By Eastern windows (11 page)

The wedding took place at the house of James Morley, on the veranda, watched by scores of guests, military and civilian, who assembled on the lawn as Reverend Arnold Burrowes performed the ceremony. The guest of honour was John Forbes, the friend and banker who had first introduced the couple.

Maria Morley still looked uncertain and nervous as she gazed at her sister, looking so beautiful in a dress of white silk, and smiling so happily as she stood beside the young captain in his elegant uniform.

Maria clutched the linen handkerchief in her hand and dabbed at her eyes, but nothing could alleviate the worry that consumed her. Her sister Rachel had also married a young soldier in an elegant officer’s uniform, and what a disaster that had been.
 
It saddened Maria to even think about Rachel now, and the sight of Jane also marrying a soldier filled her with trepidation.
 

James Morley had also conceded defeat, deciding the marriage to be inevitable as Macquarie was so determined and Jane had continually
refused
to even consider the names of other more
suitable
men in Bombay, finally throwing herself at Maria’s feet with the plea that she preferred Captain Macquarie to all other men in the
world.

So what else could he do?
 
He had done everything he possibly could. He had personally locked Jane in her room numerous times – but the bally Indian servants kept setting her free!
 
How the rascals managed to get the door unlocked without a key was still a mystery. Oh, yes – that had been a terrible betrayal, his own servants switching their loyalty from him to Jane – and the reason why he had fired the lot of them.

Although, as he had said to Mr Tasker only yesterday, it was simply impossible to fire an Indian servant these days, because no matter what was said to them, they kept returning to their work every morning pretending to suffer from amnesia, or a lack of understanding of his English; and some – after his edict had been translated to them in Hindi – pretended to not even understand that, their own language!
 
Scheming rascals.

As if by telepathy, one of those servants appeared before him, holding a tray of glasses of champagne. ‘Sahib?’

Morley frowned at the glasses. ‘Well, Maria may like it, but I hate that French fizz, too sour on the liver. Get me some gin.’

‘Yes, Sahib.’

For the newly-weds and most of their guests, the evening was one to be remembered, filled with enjoyment and laughter. By midnight everyone was singing a medley of songs, chorused by all, the most popular songs being those about that small island thousands of miles across the sea, called Great Britain, from where they all originally came.

Maria Morley whispered to Jane that it was time to slip away and retire to her new home. This was a part of the wedding celebration that was treated with the utmost delicacy and decorum. No shouts of raucous laughter, no innuendoes to the bride or offers of advice to the groom, just a quiet slipping away by the bride and her chaperone, and later the groom.

In the new house, following custom to the letter, Maria Morley stayed to see her young sister comfortably bedded, then prepared to take her leave as soon as she heard Captain Macquarie's footsteps on the veranda.

Ushering Jane's little Indian maid, Marianne, out of the room, Maria flustered over to the bed and kissed her sister farewell; then, blushing with embarrassment and unable to meet Jane's eyes, addressed her final words to the porcelain oil lamp on a small bamboo table beside the bed.

‘Now remember, dear,’ Maria said to the lovely blue kingfisher painted on the lamp's porcelain shade, ‘one must naturally comply with one's wifely duty on one's wedding night, but after that … well, one is occasionally allowed to have a headache, if one feels disinclined.’

‘Yes, Maria, I understand.’

‘I'm sure Captain Macquarie will also understand...’ The lamp's shade was cream, the blue kingfisher surrounded by beautiful red and golden flowers. ‘He is, after all, a gentlemen,’ Maria continued, ‘well acquainted with the climate of India, and therefore must realise that the Indian heat does so often have an unfortunate tiring effect on white women.’

‘Yes, Maria, I understand.’

‘I'm so glad that you do, dear,’ Maria said to the lamp, ‘because I would be very distressed if, in the future, I was ... well, expected to discuss this aspect of your marriage with you again.’

Maria dragged her eyes from the lamp and at last spoke to Jane. `Now, I think that is all, don't you, dear?'

`Yes, Maria.'

As soon as Maria had adjusted the mosquito net around the bed and glided swiftly out of the room, Jane sat up and smiled as she wondered what Mammy Dinah would have said if she had been the one to prepare her for her wedding night, instead of Maria?

For a moment, although it was not possible, she thought she could smell Mammy Dinah's coconut oil ... and hear her chuckles as she learned of Maria's marital advice to the kingfisher lamp. She knew just what Mammy would say – ‘
O my land o' sugar and molasses...’

Such warmth and tenderness Mammy possessed, and despite her chuckles she too would have known that Maria was only trying to do her best. Dear Maria, so very prim and such a martyr to respectability, but underneath she had a kind and well-meaning heart.
  

Jane came out of her thoughts when, in the stillness of the night, out on the veranda, she heard Maria's flustered voice saying farewell to Captain Macquarie.

*

Lachlan helped Maria into the seat of her palanquin, and then stood and watched as the four bearers lifted it and jogged away with her, the two in front carrying their poles in one gripping fist and a flaming torch-light in the other.

At the end of the empty road that led to the house, Maria called to the bearers to halt, as Lachlan had guessed she would. Her head appeared through the curtain, she peered back towards the lighted house, seeing the figure of Captain Macquarie still leaning lazily against the veranda post. Her head seemed to nod in satisfaction. So unseemly for a gentleman to display undue haste on his wedding night.

She waved a hand in farewell.

Lachlan leisurely waved back.

She then appeared anxious to get away as quickly as possible, ordering the bearers to hurry on. ‘
Jaldi! Jaldi!
’
 

The palanquin was lifted and carried off at a run. As soon as it was out of sight, Lachlan dropped his languid pose and turned into the house.

*

The room seemed serenely peaceful when he entered. The only light the golden glow of the lamp. The blue kingfisher, wings spread for flight, appeared surrounded by a glow of fire. Someone had put jasmine in a bowl beside the lamp and its essence filled the room. And there, at last, in his bed, was his beloved girl.
 
He saw her through the haze of the mosquito net. She was sitting up with her hands clasped around her knees, her chestnut hair flowing loosely over her shoulders. He lifted the draping folds of the mosquito net and sat down on her side of the bed, a smile on his face.

 
‘Well, now, Mrs Macquarie …’

‘We did it,' she said with a little smile of triumph. ‘We did as we vowed and let nobody stop us.’

‘We did,’ he agreed,
 
‘although, there was a time when dear old James had me very worried. Do you know, he practically told me outright that I was a fortune-hunter.’

‘He told
me
outright that you were not a man but a confounded mystery.’
 

They looked at each other and with one accord started laughing. ‘No, I'm no mystery,’ he assured her. ‘I'm just – as they say in Scotland – a laddie in love with his lassie.’

And that was all it took to stop her laughing. She stared at him, her dark eyes softening like mists as she whispered, ‘My love … ’

*

The night was very still. The air in the room perfumed by the jasmine, fresh and soft in its fragrance.
 
In the darkness they did not speak, but they both trembled. She kissed his mouth in a rush of throbbing tenderness. He was the first man she had ever kissed, and although she was perfectly innocent, the closeness of his body filled her with delicious warmth, setting her heart beating in a wild and joyous happiness. She loved him, she adored him, and now they were in each other’s arms, at last. Then he shuddered and pulled her body closer, and in silence they left the world, conscious only of the deepening hunger of their lips.

He laid her back on the pillow and gently bared her breasts, tracing their outline with his fingertips. The movements of his hand sent a hot fire shooting through her body, making her breath come faster, and from then on she was his, to do with what he wanted, while no recollection or thought restrained the ecstasy of the night.

Next morning, a soft sunlight crept into the room, which faced east. The cane sunblind had been lifted on the window to let in the cool night air, and now without its shade, the room was brightening.
 
All was silence and peace, the temperature sleepily warm, the scent of Persian roses floated through from the garden.

For the first time in years Lachlan had overslept. He stirred slowly, becoming conscious of the girl sleeping soundly beside him. He eased onto his elbow to look at her, remembering the night, ravished with love. He bent and kissed her softly on her mouth, then eased out of bed, careful not to wake her.

It had been almost dawn before they had finally slept, so it would be cruel to wake her now. She was not used to waking before nine she had told him, but he had always found it impossible to sleep after sunrise.

In the dressing room he washed and dressed, deciding to take an early morning ride. He looked into the small room next to the dressing-room where Jane's little Indian maid, Marianne, was also sleeping. The poor child was only ten years old, and probably exhausted from all the wedding preparations of the day before.

Through the skylight the sun streamed brightly down the long hall. The entire house seemed to be slumbering in a golden peacefulness. Lachlan whistled quietly to himself as he strode through the silence – totally unprepared when he turned into the drawing room and found a small crowd of people standing in readiness to greet him.

He was so startled he almost tripped over his own feet. ‘Where the hell did you all come from?’

In response, the line of native servants salaamed to him respectfully.

‘Where did you all come from?’ he asked again. ‘You were not here last night.’ He looked at them uncertainly. ‘Were you?’

 
Yes, they were, in the row of servants' quarters at the back of the house, but he had not known or noticed.

A small thin Indian in a turban stepped forward and spoke for the others in rather good English. ‘The Sahiba, she say for us to come at sunset.’

‘Which Sahiba? Memsahib Morley?’

‘No. Missy-Sahib Jarvis. She say we all needed to take care of the Sahib's house.’

Jane?
 
…
 
Jane had organised all these servants?

He stared at the regiment of servants McKenzie had predicted he would have. And the introductions began. There was a
Chowkidar
(Night Watchman)
Mali
(Gardener)
Syce
(Groom)
Dhobi
(Laundryman)
Kansamah
(Cook)
Khidmatgar
(Waiter at table) And so it went on ... By the time it came for him to be introduced to the
servants
' servants, his head was whirling. An officer he may be, but off-duty and on home ground, it seemed he was to live the life of a gentleman of ease.

At last he was allowed to take his leave, declining the offer of morning tea. No, he insisted, he did not want
chota hazri
– not breakfast – not until the Memsahib had awoken from her sleep.

*

It was a long-held custom in British Bombay that in the days immediately following a wedding, the bride and groom were obliged to hold a period of ‘sitting up evenings’ when well-wishers could call upon them to express their congratulations, and be lavishly entertained in return.

The weeks that followed were sheer exhaustion for Lachlan and Jane as every lady and gentleman in the settlement, not to mention a battalion of officers and their wives, called to pay their respects, which – custom declared – must be repaid by an invitation to stay for dinner if they called before five o'clock, or supper if they called later.

Five weeks after his wedding Lachlan sat down to dinner one evening and found himself
 
joined by thirty-eight others.

‘Now you understand why it was necessary to employ so many servants,’ Jane whispered, looking fretfully down the veranda-table that had been designed to seat no more than twenty.

A few nights later, in the privacy of their bedroom, when the assembled supper guests that evening had numbered a mere sixteen, Lachlan looked at his wife and enquired tiredly:
 
‘Is this entertaining
ever
going to end?

It ended for a while when they took a trip down the coast to Goa, a delayed honeymoon of ten idyllic sun-baked days spent walking or lazing on Goa's deserted and lonely white beaches and swimming in the sparkling blue waters of the Indian Ocean.