Dr McBride turned to her suddenly and smiled, the first spontaneous and joyful smile she had ever seen him give.
‘There are some beautiful sights to be seen here, indeed,’ he said, looking away into the distance again. ‘I’ve shut myself away too much these past years, and almost forgotten. I have you to thank for reminding me, Miss Waters. I had given up hope of anything better.’
Lily gave a faint smile, unsure what to say. There was a silence, until Dr McBride said, ‘Your name is Lily, I gather?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She looked down at her boots.
‘My name is Ewan. You don’t need to keep calling me Sir or Doctor, you know.’
Lily felt her heart begin to thump nervously harder. Why was Dr McBride being so familiar with her all of a sudden?
‘Yes, I know your name,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘But I am one of your servants. It would not seem right for me to call you anything so informal.’
His eyes looked deeply into hers. ‘Only perhaps when we’re alone, Lily?’
And his voice held a pleading tone, but it was also a command that she knew she was not expected to refuse.
Gradually Jane Brown became friendlier. Though she did not have a great deal of spare time as her life was very tied to Muriel McBride’s, she invited Lily to her room one afternoon.
‘I bought cakes,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘I thought we might have tea, if you’d like that?’
‘Oh yes!’ Lily said. ‘I’d love to!’ She was pleased by the warmth she saw in Jane Brown’s eyes. Lily realized that Jane was shy and had needed time before she could issue such an invitation. For herself, she longed to have a friend to talk to. She so missed the companionship that had grown up between herself and Srimala and also with Susan Fairford.
Jane Brown’s room surprised Lily. She had imagined her to be a rather austere person, but when she was admitted to the room opposite Muriel McBride’s, she was greeted by a very colourful sight. The bed was swathed in a coverlet of red, yellow and blue paisley patterns and nearby on the wall was a silk hanging in iridescent blue and gold. On other walls were small paintings on silk depicting scenes from the Hindu religious stories, one small painting on ivory and along the shelf processed a number of wooden carved elephants arranged in decreasing size. Lily also saw some prints which looked Chinese and close to the bed, on the wall, hung a wooden cross. There was also quite a collection of books.
‘How lovely!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘You’ve made it look so jolly!’
‘I thought I might as well make a home of it,’ Jane said. ‘And I like a bit of colour around me. Do sit, Lily – that’s the most comfortable.’
She indicated a low wooden chair whose arms ended in a scrolling curve of wood. Lily sat and watched as her new friend arranged cakes on a plate. She was not in uniform, and had on a skirt in deep, watery blues and it was the first time Lily had seen her without her nurse’s veil. Her hair was a gingery brown and rather frizzy, and she had it tied loosely in a thick ponytail. She was not a pretty woman, but there was a kindness and intelligence to her face that drew Lily to her.
‘Here we are – I’ve got a pot of tea already made,’ she said, handing Lily a cup. ‘Sugar? And do have one of these cakes. They really are rather good.’
She settled opposite Lily on the bed and the two of them ate the cream cakes and began to get to know one another.
‘I was wondering where you came from by your exotic looks,’ Jane Brown said, gazing at Lily’s face. ‘You do look wonderfully unusual.’
‘Oh.’ Lily smiled. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been told I’m like my mother, but she died when I was very young.’
She told Jane Brown a few details of her usual version of things, and then quickly asked her about herself. Jane seemed to see that Lily did not wish to be questioned and she talked quite fluently then about her own background. She had grown up in Cambridge, where her father was a professor of Chinese history.
‘Actually, I spent my first six years in China,’ she said, smiling as she tussled with a dab of cream which attached itself first to her lips and then her hand. ‘Daddy was researching his book – look, I have a copy here.’
She reached over for a book from the shelf and showed Lily a thick, scholarly-looking work by an author called N. E. O. Brown.
‘Goodness,’ Lily said. ‘That looks very clever.’
‘Oh, don’t imagine I’ve read the whole thing!’ Jane Brown laughed. ‘I never got involved in Daddy’s work. But I suppose you do get used to living abroad – it gave me my wanderlust. So when I’d done my training I applied to come over here. I was in a nursing home in Calcutta for nearly two years and then I answered the doctor’s advertisement. I liked the sound of the hills and I wanted a change. Goodness . . . I say, that was
nice
. . .’ She put her cake plate down, wiping her lips on her handkerchief.
‘Yes – I liked the sound of it up here too,’ Lily said. She felt comfortable and well fed after the tea and cakes and she began to relax. She told her about Ambala and the Fairfords.
‘I don’t know that I’d like cantonment life,’ Jane said. ‘It all seems a bit claustrophobic to my mind. I get the impression there’s a sense of shutting out the rest of the country as if it doesn’t exist . . . That’s what they want, I suppose.’ She shifted back on the bed, kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet up.
‘Yes, it does feel like a world of its own in many ways,’ Lily said. ‘I must say, I prefer it here.’
‘Course, everyone’s haunted by the Mutiny,’ Jane said. ‘They don’t say much about it but when you think of it, how can it go on? All of us over here.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Lily asked.
‘Well, they don’t want us here really, do they? We’re foreigners, trespassers. It’s all absurd in a way. And we know it really – what happened back in fifty-seven – if it happened once, the natives getting up and saying “no more”, it can happen again. And it will one day. Don’t you think?’
Lily thought about it, the strangeness of the British being in this country somehow. She thought of the cemetery on the side of the hill. ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling foolish that she did not have any strong opinions. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
Jane Brown poured them more tea and their talk turned to the household. Lily wanted to ask more about Muriel McBride, about what had happened to her, and Jane Brown, though not a gossip, obviously needed to relieve her own feelings. She reclined sideways on the bed, leaning on her elbow, her skirt spread over her legs and talked.
‘Sometimes when I look at her when she’s asleep, I just boil with rage that anyone should be in the state she’s in. Everyone seems to be doing all they can, but I feel as if I come up against it every day – slap!’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Just like running into a wall. And sometimes I’m
so
angry with her I just want to shake her and say, “Live!
Just get on with it and live!
You’ve been given this life and look what you’re doing with it, lying here as if you’re in a tomb when you’re still alive.” She’s the sweetest person, you know, but she can’t do it. She’s forgotten even to
want
to live.’
There was a silence in which Lily guessed she was trying not to weep, but when Jane Brown looked up she was dry-eyed.
‘I have to get out sometimes or I think I’d go mad. I tend to walk very early in the morning, while she’s still asleep. I quite often see the sun come up . . . Sometimes I just . . .’ She pushed herself more upright again for a moment, her eyes searching Lily’s face. ‘I don’t know . . . I have these doubts . . .’
‘What about?’ Lily asked.
‘About
him
. The doctor.’ She was obviously troubled but could not quite identify why. ‘He’s such a nice man, and I feel sorry for him. It’s just that now and then, the way he comes into her room, things he says . . . I almost wonder if it’s him . . .’
Lily frowned, leaning forwards. ‘I’m sorry. I really don’t . . .’
‘No.’ Jane lay down again. ‘I don’t understand what I mean either. It’s more of an intuition. But’ – she gabbled the words as if they needed to be said – ‘it’s almost as if he likes her being so ill. As if he likes feeling in command of it all . . .’
Lily sat back, shocked. ‘But how could that be? Surely you can’t make someone else ill?’
Jane Brown looked thoughtful, and shamefaced. ‘No – you’re probably right. I’m being fanciful. It’s probably being alone with her too much, because it’s all so strange and awful, and I start to imagine things.’ She smiled, as if shaking the thoughts off. ‘Let’s talk about something more cheerful.’
As the days passed, Lily found she saw more and more of Dr McBride. He seemed unable to leave her alone. Before, when he was not out attending to patients, the house had been very quiet with the doctor secluded in his study, but now Lily kept meeting him in the hall, the corridors, walking up and down as if he was going somewhere purposefully. But it soon became clear to her that he was looking for opportunities simply to be in her company.
There were more walks, and his behaviour was always reserved and very correct, he just seemed to want to be with her, until one day, the second time they went back to climb Gun Hill. They had reached the top, able to see the high, snowy peaks of the Himalaya now the monsoon clouds had cleared. Beyond the dark foothills rose the silent white peaks, the sun shining on them.
‘Oh!’ Lily was enraptured. She was still panting slightly from the climb, her cheeks glowing with good health. And she had never seen anything so mysteriously beautiful.
‘I knew you’d feel like that!’ Dr McBride said, and she felt him gazing intently at her face. She didn’t turn to look back, but a moment later he clasped her hand, holding it in both of his. ‘Oh, my dear girl, you really are so exotic – such a rare flower!’
Lily froze and Dr McBride swiftly let go of her hand.
‘I’m sorry, my dear. I just . . . But you really are lovely.’
‘It’s very kind of you, Dr McBride,’ she said breathlessly. She did not know what to do: she mustn’t offend him, she thought. She might lose her job and be sent away! She gave him a careful smile. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I know. I apologize.’ Seeming embarrassed, he looked away at the sweeping mountains laid out before them, thoughtfully stroking his thick beard. ‘Perhaps it’s something to do with being up here. Some of the highest peaks in the world over there – Everest, of course. They call it the roof of the world, Lily . . .’ He turned back to her, then away. ‘Oh, good God,’ she heard him say. Then, with an effort, he said soberly, ‘It won’t happen again.’
As they walked back, she accompanying his long stride, he seemed restored and talked about the things they could see around them. Lily was relieved. How could he expect that she could feel anything for him? He was twice her age and a married man, and there was a great gulf between them when it came to class and upbringing. He was obviously lonely and suffering a temporary madness!
But that night, he sent for her and asked her, very formally, to have dinner with him. ‘I dine alone night after night. It would be very pleasant to have some company. And especially –’ he cleared his throat – ‘if it were yours.’
As usual, he ate his evening meal in his study, and when Lily was admitted she found the small table near the window laid for two with candles burning on it. Her palms begin to perspire with nerves. But she told herself, He’s lonely, he just wants some company, that’s all.
‘Come in, my dear, do come in.’ He welcomed her at the door and once again she was intimidated by his sheer physical bulk. He was not a fat man, but built on a grand scale, and his large head and square, curling beard only increased his appearance of size.
‘I’m so glad you have come, Lily. Come and sit down. Can I offer you a sherry?’
She realized then just how nervous he was of her as he ushered her to the table. On her side plate she found a single rose, deep red and still in bud.
‘How lovely!’ she cried, without thinking.
‘For you.’ He gazed at her solemnly. ‘I saw it and thought of you. Your lovely face is like a mysterious, closed rose.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ She gave a slight giggle. The first sip of sherry, which she was not used to, was already going to her head. Other than the candlelit table, the rest of the room was in shadow and she felt as if she were somewhere strange and primitive, like a cave.
Dr McBride seated himself opposite her. ‘Prithvi will bring us our meal in a moment, though I’m afraid it will not be much of a surprise to you. I expect you supervised Stephen in planning it?’
‘Yes – we are to have mutton curry and a sweet rice mould,’ she told him. ‘And I think Stephen has done it all very well today.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Dr McBride laughed, sipping from his own glass of whisky. ‘His cooking, so far, has been a little erratic. I’m not given to fussing about food, though. One has to eat to live, that’s all. Though I must say, now and then it’s good to tuck into something that has not been either charred or boiled to death. Especially,’ he leaned forwards, ‘when one is in such delightful company.’
Again, Lily felt a sense of panic rise in her for a moment at what all this might mean. She put her sherry glass down, determined to keep a straight head.