A Loving Family (45 page)

‘I'm sorry, Miss Rivenhall, but you've just missed him.' He scanned the list, frowning. ‘Captain Rivenhall is travelling with a group of personnel who are due to sail for England tomorrow.'

Stella stared at him in disbelief. ‘Do you mean to tell me that those men waiting on the platform were bound for Bombay, and that Captain Rivenhall was one of them?'

‘Exactly, miss. I'm sorry.'

Her heart seemed to do a somersault inside her breast. ‘He isn't – I mean he has survived the cholera, hasn't he?'

A grim smile curved the soldier's lips. ‘We don't send corpses home, miss.'

She backed towards the doorway. ‘I must return to the station immediately. I have to find him.'

‘You'll never get there in time, and there isn't another train until tomorrow morning.'

‘But that will be too late. You don't understand.'

The inner door opened and a man in officer's uniform stuck his head out. ‘I heard what the young lady said, Private Harris. Make sure she gets to the station in time.'

‘But, sir, all vehicles have been used to transport the sick and injured to the station.'

‘Use your initiative, man. I don't care how you do it, but get Miss Rivenhall to the train before it departs.'

Private Harris opened the outer door. ‘Come with me, miss. I'll do my best.'

After the relative cool of the office the heat hit Stella with full force as she waited outside the stable block. Harris reappeared leading a huge horse that looked as though it was more used to pulling a gun carriage than being ridden. Stella stepped back a couple of paces, staring at it in terror as it reared its head and snorted. ‘I – I can't ride,' she whispered.

Private Harris picked her up and tossed her onto the saddle. ‘Now's the time to learn, miss.' He vaulted up behind her and seized the reins. ‘Hold tight. We need to get a move on if we're to get to the station before the train pulls out.'

Stella's head jolted backwards as the animal broke into a trot, then a canter and finally a gallop. Alerted by a shout from Private Harris, the sentry made a dash to open the gates and they thundered out onto the dirt road which led to the station. Stella grasped a handful of the horse's mane as she bumped helplessly up and down. Each breath was painful and her mouth, eyes and ears were clogged with dust. Every jolt bruised yet another part of her body and she could do nothing other than cling on and hope.

Outside the station Private Harris heaved on the reins and the horse skidded to a halt. Stella opened her eyes. The slamming of carriage doors and the sound of the guard's whistle was followed by a burst of steam from the engine as it prepared to pull away. Private Harris threw himself to the ground and dragged her off the saddle. Tossing the reins to a coolie he hurried Stella onto the platform, but the train had started to move.

‘Be ready to jump, miss.' Dragging her along after him he managed to wrench a carriage door open and hurled her inside. She fell in a heap, bruising both her knees, but as the door slammed behind her she uttered a cry of relief.

‘Are you all right, lady?'

She struggled to her feet, clutching the sari to her as it began to unravel. ‘Yes, thanks.'

‘You're English.' The soldier peered at her, his bushy eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled frown. ‘And this is a troop train, miss. You got the wrong one.'

‘We are heading for Bombay, aren't we?'

‘Yes, miss.'

‘Then I'm on the right train.'

‘What's going on here, private? Who is this person?'

The soldier leapt to attention. ‘She jumped in as we was leaving, sergeant. I dunno who she is.'

‘My name is Rosa Rivenhall,' Stella said, adopting the tone she had heard Lady Langhorne use to her inferiors. ‘I've been searching for my brother, Captain Christopher Rivenhall, who I believe was recovering from cholera at Deolali. One of the officers at the camp made it possible for me to catch the train.'

‘And you very nearly killed yourself by the look of you.' The sergeant looked her up and down. ‘You dress like a native, miss, but you appear to be English. This is all very irregular.'

Stella's knees were aching and her hands hurt where they had taken the brunt of her fall. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?'

‘Get up and give the lady your seat.' The sergeant pointed at a young private who had been staring open-mouthed.

‘Yes, sergeant.' The soldier scrambled to his feet. ‘Sit down, miss.'

‘Go and find the chai wallah, Bristow. Get the young lady a cup of tea.'

‘Yes, sergeant.' Private Bristow hurried along the aisle between the rows of wooden seats.

‘I need to find my brother, sergeant,' Stella said faintly.

‘We won't be stopping until we reach Bombay, miss. This is a troop train. I suggest you sit there and rest.'

‘But I might miss him.'

‘We're all headed for the docks, miss. If your brother is on the train that's where he'll be going. Don't worry; we'll find him for you.'

It was dark by the time the train steamed in to the Victoria Terminus. The sergeant and Private Bristow had looked after Stella during the journey and promised to help her find Kit, but she became separated from them and she found herself pushed to one side as the soldiers were regrouped and detailed off to their various modes of transport. The able-bodied men were marched to the docks and those too sick or too badly wounded to walk were piled into horse-drawn buses and driven off. Stella tried to find someone in charge who would listen to her but all her efforts were in vain. She might as well have been invisible for all the attention she received. As an Indian she was just one of millions, and as an Englishwoman travelling alone she would be branded eccentric at best and at worst labelled a camp follower and a prostitute. Even the coolies ignored her and she had difficulty in finding a tonga, but eventually she hired one and gave the driver instructions to take her back to Mataji's house. At least she could put on her own clothes and maybe, just maybe, she might find an officer at the docks who would listen to her and take her seriously. If not she would demand to see Freddie and beg him to smuggle her on board.

Deena greeted her with a smile. ‘You are back, memsahib. Did you have success?'

‘In a way,' Stella said hastily. ‘But I need my own clothes and then I must try to get on board the ship.'

‘You look tired,' Deena said gravely. She glanced at the ruined sari. ‘Did you have an accident?'

‘In a way, but I must hurry. There's no time to lose.' Stella made for the staircase. ‘I have to be back on board before the ship sails for England.'

‘It will not sail tonight, memsahib,' Deena said, following her. ‘They will have to wait for the tide.'

Stella paused halfway up the stairs. ‘How do you know that?'

‘The sailors come to Mataji's. We all know when the tide is right for ships to sail. It is business, memsahib.'

‘Of course,' Stella said wearily. ‘I was forgetting. But I still have to find a way to board the ship. I haven't got the excuse of working for an English colonial officer this time.'

‘Perhaps Freddie sahib will come tonight,' Deena whispered as they passed open doors on the first landing. ‘He has a favourite here. If he is able then he will come.'

‘I cannot pay you anything, Deena. I've spent what little money I had, but could you bring me some warm water? I'm badly in need of a wash.'

‘I'll send Kanu up with some. He's been worrying about you all day. He'll be pleased to see you safely back. Go to your room and I'll bring you something to eat. The girls have had supper but Mataji will never allow anyone to go hungry. She is a good woman.'

‘Yes,' Stella said wholeheartedly. ‘She is a very good woman.'

Later, having washed and eaten the spicy meal that Deena brought to her room, Stella dressed in her own clothes and went out to sit on the flat roof. She had intended to go down to the docks but Deena had advised her against it, saying it was too dangerous, and Stella had to agree. She was exhausted after the day's travel and sore from the headlong ride from the Army camp and her tumble onto the train, but her mind was still racing and sleep seemed far away. She waited in the hope that Freddie might come to Mataji's that evening, but if not she planned to get up at first light and make her way to the docks. She might be able to throw herself on the mercy of the captain and beg him to take her back to England. There had to be a way. If not she would be alone in a strange land with no money and no hope of returning home.

Freddie did not come that evening nor, according to Deena, did any of his shipmates. Stella went to see Mataji and found her smoking the inevitable hookah, sipping wine and listening to music played on a sitar by a young boy. ‘I have come to thank you, Mataji,' Stella said, squatting on a pile of cushions. ‘I regret that I cannot pay you for my board and lodging. I used the last of my money to get to Deolali.'

‘And did you find your sweetheart?' Mataji gave her a long look. ‘You have come a long way for love.'

‘I know he is alive, Mataji. I know he is safely on the ship bound for home, but I have to find a way to get on board and it won't be easy.'

‘Nothing worthwhile ever is.' Mataji nodded her head wisely. ‘You will try?'

‘Yes. I will get passage home even if I have to stow away.'

‘The men are sick. Is that not so?'

‘Some of them are.'

‘They will need a nurse. I can help you.

Stella stared at her, mystified. ‘I don't understand.'

Mataji rang the brass bell and almost immediately Deena glided into the room. ‘You rang, Mataji?'

‘The Florence Nightingale costume. Get it for me.'

‘At once, Mataji.' Deena salaamed and left the room.

‘Florence Nightingale, Mataji?' Stella eyed her curiously.

‘The lady of the lamp,' Mataji said, smiling and revealing her betel-stained teeth. ‘We all know about Miss Nightingale and her exploits. It pleases some of your English compatriots if the girls wear certain clothes. I will say no more on the subject to a young unmarried English lady, but you may have the garments. It is then up to you.'

Wearing a plain grey cotton poplin dress with a starched white cap and apron, Stella made her way towards the ship. In her hand she carried a leather medical bag that one of Mataji's girls had accepted from a client who could not afford to pay. Stella had packed her clothes in it and she could only hope that no one asked to look inside. She was not even sure that her bluff would work, although Mataji and Deena had been convinced that the British Army would welcome the services of a trained nurse.

Stella had been up most of the night working out her story and when she spotted a sentry at the top of the gangplank she realised that her moment had come.

The sailor barred her way. ‘You can't come on board, miss.'

‘I was sent for,' she said boldly. ‘I am to look after a high-ranking Army officer on his way back to England.'

A shadow of uncertainty crossed the sailor's weathered features. ‘I don't know nothing about that, miss.'

‘Then take me to your superior and I will tell him myself.'

‘That's not possible, miss.'

Stella hid her growing desperation with a smile. ‘Come now, surely nothing is impossible for a man of the Royal Navy. I think you'll find yourself in more trouble if you send me away. What would happen to you if the officer were to die for lack of medical attention?' She tapped the leather case, watching his expression change subtly.

‘We're about to cast off, miss. It's more than my life is worth to let you on board.'

For a moment she thought she had lost and would have to retrace her steps, but her downcast expression must have registered with the sailor. He hailed a crewman. ‘Find the boatswain's mate. I need help here.'

Stella held her breath. Freddie would recognise her and might give the game away. She waited for what seemed like a lifetime as the crew buzzed about the deck making ready to sail. Any minute now they would be pulling up the gangplank and weighing anchor. She might find herself back on shore watching helplessly as the vessel disappeared into the distance. Suddenly home seemed like heaven on earth and she could not wait to set foot on English soil.

Even at a distance she recognised Freddie by his walk. She stood her ground, hoping that he would not ruin everything by revealing her true identity, but as he drew nearer his attention was on the activity surrounding them and he barely glanced at her. ‘What's the problem, Jones?'

‘This young lady says she's been ordered to come aboard to look after a high-ranking Army officer. I told her that we don't carry civilian passengers but she won't take no for an answer.'

Slowly, very slowly, Freddie turned to face his sister and his eyes twinkled as he met her anxious gaze. ‘That sounds reasonable, Jones. I know there is a seriously wounded general on board. Perhaps the captain has relaxed the rules in this case. In any event we're due to sail. Get to your station, I'll sort this out.' He held his hand out to Stella. ‘Come with me, miss.'

She followed him to a secluded spot in the shadow of one of the great funnels. ‘Thanks, Freddie. You were splendid.'

He looked her up and down, shaking his head. ‘Where did you get that outlandish costume?' He grinned. ‘I know, don't tell me. It came from Mataji's dressing-up box. For goodness' sake change into something else or the men will recognise it and think you're one of Mataji's girls who's been smuggled on board for their pleasure.'

She stifled a giggle. ‘Don't say things like that, Freddie. Anyway, what would Ma say if she knew you frequented a house of ill repute?'

‘Never mind that now. The question is what am I going to do with you?' He glanced over her shoulder. ‘There's no place to hide in a warship.'