The old citadel, with its domes and labyrinth of narrow lanes busy with people and trade, fascinated Alice but her fellow travellers complained at being pestered by crowds of curious children and bitten by bed lice.
Yet the hardships of the journey so far were nothing to the bone-jarring discomfort they now endured atop the crude sand carts that bumped their way east across the desert to the Red Sea port.
Dust enveloped and choked them, so that they could hardly see the desolate land over which they travelled.
‘Nothing to see anyway,’ declared Captain Ayton. ‘Just rock and sand.’
Behind them stretched an army of camels loaded up with their belongings. Alice was astonished at what people had thought essential to bring: bath tubs, writing desks, dining furniture, beds and trunkfuls of bedding and clothes.
‘Where is all your linen?’ Emily had exclaimed, scandalised by Alice’s lack of home comforts. ‘Sandy told me I must have three sets of sheets for the first sea voyage and another trunk’s worth after Suez.’
Alice had only thought to bring two sets for the whole journey, hoping to have them laundered on the way. In Egypt she travelled with a few essentials in a simple basket with a lid. Emily had three bulky carpet bags – their driver was perched on one – and five large trunks swaying along behind in the camel train. Her husband had just as many again.
Emily and Sandy were from Edinburgh and had recently married while Sandy had been on leave from India. To Alice’s delight, their destination was also Calcutta. Emily was chatty and friendly, with a riot of frizzy fair hair that she tried to keep in order with ineffectual headbands. Her husband Sandy, perhaps older by ten years, was a genial man whose hair and side-whiskers matched his name.
When they finally transferred to a ship once more, the friends stood watching the mountains of possessions being hauled on board, along with an unidentifiable cargo of chests, sacks and barrels. The sun was setting in a pink dusty haze over low barren hills. An evening star sparkled in the darkening sky. From somewhere a voice gave a haunting, persistent cry above the noise of the dockside.
‘He’s calling them to pray at the mosque,’ Sandy said, pointing at a white-domed building beyond the harbourside.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Alice gasped.
‘What is?’ Emily asked in bemusement.
‘Everything.’ Alice spread her hand at the scene.
‘You are eccentric in your tastes, Alice.’ Emily laughed. ‘I can’t see anything of beauty anywhere.’
‘I can,’ said Sandy, seizing his wife’s hand and kissing it. ‘My bonny wife!’
Emily giggled. Alice felt a pang of envy at their transparent adoration of each other. Hearing Sandy’s Scottish accent kept reminding her of John, for all that she strove to banish him from her mind.
‘Don’t look so sad,’ Emily said with a squeeze on her arm. ‘You’ll be Mrs Gillveray before Christmas.’
After weeks at sea, the passengers were growing tired of one another’s company, the endless games of cards to while away the long days and the dullness of meals where the previous night’s dinner was served up cold for breakfast. While sailing down the Red Sea there had been the diversion of frequent stops to take on coal but since then, for days on end, there had been an endless blue horizon and heat that brought on a strange lethargy. Some of the crew were suffering from dysentery and several passengers took ill with heatstroke and liver complaints. Yet Alice marvelled at the creatures that leapt from this southern sea – flying fish and dolphins – and the vast soaring albatrosses that followed them overhead.
They sailed onwards, first to Ceylon and then to Madras. Small boats braved the barrier of creamy surf to ferry passengers to the shore. Alice gazed enviously at the shoreline of golden beaches and swaying palms with Fort St George solid and imposing beyond the sprawling town.
After that, as they headed north to Calcutta through the Bay of Bengal, they hit stormy weather. Emily retired ill to her cabin. Alice spent mealtimes grabbing at tureens of food to stop them flying off the tables. Finally, the sea calmed and two days later they entered the river mouth of the wide Hooghly and journeyed inland towards Calcutta.
Expectantly, Alice and Emily joined others on deck as they eased upriver past thick vegetation.
‘Mango groves!’ Alice exclaimed.
‘Yes; however do you know that?’ asked Sandy.
‘George has told me about them – and I grew mangoes in my hothouse, or tried to. I think they were half the size they should have been. Tasty in relish though.’
‘You never cease to surprise me.’ Emily nudged her. ‘I bet you know more about India already than Sandy does.’
Alice could hardly contain her nervous excitement as a series of Palladian mansions came into view, their long gardens sweeping down to the riverside. They looked more impressive than Tolland Park – and just as English.
‘This must be Garden Reach,’ said Alice. ‘Mr Gillveray has written about the merchants’ homes with wonderful gardens.’
Then the wharves of the city could be seen ahead.
‘That’s Fort William,’ said Sandy, pointing out a bastion with defensive walls.
‘It looks too elegant to be a fort,’ Alice said.
‘Calcutta is elegant,’ he replied. ‘Far more so than London. And almost as handsome as Edinburgh.’ He gave a deep chuckle.
The ship dropped anchor and a flotilla of slender boats, their rowers standing up and pulling on long oars, came out to meet them. Alice gazed in fascination at the docks beyond – ghats, as Sandy called them – which were teeming with life. Alongside the usual warehouses, ship repairs and customs house were flights of wide steps where people were gathered, fishing, smoking, praying and washing clothes. Some of the men wore little more than a loincloth.
Emily had to drag her away. ‘Come on, Alice. Don’t keep Mr Gillveray waiting.’
Alice’s insides lurched at the thought of coming face-to-face with George after seven years. The last time they had seen each other was at Black Harbour House and the awkward first meeting with her papa. She was a different person now and he might be too. Her chest felt tight with nervousness. She tried to control her thumping heartbeat, telling herself that they knew each other better than ever through their long newsy letters. She gave a wry smile. Too late to have second thoughts now.
‘Look at you grinning,’ Emily teased. ‘I can’t wait to meet your Mr Gillveray either.’
‘I was watching through the eyeglass,’ George said, greeting her in the bustle of the customs house. ‘You look very well, my dear.’
He held Alice’s hands in his. She flushed from more than just the heat. He had aged; his sparse hair was quite grey and receding from his high forehead and his face was craggy and weathered by the sun. But his smile and concerned brown eyes were familiar.
‘I am well’ – she smiled – ‘and thankful to be here. It’s been quite an adventure. I’ve seen my first camels – and flying fish – but I don’t want to go on another ship or sand cart for at least a year. I can’t wait to see my first elephant – I think I might have glimpsed one from the ship. Let me introduce you to my new friends, the Aytons.’
She slipped her hands free and looked around anxiously in the mêlée for Emily and Sandy, waving them over when she spotted them.
‘They’ve been such good companions and Captain Ayton is based here in Calcutta so Emily and I will be able to see each other often, won’t we?’
Nerves made Alice garrulous but George did not seem to mind. He gave her new friends a cordial welcome.
‘I hope you will call on us once you are settled in at Fort William,’ he said to Emily.
‘I’d like them to come to our wedding,’ Alice said. ‘May we invite them?’
‘Of course, my dear.’ George smiled. ‘Anything you wish for you shall have. I just long for us to be married as soon as possible.’
Emily smothered a giggle and Alice felt her blush deepen.
The weddin
g happened with dizzying speed; George had arranged everything. Within days of setting foot in Calcutta, Alice was married to George in a quiet ceremony at the gleaming new garrison church of St Peter’s within the walls of Fort William. The Gothic-style church was grand as a cathedral with its flying buttresses and long tapered windows. Alice emerged on George’s arm squinting into the late-afternoon December sunshine, lightheaded at the thought she was now his wife and by tonight would be living in his house in Chowringhee.
Gun carriages and cannon were lined up in neat rows between the severe rectangular brick buildings of the fort. It was almost possible to imagine she was in England, except for the glimpse of exotic trees beyond and the screech of tropical birds.
In a small anteroom, a supper of soup, fish, fowl, potatoes and raisin pudding was laid on with copious bottles of champagne and claret. Alice, unused to alcohol, drank too quickly. She hardly touched her supper except to devour the sickly sweetmeats that were served with glasses of Madeira wine at the end of the meal. By the time they came to leave, her head was spinning and she was slurring her words.
‘G’bye, Memily!’ Alice clung to her friend, hiccupping and suddenly tearful. ‘You’re the best f-riend I’ve ever ha-had.’
Emily burst into tears too and Sandy had to help prise the women apart.
There were ribald remarks about the wedding bed as George’s army friends bundled the bridal couple into a waiting doolie.
‘Is zis a box?’ Alice asked in confusion, flopping onto a cushioned bench inside the conveyance.
George laughed and climbed in next to her. A moment later, they were raised into the air as the four runners heaved the poles onto their shoulders and set off at a jog. Within minutes of being jiggled up and down, Alice felt queasy. As soon as the runners set down the carriage, Alice leant over and was violently sick.
She remembered little after that; a vague memory of being carried into a ghostly white house, through musty-smelling rooms. Then she was lying down, her head still reeling as if she were on board a lurching ship. Moments later came oblivion.
The next morning, Alice woke to screaming. She opened her eyes in alarm but it made her head hurt so much she quickly shut them again. It took her a minute to work out that it was the screeching and squawking of birds that had woken her. It was so loud, she thought they must be in the room, but when she opened her eyes a fraction, shading them from the dawn light, she realised the birds were flitting among the trees beyond the open shutters of the window.
George was standing in a nightshirt shaving by the open window, humming to himself.
Alice sank back with a groan; her stomach felt sore and empty.
He turned and asked, ‘Is my merry bride awake now?’
Alice struggled to remember the previous evening. Fragments of memory surfaced, the dinner party and some singing. She thought she might have cried and asked Emily to come and live with her. A wave of embarrassment swept through her as more memories surfaced.
‘Was I sick last night?’ she asked.
George wiped his chin with a linen towel and came over to peer at her. ‘It was the doolie ride which did it, I’m afraid. It was thoughtless of me. I should have hired a proper carriage.’
‘It was my fault,’ Alice murmured, ‘for drinking too much champagne. Did I make a fool of myself?’
‘Not at all,’ George said, sitting down beside her. ‘You were charming. Emotional but charming.’
Alice squinted at him. She wanted to know if they had consummated the marriage last night. Was she a wife in every sense now? All she remembered was passing out on the bed. She couldn’t find the words to ask if they had.
‘Today, if you are feeling well enough,’ said George, ‘I thought I would show you around the botanic gardens. Then tonight we can have a quiet meal alone and an early bed.’
Alice coloured. Was he telling her that they hadn’t yet been intimate? She rather thought he was.
‘I’d like that,’ she answered with a weak smile.
The trip to the Company gardens on the west bank of the River Hooghly was just what Alice’s sore head and jaded nerves needed. She was enchanted by the vast lush gardens, laid out nearly fifty years ago by a Colonel Kyd for scientific research.
‘Of course the Company agreed to it so that they could make money,’ George told her with a wry smile. ‘They brought cinnamon plants from Assam and set up in competition with the Dutch.’
Alice linked arms with her husband as he showed her around, a servant following them with a large fringed parasol to keep the low sun off her pale face. She could see how proud George was of the trees and shrubs growing in profusion around a tranquil lake. There were thousands of specimens.
‘Those are Bussora date trees from Mesopotamia,’ he said, stopping under tall palms. ‘And over there are Persian tobacco plants.’ They strolled on. ‘These here produce gum for varnish.’
‘What’s that?’ Alice asked, gazing in amazement at a vast tree spreading like an umbrella. It appeared to have sprouted new trunks around its parent one like a mythical creature with many legs.
‘That’s a Ficus benghalensis,’ George replied, ‘a native to India. Every village has one. The natives call it the banyan.’
‘It’s like something from a fairy tale,’ said Alice, entranced.
Next George showed her around the glass houses until she lost count of the number of spices and fruit trees he had named. His knowledge of their medicinal properties was vast and his enthusiasm infectious. Alice was reminded of what had drawn her to George in the first place; his passion for learning and the natural world. They stepped back outside into the pleasant December warmth.
‘What are you smiling about?’ he asked her quizzically.
‘I’m thinking how lucky I am to be married to a knowledgeable man like you – and to be here in this beautiful eastern garden. I can hardly believe it.’ She gazed up at the trees, enjoying the sight of bright green and red parrots darting between them.
When she looked back at George she saw his eyes glinting with emotion.
‘Shall we go home, Mrs Gillveray,’ he asked, ‘and start our married life together?’
Alice’s insides jolted. ‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘let’s.’
Their first attempt at lovemaking was not a great success, at least as far as Alice was concerned. Her knowledge of such things was based on what she had observed among her animals and pets. Effie had never talked about such matters and she had had no other close relatives to ask. Alice had thought about asking Emily what would be expected but the opportunity never arose; Sandy was almost always at her side.
Alice had been surprised by the mechanics of human intercourse, holding her breath while George fumbled with buttons and laces and wondering if she should be helping more. He didn’t strike her as particularly expert and Alice wondered if he had lived all this time in India without taking a mistress. She had heard gossip on the ship about the lax morals of Company men who gave in too readily to the temptations of native women when left in India for long years of service. The government now frowned on marriage with Indian women but the gossips whispered that many men still ‘kept a woman’ and even sired children by them.
Alice knew that George’s passions were more cerebral but as the days passed she grew to realise that his love for her was more than a meeting of minds. Once they had got over their awkwardness towards each other in the marriage bed, they relaxed and began to enjoy their intimacy. Alice would help shed her clothes and guide George to where his touch gave her pleasure. She explored his body with interest. His limbs were still lean and firm, even though he carried a paunch and the skin on his chest sagged. She closed her eyes and imagined it was a much younger George who made love to her, enjoying the sensations that he provoked.
He was tender and his kisses were full of affection. Perhaps she surprised him with her enthusiasm to get into bed quickly each night.
‘You make me so happy, my love,’ he declared often and would
gaze at her in wonderment.
One morning after they had woken and reached eagerly for each other, George said, ‘I still can’t believe you agreed to be my wife.’
Alice laughed. ‘I still can’t believe you asked me.’
‘I never thought you could ever think of me in that way,’ he said. ‘I confess I was filled with jealousy at all those young men who came to worship you and offer you marriage after your brave deeds became well known.’
‘I wasn’t interested in any of them,’ declared Alice.
‘Not one?’
Alice hesitated. Her stomach tightened in a pang of regret for John. But she had loved him before all the fame.
‘No, none of them. They were just fortune-seekers.’
‘Can it be possible that I’m the only man you’ve ever cared for?’ George marvelled.
Alice smothered her sudden yearning for John. She felt guilty for even thinking about him while lying in George’s arms. What would she do if she ever came across him in Calcutta? Yet she had never heard his name mentioned by the Aytons or George or any of their military friends. There was no point torturing herself with dilemmas that might never happen.
Alice leant up and kissed his lips. ‘No more questions,’ she whispered, guiding his hand through the opening in her nightgown.
As 1836 dawned, Alice relished her new life in Calcutta. Every day brought her new sights and experiences. She loved the grand stuccoed buildings along Esplanade Row and Chowringhee Road; three-storied villas with verandas and porticos gleaming like white marble in the winter sun. She went for carriage rides with Emily across the Maidan, the vast sweep of open ground between the fort and the town.
In the Far Pashmina Mountains Page 16