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

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Never mind,’ she said, banishing her disappointment, ‘just wait till I tell Will.’

  She rushed off for a spoon and to break the news to Mrs Henderson and Sally of Herbert’s first coherent words.

  ‘He’s not daft in the head like Bertie thinks,’ she said, wiping away a tear of relief. ‘He’s not!’

  Back upstairs, Clarrie watched and encouraged her husband as he ate his food with painful slowness. But for once, her watchfulness appeared to irritate him.

  ‘Book,’ he grunted.

  Clarrie laughed. He wanted her to read. All those months of reading to him and not knowing if he took any of it in had not been futile. She sat and read to him while he finished his meal. It was stone cold and half of it over his pyjamas by the time he gave up, but Clarrie sensed the triumph in his panting.

  As she lifted the tray, he touched her with feeble fingers. Their eyes met. There was a new glimmer in his, a recognition, she was sure of it. He struggled to speak. Clarrie leaned closer. He said it again, more forcefully.

  ‘Cl - Clarrie.’

  Clarrie gasped. ‘Yes, I’m Clarrie. You do know me!’ His look was fixed on her, beseeching her. ‘What else, Herbert; what else do you remember?’

  ‘I — ‘ove — you.’

  Clarrie’s heart jolted. Tears sprang to her eyes; tears of joy and relief and tenderness. She bent down and kissed his forehead.

  ‘I love you too,’ she said hoarsely.

  He gave a loud grunt. A trickle of tears spilled out of one eye and ran down his gaunt cheek.

  ‘Oh, Herbert,’ she whispered in wonderment, ‘you’ve come back to me.’

  CHAPTER 29

  At Christmas, Clarrie was determined to gather the family around Herbert. It would be her first Christmas without Olive, who was entertaining Jack’s mother and brother, so the distraction was welcome. Will was eager to help and to their surprise Bertie and Verity agreed to come and bring the children. Vernon was a spoilt four year-old with a temper who threw tantrums if he did not get his way. But Josephine was chubby and mild-natured and ran around her grandfather’s chair trying to play hide-and-seek.

  ‘Chase me, Grandpa!’ she cried and squealed when Will came after her pretending to be a grizzly bear.

  Clarrie knew that Herbert delighted in having his grandchildren there. He made a huge effort to try to speak to them clearly.

  ‘He’s dribbling!’ Vernon screeched in disgust. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘I think he’s hungry,’ Josephine diagnosed and, clambering on to Herbert’s lap, began to feed him chocolate. Soon it was melting and they were both a sight to behold.

  ‘Oh, Josey!’ Verity scolded. ‘You’re ruining your dress. Get down at once.’

  Her daughter ignored her and Verity turned puce with annoyance. ‘Do something, Bertie!’

  Quickly, Clarrie plucked the little girl from Herbert’s knee. ‘Come on, we’ll go and wipe you down with magic water.’

  ‘What’s magic water?’ Josephine cried, taken by surprise.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Down in the kitchen, Clarrie filled a bowl full of very soapy water and distracted the girl by blowing bubbles while she cleaned up her face and hands and sponged her dress. Josephine giggled at the wayward globes floating away and bursting on the shelves of pans and crockery. Clarrie had sent the staff home early so they could enjoy the day with their own families, and it was a relief from the strained atmosphere upstairs to escape to the quiet of the kitchen.

  ‘Clarrie,’ Josephine piped up. ‘Are you my grandmama?’

  ‘No,’ Clarrie smiled, ‘but I am married to your grandpapa.’

  ‘So you are my relation?’ the girl persisted.

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Daddy says you’re not.’ She frowned, swinging her legs. ‘He says you’re one of the servants.’

  Clarrie’s insides knotted. ‘I used to be, but not now.’

  ‘Is that why we’re allowed down in the kitchen?’ Josephine asked. ‘I’m never allowed in the kitchen at home.’

  Playfully, Clarrie tapped Josephine’s nose. ‘Well in this house, you can go anywhere you like.’

  Josephine’s face lit up. ‘Can we play hide-and-seek down here without getting into trouble?’

  ‘Just for a few minutes,’ Clarrie agreed.

  They both hid twice and then heard Bertie shouting for them. He came into the kitchen to find Clarrie on her hands and knees under the table with Josephine jumping gleefully beside her.

  ‘Found you!’ she screamed.

  Clarrie scrabbled to her feet, uncomfortable at Bertie’s look. She remembered how he had once pinned her to that very table and forced a kiss on her.

  ‘Come here at once, Josey,’ he barked. ‘You shouldn’t be down here.’

  ‘We can go anywhere,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Clarrie says.’

  ‘And I say you can’t,’ Bertie snapped. ‘Come along.’

  Clarrie quickly took the girl’s hand. ‘Let’s see if Uncle Will can give you a piggy-back ride,’ she coaxed.

  Swiftly, she led Josephine upstairs. At the top, Bertie hissed at her, ‘Don’t you ever take her down to the servants’ quarters again. It’s quite inappropriate.’

  Clarrie was thankful when, soon after, Verity declared it was time for them to leave. Unexpectedly, Josephine threw her plump arms round Clarrie’s neck and gave her a slobbery kiss in goodbye.

  ‘Can you come and live with us, Clarrie?’

  Clarrie smiled. ‘I have to stay here and look after Grandpapa Stock.’

  ‘Uncle Will can do that,’ she said.

  ‘He needs me too,’ Clarrie said, kissing her soft cheek and gently disengaging. ‘But I hope you’ll come back soon and visit us.’ She shot a look at Verity.

  ‘In the New Year, perhaps,’ Verity said vaguely.

  Clarrie and Will waved them away. ‘She’s a bonny one,’ Clarrie sighed as they retreated into the warmth, ‘and so affectionate. She reminds me of you, Will, when you were young.’

  ‘Yes,’ Herbert agreed, looking at Clarrie with glimmering eyes, ‘like Will. Vernon — awk’ard — like — Bertie.’

  They all laughed. Later, after they had got Herbert into bed, Clarrie sat up talking to Will. He told her about his surprise at the Christmas card Edna had made for him with a cutting of mistletoe inside. What did she mean by it?

  Clarrie smiled. ‘She’s in love with you. You must know it!’

  Will laughed with embarrassment and shook his head. ‘I thought she was kind to everyone.’

  They talked about future plans. ‘I can’t think too far ahead,’ Clarrie sighed. ‘I just want your father to get better.’

  Will looked thoughtful. ‘You seemed to hit it off with Josey. Perhaps you’ll see more of her now Verity’s making an effort to see Papa.’

  ‘I hope so. But I wish we could have our own child,’ Clarrie blurted out, and then coloured. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  But Will did not appear embarrassed. ‘Perhaps you still will.’

  ‘No,’ Clarrie said quietly, ‘your father never wanted that — not after what happened to your mother. He’s too frightened of losing anyone else. So I’m not destined to be a mother.’

  Will took her hand. ‘Dear Clarrie, you have been a marvellous mother to me.’

  Tears sprang to her eyes at his kindness. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, with a trembling smile. ‘And I could never have had a better son than you.’

  ***

  By the spring of 1913, Herbert’s condition had improved enough for Clarrie to take him out in a Bath chair to the park and for him to walk a few paces with two sticks. His face lost its greyness and his speech improved, but he often fumbled in exasperation for the right word. His memory for recent events deteriorated further, so that when Clarrie talked about a visit from his grandchildren, Herbert grew cross that he had not been there to see them.

  ‘You were, Herbert,’ Clarrie reminded him. ‘Josey was showing
you her new skipping rope, remember? She got it tangled round your feet and you said she was like a cowboy lassoing an old horse.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Herbert said, ‘so she did.’

  But she could tell from his expression that he had no recollection of his granddaughter’s visit, and it saddened her. There was a special bond growing between the two. Josephine delighted in the attention of this man who allowed her to clamber over him and said silly words that made her laugh and did not tell her to keep quiet or go away because he was busy. Herbert, although he forgot quickly, delighted in her inquisitive questions and giggling and the way she showed no fear or distaste of him as the squeamish Vernon did.

  Clarrie knew that Verity only brought the children at Bertie’s request. The reminder of his father’s mortality seemed to have shaken him badly and Clarrie wondered whether he felt guilty about neglecting Herbert. Whatever the reason, she was just glad that Verity brought them at all.

  Vernon was fascinated by mechanical toys, so Clarrie bought a boxful to keep him occupied while his sister played with Herbert and her. Verity quickly grew bored; she was used to leaving the twins with their nanny. After a couple of duty visits, Clarrie suggested, ‘Why don’t you go into town for an hour or two? I can look after the children and Mrs Henderson can give them their lunch.’

  After that, the children came every Tuesday morning, Clarrie arranging for Lexy to be in charge at the tea room until the afternoon. With the onset of summer and warmer days, Clarrie took the twins to the park too and they both enjoyed pushing Herbert in his chair, Vernon making motor car noises.

  It was on one such occasion, in mid-July when Will was newly returned from university and accompanying them on a picnic, that they ran into Wesley. Vernon and Will were chasing a runaway hoop and Josey was perched on Herbert’s knee, flicking her skipping rope and shrieking like a charioteer.

  Wesley, walking towards them arm in arm with an elegant young woman, caught the hoop.

  ‘Mr Robson,’ Will greeted him, ‘good day to you!’ The men shook hands.

  ‘Give me back my hoop,’ Vernon said crossly.

  ‘Don’t be so rude,’ Clarrie chided him, catching up. Wesley rolled the hoop to the boy, tipped his hat to her and took Herbert’s good hand.

  ‘I’m glad to see you out and about, Mr Stock,’ he said. ‘I see you are being well looked after.’

  ‘Very,’ said Herbert. ‘My wife — is a — marvel.’

  Clarrie glanced awkwardly at Wesley.

  ‘Indeed,’ he murmured, giving her a brief sardonic look.

  ‘These are — my …’ Herbert searched for the word.

  ‘Grandchildren,’ Clarrie prompted. ‘Josephine and Vernon.’

  ‘How do you do?’ Josephine said, sticking out a hand as Will had done. ‘I’m not Josephine, I’m Boadicea. Clarrie says I’m a brave leader and this is my chariot. Grandpa is my horse.’

  Wesley’s eyes widened in astonishment. He smiled and shook her hand. ‘I’ve always wanted to meet Boadicea. I admire strong women.’

  ‘You can be one of my warriors if you like,’ the girl said, looking pleased.

  ‘Thank you,’ Wesley bowed.

  ‘Are you his wife?’ Josephine asked the well-dressed woman, startling everyone.

  Wesley’s companion laughed. ‘Not quite yet,’ she replied.

  Wesley hastily introduced her. ‘This is Miss Henrietta Lister-Brown, my fiancée.’

  Clarrie’s insides clenched. She realised where she had seen the woman before.

  ‘You were at my brother’s wedding,’ Will declared, ‘wearing a very striking red hat.’

  ‘I was.’ The woman laughed in delight. ‘What a memory you have.’

  Will grinned. ‘You stood out from the crowd, Miss Lister-Brown.’

  ‘What charmers you northerners are,’ she smiled.

  They exchanged pleasantries. She was from London, related to the Landsdownes by marriage, and loved to visit the north. She and Wesley planned to marry the following year.

  ‘Hurry up, Uncle Will,’ Vernon whined, ‘I want to play.’

  ‘Quiet, you little scamp,’ Will gave an exaggerated frown, ‘or Boadicea will whip you for your rudeness.’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ Josephine piped up, shaking her skipping rope with eagerness.

  ‘Come, dearest,’ Henrietta said, squeezing Wesley’s arm, ‘let these nice people get on with their outing.’

  Wesley tipped his hat to them again as they said their goodbyes. He glanced briefly at Clarrie, his look almost triumphant. He was enjoying showing off his beautiful fiancée. Her heart beat erratically in her breast. She forced a smile.

  ‘Congratulations on your engagement, Mr Robson,’ she murmured, looking away. She could not bear to see his handsome face.

  A moment later they were gone and she and Will were pushing Herbert forward towards the bandstand. Clarrie forced herself to enjoy their picnic but her stomach felt leaden and her appetite had deserted her. She hated to think the news that Wesley was soon to be married could upset her so. How ridiculous to be jealous of that aristocratic woman. She was just the sort of well-connected bride who would suit an ambitious Robson. Good luck to them! She determined to banish all thought of them from her mind.

  ***

  Clarrie drove herself at work and filled every waking minute with running the tea room or tending to Herbert. On Tuesday mornings she entertained the twins, so the only day she had a spare moment was Sunday. After church and lunch, she would often settle to paperwork. But when Will was at home over the summer holidays, he arranged for them to go riding with Johnny on Sunday afternoons. Sometimes they rode up the Tyne valley or crossed the river into the undulating Durham hills.

  These few hours of freedom were among the happiest she could remember since India. To be out riding with her young companions in the breezy sunshine through woods and across open moor was pure joy. When she laughed and joked with them, the cares of the week shrank back. Gone were the burdens of management and the worries over Herbert’s health. She felt young and invigorated once more.

  In September, Will went away to Edinburgh with Johnny to help at the University Settlement before returning to his studies in Durham. Clarrie felt their absence keenly and Sunday afternoons were all the duller by comparison.

  ‘Why don’t — you — call on — Olive?’ Herbert suggested one blustery Sunday. ‘Too — windy for — park.’

  They both knew how Clarrie would struggle to push him in the chair on such a day without Will to help. Her heart leaped at the suggestion — it was not the first time Herbert had made it — yet she was hesitant. Olive had not called to see them since Easter and at the time Clarrie had been distracted by a telephone call from the cafe about a failed delivery of flour. Dolly was in a temper and threatening to walk out of the kitchen.

  ‘I can see you’re busy,’ Olive had said hastily. ‘You go and sort it out — I’ll come back another time.’

  Her sister had left before Clarrie had been able to ask her about anything more than whether she and Jack were well. Olive had not been back to Summerhill since and Clarrie had the impression that her sister found it uncomfortable being there. It reminded her of her lowly status as housemaid and her dependence on her older sister, a past that she seemed bent on erasing from her memory. She had been into the cafe twice, but on Tuesday mornings when Clarrie had not been there. Will had visited Olive the previous month, but he had been reticent about it, save to say that Olive was well and happy and urged Clarrie to go and see her.

  ‘So what is she doing all day?’ Clarrie had questioned, eager for details.

  Will had shrugged. ‘Taking care of her home and Jack.’

  ‘Not exactly a full-time job,’ Clarrie had retorted.

  Will had seemed on the point of saying something more, but instead had given a rueful smile and said, ‘Why don’t you go and see for yourself? They’ve been married for over a year and you’ve been to see them once.’

  ‘When do I ha
ve the time?’ Clarrie had protested.

  But it was the nearest Will had ever come to a reproof and the criticism had hurt. She was avoiding Olive as much as her sister was avoiding her. That one visit before Christmas, clutching a poinsettia, had been fruitless. Olive and Jack had been out and Clarrie had left the plant with a neighbour.

  So now, when Herbert urged her once more to visit, Clarrie summoned up the courage to go. She cut some roses from the garden, wrapped them in brown paper and cycled upriver to Lemington on Will’s old bicycle. As she drew nearer to the neat terraced row with its large front windows denoting foreman status, Clarrie was half hoping that they would be out.

  A bleary-looking Jack, his fair hair standing up in clumps, answered her knocking. For a moment he stared in confusion, not recognising her under the large hat tied on with a scarlet scarf.

  ‘Clarrie?’ he queried.

  ‘Hello, Jack.’ She smiled, holding out the bunch of roses. ‘These are for Olive.’

  He took them with a wary glance. ‘She never said you were coming.’

  ‘I only decided half an hour ago. Herbert suggested…’

  ‘She’s having a lie-down.’ Jack looked unsure what to do.

  Clarrie felt foolish. She had obviously interrupted their afternoon nap. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have come without warning. I can come back another time.’

  ‘No, don’t be daft,’ Jack said, recovering from the surprise. ‘She’ll be pleased to see you. Haway in, lass.’

  Leaving the bicycle propped against the front railings, Clarrie followed him into a tiny green-painted hallway with a parlour to the right and steep stairs to the left. The banisters and door frames were painted white, giving the illusion of light. A waft of sandalwood made her insides twist. Belgooree. Straight ahead, a door was open to the kitchen. Jack led her in.

  ‘Have a seat,’ he instructed, plonking the flowers on a scrubbed pine table by the window, ‘and I’ll fetch wor lass.’

  She heard him mount the stairs as she looked around in curiosity. The whitewashed walls were decorated in a leaf pattern that looped round the room like garlands, some green, some in autumnal orange and yellow. Small birds painted in turquoise, gold and scarlet flitted among the leaves. The furniture was plain: a table and four chairs, a dresser and a linen chest. But they were painted primrose yellow, bringing a brightness to the room that was almost dazzling. Two narrow armchairs, upholstered in blue and yellow flowers, sat either side of the range and fireplace. A blind of white slatted wood hung at the open window, tapping gently in the breeze. The plates displayed on the dresser were blue and white willow pattern — like their mother’s at Belgooree.