“Does that really interest you?”
“Very much!”
“I am astonished.”
“Why?”
“Because they are unusual subjects for a woman.”
“What you are saying,” Quenella said, “is that you think such studies are too heavy and too erudite for woman’s inferior intellect.”
“You are putting words into my mouth,” Rex protested.
“But that is what you are thinking.”
“All right, I agree,” he capitulated. “I think most women are charming, but their thoughts seldom have much depth. The majority of Englishwomen, as you well know, are extremely badly educated.”
“Only because until recently their parents spent all their money on educating their precious sons and their daughters were dragged up by underpaid Governesses who knew as little or less than they did.”
Rex sat back in his chair.
“You surprise me.”
“Because I am prepared to champion the cause of downtrodden women? From all I have seen of the way they are treated in the various parts of the world I have visited, I think they not only need a champion – but a leader to incite them to revolution!”
Rex put up his hands protestingly.
“Now you not only surprise but horrify me. I have heard of militant females who are campaigning for women's rights, but I never in my wildest dreams imagined that I would marry one.”
“I have very strong opinions on the subject.”
“Then the sooner you learn to emulate the submissiveness of the Indian women the better.”
“I now know what you expect of your wife.”
“Not exactly.”
“Perhaps the real reason why you never married before,” Quenella suggested, “with, according to Lady Barnstaple, every possible opportunity to do so, is that you have never found someone sufficiently pliable and submissive.”
Rex’s eyes were twinkling.
He was amused by Quenella’s assumption of what he wanted in a wife, knowing that it was far from reality.
He had in fact, when he thought about marriage, which was seldom, decided long ago that an empty-headed woman would bore him within a few weeks.
In the days that followed he found that Quenella was absolutely insatiable in her desire not only to learn Urdu but to discover more about India.
She had asked the Purser to bring her any books that were obtainable on board and a strange miscellany of lurid novels, heavy volumes of history and badly printed leaflets appeared in their sitting room.
“I wish I had known that you would be interested in all this before we left England,” Rex said as he threw down a pamphlet he had opened at random. “This is all the most utter rubbish and I dislike you wasting your time on it.”
“All the same it is helping me,” Quenella argued. “It gives me other people’s opinions and points of view. There is a book that describes the British as brutal slave-drivers, which I think will give you a new concept of the Empire in action.”
“I will read it. Where did it come from?”
“From somebody in Third Class, I think.”
“If it is as bad as you say, I will have him arrested on arrival!”
He was only joking, but Quenella took him seriously.
“You must not do that. I asked particularly if I could be loaned any literature that concerned India and it would be most unfair for us to use it against those who have been kind enough to comply with my request.”
“Would it worry you if it was an Indian you got into trouble?”
“Of course it would!” she flashed, “and from all I can learn and read the English are often very high-handed in their behaviour.”
“Perhaps,” Rex agreed. “But you must remember that there are only twenty thousand British in the whole of India, besides three thousand British Officers in the Army, to keep order over three hundred million people, one-fifth of the human race on earth.
“Is that really true?”
“Approximately.”
“It is fantastic! Why do they not throw you out?”
“Perhaps they will one day,” he answered. “That is what the Russians want at any rate and they are doing their best to make things as difficult for us as possible.”
As he spoke, he thought of the remote outposts in the Hindu Kush and the soldiers who knew day after day that tribesmen lay in ambush, Afghans brooding behind the tribesmen and behind them all stood the Russians.
“Tell me what you are thinking,” Quenella asked him.
Because in a way it helped him to put his own thoughts in order, he sat down and explained to her simply but vividly the part the Russians had played in the last ten years, moving inexorably East and South, absorbing one after another the Khanates of Central Asia and preparing for the encirclement of India.
Quenella sat wide-eyed as he went on,
“They are already building a railway across Siberia to the Far East and there is a rumour, at present unsubstantiated, of railway-building in Turkistan. This may be the first step towards planning to annexe Tibet.”
As he was speaking, he had almost forgotten that Quenella was listening.
Now she said,
“Tibet is near to your Province, is it not? I see on the map that the Southern Frontier is behind the Himalayas.”
Rex did not answer and she went on,
“I feel that you are worried about Tibet. Am I right?”
“How do you know?”
“It is mentioned in some of these pamphlets. I also heard Uncle Terence speak of it.”
“I know very little about Tibet, which has been for centuries under the protection of China,” Rex prevaricated.
“But you suspect that the Russians are interested?”
“They might well be.”
“Perhaps that is why they have made you Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Provinces.”
Again he thought that it was perceptive of her, but aloud he said,
“Perhaps we could study some books on Tibet together. I admit that it interests me and very little is known about the whole country.”
“Would it be possible for me to go there?”
“I am afraid not. In fact I doubt if any white woman has ever penetrated far over the snow-barred passes.”
“It is where I would like – to go,” Quenella said quietly.
*
In the next few days she plied him with more and more questions about Tibet until he had to confess his ignorance and admit that there was little more he could tell her.
He knew that she was fascinated by the mystery of that enigmatic country and he told himself that, as soon as he arrived in India, he would personally learn a great deal more about it.
In the meantime Quenella applied herself almost fanatically to her learning of Urdu and Rex saw a light under her cabin door into the early hours of the mornings.
One night when they were passing through the Red Sea and the damp heavy heat was particularly oppressive, he had risen from his desk to stretch himself.
Seeing a light from Quenella’s cabin, he had a sudden impulse to knock on her door and speak to her.
Then for the first time in many days he remembered that she was his wife and a woman and he needed her in a manner that had not presented a problem until now.
What would she say, he wondered, if he entered her cabin?
He could sit on her bed, talking to her and discussing anything she wished, although he was quite certain that they would both be vividly aware that there were other things between them.
Then he remembered that he had given his word that he would not ask for or insist on any favours that she was not prepared to give him and that he would never assert his rights as her husband.
‘Dammit all!’ he muttered beneath his breath. ‘The whole situation is unnatural. We cannot continue like this for the rest of our lives.’
Yet he thought it seemed unlikely that Quenella would fall in love with him as so many o
ther women had done.
He was aware that ever since they had married she had avoided every close contact with him, moving her hand so that it should not touch his, sitting always farther apart than was strictly necessary and where possible preventing him from helping her on or off with her coat.
‘I presume she loathes me as a man,’ he thought ruefully, ‘even as she loathed the Prince.’
He could still hear her voice saying that all men were animals and he remembered the violence that lay beneath the quiet way she had spoken.
‘An animal!’ he repeated to himself and knew that he could not bear to see her flinch away from him in terror.
But that did not prevent him from going into his own cabin and closing the door behind him with unnecessary sharpness.
The next day he felt frustrated and on edge and only by taking some strenuous exercise at badminton with one of the ship’s Officers did he feel slightly better as the day progressed.
Before they reached India, Kitty was obviously puzzled by Rex and Quenella’s attitude towards each other and was astute enough to guess that something was not quite normal in their relationship.
“Why did you marry, Rex?” she asked one evening when she joined him on the top deck.
The night was brilliant with stars and the phosphorus on the water as the ship moved through a still sea was very beautiful.
It was a night for romance and in almost every shadow there stood a man and a woman either locked in each other’s arms or whispering those things that should not be overheard.
“I need a wife in my new position.”
“That is true,” Kitty agreed. “But, although Quenella is so beautiful, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, she does not seem quite human.”
“I don’t wish to discuss Quenella,” Rex said repressively.
“I am not being unkind or spiteful,” Kitty protested. “I am merely curious. She is not like any of your previous loves and I have known a number of them including, of course, myself.”
As if she thought that Rex might be annoyed, she added,
“You know that I want you to be happy. You of all people need the fire of love and I shall be very surprised if you can manage without it.”
He did not answer her and at that moment their tête-à-tête was interrupted by a middle-aged man who had been pursuing Kitty ever since they had passed through the Suez Canal.
When he went below, Rex lay awake thinking of her words.
It was true, the fire of love had always been very much a part of his relationships with the women he had known.
Like so many men who expended their energies and their minds exhaustively in situations that were dangerous, he had found relief in a physical passion that Kitty had described so aptly as the ‘fire of love’.
He was a very ardent lover and he now faced the fact that he was going to find it very difficult to be content for the rest of his life without that passion if that was what Quenella would demand of him.
But he had always loathed the idea of being a married man who indulged in clandestine affairs.
There was perhaps some Puritan ancestry in his blood that told him that it would be degrading and unworthy of his high principles. Yet how could he live a monk’s life in a marriage that was nothing but a mockery? Or, as Quenella had called it, ‘a business expediency’.
‘We should be able to talk about this,’ he told himself.
But he knew that he was afraid of disturbing Quenella and of upsetting her in a manner that would inevitably react upon the relationship that they had already with each other.
In a strange way he felt that during the weeks that they had been at sea, if she had not actually come to like him she had at least begun to trust him.
In her studies she talked to him quite naturally, as if he was not a man whom she loathed and in the last few days she had begun to laugh and occasionally to joke about things.
‘I must be patient,’ he told himself.
But he knew, as he lay tossing and turning hopelessly through the night, that it was not going to be easy.
*
In Bombay a number of Officials came aboard with messages from the Viceroy and heavily sealed Diplomatic Bags were brought into the cabin to be locked away in one of Rex’s trunks until he had time to open them.
He had decided that they should go on by ship to Calcutta.
The alternative was to take the train across India, but he was eager for Quenella to have her first glimpse of India in one of the strangest and yet the most attractive of her Cities.
Therefore in Bombay they immediately transferred onto another Liner and continued their voyage to the Capital of the Indian Empire.
It was on their arrival in Calcutta that Quenella for the first time was aware of her husband’s importance.
As they stepped onto the quay, there were a number of resplendent Officials to greet them and they were escorted to Government House in the Viceroy’s carriage by a squadron of Cavalry.
To Quenella there was something very fascinating about the colourful crowds in the streets moving slowly in the hot moist air and chattering away in many of the eight hundred languages that Rex had told her were spoken in India.
There was no doubt that she was excited by what she saw.
They drove in the open carriage with a huge umbrella held over their heads by servants wearing the Viceroy’s livery of red with gold insignia.
As they travelled through the crowded streets, Rex pointed out men of the Rajput States, bearded Sikhs from the Punjab, each carrying a huge sword from which he was never parted, the clever argumentative Bengalis and those with a Mongolian slant to their eyes, who might have come from Sikkim, Bhutan or Assam.
But what fascinated Quenella more than anything were the saris worn by the women.
They were in every colour of the rainbow and combined with wreaths of fresh flowers in their hair, which made them appear like Goddesses from another planet after the dull beige crowds of London.
Government House was as impressive as Rex had told Quenella it would be.
The Palace, built by the Earl of Mornington, elder brother of the famous Duke of Wellington was a symbol of British power.
Huge lions surmounted the gates, sphinxes couchant guarded its doors and there were cannons on pale blue carriages.
Brilliant Indian lancers chattered through the courtyards, while thirteen aides-de-camp deferentially awaited instructions.
Strangely enough the house had originally been built as an adaptation of Kedleston Hall in Derbyshire, which was the ancestral home of Lord Curzon, the present Viceroy.
“It seems almost meant that he would one day inhabit it in the greatest position next to the Queen that any Englishman could aspire,” Rex had told her.
“Is that true?” Quenella asked.
“The Viceroy of India has few Peers in Asia,” he answered. “The Czar of Russia and the Emperor of China are scarcely his superiors. The Shah of Persia and the King of Siam tread carefully in his presence and the King of Burma is actually his prisoner.”
Quenella laughed.
“The Viceroy certainly must feel that he is a person of significance.”
“Lord Curzon would feel that anyway,” Rex said with a smile. “When you meet him, you will realise that he is a brilliant but unpredictable man and he is so sure of himself that most people find him overwhelming.”
They were received by Lord and Lady Curzon in a manner that was even grander than the way that Rex had been received by the Queen at Windsor Castle,
Passing through the marble hall with its gleaming white pillars and enormous crystal chandeliers gleaming over their heads and bodyguards in their magnificent uniforms standing like statues on either side, Quenella had a foretaste of the pomp and ceremony that both she and Rex would play a part in in the years to come..
Lord Curzon, once the formality of their greeting was over, talked with a geniality, candour and charm that Quenella had not expected.<
br />
However he quickly took Rex away with him and she was left alone with Lady Curzon.
Tall and stately, she had blue eyes, masses of dark hair and a sensitive beautiful face.
She also had a self-possession that Quenella envied, but she was very friendly and had an irresistibly inviting smile.
Quenella found herself talking with the Vicereine more easily than she had been able to speak to anybody since her encounter with the Prince.
“You will find that you need a sense of humour in India,” Lady Curzon was telling her. “Such strange things happen. If you can laugh, they sink into their proper unimportance.”
“What sort of things?” Quenella asked.
The Vicereine smiled.
“One of the things I found most disconcerting when I first arrived was that if I wanted a bath, one man heated the water, another fetched my tub, a third filled it and a fourth emptied it, each being the only person permitted to do the job in accordance with their different castes!”
She laughed and added,
“As if that was not enough, the kitchens are at least two hundred yards away from the dining rooms!”
It was Lady Curzon’s American nationality that made her find so many things amusing while an Englishwoman might have been easily dismayed.
By the time Quenella had spent an hour or so with her, she found that despite Lady Curzon’s position, she was most unspoilt and had a sympathy that was inescapable.
“I must try to be like you,” she said impulsively, “but I feel, ma’am, that it will be difficult for me.”
“On the contrary I think that being a Governor’s wife will come naturally to you,” Lady Curzon said, “and you and I are so fortunate in that we have brilliant clever husbands on whom we can rely, but who also rely on us for the love we can give them.”
She spoke with so much sincerity that Quenella felt herself flush a little uncomfortably.
How could she explain to the Vicereine, who was obviously very much in love with her husband and he with her, that her own marriage was very different?
Then she told herself that no one in India must suspect for one moment that she and Rex were not a normal married couple.
Flowers For the God of Love Page 8