The Secrets of the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Let’s have a chota peg,’ suggested Fairfax. ‘Glasses and bottle are hidden in that bedside cabinet. Nurse doesn’t let me touch it before tiffin but this is a special occasion, eh what?’

  Once James had poured them both a generous whisky, they fell to reminiscing about long-ago days on the tea plantation. An hour passed and the old man began to tire. His head was drooping and he was beginning to lose the thread of their conversation. James realised that if he didn’t ask about the Dunlops now then the chance would be gone.

  Bracing himself, he pulled out the envelope from his inner jacket pocket. It was crumpled from being carried around for so long, but still unopened.

  ‘Just one thing before I go,’ said James. ‘I’ve been asked by an acquaintance to see if you remember any tea planters in your day called Dunlop.’

  ‘Dunlop?’ Fairfax frowned.

  ‘I have the details here,’ said James. ‘This man is keen to establish his British credentials – but I worry it will just stir up a hornet’s nest. He’s Anglo-Indian, you see.’

  ‘Anglo-Indian,’ Fairfax echoed.

  ‘Yes, what in our day we called Eurasian,’ said James.

  ‘Ah,’ said the old man, nodding in understanding. ‘There was a lot of that went on in the old days. Quite wrong, of course. Not fair on the children. What to do with them – always the problem.’

  James felt his heart begin to beat erratically. ‘Yes, quite so.’

  ‘Well, read it to me,’ said Fairfax. ‘Can’t think of a Dunlop in Assam, mind you.’

  James reached for an ivory letter opener on the table in the window, slit open the envelope and put on his reading glasses. His breath stopped. He stared at the neat list of facts about Danny Dunlop. It wasn’t possible! He felt winded with shock.

  ‘Not a tea planter anyway,’ Fairfax said, still searching his memory. ‘Though I did know of a Reverend Dunlop in Shillong. Or was he a doctor?’

  James closed his eyes but he could still see the name seared behind his lids. Aidan Dunlop: born circa 1896, orphan of a Scottish planter in Assam, admitted to the Convent of the Sisters of the Holy Cross by Sister Placid.

  Sweat broke out on his brow. His heart raced. The one thing that he had clung on to was that Danny stood for Daniel. But Danny clearly stood for Aidan, the name he had given the Logan boy. It could be no other child. Perhaps kind Sister Placid had given him the Scottish surname to give him a veneer of respectability.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, old boy?’ asked Fairfax, peering at him in concern.

  James crumpled the letter. ‘No – yes – I . . .’ He tried to order his thoughts. ‘It doesn’t really tell us anything more. School in Shillong – ended up on the railways.’

  The whisky curdled in his stomach. James thought he might be sick.

  ‘There you go,’ said Fairfax. ‘Dr Dunlop in Shillong – probably related.’

  ‘Yes,’ James said, balling the letter in his pocket as he stood up. ‘Well, I better be off. Tilly has got me moving house so I should get back to supervise.’

  ‘Dunlop, Dunlop . . .’ Fairfax had resumed a faraway look; he was lost in the past.

  James regretted bringing up the subject. Why on earth hadn’t he opened the letter before now? Deep down he knew why: he had feared that digging into the past might raise long-buried ghosts. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to be gone from the stuffy tobacco-smelling room with its myriad reminders of the Oxford tea gardens.

  He shook Fairfax by the hand. ‘Don’t get up, sir; I’ll see myself out. Good to see you.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed our chin-wag about the old days, Robson.’ The old man smiled. ‘You will come again and see me, won’t you? No one in here has the foggiest idea about Assam.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will,’ James promised, making hastily for the door.

  ‘What a life we had, eh?’ Fairfax continued as James left. ‘Work hard, play harder . . . !’

  James felt the bile rise in his throat at the words. A memory of the hateful Bill Logan saying just the same thing forced its way into his mind. He clattered out of the nursing home as fast as he could.

  The night-terrors began again. James so alarmed Tilly that he offered to move into the room vacated by the Jackmans.

  ‘I don’t want to disturb you,’ he’d said when Tilly had asked him what was causing the nightmares.

  ‘Is it the house move?’ she asked in concern one night, following him into the spare bedroom. ‘If you’re that unhappy about it . . . ? Am I being too selfish?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing to do with that,’ said James. ‘It’s probably too many nightcaps before bed – or cheese or something.’

  ‘James,’ Tilly said, hovering in the doorway. Her expression softened. ‘Is this what it was like . . . ? Were you like this when you had your . . . exhaustion . . . when you went to Clarrie’s?’

  James reddened. He was about to rebuff the suggestion and then decided to be honest. ‘Yes.’ He glanced away. ‘I couldn’t sleep and when I did I had these terrible dreams that were so real I thought I was experiencing them.’

  Tilly came and sat down on the bed beside him. ‘Libby wrote and told me. I’m afraid I thought she was being over-dramatic as usual.’ She placed her hand over his – lightly, briefly. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dismissed her worries.’

  ‘I wanted to confide in Libby,’ James admitted. ‘She’s so mature in many ways. But it didn’t seem fair to burden her . . .’

  ‘Burden her with what?’ Tilly asked gently. ‘James, we’ve been apart so long, I’ve no real idea what it’s been like for you. Is there something we can do?’

  James felt a pang of affection for his wife and this glimpse of the old Tilly, the one who had fussed over and cared for him. Here she was, wrapped in a threadbare silk dressing gown that had once belonged to him, her hair loose about her shoulders, concerned about him once more. She looked almost girlish in the lamplight. How he missed their former companionship! Years ago, one of the things that had attracted him to Tilly was that he had found her so easy to talk to – her warmth of personality and ability to listen.

  He took a deep breath. ‘I’m haunted by the past, Tilly,’ he confided. ‘I can’t get it out of my head.’

  ‘The War?’ Tilly guessed.

  James shook his head. ‘Much longer ago – before I met you.’

  ‘Ancient history then,’ Tilly said with a wry look.

  James gave her a fleeting smile. ‘Yes, when I was a young man at the Oxford.’

  ‘This isn’t to do with Sophie’s father, is it?’

  James flinched. ‘How could you possibly know—?’

  ‘Darling, I was the one who unearthed it all, remember? Poking my nose into why the Logans were staying at Belgooree when Sam was born and Sophie was a little girl.’

  James let out a sigh. ‘No, Tilly, it’s not about that. But it does involve Logan – before he was married. God, how I wish I had never worked for that wicked man!’

  ‘James!’ Tilly admonished. ‘You mustn’t say that. He was ill when he did that terrible thing.’

  ‘You mean murdered his wife and then committed suicide?’ James said angrily. ‘No, Logan wasn’t ill; he was a vicious, jealous, drunken bastard who mistreated his wife and was notorious for taking advantage of the tea pickers.’

  Tilly gaped at him in shock. James felt himself shaking. All the old hatred for Logan and disgust at himself for doing his bidding surged through him. He waited for Tilly to defend Sophie’s father with excuses; his wife rarely saw fault in anyone – apart from in him and Libby.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Tilly softly. ‘I promise I’ll say nothing to Sam or Sophie.’

  James felt his eyes sting with tears. Swallowing hard, he began to tell Tilly the secrets that he had buried for decades but which would no longer leave him in peace.

  Adela was encouraged by the thawing of frosty relations between Tilly and James. Since they had moved into the Jesmond house a few days ago, they appeared to be
getting on better.

  Josey cautioned, ‘It’s not all sweetness and light, but at least they’ve stopped snapping at each other in front of others.’

  ‘Well, it’s a start,’ said Adela. ‘And I’m glad they’ve settled on the Jesmond house. I’m sure Major Gibson will let James go riding at Willowburn any time he wants – and follow the hunt.’

  ‘Tally-ho and all that,’ said Josey with a wink.

  ‘And what about you, Josey?’ Adela asked. ‘Are you happy to stay on living in the Robson household now that James is back?’

  Josey paused. ‘I’m not a great fan of James,’ she admitted. ‘But I feel sorry for the man. He’s like a fish out of water in Newcastle . . . and I know he has nightmares – heard him shouting in the night on more than one occasion.’

  ‘Really?’ Adela asked in concern.

  ‘Yes. Tilly says it’s something to do with an incident at the plantation years ago but she won’t say what. She’s being kinder to him as a result. So I’ve decided to stay on with them and help Tilly. She and the children – well, they’re my family too. I feel more affection for them than I ever did for my own. I don’t want to go anywhere else – and Tilly has insisted that I stay.’

  Adela smiled. ‘I’m not surprised; you’ve been a wonderful friend to her.’

  Josey gave a droll look. ‘Having said that, I’m looking forward to a week on my own, looking after the house while the family are at St Abbs. Would you and Sam like to come round for supper one evening?’

  ‘Thanks, we’d love that.’

  ‘I’ll have a go at making you a curry, shall I?’ Josey suggested. ‘Or at least throw some curry powder into a fish pie.’

  Adela grimaced. ‘Actually, I’m off—’ Abruptly she stopped herself. But Josey was immediately suspicious. Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Off curry? Tell me, are you . . . ?’

  Adela flushed.

  ‘You’re pregnant!’ Josey cried in glee.

  Adela grinned and shushed her. ‘I think so. But don’t say anything. I haven’t told Sam yet and he hasn’t guessed. I want to be sure.’

  Josey darted at Adela and threw her arms around her in a jubilant hug. ‘That’s the most wonderful news!’

  Adela’s eyes welled with tears as she laughed and spluttered, ‘I know, isn’t it?’

  Josey broke away and fished out her cigarettes. ‘Celebratory smoke?’

  Adela pulled a face. ‘No thanks; I’ve lost the taste for those too.’

  Josey chuckled. ‘Sweetie, it’s not going to take Sam long to work out why. Tell him.’

  ‘I will soon,’ said Adela. ‘When we get a quiet moment alone. We’re so busy. Jane’s only been back a week and the café business is already picking up.’

  ‘Leave her to it,’ said Josey. ‘You need to start putting your feet up.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Adela. ‘And Joan’s gracing us with her presence this weekend. I said we’d have an early fourth birthday party for Bonnie at the café. I want to see the girl before we go – and we won’t be here in October for her birthday. Jane’s doing most of the organising but I want to help. Jane’s excited to see her niece again and determined that she’s going to keep in touch with George’s daughter.’

  Josey gave a wry chuckle. ‘Except us two know that Bonnie is no more George’s daughter than she is the King’s.’

  Adela gave her a warning look. ‘Which neither of us is ever going to tell.’

  ‘My lips are sealed, sweetie,’ said Josey with an earthy laugh, as smoke escaped from her nostrils.

  With each day, Adela’s impatience to be travelling back to India grew. She knew that many people thought her and Sam mad for heading back to a country that Britain was so quickly disengaging from and where there was an upsurge in violence since Partition, but to her and Sam, India would always be home. Deep down, she also knew that she needed to get away from Newcastle and put the pain of her failure to find John Wesley behind her. Perhaps distance would help her come to terms with the past more quickly.

  Now that she was almost certain that she was pregnant again, Adela was filled with a new excitement and urgency to get back to her mother and Belgooree. It would be a fresh start for her and Sam – how pleased he would be to be a father at last – and this time she would enjoy her pregnancy. There would be no shameful hiding of her pregnant state or cruel separation from her baby. This one would be loved unconditionally. Her emotions see-sawed between tearfulness and euphoria as she contemplated the future.

  Adela’s plan to hand over the café to Jane was going smoothly and it was an added joy to discover that Jane was still the caring, slightly reserved but unflappable woman that Adela remembered.

  They had fallen immediately into their old friendship, though this time Jane was more ready to tease Adela back. Her cousin had grown in confidence since living away. Sam said he was struck by the family resemblance between Adela and her dark-haired cousin.

  ‘Mother says that we both take after our Grandmama Jane who married our grandfather, Jock Belhaven,’ Adela had told him. ‘He was the first tea planter at Belgooree. Mother has a photograph of her parents and my cousin looks very like our grandmother – more than I do.’

  Adela also liked Jane’s cheerful, red-cheeked husband with his bluff Yorkshire humour. Charlie Latimer had a knack of cajoling the staff into doing Jane’s bidding in the kitchen while entertaining them with lurid catering stories from his time in the army. He had twice the patience that Adela did. She wrote to Clarrie full of confidence that the café would not only survive under its new management, but also thrive.

  As Adela’s thoughts turned increasingly to India and Belgooree, she hungered for news, but her mother had not written since shortly after the Independence celebrations. Sam was reassuring.

  ‘Your mother will be run off her feet in the gardens at this time of year,’ he said. ‘The factory will be at full production.’

  Adela put her hands around his face and kissed him in affection. ‘You sound like a tea planter already,’ she teased.

  He caught her round the waist and tugged her closer. ‘I can’t wait.’ He grinned and kissed her robustly back.

  On the afternoon of Bonnie’s birthday party, Adela felt even more queasy than usual. She had been busy all morning helping to decorate the café and had hardly stopped to eat or drink.

  ‘Sit down for a minute,’ Jane ordered, ‘and have a sandwich. You’ve lost all your colour. I hope you’re not sickening for something?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Adela didn’t argue. ‘Just five minutes’ rest will do it.’

  They had partitioned off half the café for the birthday tea and a space had been cleared for games, which Sam was going to organise while Charlie Latimer bashed out tunes on the old piano. Adela had hoped her Aunt Olive would be persuaded out of her house but Jane had shaken her head.

  ‘Mam won’t come. You know how she hates crowds. I’ll get Joan to stop off with Bonnie and see her before they go back to Willowburn.’

  Soon the café was filling with children and their mothers: friends and relations of Joan’s. Adela had to admit that George’s ex-wife was popular and she felt guilty for resenting her. It wasn’t just because of loyalty to her cousin George whom Adela felt had been wronged by Joan’s infidelity. Adela had to admit that she still harboured a residual jealousy towards Joan for another reason. While Adela had been hiding in disgrace for being pregnant and had had to give up her baby, Joan had got away with her affair. George had gallantly married her and taken on another man’s child. Adela swallowed down resentment as she watched an excited Bonnie arrive, dressed in flounces of pink right down to her ankles and clutching Joan’s hand. Bonnie slipped Joan’s hold and skipped across to her Auntie Jane, who immediately began making a fuss of her niece.

  Abruptly, Adela was seized by a yearning for John Wesley so acute that she thought she would pass out. She gripped her stomach and tried to hide her distress. It would pass; it always did. She just had to endure it for a
moment or two. She never knew when the sense of loss would take hold of her. Little things triggered it: the sight of a baby being pushed in a pram or a boy kicking a football in a back lane. But the bouts of grief had lessened since her decision to give up the search.

  It was probably being pregnant that was making her feel suddenly teary. The thought that she was carrying her and Sam’s baby gave her immediate comfort. Adela stood up and went to join her husband, slipping a hand into his. He gave her a quizzical smile, squeezed her hand and turned to deal with a couple of small boys who were already fighting over a balloon.

  As Charlie started to play ‘Three Blind Mice’, Adela put on a smile and greeted Joan and her new husband Tommy. She liked Major Gibson’s head groom, though they had only met briefly on a couple of occasions. Joan was enjoying showing him off and playing the country lady. She was dressed in a smart tweed jacket over a linen dress, her blonde hair neatly coiffured and with only the slightest hint of make-up.

  ‘Joany tells me you’re going back to India,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Yes,’ Adela replied. ‘We’ll be joining my family and helping on the tea garden.’

  ‘That’s grand,’ he said, ‘isn’t it Joany?’

  Joan was beaming at Adela with that look that Adela had always found so disconcerting: half assessing, half vacant, as if she was only partially listening.

  ‘Grand, yes,’ she agreed.

  ‘You must come up to the stables before you go,’ Tommy said. ‘Mr Robson says how you and Mr Jackman like to ride. You’d both be welcome. Wouldn’t they, Joany?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Adela. ‘We’ve been meaning to but haven’t found the time.’

  ‘I’m learning to ride,’ said Joan, putting a possessive hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Tommy’s teaching me so I can accompany Martha Gibson.’

  Adela looked at her in surprise. She thought Joan’s boasting about being friends with the major’s wife had been exaggerated.

  ‘You can ride with me and Martha if you like,’ Joan said, smiling.