Secret for a Nightingale (5 page)

He leaned towards me and, taking my hand, pressed it.

“I shall miss everyone … everything here … and particularly you.”

I felt excited. He had always implied that he admired me and I was aware of an attraction between us; but I felt myself to be such a novice in these matters and I was very uncertain of myself. All I knew was that I should be very sad when he went away.

He talked to me about his home. The estate was in Buckinghamshire. It had been in the family for centuries.

“My brother is very proud of it,” he said.

“I never had the same feeling for houses. I wanted to travel, to see the world. He wanted to absorb himself in squiral duties. If he dies it will fall on my shoulders. I am rather hoping my sister-in-law, Amelia, will have a son before he dies.”

“Is that likely now that he is so ill?”

“One never knows.”

“When shall you be going?”

“Rest assured I shall stay as long as I possibly can.”

When I was dining alone with my father that evening I mentioned to him that Aubrey would be leaving us soon.

“I’m sorry about that. You’ll miss him, won’t you?”

He was watching me intently, and I said with faint hesitation:

“Oh yes, very much.”

“Well, he might not be the only one who is leaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know there has been a lot of unrest here lately. Nothing serious, but a kind of undercurrent. And there is something you don’t know, Susanna. Two years ago I had an illness.”

“An illness! What sort of illness? You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to make a fuss. It passed. But it did not go unnoticed by HQ.”

“Father, what are you telling me?”

“That Anno Domini is catching up with me.”

“But you are amazingly fit. Look what you do.”

“The fact remains, I am getting old. There are hints, Susanna.”

Hints? “

“I think that soon I shall be working at the War Office in London.”

“Do you really mean that? And what was this illness?”

“Some little trouble with the heart. It passed.”

“Oh, Father, and you didn’t tell me!”

“There was no need to when it was all over.”

“I should have been told.”

“Quite unnecessary. But, as I say, there will be changes here.”

“When shall we go home?”

“You know HQ. When the decision is made there will be no delay. It will be a case of up and gone, and the new chap will be here to take my place.”

“Oh, Father, how will you like it?”

“As a matter of fact, I shan’t be sorry.”

“But all the years you have been in India … and you let me come out.”

“I had a reason for that. I realized from your letters that you were building up a picture of the place. I believed that if you had not come you would have regretted it all your life. I wanted you to come back and see it with adult eyes. Besides, think how disappointed you would have been if you hadn’t.”

“You are so good to me.”

“Dear child, I felt there was so much to make up for. That lonely childhood … sending you off to strangers, which they were, of course, although related.”

“You did your best and it is what happens to all children in our position.”

“True, but that does not make it easier. But never mind

motives. I am expecting orders at any moment and then it will be up and away. “

I was not entirely dismayed. I was already wondering whether I should see Aubrey in England.

That night in bed I thought about my ayah. I had neglected her somewhat. When I had come out I had thought with great pleasure of our reunion. But, as my father said, things change. I should never forget her and what we had been to each other in my childhood; but I was no longer a child. I was making exciting excursions into the adult world, and the feelings Aubrey inspired in me had so fascinated me that I had been inclined to forget other matters.

I promised myself that the very next day I would go to see her.

I chose a time when I knew Mrs. Freeling would be at the Regimental Club. She was often there. I had seen her with some of the young officers. She invited Aubrey there, too. He told me he went quite frequently. Moreover, I had seen him there with her. I felt no jealousy. It did not occur to me that there could be any serious relationship between them, because she was a married woman. I was very naive in those days.

My ayah was glad to see me and I felt ashamed because there had been too long a gap between our last meeting and this.

“The children are-asleep,” she said.

We sat in the next room with the door ajar so that she could hear if they awoke.

She looked at me with her sad eyes and I said: “You were right about my not staying long. My father has told me that any day he could be receiving orders from the War Office.”

“You will go away from here … yes. Perhaps it is best for you.”

“Ayah dear, I feel as though I have only just come.”

“There are bad things here. You are not a little girl any more.”

“There are bad things everywhere, I dare say.”

She shook her head. I took her hand and said: “You have something on your mind. Why don’t you tell me? You are not happy here.

I could ask my father to find you another place. “

She said: “I love the little ones.”

“And Mrs. Freeling and the Captain … they are not good to you? You can tell me, you know.”

“I am left with the children. The Captain loves them.”

“Then it is Mrs. Freeling? Does she interfere? Does she complain?”

She shook her head. She hesitated for a few seconds, then she burst out: “There are parties … meetings … they do strange things. I know what it is. They grow it in the villages. I have seen it … so much … when I was a little one. It grows well in India … so pretty it looks, with the poppies waving their heads … so innocent.

You would not believe it. It flourishes if the soil is fine and loose and fed with manure and much water. I have seen the sowing in November, and in January it is ready when the flower seeds are the size of a hen’s eggs. “

“What are you talking about?”

“They call it opium,” she told me.

“It is here … everywhere. Some sell it for money. Some grow it for themselves. They smoke it in their pipes, and they become strange … very strange.”

“Do you mean they are drugged? Tell me about it.”

“I must not. It is no concern of mine. I should not want my little one to be with such people.”

“You mean Mrs. Freeling …”

“Please forget I speak.”

“You mean here … there are parties … orgies. I must tell my father.”

“Oh no, no. Please do not. I should not have speak. I am wrong.

Forget. Please to forget. “

“How can I? They are smoking opium, you say. That should be stopped.”

She shook her head.

“No. No. It-has always been. Here in the villages it is so easy to grow. Please do not talk of it. Only do not go to these places. Do not let them tempt you to try.”

“Tempt me! Of course they never would. Ayah, are you sure?”

She shook her head.

“Not sure. Not all sure …”

“But you told me …”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. I believed that she was afraid and tried to soothe her.

“I have seen them here. They look strange. They seem strange. There is a man. He comes here often. He is the Devil Doctor. He wants opium. He buys it. He takes it away. He watches people and tempts them. I believe he is a devil.”

Oh, I thought with relief, she is romancing now.

“Tell me about this Devil Doctor,” I said.

“He is tall; his hair is black like the night. I saw him once. He wore a black cloak and a black hat.”

“He sounds satanic. Tell me, did he have cloven feet?”

“I believe so she said.

I breathed more easily. I remembered some of the stories with which she had beguiled me during my childhood: the exploits of the gods, Siva, Vishnu and Brahma in which she fervently believed. I did not take her stories seriously. Perhaps she had seen certain frivolous behaviour among Mrs. Freeling’s guests and had construed it as the manner in which people acted when they had been smoking opium; and her concern for me had made her exaggerate what sheA had seen. I did wonder whether I ought to mention to my father what she had said; but as she implored me not to, I put the matter from my mind. There was so much more to think of, because two weeks after my father had spoken to me, despatches came from London.

Colonel Bronsen-Grey was on his way to take over my father’s duties and we were to make immediate preparations for our departure.

It seemed like fate. I could not help feeling very excited. This time I should not leave India with the same reluctance.

Aubrey St. Clare was delighted, and when he heard that we were booked on the Aurora Star, he decided he would return home on the same ship.

It proved the state of my feelings when I did not feel any great regret because we were going with him.

We had no home in England and my father decided that we should stay at an hotel while we looked for a temporary home and he ascertained from the War Office what his duties would be. When he knew we could set about finding a more permanent residence, which he expected would be in London.

My ayah took a tearful farewell of me. She was fatalistic and that helped her to overcome her sorrow at parting. It was ordained, she said and she had known that when I returned, I would not stay long in India.

“It is well that you go,” she said, ‘even though those who love you suffer at the parting. There will be trouble here and I am happy to know that you will be safe. The monsoons have failed to bring the rain and the crops are bad. When there is famine people look round for those to blame, and they blame those they envy . those who may have what they would like themselves. Yes, I should rejoice. It is best for you. Do not be impulsive as you have always been, little Su-Su. Think first. Do not seize the dross in mistake for the gold. “

“I promise you, dear ayah, that I will curb my impulses. I will think of you always and try to be wise.”

Then she embraced me and kissed me solemnly.

As I stood on deck the last person I saw as we sailed away was my ayah, standing there, looking lonely and forlorn, her pale blue said moving gently in the breeze.

It was a magic voyage. I felt very happy. How different from that time when I, a lonely little girl under the vigilance of Mrs. Fearnley, had tried hard not to burst into noisy protestations at being dragged away from my father and my beloved India. This was quite different. My father seemed younger. Only now did I realize the strain under which he had been living. He had never talked to me about the fear of trouble; but it must have always been there an undercurrent of apprehension. I remember moonlit nights, leaning over the rail, looking up to the rich velvety sky and the golden stars, listening to the gentle movement of the sea below. Aubrey was my constant companion; in the morning we paced the decks together; we

played games; we indulged in lengthy discussions at meals with our table companions; we danced afterwards; and I wanted those days to go on and on. I tried not to look too far ahead when we should reach Tilbury and say goodbye, my father and I going to London and Aubrey to that stately home in Buckinghamshire.

There was something unreal about life on the ship. One felt that one was floating in a little world apart from the real one. There were no troubles here nothing but long sunny days, lying on deck, watching the porpoises and the dolphins frolic, while the flying fish skimmed the water, and here and there the hump of a whale could be seen.

One day an albatross, and presumably his mate, followed the ship for three days. We marvelled at the beautiful creatures with their twelve-foot wing span; they circled above us and there were times when we thought they were going to land on deck. They were waiting for the food, left over from meals, to be thrown into the water.

They were magic days with calm seas and blue skies and the ship sailing peacefully home.

Even so one was reminded of change. There was a day when we skirted a hurricane and the chairs slid across the deck and it was impossible to stand up. That was symbolic, I thought. Nothing lasts forever; and the most perfect peace can be quickly shattered.

We reached Cape Town, which I remembered from that other journey. This was different. My father, Aubrey and I went out in a flower-decorated carriage drawn by two horses in straw bonnets. It seemed far more exciting than on that previous occasion; perhaps that was due to the company.

It was the night after we left Cape Town. We had had a rough passage round the Cape and were now sailing northwards to the Canaries. We had left the tropical heat behind and the weather was bland with hardly any wind.

My father had gone to bed, which he often did after dinner, and that left me alone with Aubrey. We found our favourite spot on deck and sat side by side listening to the gentle swishing of the water against the side of the ship.

“It won’t be long now,” said Aubrey.

“We shall soon be home.”

I agreed a little sombrely.

“It has been a wonderful voyage.”

“For a particular reason,” he replied.

I waited and he turned to me and, taking my hand, kissed it.

“You,” he said.

I laughed.

“You have contributed to the enjoyment. My father is delighted that you are here and he can go to bed with a free conscience and leave me in good hands.”

“So he thinks that of me, does he?”

“You know he does.”

“Susanna, I have been thinking. When we get to England … what?”

“What? It is all planned. Father and I will go to an hotel and look immediately for a house. And you … you have your arrangements.”

“We are not going to say ” Goodbye, it was nice to have known you” when we get to England, are we?”

“I don’t know what will happen when we get to England.”

“Doesn’t that rather depend on us?”

“There is one theory which says that everything that happens depends on ourselves, while another believes in fate. What is to be, will be.”