The Tea Gardens

by Fiona McIntosh

  I wasn’t interested but schooled myself to be polite at least. ‘Hello, I’m Isla Fenwick.’

  ‘Florence Petherby.’ We shook hands briefly, delicately even, in the way she just managed to touch fingertips lightly through gloved hands. ‘Recently arrived,’ she admitted.

  ‘And how are you liking Calcutta?’

  ‘Oh, it’s marvellous,’ she gushed, surprising me. ‘So many parties and wonderful events to enjoy. I’d been warned that it’s confronting but I’ve kept away from the streets outside . . . um, you know . . . sticking to the —’

  ‘European settlement?’ I offered. She did not hear the sarcasm because I buried it before it could grab my words and colour them.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not very good with squalid situations and I hear it’s really very dirty and crowded outside of the city.’

  ‘Wretched locals, eh?’ I agreed in a saccharine voice. I didn’t dislike her – how could I? I didn’t know her – but I didn’t want to spend any more time with this vacant girl who couldn’t be more than twenty. She wasn’t moving away, though.

  ‘Um, are you married?’ she enquired, large eyes glistening in the low light from a few candles burning nearby.

  ‘No. But she shall be soon, won’t you, Isla,’ said a familiar voice, answering on my behalf. ‘To a Mr Mandeville, wealthy MP and philanthropist in London?’ Miles Baird slipped a proprietorial arm around my companion’s waist.

  She beamed at him, and then me. ‘Oh, you know Miles Baird?’ I nodded. ‘And that he’s a doctor?’ my new friend offered in a breathy voice.

  ‘Yes, Miles and I are colleagues,’ I admitted. I frowned. ‘Hello, Miles. Haven’t seen you in a while?’

  ‘I’ve been on a special project.’ He put a finger to his chapped lips as though it was top secret. I wasn’t even vaguely interested to know more.

  ‘Oh, you’re a nurse?’ his new beau exclaimed, sounding impressed.

  ‘No, Florrie,’ he corrected. ‘Isla is a doctor at my hospital.’

  ‘A doctor?’ She made it sound like an alien concept and needed to take another look at me to see that I was a woman and that she hadn’t been mistaken.

  I dismissed her ignorance, focusing on my fellow doctor. ‘I’m surprised to see you here at this fundraiser.’

  ‘Why?’ He shrugged with nonchalance. ‘It’s a good cause for the school. My surname alone demands I do the right thing. Not all of us Scots are tight with our money.’ He chuckled and Florence followed suit with a look of sugary adoration that worried me. What was she seeing in this man that I didn’t?

  I nodded. Of course. This was a fundraiser for the Scottish Church Collegiate School, one of the oldest in the country and founded by the first missionary from that church to India.

  ‘Well, I think they’ll raise a tidy sum,’ I replied, lost for much else to say.

  ‘Oh, Miles, there’s Lucille. We came out on the boat together!’ Florence said, more excited than I thought the sighting should prompt.

  ‘Hurry along, then. I might lurk a little longer with Dr Fenwick. I need to speak with her. I’ll catch up in a minute.’

  I frowned; I wanted him gone, or for my normally reliable mind to deliver me a reason to excuse myself. But it was as vacant in that moment as Florence’s smile when she wished me good evening.

  ‘I hope we meet again, Dr Fenwick.’

  I couldn’t imagine we would and I chose to grin back at her with a polite nod. ‘Enjoy your time here, Florence.’

  She disappeared in a froth of expensive cotton lace, no doubt deemed ideal in some London store for the tropics, and I was alone with her escort for the evening.

  ‘No need to remain here, Miles. There’s only boredom in this spot,’ I admitted, throwing in a self-effacing smile. ‘I was actually about to make my excuses when your friend walked up.’

  ‘Delightful creature, isn’t she?’

  ‘Er, yes, indeed. Are you fond of each other?’

  ‘She’s here to find a husband . . . one of the fishing fleet,’ he quipped.

  I had never heard the derogatory term before and felt immediately offended on Florence’s behalf.

  ‘So you’re one of her suitors?’ I sounded neither intrigued nor bored.

  ‘The only one, I hope. She’s pretty enough and has pedigree: very wealthy family.’ He tapped his nose again. I wanted to punch it. ‘I suspect many of the military men will be making a sharp angle to Miss Petherby, so I have staked my claim.’

  ‘You have it all over them,’ I said. It could be taken either way but Miles heard none of the sarcasm that I hid well for my own petty amusement.

  ‘A doctor is a good catch for any fishing expedition, Isla. With a military husband she could be sent anywhere in this savage land. Have you heard I’m moving on?’

  That was unexpected but of course he’d set out to catch me off-guard. I kept my voice even. ‘I hadn’t heard, no. Is it a happy move?’

  ‘I haven’t been fired, if that’s what you mean,’ he replied, only a small flash of irritation peeping through his controlled smile.

  ‘I didn’t mean that at all. I simply mean are you happy?’

  ‘Yes. And if Miss Petherby works out as I hope, I may even be happier. It would be ideal to take a wife with me to Simla – er, that’s the British summer capital – when the Delhi climate finally wears the European community down.’

  It was an important posting so close to government and for Miles I could tell this was all about social climbing. Poor Florence Petherby, but then maybe their shallowness suited each other. ‘I see. How lovely for you.’ I didn’t bother to ask what his new position was. I really didn’t care.

  ‘Yes, lots of frivolity and a need for more clinical practitioners up there in the Himalayan region above Delhi. It’s really very beautiful too. English cottages, primroses growing wild and a whirl of fetes, balls, picnics, hunts, parties, polo and cricket.’

  ‘Not to mention governance of India,’ I added, keeping any tartness from my voice.

  He tapped his nose yet again at my remark in that increasingly irritating way of his while grinning sardonically.

  I began to wish I hadn’t come tonight. Miles looked as though he was building to something, leading me, and yet I couldn’t extricate myself easily. I didn’t want to encourage his vendetta – I wanted my remaining time to be focused on work, not fending off a vengeful colleague. The maelstrom of potential functions I could have chosen to attend these last months was overwhelming and I’d dodged most of them with such sure-footedness I had begun to adopt a hidden smugness.

  I was aware he was waiting on me. ‘I’m pleased for you, Miles. I suspect you’ll fit right in.’ It was lukewarm congratulations at best and I didn’t want him to think me envious, so I added, ‘They’re fortunate to find someone as skilled as you to up sticks and head to the mountains.’

  He smiled, enjoying the compliment, taking time over lighting a cigarette. He offered me one but I shook my head. I smelled the naptha fuel as the lighter ignited and then the waft of burning tobacco overrode it. The glow from the cigarette as Miles inhaled lit his face and my instincts were surely right. There was something contrived about his expression; he was building to something. I felt like someone about to fall off a ladder, every muscle instantly tensed, insides feeling as though they were gripping but getting no purchase. The flare disappeared and his face was thrown into shadows. ‘Pity about the Vicereine’s cancellation,’ he said, his tone lazy.

  I sighed inwardly. Is that all it was? His chance to gloat about Saxon and me not getting to shake the Vicereine’s hand? He genuinely did not have my measure or he’d have known how little this mattered. ‘Relief for me, to be honest. I don’t go in for pomp and ceremony.’

  ‘I meant it was a shame for the hospital.’

  ‘Of course it was.’ Where was this leading? I braced myself for whatever came next but made an attempt to leave. ‘Anyway, Miles, I’m glad to see you and hear your good news. I’ll be on
my way, though, let you get back to the party and your delightful Miss Petherby. I do hope we’ll hear news of an engagement short—’

  It fell on deaf ears as Miles had begun to talk over me. ‘You look exhausted, Isla. Pathetically thin too.’

  I mustered a shrug. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m a doctor.’

  He grinned predictably. ‘What you need is a pick-me-up and some distance from your routine life,’ he said.

  ‘I thought I was doing just that by attending this event.’ I straightened my handbag over my arm. It was a clue I was about to bolt.

  ‘This is hardly a tonic for the work we do.’

  ‘You have just the thing, I’m guessing?’

  ‘Well, now you mention it, I do. How about a nice cool gin at the Club?’

  I looked back at him and I knew everything from my gaze to my tone seemed wearied. Faking it was not a strength of mine. ‘And what about Miss Petherby?’ It was the best I could do in the moment but I realised it sounded like encouragement rather than a definitive answer. I didn’t wait for him to try. ‘It’s a lovely thought, Miles, and kind of you to think of me, but I am exhausted as you rightly note and I’m heading home for a bath and bed.’

  He nodded, as though he’d fully anticipated the brush-off. ‘Another time, perhaps?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I lied, not in the slightest guilty over it.

  ‘See you anon,’ he murmured, turning to leave. ‘Oh!’ he said, dramatically halting, clicking his thumb and forefinger as he turned back. I hadn’t escaped. ‘Damn, how remiss of me not to make condolences to you as soon as I arrived.’

  I frowned, shaking my head. ‘What about?’

  ‘Your Hindu couple,’ he prompted and I could hear the feigned sympathy in his voice.

  I never lose my amazement at how rapidly the body can respond to fear; it’s a primitive trigger but it is reliably powerful. My lips tingled instantly at his words. Numbness followed and I recognised that every ounce of me was now on alert, adrenaline flooding my bloodstream. ‘What are you talking about?’ It was obvious even to me that I was not covering my terror. My voice sounded thick and constricted. Why couldn’t the vacuous Florrie Petherby feel a spike of jealousy and come back to link her arm around her horrible man and make her claim?

  He was a smiling cat, torturing a mouse.

  I waited for the kill.

  Miles made a tsking sound of pity that infuriated me but I found my father’s infinite calm. I took a step back, forcing my features to now give him a serene look that told him I was confounded. ‘You’re going to have to explain, Miles, because I’m too tired to play a guessing game.’ I sounded impressively bored.

  ‘Sure. I won’t insult you with tact, then. I heard today that the family of your pregnant Hindu girl found her.’

  It was no good; I couldn’t contain the fright any longer and not beyond the fresh despair that this revelation delivered. ‘You’re lying!’ My voice was small and accusatory. Was that really my finger poking Miles in the chest?

  He wasn’t at all unnerved. If anything he was taking a page from Saxon’s book and going for the sardonic smile. I wondered in that ghastly moment of despair whether he had practised in a mirror, desperately trying to capture what came effortlessly to the professor. ‘No jest, dear Isla, and no lie either. I’m so sorry for you . . . and for Vickery. This won’t reflect happily on either of you.’

  ‘What do you know?’

  ‘I know all of it, but perhaps . . . ’ He shook his head with such a patronising smile he was fortunate I didn’t respond with violence.

  Nevertheless, despair had to find a way out and, like water finding a hole to leak through, it navigated towards my mouth. ‘Go to hell, Miles!’

  I’m still not sure who was the more shocked between us as the insult bounced in our near space off the trees, his chest, the stone that surrounded the pond. I didn’t back down, though. In fact, I’d like to have cursed at him using the savoury language of a shipyard worker; this felt tame but it also felt as though a stopper had been released and all my pent-up tension was allowed to escape. It made me feel surprisingly strong. I gave him a final threatening sneer before stalking away deeper into the garden while his face was left a picture of reddening shock. My triumph only lasted seconds as Miles chased me into that quiet part of the garden.

  ‘Well, well. Who’d have thought that Icy Isla would have such a fiery temper?’

  Oh, how I hated this vicious man. I was waiting for him to grab my elbow or reach for my shoulder to give me an excuse to scream at him not to touch me and hopefully bring the fundraising crowd scuttling to my aid. He didn’t, though; he was careful to simply stride alongside me.

  ‘Really, Isla, I’m sure your fiancé wouldn’t —’

  I halted so abruptly he had to turn back. ‘Listen to me. From now on you are to address me as Dr Fenwick. Furthermore, you are not to refer to my fiancé again. He is not known to you and you can’t possibly judge what Mr Mandeville would or would not approve of. And also from now on, Dr Baird, unless our paths cross professionally and we need to discuss a patient or hospital practices, please be assured I have no desire whatsoever to share a moment of social time with you. I was lying when I said we can share a drink together another time and I did that to save you some humiliation, but frankly I don’t care about you saving face, or your feelings any more, because you have so little regard for anyone else’s. I have no intention of sharing another moment with you. I find you deeply unattractive because you are small-minded, weak, grasping, selfish, and you seem to suffer a permanent crisis of ego. I doubt you will ever measure up to Saxon Vickery as a doctor, as a decent person . . . or indeed as a man.’ I could see how my final barb hurt him. Would I pay for that?

  His composure was quick to reassemble itself. ‘Dr Fenwick, I was simply being polite but that’s no hardship that you don’t wish to spend time with me. I’m about to be engaged, as you know.’

  I wanted to walk away; I should not have allowed him another breath.

  ‘I simply felt you should be apprised that it wasn’t a happy-ever-after for your fairytale couple – they were doomed, as most of us would have surmised from the outset. The hospital directors have been briefed via the offended families at our intrusion. I learned earlier today from one of the secretaries of their astonishment that anyone from the hospital would meddle in the affairs of caste.’

  ‘I don’t want to know any more.’

  ‘Why not? It was your doing.’

  I looked back at him with disbelief.

  ‘I didn’t push them together!’ I said and could hear how desperate I sounded, trying to distance myself.

  ‘No, you did worse. You encouraged them to remain together. You made it possible for them to believe they could flee the wrath of their families and escape the vengeance that is demanded by centuries of their cultural rules. You lied to them. You’re pretty heartless, Dr Fenwick, and you left others to clear up your mess. I could even feel a moment’s sympathy for Vickery, who bore the brunt of their deaths.’

  And with a small smile he turned and walked away from where the boxer lay on the ground after a knockout punch to her jaw.

  16

  Adding to my grim mood was monsoon season and we were in the thick of it. The odd pillows of cloud that had seemed to languish in the sky over Calcutta a few months back had begun to cluster into larger masses before those skies opened and monsoon broke viciously over the city. I told myself the heavens wept with me. Booming thunder had heralded the arrival of our wet season as though the gods were all pounding on drums to announce the long-awaited, life-giving rains that would cleanse the city, washing away its ills and miseries, grow its food and fill its waterways.

  For most, however, it meant miserable inconvenience. It rained for hours at a time; I don’t know why I thought monsoon season meant it would shower for a few minutes each day and disappear. Instead, it was a relentless torrent that lasted for half of each day. And when the skies briefly stopped t
heir tears, the streets began to steam beneath the still unforgiving summer heat that turned the city into a sauna. Calcutta, I realised, had little defence, despite the centuries of knowledge of the inevitable months of being sodden. If life was tough in the heat, it now became intolerable in monsoon as traffic became bogged, trams slowed to a halt and roads were awash. It seemed at times as though only the tough, rangy rickshaw drivers, with their nimbleness and strength, could move, hauling cargo while calf-deep in the filthy water that coursed through Calcutta’s narrower streets.

  The rains were necessary, of course, or Calcutta would founder, but that didn’t make the downpours or the gluey atmosphere they left behind each day any easier to bear. As thin as my cotton clothes were, they still stuck unhelpfully to every inch of skin they touched, and I had become one of those women who dabbed at their face and neck with a handkerchief, making swooning sounds. I’d considered myself a resilient person who didn’t wilt fast under any sort of pressure, but this climate had my measure and I found myself beginning to yearn for an English winter. Perhaps that was life’s way of pointing me in the direction of where I should be; that’s what I told myself, anyway, as I lay damp on my bed, beneath a spinning ceiling fan, unable to grab much more than bursts of fitful sleep.

  The hospital went on high alert from the first cloudburst and it was right to do so. My mind was jumbled over Miles’s cruelly delivered revelation, and I constantly fretted over my involvement in the bleak outcome. Would I make peace with Saxon when I met him again? This thought was mercifully distracted by an outbreak of malaria, which seemed inevitable with this much stagnant water suddenly in our midst.

  Female mosquitoes had waited for the moment of that first explosive torrent, busily hatching and injecting their human hosts with the sporozoites that would move through blood vessels to liver cells in order to reproduce. I was only too aware of how newly infected red blood cells produced hundreds of new infected cells, and how the human response to this war inside the body was fever, vomiting, liver dysfunction, chills, circulatory shock, jaundice . . . ultimately death if left unchecked.