The Tea Gardens

by Fiona McIntosh

  His barbs were hitting their mark; I was gushing invisible blood. ‘I hate you.’

  ‘Join the queue!’

  I left him, holding my breath to stop myself saying more. As angry with myself as I was with Vickery, I did hate him on so many levels as I fumed my way back to the hospital – for toppling off the pedestal I had put him on, for puncturing the bubble of faith I’d invested in him, for that low blow about my time in India – but I had to be honest now. The fury that warmed my cheeks and tightened my throat, that made me feel as though blood was fizzing through my veins and my heart, normally silent, sounding its thump in my ears, was from knowing he was right about most of it. And while coming to the conclusion wasn’t hard, accepting it with any grace didn’t seem relevant because the problem was still waiting for me and now I knew I was on my own. At least if Saxon had agreed to help, I’d feel more confident of our chances.

  Where was I to hide this irresponsible, dangerous pair? And for how long? And just how much trouble was I going to be in with the hospital board when they inevitably found out?

  14

  I decided I’d compose myself before I returned to the problem waiting for me at the hospital and detoured to the flat. I took my time too. I was in no hurry to face the drama, or the dressing-down. I didn’t relish seeing those trusting faces that hoped I had the answers and the clout to pull off what would have to be an escape of sorts. It could all wait for a short period longer. I wanted to wash away the day’s grime and perspiration, as well as my growing guilt at the rising awareness that Vickery’s vision was not simply a threat. What could happen probably would – that was the reality.

  The notion that Naz and Pratiti were more likely than not going to be murdered at the hands of her enraged brothers had begun to feel like a sinking stone in the depths of my belly.

  I sat in the bath, motionless, suds glistening the colours of the spectrum around me, winking out of life as the once tepid water cooled to urge the pimply gooseflesh on my exposed skin. I didn’t know if I was wiping away tears or simply drops of water from a flannel but I was deflated in a way I’d not experienced before. I knew I had to shake the self-pity because the worst that could happen to me would be a reprimand, and then – as Vickery had pointed out – I could head home, away from all of India’s woes. But the worst that could happen to this young couple gave me a fresh crop of goosebumps.

  I drew another mug of water from the pool around me and tipped it over my shoulders to rid myself of the residue of soap and salts, then stood up to catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’d lost more weight. I almost looked bony – something I might have celebrated in a different situation because I’d always thought of myself as well fleshed. But I took no pleasure in this because, frankly, I looked haggard. Jove was going to be standing at the docks to welcome home his bride-to-be and he might struggle to recognise the woman who now stared back at me from a slightly steamed-up mirror.

  If anything ghastly happened to this ill-fated couple, I might as well add a few more years to that image. I wanted to blame Lily in the same way that Vickery blamed me, but there was no good coming out of that finger-pointing. What remained was for me to give up the personal pity and be decisive. The couple was in peril but I began to reason that if we could hold off the family wrath long enough, we might just give these two a chance at survival. I suspected their lives would be forever shadowed by the anxiety of discovery, isolation from those they loved, certainly poverty, I presumed, as neither of them could take anything with them. But my job now was to save their lives if I could.

  I had no idea where they could go but standing in a foot of murky water with a towel clutched around me wasn’t going to achieve anything. I moved with routine, from brushing my hair to dressing, emptying my mind of any thought for the time being . . . all of the regular activity felt like symbolic armour gathering about me before I went into battle. With no help forthcoming from the one friend I thought I had, I would rely on the women of the maternity unit but only those I fully trusted. I wondered about Matron. Yes, I believed she would help. With that single tiny sliver of hope to light the way forward, I set my shoulders back, took a long, soothing breath and left for the hospital.

  __________

  While the ward was calm, I sensed chaos about to erupt. The quiet atmosphere I arrived into was so taut it was not a matter of if but when it might break and shatter into disarray.

  I found Lily, pinch-lipped and gloomy, tending to a mother in the early stages of her labour.

  ‘Matron’s looking for you, Doctor.’

  ‘I expected as much,’ I said, surprised how reasonable I sounded. ‘Where is Pratiti?’ I added in a whisper over our softly groaning mother-to-be. She had a much worse time coming but I patted her shoulder with a tight smile to encourage her.

  Lily lifted a shoulder, embarrassed. ‘I don’t know.’

  My expression turned to alarm.

  She tried to explain quickly in a hissed voice. ‘I left her in the library. She could fit in there easily enough without being noticed too readily.’

  I nodded.

  ‘But when I went to check on her about an hour ago, she’d gone.’

  ‘To find Naz, probably, in the other wing . . . the filing room?’ I said.

  Lily shook her head. ‘Naz has gone too.’

  I covered my mouth to stop any expletives. ‘Her brothers?’ I barely breathed the words from behind my fingers.

  She swallowed, blinking rapidly, with her anxiety finally allowed full rein. ‘I don’t think so. There was no turmoil, no warning. They just weren’t where we left them.’

  I ran my hands over my face as fretfulness knifed around in my belly like a clumsy surgeon. I needed to show a stronger, more disciplined front and yet the fear was getting to me too. I was a doctor, not a renegade. I had no experience to draw on for how to handle a situation like this and, to add to the angst, all I could see was Saxon shaking his head with disappointment. I couldn’t hear the words I told you so but I knew they were circling the space around me like invisible vultures waiting to pick at the carcass of my regret.

  ‘I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.’

  I nodded. The apology was necessary but Lily had found herself in an identical and impossible situation. I had to ease her anguish. ‘Lily, how could you not help? I felt the same way. This is not your fault but I don’t know how we make it better. Presumably, they’ve taken their chances and gone on the run.’

  Lily sighed out her despair.

  ‘Matron might have some answers,’ I offered into our bleak whispering space. ‘How did she find out, anyway?’

  ‘Professor Vickery told her. I don’t know how he knew; he probably found Naz hiding.’

  ‘Bastard!’

  She looked alarmed by my vulgarity but I refused to apologise for it.

  ‘I told him in confidence,’ I growled, whipping a curtain around our patient and leaning close to Lily so no one could eavesdrop. ‘I didn’t anticipate him splitting on us.’ We were in far deeper trouble than I had anticipated.

  Matron chose that moment to enter the ward. We both straightened, no doubt looking immediately guilty.

  ‘Dr Fenwick. May I have a moment, please?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Matron eyed Lily and I could feel her shrink beside me. ‘You can stay on the ward, Lilian, although I shall be speaking with you later. My room, when your shift ends.’

  ‘That’s in ten m-minutes, Matron,’ she stammered.

  ‘I do know how to read the time, Lilian. See you at six. Dr Fenwick, shall we?’

  I moved like a naughty child alongside her. ‘I can explain,’ I began.

  ‘That will be helpful. You see, you’ve put us in a most fraught situation, Dr Fenwick.’

  I cleared my throat, wanted to argue that it wasn’t entirely my doing, but again it seemed redundant.

  I followed her into my room, closing the door.

  ‘Have a seat, Matron, please.’
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  She did, folding her arms, and waited for me as I let my own domain wrap its confidence around me.

  I moved around the desk to sit down opposite. ‘Where shall I begin?’

  ‘Why don’t I begin and save us both some breath?’ she offered.

  ‘Go ahead. Nothing you say can make me feel any worse than I do right now.’

  ‘Really, Dr Fenwick? May I at least try?’

  I swallowed hard, not prepared for her suddenly cutting tone. Her stare was terrifying.

  I sat back and gestured for her to proceed.

  ‘It’s my understanding,’ she began, and proceeded to tell me everything I already knew. I let her speak uninterrupted until she blinked, waiting for my response.

  ‘All of this is true. But the facts hide the situation, or at least blur the reality. It’s all very well in cold, hard reflection but in that moment I didn’t know what I should do. Lily was dealing with a weeping, desperate, terrified woman who is pregnant and genuinely fearful for her life and that of her unborn child. Lily came to me, and the problem I never went searching for became mine.’

  She nodded.

  I pressed my point, perhaps unwisely. ‘What would you have done, Matron?’

  ‘I would have sent the girl home with the whispered advice that she needs to be immediately rid of her baby and her lover.’

  I swallowed. ‘You make it sound easy.’

  ‘Nothing is easy in India. But experience teaches you that life here is mostly cruel and there are many threats to one’s survival. The child, if born, is more likely to die than not. What you’ve done today is almost certainly sign off on its mother’s and father’s death warrants.’

  ‘But that’s not fair! Lily told me the couple would be murdered if I sent them away.’

  ‘They are damned anyway, Dr Fenwick, that’s the point. They both knew better but they didn’t exercise that sensibility.’

  ‘So let them be killed?’

  She looked back at me evenly but said nothing. I suspected Matron, too, was torn.

  ‘We have no choice in this,’ she finally replied.

  It’s hard to describe the feeling that shuddered through my body at her words. Far too much adrenaline and other trauma hormones had just been spilled into my bloodstream, which would account for why I felt instantly shaky and glad I was seated. Strange pains erupted and rippled through me; there was no other way to explain them than that they felt like lightning rods. It wasn’t heart failure but I could be forgiven for believing it was, and it took all my reserves not to clutch at my chest. Suddenly, air was hard to come by. It felt like all the oxygen in my room had been sucked and burned by Matron’s accusation.

  She could see I had nothing in response. I worried I was staring back at her slightly slack-jawed but, given my lips were numbed, I couldn’t tell.

  ‘I know that sounds dramatic, Dr Fenwick, but the Hindus can be astonishingly unreasonable and melodramatic when it comes to decisions around caste . . . especially if it is about flouting convention of that caste. It’s a grave business and I have worked hard for all my nurses to respect the rules of their culture.’ Her words were so precise it felt as though they were making small cuts all over me and yet all I could think of was the bigger picture and the sharpness of a machete being taken to Pratiti by a horde of zealous brothers.

  I couldn’t even swallow to wet my throat. My fault. I was the villain and the blame was already laid at my feet. I wasn’t going to attempt to defend myself, as minds were made up.

  ‘Where are they?’ I said instead, astonished by how commanding I sounded.

  ‘Safe, I hope.’

  ‘I asked where they are, Matron. Please don’t forget that I hold some rank here in the hospital.’

  ‘Rank is given, Dr Fenwick. Respect is earned,’ she said, standing. Then she looked down but opened her hands in a sort of gesture of hopelessness. ‘Forgive me, but you’ll find little sympathy in the hospital administration. I am fair in all my dealings, Doctor, but . . . ’ She lowered her shoulders with a sad sigh. ‘This may not have a happy outcome.’

  ‘You said they were safe.’

  ‘I said I hoped they were safe. Someone else is cleaning up this mess, Dr Fenwick, but I’m not sure even he can pull off the wizardry that would be required to keep them hidden.’

  It didn’t take much to add up the arithmetic. ‘Saxon?’

  ‘Professor Vickery,’ she corrected, ‘has already left Calcutta with two new medical assistants.’

  The guilt demons began having a party in my belly, except I felt the throb of their glee in my throat. ‘He . . . ’ I sipped some water that was fortunately nearby. ‘He’s taken them?’

  She nodded, lips flat and tight.

  ‘Where?’

  Matron shrugged and moved to the door. ‘He refused to say, believing that the fewer people who shared the confidence, the less likelihood there was of blame to be slung around if things went badly. It meant no one would actually know where he was . . . and could put a hand on their heart and swear to that.’ She blinked angrily, as though she was deliberately holding back on what she would like to say. ‘He’s protecting us . . . but especially you. I know the professor better than most; he’s not nearly as heartless as his well-honed brusque demeanour suggests.’ She gave a soft sniff. ‘There are plenty of strutting peacocks around this hospital enjoying the life that the colony affords them. Not Professor Vickery; he’s the most dedicated clinician I have ever had the privilege to work with, so forgive me if I seem a fraction biased, and not a little worried about what this will do to his health.’

  She left me with that souring thought.

  15

  It was Miles who broke the news three days later. I was shocked to see him saunter up, never imagining our paths would cross at such an event as a fundraiser for a church school. My early acquaintance from the original journey to India, Elmay Bourne-Hughes, had sent countless invitations since my arrival, all of them politely turned down with genuine-sounding excuses. However, a mix of guilt at yet another kind invite glaring at me from my desk, and the realisation that much of my gloomy mindset was exacerbated by having no social life to speak of, prompted me to accept. I needed the distraction more than anything to dislocate me from the memory of Saxon’s wrath and Matron’s hard line.

  It had seemed a harmless evening to attend and one I could escape quickly once I’d been seen. I didn’t anticipate many others and I figured it was remote enough that most of the social climbers wouldn’t be there and I could at least hug Elmay and generally have a brief interlude among other people’s conversations, no matter how banal they might be.

  My inexperience of the Calcutta social scene, of course, had left me unprepared for the fact that Elmay did nothing in half measures and it felt like most of the European community had crammed onto her lawns late on Sunday afternoon to help raise funds for the school. I’d barely paid attention to its name and perhaps most others were in a similar situation, coming along more for the socialising, with tossing a few pounds at the fundraising aspect a mere formality.

  Elmay greeted me with the identical infectious warmth I recalled from our journey. ‘Darling Isla, you look waif-thin, my dear. That hospital is killing you, surely?’ she said, kissing me on both cheeks and holding me back to examine me. Then I was suddenly pulled to her bosom for another hug. ‘Oh, my dear, but thin hangs well on you. You look wanly beautiful and dare I say only the merest hint of the sun kissing those exquisite cheekbones makes you look ethereal.’

  ‘Elmay, really! You should be on the stage.’

  She chuckled. ‘It is lovely that you’ve finally come. Can I introduce you to some people?’

  I didn’t get a chance to respond; instead, she took me by the hand and led me to a group of military men and their wives and I was grateful to become lost in their discussion: at first serious-minded chatter about Mahatma Ghandi and his starvation protests before moving into the whole ugly business of terror attacks.

 
; ‘Poor old Anderson’s had so many attempts on his life now, I think he just takes it in his stride,’ one fellow remarked about the Viceroy, his moustache ending in a needlepoint at each end of his thin lips. His listeners duly chuckled on cue.

  ‘Even women are getting involved now,’ one of the wives muttered to me. ‘I was told two men were sentenced to death for attempting on the Governor’s life and a woman sentenced to transportation for life. What could she be thinking!’ A sip of her Bengal Moonshine – Elmay’s specially prepared cocktail for the evening – was swallowed to help the alarm. ‘Oh, gosh, this is good. Elmay’s surpassed herself this time.’ She grinned at me with sticky-looking lips that had been painted an engine red.

  I smiled in a fake way. What else could I do? I sipped my Moonshine too and let them talk around me, fixing a look of interest onto my face, but my thoughts scattered to Saxon and the clean-up of ‘my mess’.

  Despite Elmay’s high hopes, the Governor of Bengal would not be in attendance this evening, and our hostess looked downhearted when she made the announcement. Looking around, I couldn’t imagine she would remain disappointed for long. The turnout was enormous. The church school would surely enjoy a most welcome injection of funds shortly.

  I soon drifted from the main pack and wandered to the Bourne-Hughes’s ostentatious fishpond that sat high above ground. It was away from the fairy lighting and the chamber music that accompanied the feathery conversations buzzing around the garden like fireflies, igniting into bursts of laughter from time to time.

  I’d achieved it, I realised. Barely one hour from arriving at Elmay’s home, I’d managed to isolate myself from the partygoers and stood now in the shadows like an interloper. A young woman startled me when she broke from the darkened area to my right.

  ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘I think I’ve taken a wrong turn on my way back from the powder room.’ She glanced back over her shoulder to a door from the end of the house and pointed. ‘Yes, I came through there but should have walked back and out of there.’