THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER:A wonderfully moving story of courage and enduring love: First in the India Tea Series

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Abruptly he let go. ‘I can see the suggestion is distasteful to you,’ he said bleakly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you embarrassment. I’m an old fool.’ As he stepped back, Clarrie clutched at his hand and held on. ‘Not a fool, sir,’ she whispered. She was amazed by his confession, for she would not have guessed his feelings in a hundred years. He looked so unsure of himself, almost boyish in his vulnerability. For such a diffident, cautious man, it must have taken some courage to risk his pride by telling her of his secret regard. She realised that the flood of warmth she suddenly felt towards him meant that she cared for him too. It was not love, but it was respect and affection. Herbert was offering her the kind of stable marriage to which she aspired, and she was certain she could make it work. ‘Yes, I will,’ she said. ‘I will marry you.’

  He frowned at her, uncertain. ‘You will?’

  Clarrie smiled in reassurance. ‘I’d be honoured to be your wife, sir.’

  Herbert grabbed her to him and let out an exultant bark. ‘Dearest Clarrie!’ He pressed her to his chest. ‘Thank the Lord!’

  He released her, but held her hands between his, smiling with relief.

  Clarrie laughed. ‘So what do we do now, sir?’

  Herbert snorted. ‘From this moment onwards, you stop calling me sir.’

  Clarrie blushed. ‘That will take some getting used to. It wouldn’t feel right calling you by your first name — not until we are …’

  ‘Married? Go on, Clarrie, say it! Married, married, married!

  She gazed at him in astonishment. She had never seen him so gleeful.

  ‘What will your family say?’ she asked nervously.

  His face clouded for an instant. ‘We won’t care what they say. Besides, Will will be overjoyed. He adores you.’

  ‘It wasn’t Will I was worrying about,’ Clarrie said drily.

  ‘We’ll face them together.’ He raised her hands and gently kissed them. ‘With you beside me, Clarrie, I can face the world again.’

  CHAPTER 21

  Autumn 1909

  Word of Herbert’s proposal caused a storm among his family and acquaintances. Bertie was furious, Verity hysterical, the Landsdownes coldly disapproving. Only Will sent them a warm letter of congratulations. Fellow churchgoers glanced askance at Herbert and muttered when he insisted on Clarrie and Olive sitting in the forward pew with him instead of behind with the other servants. Even Dolly revolted and handed in her notice.

  ‘It wouldn’t be right,’ she told Clarrie frostily. ‘One minute you’re one of us, the next I’m bobbin’ and curtseying like you’re some’at special.’

  ‘It won’t be like that,’ Clarrie insisted. ‘I won’t ask any more of you than I do as housekeeper.’

  ‘It won’t be the same.’ Dolly sniffed in offence, as if Clarrie had done it as a deliberate slight.

  She left a month later. On Clarrie’s advice, Herbert did not replace her immediately.

  ‘Olive and I will manage the cooking in the meantime. Best wait till we’re wed, so a new cook won’t know me as the housekeeper first.’

  Olive, who had been thrilled by her sister’s unexpected news, took Dolly’s leaving badly.

  ‘She’s the only friend I’ve got,’ she said tearfully. ‘Now I’ve no one to natter with.’

  ‘You’ve got me,’ Clarrie reminded her. ‘Soon you’ll be leading a different sort of life — a lady of leisure. You can go back to your music and drawing. Won’t that be wonderful?’

  Olive appeared to cheer up at her words. But if Clarrie’s attention had not been so taken up with hostility from other quarters, she might have noticed her sister’s growing ambivalence towards her forthcoming marriage.

  But Bertie and Verity’s opposition was vocal and relentless. Clarrie knew by the strain on Herbert’s face that his son was making life difficult at the office and Herbert increasingly stayed at home to do his work in the study. Verity refused to bring the grandchildren round to see him and no more invitations came to visit the house in Tankerville.

  One day, when Herbert was out, Bertie marched into the house to confront Clarrie. He cornered her alone in the kitchen.

  ‘I know your game, Belhaven,’ he said with a contemptuous jut of his fleshy chin, ‘you’re after my father’s money. You’re trying to take what’s rightfully mine!’

  ‘I most certainly am not.’ Clarrie was indignant.

  ‘Trying to step into my dear mother’s shoes. It disgusts me. Don’t pretend for one minute you love him.’

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ Clarrie gasped.

  ‘Oh, but it is.’ In fury he pushed her up against the table and grabbed her chin in a vice-like grip. ‘Don’t play the prim little madam with me,’ he snarled.

  Clarrie felt suffocating panic. His hatred of her was palpable.

  ‘I don’t want what’s yours,’ she cried. ‘I just want to live in peace and dignity with your father.’

  He gave a savage laugh. ‘I don’t believe you. How did you wheedle your way into his affections? With some native witchcraft? A love potion?’

  Suddenly with his other hand he grabbed her hair and jerked her towards him. Fixing wet lips on hers, he gave her a smothering kiss. Clarrie fought him off in revulsion. Pushing him back, she grabbed a kitchen knife and brandished it.

  ‘Keep away from me,’ she hissed.

  ‘Or what?’ he said coldly.

  ‘Or your father will get to hear of this,’ she said.

  They glared at each other in loathing. Bertie looked away first.

  ‘What will it cost for you to go — to leave my father alone?’ he demanded. ‘I can pay you enough to rent somewhere — you and your needy little sister — set you up in a boarding house so you can be your own boss. I know that’s what you want.’

  Clarrie wanted to spit at his offer. First he threatened her and then humiliated her with a disgusting kiss; now he was trying to bribe her. He was beneath contempt.

  ‘I don’t want your money,’ she replied hotly, ‘and I don’t want your inheritance. If that’s all that’s bothering you and your wife, then I suggest you speak to your father about money matters. It’s none of my concern.’

  Bertie’s look was still suspicious.

  ‘Now I think you should go,’ she said.

  ‘Upstart little bitch!’ he cursed. ‘If you go ahead with this marriage, I’ll make sure you’re blackballed from society. No one who’s anyone in this city will invite you to anything.’

  Clarrie said in derision, ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  He spun on his heels and stalked out at her effrontery. Minutes later, when Olive came clattering in at the back door, Clarrie was still shaking.

  ‘I’ve just seen Mr Bertie leaving; looked like the devil was chasing his tail. What did he want?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Trying to bully me not to marry his father,’ Clarrie said, trying to hide her distress.

  Olive came closer and saw how upset her sister was. ‘Oh, Clarrie, do you think it’s wise getting wed after all? Everyone seems to be against it.’

  Clarrie set her face firmly. ‘They’ll get used to it in time. It’s hardly the first time a man’s taken his housekeeper for a wife.’

  ‘Aye, but some folk are more set against us for being part Indian than for being servants,’ Olive said unhappily.

  ‘Don’t you listen to such talk.’ Clarrie’s anger ignited. ‘I’m proud of who we are. And it makes no difference to people who really care about us — to Herbert and Will.’

  Olive sighed, her look still troubled. Clarrie put out her arms to her. After a moment’s hesitation, Olive allowed herself to be hugged.

  Despite Clarrie’s defiant words, the engagement dragged on into the autumn, the date for their wedding never quite being finalised. She began to worry that Herbert was regretting his rash proposal, buckling under the weight of family censure. She lived in dread of Bertie’s forcing his unwanted attentions on her again. He was not to be trusted. As long as
she remained a servant and not Herbert’s wife, she was vulnerable to the younger man’s bullying.

  ‘Perhaps if we give them a little more time, they’ll come round to the idea,’ Herbert said with a pleading look.

  ‘They won’t.’ Clarrie was blunt. ‘They probably won’t ever speak to us again — at least not to me. Are you prepared for that?’

  ‘Surely not,’ Herbert sighed.

  As winter approached, Clarrie came to the painful conclusion that the marriage was doomed before it had even begun. Her dreams of being Herbert’s wife and companion, of opening a business with Olive, were just that: dreams. One evening, she steeled herself for the ordeal of making Herbert see the impossibility of their union. It was pie in the sky.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him sadly, ‘but I’ll not be the cause of your estrangement from your family.’

  He looked at her in consternation. ‘Don’t say that. It won’t happen.’

  ‘It already has. You can’t keep ignoring it.’ Clarrie laid a hand on his arm. ‘Bertie has made it quite plain I will never be accepted by him and Verity.’

  ‘Bertie.’ Herbert scowled. ‘What has he said to you?’

  She held his look. ‘That I can never step into his mother’s shoes. Not that I would ever try, but Bertie hates the very idea of someone taking his mother’s place.’

  Herbert reddened and looked away. ‘He doesn’t realise how happy you make me, but that will come in time.’

  Clarrie shook her head. ‘If only that were true. Like you, I thought he would come round to the idea, but he’s never going to. It makes life impossible for you. You two have to carry on working together.’

  Herbert clutched at her hand. Fiercely he said, ‘I don’t care how difficult Bertie makes my life, I just want us to be married. I’ve delayed too long and now you’re having second thoughts. The idea of losing you frightens me far more than anything Bertie might do.’

  They gazed at each other, Clarrie’s heart lifting to see the love in his eyes. She knew she could make Herbert happy after his deep grief over Louisa. Why should she not take this chance at happiness for herself too? She was tired of struggling, of fretting about the future, of working her fingers to the bone. If others were offended, so be it.

  ‘Then,’ Clarrie said quietly, ‘you have to face up to what is really worrying your son.’

  ‘What is that?’ Herbert asked, still gripping her hand.

  ‘Money. He’s terrified I’m going to steal his inheritance.’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ Herbert protested.

  ‘I know it is, but that’s what he thinks.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken—’

  ‘He came to see me,’ Clarrie interrupted. ‘He made it quite plain he thinks I’m only after one thing; your money.’

  Herbert gave her a sharp look.

  ‘It will poison our marriage,’ Clarrie said quietly. ‘How long before you think it too?’

  ‘I don’t care why you’re marrying me,’ Herbert said, ‘I’m just thankful that you are.’

  ‘Maybe now,’ Clarrie smiled wistfully, ‘but in time it might come between us — if your family carry on shunning us.’

  Herbert looked stubborn. ‘I won’t give you up, Clarrie. Tell me what I should do.’

  Clarrie was heartened by his vehemence. ‘The only way to set Bertie’s mind at rest is to sign things over to him now — the business — before we marry,’ Clarrie urged. ‘So no one can make accusations after.’

  ‘But it’s my own legal practice,’ Herbert protested.

  ‘And one day it will be his,’ Clarrie pointed out. ‘You need to settle things with him, so he doesn’t see me as a threat. We don’t need much to live on — you’re not nearly as extravagant as Bertie and Verity. And you could set something aside for Will. But why not hand over to Bertie now what he’ll get in time anyway?’

  Herbert looked at her long and hard. ‘If you think that will speed us towards our wedding day, then I’ll gladly do it.’

  Her spirits soared at the warmth she saw in his eyes. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  ‘I love you, Clarrie,’ he murmured.

  She smiled. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ***

  The wedding was finally set for the New Year, just before Will was due to return to school. It was to be a quiet affair: a simple ceremony at the John Knox Presbyterian Church followed by a tea dance at the Empire for a couple of dozen guests. These were mainly church friends and a handful of clients, including Daniel Milner, who Herbert trusted would wish them well. Clarrie invited her friend Rachel Garven and the women who had first shown her friendship at the pub: Ina, Lexy and Maggie. The women were amazed and thrilled to be asked, taking delight in putting together outfits grand enough for the Empire Tea Rooms. Against Olive’s wishes, an invitation was also sent to Jared and Lily, but back came a curt reply from Lily that Friday was a strange day to have a wedding and they would be far too busy at work to attend.

  Herbert, urged on by Clarrie, made his peace with Bertie by transferring the ownership of the practice. It was not enough, however, to mollify the affronted Verity. Both she and Bertie refused to attend the wedding, and Bertie asked his father not to embarrass the Landsdownes by sending them an invitation either.

  Verity wrote: ‘… regretfully, we shall be away for New Year, staying with friends in Perthshire. We hope the day goes to your satisfaction.’

  ‘Can’t be too rude,’ Clarrie said drily to Olive, ‘just in case Herbert changes his mind and cuts them out of his will.’

  But she was silently relieved that they would not be there to spoil the day. She could no longer look at Bertie with equanimity since he had forced his kisses on her in the kitchen. She was revolted by the memory. The less she saw of him the better.

  Will, in contrast, brightened up the holidays and increased her excitement at the thought of the wedding day. Clarrie hugged him fiercely when he agreed to give her away. He seemed quite overcome by the request.

  ‘Me?’ He blushed. ‘Are you sure you want me?’

  ‘Of course,’ Clarrie smiled. ‘You’re more like family to me than anyone I can think of.’

  ‘Then yes,’ he said, eyes shimmering with emotion, ‘I’d be honoured to.’

  Clarrie and Olive took him shopping for a new suit. At almost sixteen, he now towered over them and spoke to them in a deep voice at odds with his fresh-faced looks. Like a young colt, he dashed about energetically on gangly limbs, shaking his mop of fair hair out of his eyes. But when he boomed with loud laughter, Clarrie was reminded that he was halfway to being a man.

  ‘Would Johnny like to come to the wedding?’ Clarrie asked him, shortly beforehand. ‘There’ll be plenty to eat.’

  Will agreed with enthusiasm and she felt deeply grateful for his affectionate nature and lack of snobbery. He had refused to go to Bertie’s for Christmas without his father or Clarrie and Olive, although he went with Bertie and Clive for a day’s shooting at Rokeham Towers. Maybe in time, Clarrie thought in hope, Will would be the one to mend the severed ties between Herbert and Verity’s family.

  1910 arrived and the week of the wedding. Everything was ready. Clarrie’s dress of white velvet with a simple veil hung in the wardrobe, as did Olive’s bridesmaid’s dress of powder blue that complemented her coils of red-gold hair. On Herbert’s insistence, Louisa’s room had been emptied of its dusty bottles and musty furnishings and refitted with new curtains, bedding and floor rugs of Clarrie’s choosing. It would be their bedroom.

  With Will’s help, the sisters rearranged the furniture so that the bed faced on to the large window and the view of rooftops and city spires. Clarrie, who wanted the room to look as different as it possibly could from Louisa’s sickroom and private domain, chose fabrics in emerald, turquoise and tangerine. At the windows she hung white muslin instead of heavy brocade so as to let as much light into the room as possible.

  She surveyed the sweep of counterpane with its vivid green bir
ds of paradise nervously. She did not like to think too long about what it would be like sharing the marital bed with Herbert. He was not unattractive — must have been very good-looking in a severe sort of way when he was young — but he was sixty, as old as her father would have been had he lived. She was still rather in awe of him, and the thought of intimacy with her former master made her insides lurch about like seasickness.

  To stop such unwelcome thoughts Clarrie kept busy with needless tasks and errands. Two days before the wedding she called into the Empire Tea Rooms. Although the tea menu and quartet of musicians had been chosen weeks before, and Clarrie had been into the tea room twice since then to double-check the arrangements, she could not resist one more visit just to be sure.

  ‘Any excuse to go into that place,’ Olive said, rolling her eyes and declining to accompany her. ‘You would think you owned it.’

  Clarrie laughed. ‘Maybe one day …’

  As she walked into the lofty-ceilinged tea house, she had to admit that Olive was right. She loved its smell of polish and baking, and the cheerful lamplight at each table contrasting with the gloomy raw January day outside. She felt at home here, the tensions of a busy day falling from her shoulders the moment she walked through the swing doors with their leaded panes of coloured glass.

  She noticed at once that extra potted plants — ferns — had been placed on the windowsills and two bold brass lamps in the shapes of wood nymphs stood either side of the dais where the band would play. A series of Chinese prints had been hung against the dark panelling, adding to the Oriental feel.

  The manageress, Miss Simpson, came forward to greet her and show her to the alcove table that was Clarrie and Rachel’s favourite.

  ‘I haven’t come to eat,’ Clarrie confessed. ‘Just wanted to make sure everything was in hand for Friday.’

  ‘Please.’ Miss Simpson ushered her into a seat.

  ‘Have a pot of tea on the house.’

  ‘It must be nerves,’ Clarrie confessed, ‘but I can’t settle to anything.’