The Peacock Spring (28 page)

Grandmother . . . Ganga mai . . . what did it matter?

In the clean sari, her hair blown in the river breeze – she had undone the strange plait – and hand in hand with Ravi, Una walked back up the alleyway until they came to a door,
narrow, studded with nails and set in a high mud wall. Someone was watching for them because it opened and Ravi drew Una through. ‘Safe!’ he said in exaltation. ‘We are
safe!’

Just after two o’clock the next afternoon, starting on his way back to Delhi, Ravi, as he stepped jubilantly through that door, came face to face with Edward.

‘Lady Gwithiam!’

Alix had come up the steps between the salaaming servants while Ganesh presented his celebration buttonholes: a red rose for Edward, white for Alix. ‘Salaam.’ ‘Salaam.’
They would not have done that for her yesterday. The hall was filled with amaryllis, white-belled lilies and, looking down the vista of the drawing room, Alix could see vases of them mixed with
tall white larkspur; there were bowls, too, of white roses so that the whole house looked bridal. ‘Ganesh always knows which side his bread is buttered,’ Ravi would have said, but Alix
drew a long breath of satisfaction and triumph as, with her hand on Edward’s arm, she turned, not towards the schoolroom wing down the verandah, but to what, in her mind, she called
‘the master bedroom’, where Monbad had already carried her cases.

The night in the guest house was over; she had sat patiently all evening with Edward watching the birds fly in from the Jumna river to the shallow lake – cranes, huge-winged, their long
necks and legs stretched out; pelican; duck; while an adjutant stork waded in the water near them, steadily fishing. There was the call of the cock partridge Una had heard in the parade-ground
rides, ‘pateela, pateela’; the honking of geese, and the sound of their wings as they took off from the water towards the fields where the wheat was being harvested. As the sun had
sunk, the jheel water turned silver-grey so that the white birds showed ‘like pearls,’ said Edward.

Alix had made their dinner into ‘a feast for just us two,’ said Edward. She had brought his favourite champagne, Ruinart Reserve from Paris, ‘And I’m afraid we drank too
much,’ said Alix.

‘Never mind. Never mind anything,’ Edward said and, in the morning, he had taken her face in his hands and reverently, yes, reverently, kissed her forehead, eyelids, lips and, for
the first time, his love words were English. ‘Thank you, my darling and my glory.’

I have won, thought Alix in the hall. The scent of the lilies was ‘A bit overpowering?’ suggested Edward – but for her they were a waft of incense; she, the girl without a
chance, half-caste – ‘Out-caste,’ she had said in bitter moments – condemned to be a housekeeper, governess and what Chaman Lal Sethji had called her, thief and whore. That
was yesterday, all the days before yesterday – today was Baisakhi, a new beginning, and she was Lady Gwithiam. Alix lifted her chin a little higher, her hand clasped Edward’s arm more
firmly. She had won.

It was then that they heard the voices: one, loud, jolly, unmistakable, that Alix knew only too well – a chill went through her as if the sun had suddenly gone in.
‘Lady-sahib’s father and mother in the drawing room.’ Ram Chand said it in happy malice.

‘Father?’ stammered Alix. ‘I haven’t a father.’

‘It seems that you have now.’

Two corpulent figures as oversize as the amaryllis lilies were coming from the drawing room and, ‘Mumma!’ cried Alix, ‘Mumma! Mr Lobo!’ and then, ‘Typical of
Alix,’ as Edward said afterwards, ‘My God, Mumma, where did you get those clothes?’

Gone was the dressing-up-box gown, the silk straw hat and boa that Hal had envied. Mrs Lamont was a vision in purple and orange – ‘You see, I too can wear trouser suit,’
– but hers might have been made to fit the whale Una had invented. She wore white sandals, the ruby polish on her toenails flashed, as did the plastic shine of her gargantuan white handbag.
Mr Lobo was equally new and resplendent, but where his starched drill suit would not meet he had redeemed it by an indigo blue shirt vest. From his fingers dangled a small white-wrapped parcel.
Cakes or sweets, Alix was sure. He bowed profoundly to Edward and Alix but Mrs Lamont advanced with outstretched arms. ‘Yes, here we are,’ she cried in ringing tones. ‘We have
come to wish you. What a surprise, m’n? And you thinking I am in Naini Tal. Ha! Ha!’ When Mrs Lamont laughed it was truthfully like the shaking of a vast jelly – if jellies are
ever bright purple. ‘A jolly jelly,’ whispered Edward to Alix who saw, with the same astonishment she had felt with Una and Hal, that Edward was not repelled but amused – and
kind, as if he found her mother endearing. ‘My dear girl,’ he was to tell her, ‘do you think I hadn’t guessed that somewhere in the background you had relatives like these?
I wasn’t born quite yesterday, and your mother is so natural,’ and Alix watched with a pang of envy as he allowed himself to be engulfed, pressed to the softness of Mrs Lamont’s
bosom. Softness he could endure but strong scent and cheap face powder mixed with sweat was too much; Edward extricated himself as quickly as he could and emerged to shake hands with Mr Lobo, while
Mrs Lamont embraced Alix.

‘Come, Ally, let me look at you. Ah! You have taken care of her, Sir Edward, and she really is Lady Gwithiam.’ Mrs Lamont wiped tears, tears of joy, she explained, that were making
the same runnels in her powder as those tears of shame shed the last time she was in Shiraz Road. ‘Lady Gwithiam – we read it in the papers. My daughter’s wedding in the
newspapers! They say it will be in the London
Times
. My little Ally – Lady Gwithiam. You could not be born as beautiful as you are for nothing, m’n?’

‘Mumma,
please
.’

‘Look at her, Basil, look!’ cried Mrs Lamont to Mr Lobo. ‘He has always seen what I see, believed what I believed,’ she explained to Edward. ‘Ah, Sir Edward –
no, I must call you Eddie – if you knew how this brave girl has plotted and planned and toiled for this.’

‘
Mumma
!’ Alix was as shrill as her mother and, ‘Hush, Alix,’ said Edward. His hand came under her elbow. ‘Forgive our surprise but you see, Mrs Lamont, I
thought you were happily settled in this home at Naini Tal.’

‘I wasn’t happy and it wasn’t a home.’ Mrs Lamont said it roundly. ‘Nor was I settled.’ She shook with mirth again, then she did not laugh. ‘Ally, my
Ally thought she could put her mother in a home, out of the way with nuns.’ Mrs Lamont had acquired dignity. ‘I think you, Eddie, would not have done that.’

‘No, I would not have done that,’ and Alix knew he had ceased to be amused.

‘This gentleman, Mr Lobo, I have known for a long time. Ally too, though she does not choose to allow him.’ Mrs Lamont’s voice trembled a little. ‘He it was who used his
savings and came to Naini Tal and took me, but do not think it was to trouble you. No, we shall not trouble Lady Gwithiam.’ Mrs Lamont’s chin lifted exactly as Alix’s lifted in
moments of pride – or pain. ‘You are not the only ones to get married, m’n? This afternoon Father Gonsalves will marry Basil and me. We are going to live in McCluskiegung; that is
an Eurasian settlement – this, of course, if you can lend us a little money to buy a bungalow. We invite you to our wedding – though you did not invite us to yours. In any case we have
come by to wish you, and Basil has brought you some cakes.’ Mrs Lamont’s eyes were so brimming with tears that they looked like drenched pansies. ‘Do you not kiss me,
Ally?’

‘Kiss her at once,’ Edward hissed at Alix, propelled her forward and said aloud, ‘I will too, if I may.’

‘Ah Edward! Edward! Yes, Eddie I shall call you.’ Once again he was submerged and Mrs Lamont was radiant. ‘We mustn’t be cross, m’n? So many, many times I have
forgiven Ally and what is more? Come, Basil. You must kiss the bride. Now, why don’t we,’ she demanded, ‘have a nice wedding drink?’

‘A good idea,’ said Edward.

‘Then perhaps you will give us tiffin and we shall all go on to the church.’

‘Mumma, Edward has important work he must do.’

‘Nonsense. They must stay for – tiffin.’ Edward was stern with Alix. ‘Go and see what Christopher can conjure up. Tell Aziz to bring drinks.’

‘That is my generous boy. Did I not tell you?’ Mrs Lamont asked of Mr Lobo. ‘Largesse. Largesse. Did you see the ring he has given Alix. My God, what a ring! Eddie is noble and
generous. Can I forget,’ she asked, ‘how ever since Ally has worked for you, week in, week out, you have sent me that whisky?’

‘Mumma! Be quiet Edward does not like such things mentioned.’

‘I shall not mention, I shall tell. Ally said not to thank you. Your right hand was not to know what your left hand did. Ha! ha! But I know and now it need not be secret,
m’n?’

‘But – have I sent you whisky?’ asked Edward.

‘Who else? Each time Ally came to me she brought it – and none of your cheap Indian brands, the very best Scotch. Come – I must kiss you again.’

‘Scotch!’ Round the edge of the purple hat brim Edward looked at Alix standing – pilloried, she could have said – in the doorway.

‘I am a bad old woman, Eddie – I love my drink and you did not stint. My God, bottle after a bottle.’

‘Perhaps a dozen?’ His eyes, grey-green like Una’s, were cold.

‘At least a dozen. More.’ Mrs Lamont chortled. ‘God bless you, Eddie.’

‘You must excuse me, Mrs Lamont.’ Edward disengaged himself. ‘Alix is right. I have some work to do. She will give you luncheon and I hope it is a good one. My felicitations
– on your daughter.’ Alix heard the irony in his voice. ‘Goodbye.’ He took her mother’s hand and kissed it, ‘and I hope you will be happy – you, too, Lobo.
I will see about the bungalow. Goodbye.’ He passed Alix without a word.

‘Edward.’ She ran after him.

‘I will see you this evening.’

‘But . . . you must have something to eat.’

‘I don’t feel like eating.’

‘Edward.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Isn’t there . . . anything you can say to me?’

His hand removed hers. ‘Only that I thank God Una wasn’t there to hear.’ ‘She knows,’ – but Alix did not tell him that; at this moment, to Alix, Una was less
important than a fly.

‘Where is Una?’

‘She must be still at Bulbul’s. She will ring. Edward, try to understand,’ and, at Alix’s anguished face, there was a shade of relenting.

‘Perhaps – presently – I can bring myself . . .’ He had to force the words out. ‘But to think you let a servant – let Dino . . .’ His own face
contorted. With an effort he said, ‘Give them some food – and money. That’s chiefly what they came for. I will send Chinaberry back from the office with some cash. Then he can
drive you to this – this ceremony and to catch the train to McCluskiegung.’

‘I should rather drive them myself.’

‘You are not to drive while you are in this state.’ Then he does still care a little. Hope came into Alix’s eyes, but went out as he said, ‘Do you think by now Chinaberry
doesn’t know?’

Alix’s shamed head sank lower as Edward stopped, hesitated and, as if he could not bear any more to be close to her, ran down the steps.

‘You must have a bath and change, wash your hair. Wash away all traces of Mumma’s abominable scent.’ Since Edward left her Alix had found it necessary to
order herself like this. As soon as she had come in from the exhausting shameful afternoon she had flung drawing-room and dining-room windows and doors wide to let the smell drift out. ‘If
you put on one of your new dresses – no, perhaps the mulberry one he loves – do your hair simply, be quiet, perhaps play to him . . .’ surely, surely Edward would forgive her,
understand, see how circumstances had forced . . . ‘He must see, at least, I am a conscientious daughter, even if, at times, a cruel one.’ That came like an unwelcome echo. ‘I
only did it to spare him,’ – ‘snare him,’ came the echo. Alix went quickly into the bathroom.

She came out on their bedroom balcony to dry her hair in the sun, brushing its length over the rail then tossing the brightness back. Its fall, the glorious colour and sheen, reassured her. Alix
never went to a hairdresser and had her own scent, subtle, ‘so unlike poor Mumma’s.’ If Edward came in now how could he resist her? For the first time since they had heard Mrs
Lamont’s voice, Alix smiled.

She became aware that there was an emptiness in the garden. It must be five o’clock. Through the open drawing-room door, she could see Aziz arranging the tea tray. This was garden-watering
time and she called to Aziz in Hindi, ‘Where are the malis?’

‘Ganesh doing fresh flowers for dining table. Chota mali has gone to his village.’

Alix almost vented her pent-up temper. ‘How was he granted leave when we were not here?’

‘It was for his uncle’s funeral rites. There was no son.’

Alix, as well as Aziz, knew this was an incontestable reason. Then it struck her that the house was empty as well. Was Una not back?

She went along the verandah to Una’s room and knocked, something she would not have done before – a governess has the right to go into her charge’s room. Una’s stepmother
knocked.

‘Lady-sahib?’ Monbad was there, gone in to turn down the bed.

‘Is the Miss-baba not back?’

‘No, Lady-sahib.’

‘Has she telephoned?’

‘No, Lady-sahib.’

‘She is late.’ Alix knew she would be thankful if Una were not there when Edward came back – how to defend herself in front of all-knowing Una? She thought she might ring
Bulbul and ask her to keep Una another night, yet a latent feeling of worry woke in Alix. She looked round the room; Monbad was putting out Una’s night clothes and, She hasn’t taken her
dressing gown and slippers, thought Alix, nor her hairbrush. She went into the bathroom. Una’s sponge bag was there, her bath powder, soap; only her toothbrush was missing. When Monbad had
gone Alix opened the cupboard; she knew Una’s dresses, her clothes. Surely, with Bulbul and Som she would have changed for the evening? Yet all her dresses were there. In the dressing-table
drawer, Alix found Una’s shoulder bag. She must have needed that – engagement diary; pencil; handkerchieves; the new ivory powder case Hal had given her as a parting present; dark
glasses; everything was there – except a comb. A toothbrush and a comb. Travelling light. That phrase filled Alix’s mind. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she told herself.
‘Una is forgetful,’ but even if she had forgotten her bag she would surely have sent round for it – she had been at Bulbul’s all day – and then Alix saw one other
thing was missing, the wallet that matched the bag. Una had taken a toothbrush, comb – and money.