by Dilly Court
‘By the way,’ he said casually, ‘I’ve found a small bungalow that you and her ladyship can move into straight away. It’s quite basic but you are here for only a short while, so I hope it will suit.’
‘Thank you, Major.’ The information barely registered as she struggled to come to terms with the news that her father had been badly wounded and discharged from the service. He had been a shadowy figure in her early years. All she could recall was the tickle of his moustache when he kissed her good night, and the smell of boot polish and bay rum that lingered even after he had left the room. A mixture of emotions threatened to overcome her – she was relieved to think that he had survived, and angered by the fact that he had made no effort to seek her out. Perhaps it would be best to allow him to slide into obscurity. She went to find Aurelia to pass on the news that they would soon have somewhere to call their own, even if it was only temporary.
The bungalow was small, but there were two bedrooms, a living room and a cooking area built on at the back. A veranda at the front overlooked a small garden bounded by a picket fence, and shaded by a rain tree. Esther said she would be sorry to see them go, but Lottie noticed with some amusement that their hostess set about finding them servants with surprising zeal. One morning a stream of applicants arrived at the Tressillians’ bungalow, and Lottie was allowed to sit in while Esther interviewed them in a mixture of Hindi and English. By lunch- time they had a housemaid, a cook and a gardener, or as Lottie said airily when she told Aurelia, ‘We have an ayah, a bobajee and a mali, and the bheesti will bring us fresh water twice a day.’
‘Stop showing off,’ Aurelia said impatiently. ‘I refuse to learn their language because we won’t be here much longer.’
‘Really?’ Lottie asked eagerly. ‘Have you found out where Gideon is?’
‘Not exactly,’ Aurelia said, frowning. ‘But I will soon. I’ve made friends with the officer in charge of the telegraph. It doesn’t cover the whole country, as yet, but as soon as I know where Gillingham is stationed we’ll set off.’
‘Do you really mean to travel all the way to the frontier?’
‘I’ll brave the Khyber Pass and travel into Afghanistan, if necessary. I’m a military wife, or I was, and will be again if I have any say in the matter.’
‘But you’re not married to the lieutenant. Will the army allow you to follow the drum?’
‘I don’t care whether they will or not. I’ll be a camp follower if it means that I can be with the man I love. Don’t you feel the same?’
‘Yes, but I’m not a lady like you.’
‘You are more a lady than I will ever be, Lottie Lane. Now, let’s stop talking and set about moving into the bungalow. It’s going to be a week or two before we travel north, and there’s a lot of planning to be done in the meantime.’
Aurelia threw herself into making arrangements for the journey that would take them to the North-West Frontier, but this left Lottie with little to do. The servants looked after their every need, and with no other outlet for her energy, Lottie spent each morning keeping Esther’s children entertained, giving their exhausted mother a well-earned rest. Even so, the afternoons were long and the weather was getting warmer with each passing day. It was then that time dragged and Lottie was frustrated by the inactivity. She had not accustomed herself to the way the army wives retired to their rooms during the hottest part of the day, leaving the children to be cared for by their ayahs, and surfacing when it was cooler towards evening in time to change and dine with their husbands. Taking to her bed after luncheon was alien to Lottie’s nature and she often chose to brave the heat, taking walks in the town or going for rides, accompanied by the Tressillians’ syce.
One of her favourite walks took her through the bazaar where stalls were set up in front of the rickety buildings, displaying everything from bolts of cloth to rush baskets filled with colourful aromatic spices. Lottie was not interested in purchasing anything, even though the traders shouted their wares and did their best to entice her into sampling their goods. She smiled and walked on, holding her parasol at an angle to shield her from the ferocious heat of the sun. Flies buzzed around her head and monkeys skittered across the road in front of her, leaping onto stalls and stealing fruit despite the attempts of the traders to keep them at bay. Lottie headed for the shady area beneath the neem trees that lined the street. She turned a corner and came to a sudden halt. For a moment she thought that it was a mirage caused by the shimmering heat, or a touch of the sun, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them it would be gone, and she would know that it was just her imagination playing tricks on her.
She opened her eyes and it was still there – the house that had haunted her dreams for as long as she could remember. She moved slowly towards it, hardly daring to believe that it was real, and, as if still in her dream, she walked up the path and knocked on the door. This was when she always awakened, frustrated and feeling cheated of what lay behind that green door.
It opened and she found herself looking into a face that was at once strange and yet achingly familiar.
‘Can I help you, miss-sahib?’
‘Mala?’ Lottie said slowly. ‘Mala, is it you? Don’t you remember me?’
The woman took a step backwards, her dark eyes wide with shock. ‘No, it can’t be.’
‘But it is. I am Lottie, you used to call me your little rose.’ Close to tears, Lottie threw her arms around the woman’s neck. ‘You were my ayah. I’ve come home.’ She breathed in the scent of curry spices and patchouli, aromas that took her back fourteen years to a time of trust and innocence.
Mala returned the hug. ‘Lottie-ji, my little rose.’ She held her at arm’s length. ‘You are so like your dear mama that I thought you were a ghost. Come inside and let me look at you.’
Halfway between tears and laughter, Lottie stepped into the room. Memories came flooding back as she glanced round at the colourful hangings, the low sofa with its gaudy cushions, and the brass-topped table where Mala used to keep a bowl of sugar candy just for her.
‘I used to come here and you would give me lemonade and let me play in the garden, but it’s so much smaller than I remembered,’ Lottie said.
‘You were just a baba-log when you were sent away.’ Mala dashed her hand across her eyes, but she was smiling through her tears. ‘The little ones were taken from us and then your mama. I had hoped that you would be allowed to stay with me here, but your papa said your only hope was to go to England. I felt my heart breaking when I kissed you goodbye.’
‘I know I wanted to live here with you, and I didn’t want to go back to our bungalow after Mama died.’ Lottie enveloped the small, plump woman in a warm embrace. ‘You were so big then. Now I am taller than you.’
Mala drew away, gazing at Lottie. ‘You have grown into a beautiful lady.’ She fingered the material of Lottie’s borrowed riding habit. ‘A fine lady, too.’
‘I am little more than a servant. I came to India as companion to a rich lady.’
‘I don’t understand. Your father said you had gone to a good school. His brother in England told him so.’ Mala shook her head, frowning. ‘He wanted you to have the best of everything.’
‘Never mind me. I am here now and I hope to find my father. Do you know where he is, Mala? His letters stopped coming many years ago and I feared he was dead. Then Major Tressillian told me that Papa had been injured and had left the army. That’s all I know.’
‘It is true, Lottie-ji. At first we thought he might die, but your papa is a strong man and he survived.’
‘Where is he now?’ Lottie asked, hardly daring to breathe.
Mala moved towards the bead curtain that separated the living room from the lean-to where she prepared her food. ‘Where are my manners? Sit down, and I’ll bring you refreshments.’
Lottie sank onto the sofa. ‘If you know anything, however bad it may be, please tell me.’
‘Let me serve you first, and then we will talk.’ Mala slipped behind the curtain.<
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Lottie could hear her moving about and she closed her eyes, savouring the scent of sandalwood from the carved chest where Mala kept her linen, and the zesty aroma of lemons as Mala prepared the drink that Lottie had loved as a child. It was all so familiar and comforting. Lottie felt more relaxed than she had done for months. She opened her eyes and smiled. She had come full circle.
Mala bustled into the room carrying two glasses of lemonade. She placed them on the table. ‘Take a sip, and then I would like you to see my garden.’
Lottie picked up a glass and drank deeply. The lemon juice, sweetened with sugar and diluted with water, was delicious. ‘I remember your garden, Mala. We used to sit beneath the big tree with the yellow flowers and you would read to me.’
‘There is someone sitting beneath that same laburnum right now. Someone you would very much like to see.’ Mala moved swiftly to hold up the curtain. ‘Come.’
Chapter Twenty-One
The garden simmered in the afternoon sunshine, but it was not quite the same as the idyllic setting of Lottie’s dreams. The green lawn she had envisaged was little more than a dusty yard where hens pecked in the dirt and a goat was tethered in one corner, well away from the small vegetable patch. The laburnum, however, was even more beautiful than she remembered, and the jacaranda tree was just coming into bloom with a haze of deep blue. Rose-ringed parakeets and mynas vied with each other in a noisy clamour as they claimed the branches as their own.
Mala went on ahead, shooing hens out of their path by flapping her hands and scolding them in Hindi. Then as they approached the water tank, half hidden from view by a large hibiscus, Lottie saw someone sitting beneath the golden shower of the laburnum. Mala came to a halt.
‘Wait one moment, Lottie-ji.’ She disappeared behind the flowering hibiscus.
Lottie strained her ears in an attempt to overhear the conversation, but she could not make out the words, and then Mala reappeared, smiling broadly.
‘Come. There is someone most eager to see you.’
Lottie’s pulse was racing and she knew the answer even before she came face to face with a man she barely recognised. ‘Papa!’ The father she remembered was tall and well built, but this man was a pale shadow of his former self. He was thin and frail; his dark hair and moustache were now snow white, his skin lined and sallow. She was deeply shocked by his appearance.
Harold Lane held out his hand. ‘Lottie, my dear girl. I can’t believe it’s really you.’
‘It was pure chance that I came this way,’ Lottie said slowly. ‘I didn’t know where to find you, Pa.’ She sank to her knees in front of him, clutching his hands like a drowning woman.
‘My little girl.’ His voice shook with suppressed emotion. ‘How you’ve grown, Lottie.’
She lifted her head and tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. ‘Papa, I thought I’d never see you again. It must have been fate that led me here today. I knew this house the moment I saw it, because it has haunted my dreams since I was a child.’
‘It’s truly a miracle,’ he said slowly. ‘But I am a wreck of a man, and no use to you or anyone else.’
‘Don’t say things like that, Lane-sahib.’ Mala wagged her finger at him. ‘That’s no way to greet your long-lost daughter. She has come all this way from England to see you.’
‘Is that true?’ Harold met her gaze with an attempt at a smile. ‘Did you travel all this way to find me?’
‘Not exactly, Pa. There were other reasons for my journey, but I hoped I might have news of you. For years now I’ve thought that you were dead. Why didn’t you let me know that you had suffered like this?’
‘I did write to you, my dear girl. I wrote to you at least twice a month, and I sent the letters to Sefton, asking him to pass them on, but I never received a reply.’
‘But you didn’t tell her that you were a cripple, sahib,’ Mala interjected angrily. ‘You made believe that you were fit and well.’ She shot a sideways glance at Lottie. ‘I didn’t pry, Lottie-ji. I was given the task of sealing the letters and taking them to the barracks to be sent to England. I couldn’t help but see some of what your papa had written.’
Lottie held her father’s thin hand to her cheek. ‘Uncle Sefton must have destroyed them, Papa. I never received anything from you after I left school more than eight years ago.’ She rose to her feet, still holding his hand. ‘We have so much to talk about. I can’t believe that I’ve found you alive and well.’
‘Reasonably well, given the circumstances,’ Harold said with a wry smile. ‘But better for seeing you, my dear girl. I would have known you anywhere; you are so like your mother.’
‘That’s what I said.’ Mala folded her hands in front of her, nodding in agreement. ‘Shall I call for the mali to carry you indoors, Lane-sahib? You must be getting tired.’
Harold shook his head. ‘No, Mala, I am fine, but I would like some tea, and I expect my daughter would, too.’
‘Perhaps we should go into the house, Papa.’ Lottie gazed at him anxiously. It was clear that the shock of seeing her had exhausted him. His eyes were bright, but his face was pale, with a greyish tinge, and the skin of his hand felt dry and paper thin. ‘I cannot stay too long or they will send out a search party for me.’
‘I’ll fetch the mali to carry you indoors.’ Mala hurried off in the direction of the vegetable patch.
‘Where are you staying, Lottie my love?’
‘In the cantonment, Papa. I came to India as companion to Lady Aurelia Dashwood. Her husband, Colonel Dashwood, died in the Crimea, and she has come to find the man she hopes to marry.’
‘Is he a soldier also?’
‘He’s a lieutenant, Papa. His name is Farrell Gillingham and he served in the Crimea with the Sappers and Miners. It’s a long story, and I’d have to start at the beginning or it wouldn’t make sense.’
‘I heard that the corps had changed its name recently. My body might be crippled but my mind is as sharp as ever and I try to keep up to date. Mala brings me news from the village and, every so often, I get a copy of The Times.’
Lottie swallowed hard. It was painful to see the man who had once been tall and strong reduced to a helpless state physically, although mentally still alert. ‘Yes, Pa. I believe they are now known as the Royal Engineers.’
Harold put his head on one side, eyeing his daughter with a faint smile. ‘You seem to know a lot about the subject, Lottie. You are true to your military background, or is there some other reason?’
‘I fell in love with a soldier, Pa. It must be in the blood.’
‘And this soldier is here in India? Has he a name, and how did you meet him? I may be crippled, Lottie, but I am still your father and I need to know these things. Now that we’ve found each other I don’t want to lose you to just anyone, even if he does wear a uniform. He might be quite unsuitable.’
Lottie raised his hand to her cheek. ‘We will never be parted in such a way again, Papa, and I want you to meet Gideon. He’s a fine man, just like you, and I love him.’
‘That’s good enough for me, Lottie. But where is he now?’
‘He’s with Lieutenant Gillingham on a mission to the North-West Frontier.’
‘There is always trouble in that area. I can’t see it ever coming to an end.’
Lottie rose to her feet at the sound of footsteps. She turned to see Mala accompanied by the gardener.
‘We’ve come to take you indoors, Lane-sahib,’ Mala said firmly.
‘You see,’ Harold said, twisting his lips into a grimace as the mali lifted him bodily from the chair. ‘I am at the mercy of others.’
‘Lane-sahib! Do not speak in such a way.’ Mala glanced anxiously at Lottie. ‘Do not believe him, Lottie-ji. Your papa is treated with the utmost respect.’
‘He’s teasing you,’ Lottie said, smiling. ‘I can see that you take great care of him, and I’m truly grateful to you.’ She watched her father being carried into the bungalow and her heart ached for him, despite her brave words. ‘I
s there nothing that can be done for him, Mala?’
‘They say his back was broken,’ Mala said sadly. ‘He will never walk again.’
Lottie followed her into the bungalow. Her joy on being reunited with her father was tinged with sadness for the once strong man, who was now broken and reliant on others. She could only admire the spirit that had sustained him throughout his ordeal, and she made a silent vow to do everything in her power to make his life more bearable.
Lottie arrived back at the cantonment to find Aurelia pacing the veranda of their bungalow in a state of agitation.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ she demanded angrily. ‘I was about to send a search party to look for you. Don’t you know it’s unsafe to venture out alone? It will be dark soon.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lottie said lamely. ‘But I wasn’t alone. I had an escort.’
Aurelia slumped down on one of the rattan chairs and reached for a glass. She took a sip, glaring at Lottie over the rim. ‘It’s lucky I purchased a bottle of brandy from the commissariat or I would have gone to the major an hour ago. Where have you been?’
Lottie was about to explain but Aurelia held up her hand. ‘On second thoughts, I don’t care. I needed you here when the news came through. I was in the telegraph room and had it first-hand from Sapper Smith.’
‘What news? It can’t be more momentous than mine.’
Aurelia drained the glass in one mouthful. ‘Really? I suppose you don’t care that both Farrell and your man Ellis have been wounded in a skirmish on the border.’
Lottie sank down on the chair next to her. ‘No! Are they badly hurt?’
‘Oh, so you do care then? Well, the truth is I don’t know. The message was brief but this must have happened some time ago as they’ve been treated in a field hospital, and are being sent back to Poona to be repatriated. That doesn’t happen unless the injury is serious. Heaven knows what they’ve suffered.’ Aurelia reached for the bottle and poured herself another stiff drink. She offered it to Lottie. ‘Here, you’d better have a snifter. Don’t you dare faint. I can’t carry you indoors and the mali has gone home. There’s only Romila and she’s busy preparing dinner, although I doubt if I can eat a morsel.’