already been guaranteed a post in ’Pindi. It would be grand if they could both be foresters together again.’

  ‘I’m so pleased,’ said Libby, quelling a familiar pang of longing for Ghulam. Rafi was a different man; he had always put his love for Sophie first rather than his ideals. At heart he was a romantic. And Libby had always admired Sophie for being brave enough to break ranks with the British and marry her beloved Rafi. She felt a stab of envy that the pair of them had had years of happiness together, whereas her bittersweet affair with Ghulam had been so short-lived. ‘Does Rafi say what the situation is like in the Punjab?’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘He doesn’t mention the bad things that we hear about in the newspapers. I don’t think he wants to worry me. But he won’t let me travel there yet – not until he’s got the job in the bag and has found somewhere for us to live.’

  ‘That’s sensible,’ said Clarrie. ‘And I’m sure you won’t have to wait long.’

  ‘And what about Ghulam?’ Sophie asked Libby. ‘Did you manage to see him in Calcutta?’

  Libby felt herself go hot at the question. ‘Yes, I did. I helped out for a couple of days with Fatima’s rescue charity – Ghulam took me.’

  ‘And?’ Sophie probed.

  Libby’s insides clenched. ‘I care a lot for him,’ she admitted, ‘and I know he likes me but he was adamant I should leave Calcutta and go to the hills. I fear for him and Fatima.’

  Libby told them about the murder outside Amelia Buildings. The women were aghast.

  ‘Do you think they will stay in India or go to Pakistan?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Ghulam will never leave India,’ Libby said. ‘I’m certain of that.’

  Sophie sighed. ‘Yes, he’s always been far more stubborn than Rafi.’

  ‘It’s not a question of being stubborn,’ Libby said. ‘Ghulam is Indian to the core – to leave would be turning his back on everything he believes in.’

  ‘Rafi didn’t want to leave either,’ Sophie retorted, her tone sharp, ‘but he’s more or less been forced out of Gulgat. He knows it’s not safe for us to stay there because we’re Muslim. Ghulam shouldn’t be staying if his life is in danger.’

  ‘Both men are right in their own way,’ said Clarrie swiftly. ‘Rafi is doing what he thinks is best for the both of you – and Ghulam is sticking to his principles. Men like him will be needed in an independent India – the country has always thrived on being a mix of races and religions. It would be a great tragedy if people are driven out because of their beliefs – that’s not what Nehru and the Congress Party want, as far as I can see.’

  ‘You’re right as ever, Clarrie,’ said Sophie. She stretched out and squeezed Libby’s hand. ‘I’m sorry if I snapped at you, lassie. My nerves are a little frayed at the moment worrying about my husband.’

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ said Libby quickly. ‘I didn’t mean any criticism of Rafi.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Clarrie with a smile. ‘Now tell me what my nephew George has been up to. Is he ever going to come and visit his old aunt or are we too boring in the mofussil ? I do wish he would. I’ve always been tremendously fond of George.’

  ‘He’s just as charming and irrepressible as ever.’ Libby laughed. ‘And he hasn’t ad
mitted it but I think he’s smitten with Flowers Dunlop.’

  CHAPTER 31

  Newcastle, August

  Just come with me to see it,’ James pleaded with Tilly.

  She was brushing her hair in front of the dressing-table mirror, her back to him. He tried to catch her look in the mirror but she was studiously avoiding eye contact. It was almost impossible to have a private conversation with his wife as there was always someone else with her in the house or she was dashing out to one of her numerous commitments, leaving him with long hours on his hands. If he didn’t have his trips to Willowburn Estate up the Tyne valley to go riding, James knew he would not be able to endure his retirement.

  It was kind Adela who had come to his rescue and contacted Tommy, the stable master there, who had introduced James to the genial Major and his nice family. James relished his twice-weekly rides around the estate and talking about tea and India to Major Gibson, who had once been a young subaltern in Burma. When the Major had offered to rent James a house on the estate, he had jumped at the chance. He knew that, given time, he and Tilly could recreate the loving home they had once shared in Assam.

  So he curbed his irritation and said to Tilly’s back, ‘The house is big enough for you to do your entertaining and you can furnish it any way you want. You’ll make it into just as comfortable a home as Cheviot View. And the grounds are spectacular—’

  ‘Cheviot View!’ Tilly exclaimed. ‘God forbid. I don’t see why we have to live so far from Newcastle.’

  ‘It’s not far and I thought we’d agreed to give it a try?’ James said in exasperation. ‘I’ve more or less promised Gus Gibson that we’ll take it. And he has the most charming young American wife, Martha – she’ll be company for you.’

  ‘I’ve got the company I want here in Newcastle,’ she replied.

  ‘But the Major has been most accommodating . . .’

  ‘You shouldn’t have made promises before I’ve had a chance to see it,’ said Tilly, her hair brushing becoming more vigorous.

  ‘I’m giving you the chance now,’ James cried. ‘A trip out. The fresh air will do you good.’

  ‘Fresh air is overrated. Unless it’s sea air.’

  She carried on brushing the same wavy piece of hair, though there were no knots left in it. James noticed how it had lost its reddish sheen and was peppered with grey at the roots.

  ‘Tilly! When I suggested St Abbs to be near Johnny, you said you didn’t want to move to the seaside. I wouldn’t mind that – somewhere near the River Tweed for fishing.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to live in St Abbs either,’ said Tilly in agitation. ‘Visiting Johnny is one thing – but hearty Helena would drive me mad as my neighbour.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’ James demanded.

  She paused in her brushing and turned to face him. ‘You know what I want – to stay in the city.’

  ‘But this house is too small,’ James pointed out. ‘Especially with all the extra lodgers you seem to have acquired.’

  Tilly gave him a sharp look. ‘They’re not lodgers. Adela and Sam are family – and Josey is like a sister to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ James relented. ‘I didn’t mean that I don’t want Adela and Sam living with us.’ Privately, he could quite happily see the back of the chain-smoking Josey and her droll waspish remarks.

  Tilly said, ‘Poor things haven’t found settling back here very easy so the last thing Adela and Sam need is for us to throw them out.’

  ‘I don’t want to throw anyone out,’ protested James.

  In fact, life in the house would be intolerable without Adela and her affable husband. Years ago, he had misjudged Sam as a rootless dreamer who would never stick long at any job, and had resented him for being critical of how workers were treated on the Oxford Estates. But since returning to Newcastle James had quickly grown fond of Sam: he was hardworking and a devoted husband to Clarrie’s daughter. With Sam he could reminisce about India, and the younger man understood how he missed his old home in Assam.

  ‘If we move to the countryside,’ said Tilly, ‘that’s exactly what will happen. Adela and Sam can’t possibly carry on the café if they’re stuck out at Willowburn.’

  ‘They have a van,’ said James. ‘It’s not a long drive.’

  ‘It is with petrol still rationed. They wouldn’t manage. You have no idea how hard life has been in Britain.’

  James sighed in frustration. His wife never tired of telling him of all the deprivation those on the Home Front had suffered during the War. When he had alluded to how dangerous Assam had become under imminent threat from a Japanese invasion, Tilly had said that it just made her all the more thankful that she hadn’t returned to India with the children.

  ‘Tilly,’ James said, trying to stay calm, ‘I just want us to have a proper family home – big enough to accommodate us all – so that Jamie can stay whenever he wants and Libby will have her own room when she returns.’

  Tilly seized on this. ‘I can’t believe you let her stay on alone in India,’ she chided.

  ‘She’s not alone – she’ll be at Belgooree with Clarrie by now.’ James broke off, reddening. Tilly didn’t like him talking about Belgooree or Clarrie or ‘harping on about India’ as she called it.

  ‘We’ve no idea what that girl is up to,’ said Tilly. ‘You obviously had as little influence over her as I did. I told you what a handful she could be. She just does whatever she wants without thinking about the consequences.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ James said. ‘Libby is a fine young woman. She’s made a lot of friends in India and is passionate about the country, so I wasn’t going to stop her having a couple of extra weeks there. Besides, she’s a grown woman and we can no longer order her to do what we want.’

  ‘We never could,’ Tilly sighed.

  ‘Anyway,’ said James, ‘stop trying to use Libby to divert our conversation. What are we going to do about where we live?’

  Tilly put down the hairbrush. She gave him a contrite look.

  ‘I’m sorry, James; I don’t want us to argue like this. I know it’s difficult for you,’ she said, ‘but I’m finding this hard too. Perhaps we could compromise on where we live?’

  ‘How?’ he asked.

  ‘What about if we spend part of the week at Willowburn – and the rest in town? We could see if it suits us and I could still do my voluntary work – I don’t want to let people down.’

  ‘You mean keep on two houses?’

  ‘Yes, just for a few months,’ Tilly said, turning back to the mirror while she clipped on earrings – silver and jade ones that Libby had helped James choose before he left Calcutta.

  James felt a tightening in his chest at the thought of his lively, cheerful daughter. He missed her. Several times he had sat down to write to her but hadn’t known what to say. He knew she worried about him but he didn’t want to fill a letter full of lying platitudes that everything in Newcastle was fine. He knew how much she hoped for a perfect family reunion. Anyway, she would be joining them any day soon. His spirits lifted at the thought.

  He watched while Tilly sprayed on perfume. For an instant the scent reminded him of long ago when he’d courted her – the young, garrulous, blushing, plumply pretty Tilly – and he felt a stirring of affection. He wanted to recapture their early days. If only he could have Tilly to himself more often, he was sure they could rekindle their early passion.

  ‘But that doesn’t get around the fact that we’re crammed in here like chickens in a coop,’ said James, trying to lighten the mood.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and felt her stiffen. She shifted away from him, leaning forward to apply lipstick. He never remembered her wearing make-up in India.

  ‘Well,’ said Tilly, pressing her lips on a handkerchief and sitting up straight. ‘I’ve been having a look around and there’s a house in Jesmond which would fit the bill perfectly.’ She turned and gave him a tentative smile. ‘It’s got five bedrooms and a large garden and it’s just
a stone’s throw from the Dene so you can take the dogs for a walk – when we get dogs – and I can walk to church easily from there.’

  James gaped at her. Her hazel eyes lit up as she talked about the house in the prosperous suburb where she had grown up.

  ‘And all the bedrooms are a good size. The boys can share the largest one so that Libby and Josey can have their own rooms – and we’d still have a spare room for Adela and Sam if they needed it. You and I could have the one with the view over the Dene and all the trees – just like being at Cheviot View or Belgooree.’

  She gave a small nervous laugh. James was dismayed.

  ‘Have you already been to see it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I took Josey to have a look last week.’ Tilly’s look turned defiant. ‘It’s for rent or sale, so if we like it we can buy it. Mungo likes it too.’

  ‘Mungo’s been to see it?’ James exclaimed.

  ‘Just from the outside,’ said Tilly, rising from her stool and adjusting her sack-like dress over ample hips. James wondered fleetingly when Tilly had begun to wear such matronly clothes. Perhaps she always had but he had never noticed.

  Tilly gave him a smile of encouragement. ‘I’ll come and see the house at Willowburn if you agree to look at the Jesmond property. What do you say?’

  James hid his despondency. It sounded as if the family was already lining up to support Tilly on the matter – just as they deferred to her on all the petty daily decisions that had been taken since his return. He felt bewildered. His sons made topical jokes and hooted with laughter over radio comedy that left James baffled. Jamie was a kind young man but was diffident with his father and as he worked long hours in a hospital in Sunderland, he was rarely at home. Mungo was friendly and talked to James about sport but was far more at ease with Tilly, although he teased his mother mercilessly. Neither son seemed remotely interested in his stories about India; nor did they want to reminisce about their childhood there in the way that Libby had done.

  It was James who felt like a lodger in his own home. Except this wasn’t his home; it was the house Tilly had rented for her and the children during the War. It was full of their possessions – his were still in transit at sea – and it was like staying in a boarding house where nothing was familiar. At least if they went to Jesmond they would be starting again afresh together.