by CL Skelton
‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘We’re in a hotel.’
‘It’ll do.’
He looked at her intently and saw her gaze stray past him and down the platform to where Andrew and Emma were walking away through the barrier.
‘Aye,’ said Willie coldly. ‘That’s Major Maclaren. But you canna run after him, he’s got his woman wi’ him.’
Her shoulders sagged in an expression of hopelessness. Nothing had changed.
‘I think that, before you return to Lahore, we should have the Bruces over to dinner, don’t you?’
Andrew thought no such thing. He stopped what he was doing and gazed at his wife. ‘We have been here three months and you suddenly decide that you want to dine with the Bruces?’
‘Yes, dear, the Bruces.’
‘But you hardly know them.’
‘My dear,’ she said, ‘they are in the regiment. You are now of equal rank and must be aware that I have not seen Major Bruce’s wife since we arrived in India. I think I should very much like to see ‒ Maud, is it, again?’ She stressed the name Maud ever so slightly.
‘But,’ said Andrew, ‘do you think they would fit in? I mean, do we really want them? He is a ranker, you know.’
‘It is not a matter of want,’ said Emma. ‘I was not thinking of a large dinner party, in case you are worried that he eats peas with a knife. I think it is our duty. I think we ought to.’
‘Major Bruce is not a particular friend of mine, but I take your point.’
‘I understood that you grew up together.’
‘Yes, but he was only a ‒ well, you know.’
‘Andrew, I do believe that you are a snob.’
‘Oh, have it your own way,’ he snapped. ‘Ask them if you want to.’
‘Good, then that’s settled.’ She smiled.
The Maclarens were living in a spacious wooden bungalow. Long and low, it was surrounded by a raised verandah. At the back of the building were the servants’ quarters, and there were servants in plenty. Andrew had not brought his batman with him, knowing well that Emma would have taken care of all the domestic arrangements.
This she had done with all her usual efficiency. When she had arrived from Lahore, she had gone to see a Mr Rawlinson, who was the manager of Lloyd’s Bank in Simla and a slight acquaintance of her father’s. Rawlinson, a dehydrated individual of about fifty, whose fifteen years in India had added another ten to his age, had been most helpful. He had found her her bungalow on the outskirts of the town where it would be kept cool by the northeast winds which blew constantly, but with little ferocity, from the snow-capped Himalayas beyond. He advised wood rather than brick, though brick was more fashionable, being more English.
So they settled on the bungalow and he introduced her to Gopal, whom she engaged as her head man. Their first meeting was typical of her directness in her dealings with everybody, irrespective of their station.
‘Gopal, I want you to engage me a full staff, cook, ayah, houseboys, and maids.’
‘Yes, mem-sahib. I have many honest relatives who will work very hard for you and for the major sahib.’
‘They will do as little as they can, and you know it.’
‘Oh, no, mem-sahib. All very honest.’
‘And,’ she continued, ‘they will rob me. I expect it. But if anyone else steals from me, or if I lose more than thirty rupees a month, I shall get another head man and the major sahib will cut off your head.’
‘That would be a great tragedy for my wife and three children. Forty rupees, you said?’
‘Thirty,’ she replied firmly. ‘And that is between all of you.’
Gopal recognized that his new mistress was not to be trifled with, and when he saw Babu, one of the houseboys, sneaking out of the bungalow with a silver claret goblet, he beat him mercilessly and proudly returned the object to Emma, proving to her that all was well and that her home would be well protected ‒ and with it all of the valuable silverware and china which she had so carefully packed and had shipped out from Britain.
That was all in the past now. Andrew was nearing the end of his stay in Simla and he had to admit that it had been pleasant enough. Their relationship, never warm, was friendly, and it was only on the odd occasion when Emma mentioned Major Bruce that Andrew felt at all uneasy. Sensing this, Emma had brought the matter out into the open, and his hope now was that Maud would not be able to come.
Emma, having gained Andrew’s grudging consent, wrote the invitation and sent it over to the Bruces’ hotel by bearer. She instructed him to wait for a reply from the mem-sahib. When Maud received it, she was at first overjoyed at the thought of spending an evening in Andrew’s company. Willie was out at the time, so assuming his acceptance, she scribbled out a quick note and handed it to the bearer.
When the man had gone, she began to worry. She had acted on the spur of the moment; what was Willie going to say?
It was not long before he returned. When she told him, he greeted the announcement with cynical amusement.
‘And you accepted, did you?’
‘Yes, the bearer was waiting for an answer. I hoped you would not mind.’
‘It’ll be nice for you,’ he replied, and he turned away to pour himself out a drink.
Willie had been drinking rather a lot since he arrived in Simla, and this was worrying Maud. It was not that he got drunk, or violent, or anything like that. He just seemed to get quieter and less communicative. How she wished that she could sort out her own feelings. The truth was that she wanted them both. She would not mind if only he would be angry, if he would beat her even. But this cool, calm, ignoring of the whole situation was driving her out of her mind. It was so desperately unfair.
So wrapped up was she in her feelings of self-pity and guilt over her emotions towards Andrew that she was unable to see that Willie, too, was suffering. They were living as strangers for that most foolish of reasons, each feeling aggrieved and unable to see the other’s grief. She really believed that what she wanted was Willie’s manliness and Andrew’s gentleness, and in consequence she believed that she really loved them both equally.
Perhaps dinner with the Maclarens would not be a bad thing; perhaps she might be able to sort herself out. But then, what if she couldn’t? How would Willie behave? And Andrew’s wife, did she suspect? Would she and Andrew be alone together at any point during the evening? She would certainly be alone with Mrs Maclaren; what would she say to her? These and a thousand other questions kept flooding through her mind.
There were two whole days to get through before they dined.
If only Willie would make it easy for her. But he would not, and if he mentioned the subject at all, there was that mocking ring to his tone which made her want to scream. Those two days were among the longest that Maud had ever lived through.
‘Mrs Bruce, how delightful to meet you again. Andrew, it was very wicked of you to keep such a charming lady away for so long.’
Maud was quite aware of the ring of formal insincerity in Emma’s voice, but she knew that she looked good. She had dressed with meticulous care for this evening. She wore a green satin gown. This was the height of the current fashion, and it made Emma’s crinoline look just a little out of date. Fitting tightly around the waist, and the frontal fall moulded to her figure, it had the new half crinoline sweeping away behind in great folds of shimmering material, ending in an embroidered train which swept the floor. The bodice was cut as low and as revealing as decency would allow, and her arms and shoulders were bare and brushed by the ends of the golden ringlets of her hair.
When Andrew greeted her, she kept her eyes downcast, but she felt his nervousness in the touch of his hand. They went out on to the verandah for the traditional chota peg before the meal. Andrew and Maud had their drinks in an embarrassed near-silence, shying away from the animated conversation which was going on between Willie and Emma.
In the large dining room they sat down, Emma and Andrew at either end of the ten-foot-long mahogany table, wh
ile Maud and Willie sat in the centre, separated by four and a half feet of table and a massive five-branched silver candelabra. In the flickering candlelight, the distances between them seemed immense and were certainly not conducive to conversation. Gopal and Babu served the meal in silence, appearing as ghostly figures in the flickering candlelight. Turtle soup was followed by a fish that Maud could not recognize, but tasted delicious; then roast beef, crêpes and finally cheeses, all in near-silence.
After the meal, when the ladies had retired and Andrew and Willie had taken their brandy and cigars out on to the verandah, Emma had Maud to herself at last.
‘You have been to India before, of course,’ she remarked.
‘Yes,’ replied Maud. ‘I came out here when I was a little girl. I lost both my parents in the mutiny.’ Talk of the past made her edgy, and a little afraid. It was a recurring nightmare with which she lived. In a way, she had never escaped from that horror.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Emma. ‘I recall hearing something about it. It was Cawnpore, was it not? It must have been a terrible time for you.’
‘I’d rather not discuss it, if you don’t mind,’ she replied. ‘What happened then frightens me even now.’
‘I understand,’ said Emma, ignoring her plea, ‘that Andrew saved your life and brought you home.’
‘No,’ said Maud, ‘not exactly. We travelled on the same ship, but that was quite coincidental.’
‘Alone together for that very, very long voyage?’
‘There were other passengers,’ said Maud defensively.
‘Oh, yes, of course, I understand that, and the crew. But then, you did not know any of the other passengers.’
‘Mrs Maclaren ‒’
‘You must call me Emma,’ she said, smiling sweetly.
‘Very well, as you wish, Emma. Your husband and his family were infinitely kind to me. They carried me through a period of my life which I look back on with horror. I owe them more than my life, I owe them my sanity. If today I am a normal woman, it is all due to them. But I am surprised that Andrew has not told you all about this.’
‘Oh, he has mentioned it from time to time,’ said Emma. ‘In fact, he referred to you on our wedding night. Of course, I cannot remember the circumstances.’
Maud compressed her lips and made no reply. Emma continued, ‘You do know that I shall not be going back to Lahore with you?’
Maud looked up quickly. ‘I had not heard.’
‘Of course you hadn’t, why should you?’
‘Is Andrew, I mean Major Maclaren ‒ has he been given another appointment?’
‘Oh, no,’ replied Emma. ‘I have to go back to England. We are going to have another child. I haven’t told Andrew yet; you are the first to know. I thought we would have our little break here and then I shall tell him just before he has to rejoin the regiment. You will have both of our husbands to care for when you get there.’
‘That will be very nice,’ said Maud numbly.
‘I am quite sure it will,’ was the reply. ‘I understand they are great friends.’
‘Andrew and Willie?’ said Maud. ‘They used to be.’
‘I wonder what changed it?’ said Emma. ‘One of us, do you suppose? Surely not. Perhaps Andrew resents Major Bruce having risen from the ranks? Of course, you married him before he was commissioned, did you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, I find that rather quaint. It must have taken a great deal of courage to marry an ordinary soldier. After all, you are a lady?’ It was not a statement, it was a question.
Maud had had enough. ‘Look here, Mrs Maclaren,’ she said, ‘I like neither what you are saying to me nor the way you are saying it, and I am getting a little tired of innuendo. If you have anything on your mind, I would appreciate very much if you would come straight out and say it and stop talking round in circles.’
Emma smiled. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘if you wish, then so be it. Quite soon now, Colonel Macmillan will retire or be transferred to a staff appointment. The 148th belongs to the Maclarens, and it is certain that Andrew will get command. When that happens, I shall be the colonel’s lady. Now I want you to understand that I fully expect my husband to have affairs outside of his marriage. What I will not tolerate is Andrew having anything to do with any woman who is connected with the regiment. If such a thing were to happen, I would make it my personal responsibility to see that that woman’s husband had his career ruined, and that she herself was socially ostracized for the rest of her life. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ replied Maud.
‘Very well, then. Please don’t forget what I have said, I mean every word of it. I am not certain of what, if anything, has passed between you and Andrew. But it is over. Do you understand that? I saw the way you looked at each other at dinner tonight. Forget him, Mrs Bruce, and remember that I do not make idle threats.’
‘I am sure that you do not,’ said Maud. ‘You really are a bitch, aren’t you?’
Emma smiled her sweetest smile. ‘Yes, of course, my dear. But here come the gentlemen, we must not keep them waiting for their coffee.’
Chapter Eighteen
It was really quite a remarkable sight. Willie and Maud had arrived at the station early and they had had over half an hour to wait before the train which would carry them back to Lahore would leave Simla. At one of the platforms stood an engine. It was polished pale blue and burnished brass, its smokestack and pressure dome and handrails gleaming in the cool morning sunlight. The carriages, five in all, were maroon, picked out in gold coachbuilders’ lines. The handles of the doors were gold and shaped like a human hand being offered in greeting. It was really quite magnificent.
The engine had steam up and Willie, ever gregarious, had his curiosity aroused and had gone over to talk to the engine-driver.
‘That’s a bonny set-up you have there,’ he said. ‘Whose is it?’
‘Oh, yes, sahib, this very fine train belong to Rajah of Jaiputana.’
‘Oh, aye, and who’s he when he’s at hame?’
‘Very important prince. We leave soon and rajah he come with us. You like to look at engine, sahib?’
‘Aye,’ said Willie, peering into the cab. ‘It’s bonny all right.’ The interior of the cab was spotless. ‘Is it always as clean as this?’
‘Indeed, yes, sahib. Everything must be polished, even the coal, she is cleaned before she goes into the tender.’
‘Thank you for letting me see,’ said Willie, and he walked back to where Maud was standing as the porters were loading their luggage on to their train.
‘Yon’s a private train,’ said Willie. ‘Belongs to one o’ them Indian princelings. The kind that we keep in power, and the sort that pays his workers a handful o’ rice a day so he can play wi’ toys like that. Och, they do it the world over, though. The lairds did it in Scotland, most o’ them, anyway. It’s an afu’ thing, the way men treat men, and we’re nae better than any o’ them.’
‘Men treat women badly, too,’ replied Maud. ‘We’re all very selfish, aren’t we?’
‘What do ye mean?’ Willie said, aware of her implication.
She was about to reply when she was interrupted by a commotion at the far end of the platform.
About twenty men, all dressed alike in loincloths and khaki jackets, with little red pillbox caps and wooden staves in their hands, came trotting on to the platform swinging their staves and forming up in two lines leading to the private train. Through this human corridor about half a dozen women, veiled and with heads downcast, hurried into the third coach. They were followed by a group of four men wearing white jodhpurs and grey silk frock coats picked out in gold braid. They went to the door of the front coach and stood two on either side, waiting for their master. The rajah appeared alone and magnificent in pure white silk glittering with embroidery of precious stones and a gold cap, with an ostrich plume pinned to it by an enormous ruby brooch.
He walked slowly down towards the train, his olive-skinn
ed face expressionless until he passed where Willie and Maud were standing. For a moment, he paused and gazed at Maud with cold, coal-black eyes. Maud shuddered. That look took her back over the years to another time and another place, to Cawnpore and another pair of eyes, so much like those, and the face that had started her on the road which had led her here.
Willie looked at her and grinned. ‘Yon’s the princeling. I think he fancies you,’ he said.
Willie’s remark brought her back to reality. ‘Don’t be disgusting,’ she replied and turned away. ‘I think we had better make sure that they have loaded all our luggage.’
‘I’ll see tae it,’ said Willie.
Leave was over and they were due to return from the cool of Simla back to the heat and humidity of Lahore. In their bungalow that morning after breakfast, Emma said to Andrew:
‘I shall not be returning to the cantonments with you.’
‘No?’ replied Andrew. ‘Don’t you think that might look rather bad?’
‘Not under the circumstances. I am going to have another child. I have known for some little time and had intended to tell you after we had had dinner with the Bruces, but the moment did not seem opportune.’
‘I see,’ said Andrew, trying to match her calm and suppress his emotions at the news. ‘Would you like me to ask for an extension of leave in order to make the necessary arrangements?’
‘There is absolutely no necessity for that. As you well know, I am quite capable of taking care of any arrangements that might be necessary.’
Andrew lapsed into silence. She was right, of course.
‘Will you be coming to the station with me?’ he said at length.
‘Naturally,’ she replied. ‘It is my duty.’
‘Thank you.’
When they arrived at the station, he said to her, ‘I had better check that my trunk is on board.’
‘Why don’t you leave it to your servant?’
‘I’d rather check myself.’
Emma watched after him as he walked down the platform. Suddenly she caught sight of Maud. She saw him approach Maud and stop. They stood for a moment, not long enough to have a casual conversation, but too long to merely greet each other. Before they parted, Maud gently raised her hand and touched Andrew on the cheek. It was a gesture so filled with tenderness that Emma would have been less angry if they had copulated there in the middle of the station. There and then she made her decision. She would not go to England to have the child. It would take her a week or so to clear things up here in Simla and cancel all the arrangements already made, but as soon as she was able, she would follow her husband to Lahore. She knew that there were additional risks. She would receive much better attention in England. But she was not prepared to take the greater risk of leaving her husband in Lahore with that woman.