A Loving Family (44 page)

She was awaked by Deena bringing her a cup of tea without the addition of milk and sugar, and a slice of something that looked like a pancake.

Stella swung her legs over the side of the charpoy and sat up. She accepted the plate and took a bite of the flat bread. ‘What is this, Deena?'

‘Aloo paratha, memsahib. It is good, yes?'

‘Very good, thank you.' Stella took another bite. It was delicious, although it was not like any bread she had ever eaten and it tasted of spiced potato. ‘Very good indeed.'

‘Kanu, my brother, is waiting for you,' Deena said proudly. ‘He is a good boy and he will take you where you wish to go.'

‘Thank you, Deena. I'll be down directly.'

‘As you wish, memsahib.' Deena left the room, only to reappear minutes later with a bowl of water scented with rose petals. ‘To refresh yourself, memsahib. There is no hurry, Kanu will wait.'

Refreshed and eager to be off, Stella found the boy waiting in the hallway, as Deena had promised. Barefoot and smiling, Kanu bowed from the waist. ‘Where would the memsahib like to go?' His English was as perfect as his white teeth, and had she been an artist Stella would have been searching for her brushes in order to paint this beautiful child with huge brown eyes and hair that gleamed coal-black, but he seemed oblivious to his charms. ‘We will hire a tonga,' he said firmly. ‘The hospital is too far for memsahib to walk.'

Stella had limited means but the moment she stepped outside into the heat and dust she knew that Kanu was right. She would not last long on foot and the streets were already thronged with people, animals, ox-carts and vehicles of all descriptions. Kanu hailed a passing two-wheeled, horse-drawn vehicle. ‘This is a tonga,' he said, puffing out his chest as he helped Stella climb on board. ‘St George's hospital, tonga wallah.'

The driver flicked his whip and the horse plunged into the crowded street with Stella holding on for dear life. They passed through avenues lined with open-fronted shops where shoemakers, goldsmiths and grain sellers shouted their wares. Musicians played on street corners, vying with the pipes of snake charmers and the screeching sound of knife grinders. Everywhere was colour, dust and noise, and the scent of spices mingled with the odour of sewage and the aroma of marigolds, jasmine and roses. It was a heady mixture and Stella was intoxicated by the sights, smells and sounds of India. If her mission had not been so desperate she might have given herself up to the exotic land and its fascinating inhabitants, but Kit was never far from her thoughts.

She waited in the atrium of St George's hospital where the air was cooled by huge fans worked by sleepy punkah wallahs, and again in the Grant Medical College and Jamsetjee hospital, but the answer was always the same. Kit was not numbered amongst their patients. Stella was getting desperate. Despite Kanu's help she was alone in a foreign land amidst a culture that was alien to her. They started back to Mataji's establishment soon after midday when it became too hot for Stella to think. Her clothes were sticking to her body and even though she wore a bonnet it was little protection from the sun. Kanu gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘The sun always affects the English ladies. They take to their beds in the afternoon.'

Stella fanned herself with her hand, feeling sick and faint. She forced herself to concentrate. ‘I am all right, thank you, Kanu. But I would like something cool to drink.'

He tapped the tonga wallah on the shoulder and gave him instructions in rapid Hindi. ‘We will be home soon, memsahib. Deena will take care of you.'

Deena took one look at Stella and hurried her upstairs to her room. ‘Take off your clothes, memsahib, and I will fetch you something cool to drink and something to eat.'

‘I'm not hungry,' Stella murmured, but Deena had gone. She laid her bonnet on the charpoy and unbuttoned her dress. It was damp with sweat, as was her shift. She unlaced her stays and hung them over the back of a chair. A breath of air wafted in through the open window and somewhere a bird was singing. She sank down on the chair, holding her head in her hands. Was this how it would end? After her long journey would she have to beg for repatriation on Freddie's ship? She had not enough money to remain indefinitely, and the magnitude of the task she had set herself was slowly dawning on her. She looked up as Deena returned carrying a tray of food and a jug of what looked liked lemonade.

‘You must have food and drink if you are to feel better,' she said firmly. ‘You are not used to the heat.' She set the tray down on the chair. ‘I will return.'

Stella drank deeply. The lemonade was delicious and refreshing. She ate a little of the curry and rice and began to feel better. Her skin was filmed with perspiration but she felt cooler. She had almost finished the food when Deena returned. This time she had a length of material looped over her arm. ‘Mataji says you must wear a sari like us if you are not to succumb to heatstroke. She knows about these things.'

Stella fingered the filmy material, shaking her head. ‘I don't know how to put it on.'

Deena's brown eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘I will teach you. It is not difficult when you know how.'

‘I don't think I will be here long enough to learn, Deena. Today was a disaster. I think I have made a terrible mistake by coming all this way. I don't know what to do next.'

Deena perched on the edge of the charpoy. ‘You cannot find your man?'

‘I was foolish to think that it would be easy. I thought he would be in one of the hospitals but they've never heard of him. I don't know what to do next other than to go to my brother's ship and return home, if they'll take me.'

‘I think I know someone who can help you. There are English officers who visit here quite often. They must surely know more than you.'

‘English Army officers?'

‘They wear uniform like soldiers. They might find your man.'

‘When will they come? Can I speak to them?'

‘You will have to ask Mataji. I cannot say.'

‘Help me put on the sari, Deena. I'll do anything I can to find Kit. Maybe the English officers can help me.'

Stella's heart was pounding so hard against her ribcage that she was certain it could be heard by anyone standing close to her. She had been told that the English officer was waiting for her, but so much depended upon what he could tell her that she was almost afraid to ask. Her palms were moist and she was hot and cold at the same time. Telling herself not to be faint-hearted, she took a deep breath and entered without knocking.

An oil lamp strategically placed created deep shadows in the room and she could not see the man's face in any detail. He remained seated, waiting for her to speak first.

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. ‘Mataji said you would help me, sir,' she said nervously.

He nodded his head. ‘I am here incognito. I don't know you and you don't know me.'

‘I don't know anyone in Bombay, which is why I need your help. I'm searching for my . . .' she hesitated, ‘my dear friend, Captain Christopher Rivenhall of the 4th Hussars. I believe he's suffering from cholera and in hospital here, but I've been unable to find him.'

‘Cholera?' He almost spat the word. ‘My dear girl, you do realise how serious an illness that is?'

‘Yes, of course I do.'

‘And you came all the way from London to look for a dying man? He might already be dead and buried.'

‘I know that, but I came anyway. I have to find out what happened to him. Can you help me, sir?'

He cleared his throat. ‘How many men have women who are so devoted to them, I wonder.'

‘I can't say, sir. I only know how I feel.'

‘I don't know the fellow, but I'll try to find out for you. What's your name?'

‘Stella Barry, sir. My grandparents both died at Scutari. They're buried in a foreign land. I couldn't bear it if Kit suffered the same fate and I didn't know where he lay.'

‘I'll do my best, Stella Barry. Go now and trust me.'

For two whole days Stella waited in vain for word from the English officer. Deena attended to all her needs but the other girls paid little attention to her. They spent most of their time lazing about in the reception room under the watchful eye of Mataji. Their incessant chatter as they waited for their gentlemen to arrive was enough to drive Stella back to her tiny room at the top of the house.

On the second day Stella managed to persuade Kanu to take her to Government House at Malabar Point, but the pale-faced official could offer no useful information, and brushed her enquiries aside as if she had no right to trespass on his valuable time.

She had pinned her hopes on the English officer, but she was beginning to think he had forgotten his promise when, late that evening, Deena knocked on her door. ‘He's back, memsahib. The Englishman wishes to speak to you.'

Stella almost fell down the steep staircase in her hurry to meet him. Once again he was disguised by the deep shadows but she sensed that he was smiling. ‘I think I have discovered the whereabouts of your friend, but he is not in Bombay. If you wish to see him you will have to travel a hundred miles north-east of here to a place called Deolali. There is a sanatorium there and a camp where those at the end of their tour of duty await repatriation. Do you think you are up to taking such a trip?'

STELLA TRAVELLED ALONE.
Kanu had accompanied her as far as the grand Victoria Terminus, which she thought looked more like a Gothic palace than a railway station. He had gone to the ticket office and bought her a return ticket, giving it to her with obvious reluctance. ‘I wish I could go with you, memsahib. It is not safe for a lady like you to travel alone.'

‘I'll be all right, Kanu,' she said with more conviction than she was feeling. The thought of taking the train to Deolali was daunting, and how she would manage at the other end she did not know. ‘Thank you for everything.' She had given him a hug which he shook off with an embarrassed grin that reminded her of Spike, but he refused to leave her and insisted on remaining until the train pulled out of the station. Even then he had run along the platform waving frantically as if he were saying goodbye to someone close to him. Stella blew him a kiss and then settled back on the hard wooden seat next to a plump Indian woman with a baby in her arms and a small girl clutched to her side. The third-class carriage was packed with passengers of all ages, including a couple of goats and a crate of chickens.

Stella huddled in the corner and stared out of the window. She was consumed with excitement mixed with fear and nervous tension. She had hardly slept the previous night and had spent much of it sitting on the flat roof outside her window, staring up at the stars and praying that she would find Kit on the road to recovery. She hardly dared to imagine what she might do if she arrived to discover that the disease had claimed yet another victim.

The overcrowded train lumbered from station to station. Steam belched out of the engine, spewing sparks and cinders into the air like a fiery dragon. Passengers clung to the roof and every compartment was overcrowded, so much so that Stella was afraid that when the train negotiated a bend in the track it might become top-heavy and topple over. At each stop people leapt from the carriages to purchase food from vendors on the platform, and the smell of curry permeated every compartment. A chai wallah lurched between the seats at regular intervals dispensing tin cups of hot tea, and Stella used some of her dwindling supply of money to quench her thirst, but she had no appetite for food.

It was early afternoon by the time they arrived in Deolali and the platform was crowded with men in uniform, some of them obviously walking wounded and others being pushed in bath chairs or lying on stretchers. She made her way out into the dusty street and waited for what seemed like hours for a tonga, most of which seemed to be ferrying officers to and from the Army camp. She felt very small and insignificant. She had wanted to change back into her own clothes but Mataji had advised her to wear the sari. ‘With your dark eyes and hair you could pass for a woman from the north, even with your pale skin,' she said, eyeing Stella critically. ‘You would be safer when travelling.'

At last a tonga drew up close by and an officer sprang from it, paid the driver and strode off without so much as a glance at Stella. She approached nervously. ‘Deolali Army camp.' The tonga wallah nodded, and waited while she scrambled into the vehicle before flicking his whip and urging the horse to a trot.

The soldier on sentry duty at the gates looked at her askance. ‘Move on, miss. No visitors allowed.'

She stood her ground. ‘I'm English, and I'm looking for my brother. Captain Christopher Rivenhall.' She had decided on her story during the bumpy ride in the tonga, making silent apologies to Rosa for stealing her identity. Camp followers might be turned away but surely an Englishwoman on a mercy mission to visit her sick brother must be allowed entrance to the camp?

A look of uncertainty flashed across the soldier's face. He looked her up and down. ‘Wait here, miss.' He disappeared into a wooden hut, returning moments later to open the gate. ‘Follow the road to the office block, miss. The duty officer will assist you with your enquiries.'

She thanked him and started walking along the dusty road, which seemed to stretch for miles. The sun beat down on her head and the thin material of the sari was no protection from its fierce rays. She wished she had her straw bonnet, but was thankful that she had left her stays in her room at Mataji's house. She was hot and thirsty and the outcome of her visit was by no means certain. The English officer had only thought that this was where she might find Kit; it had been an educated guess, but what would she do if he proved to be mistaken? By the time she reached the offices she was in a state of nervous collapse. She explained her mission to a surprised clerk who told her to wait while he consulted someone in authority. He disappeared through a door, returning almost immediately with a sheet of paper clutched in his hand.