The Peacock Spring (17 page)

Una had to look down at her hands to hide her smile.

‘Miss Gwithiam,’ Hem said in the hut, ‘you ought not to be here.’

‘Won’t you call me Una?’ But Hem ignored that.

‘Afternoon in the summer house was different. If your father knew about this! Altogether, this is not a suitable friendship for you, nor for Ravi.’

‘On the contrary, it helps us both.’

‘Yes, I think you help me,’ Ravi had admitted. Was it because, except for his mother, he had never had an audience before? Una came to the hut every night, even when they had been
late at a concert or cinema or to the Paralampurs and, ‘You are the most still person I know,’ Ravi had said.

Una patiently read aloud, stopping when commanded and sitting without moving or speaking while Ravi turned words over in his mind, or tried to find one. She knew better now than to suggest and
sat, an image of stillness, her hands folded on her knee, her eyes looking at the desk, the floor, the roof, the courtyard, anywhere but at Ravi – even a look was an intrusion when he was at
work. ‘The most still person,’ he said, ‘and yet you give me power,’ but, ‘It must not be,’ said Hem.

Ravi had slipped out to buy milk and food – the bazaar shops, it seemed, did not close day or night – and Una and Hem were confronting one another.

‘Do you always lay down the rule for Ravi?’ Una, putting back her hair, looked Hem full in the face so that he noticed her eyes, foreign in their green clearness – so much
younger than her voice, thought Hem, and he was less stiff as he said, ‘No friendship is suitable if it has to be hidden.’

‘What does Hem do?’ Una asked Ravi when he came in.

‘I told you – he is in medical school.’

‘But isn’t he rather old for that?’

‘He is very old – two years my senior at college – he is also more than clever. He took a first.’

‘Please to stop speaking about me as if I were mere flies on the wall,’ said Hem.

‘Hemango Sharma is our Principal’s, Doctor Babbletosh’s, blue-eyed boy,’ said Ravi.

‘How can an Indian be a blue-eyed boy? Dolt!’ And Hem and Ravi started to wrestle. Una was surprised to see how strong Hem was but she had to stop them. ‘Hush! You will have
our watchman here.’

‘Where does Hem live?’ she asked Ravi when Hem had gone.

‘He lives in an annexe at some house in South Extension. That’s a suburb of New Delhi.’

‘Haven’t you ever been there?’

‘No. He gave me a key; he wanted me to go there and take showers. Hem is all hygiene, hygiene, hygiene, but I like my lota pouring in the sun – and I don’t like the new
suburbs. Besides, why should I go and see Hem when he comes so often to me? And why are you asking all these questions? What is Hem to you?’ asked Ravi.

‘Only that it seems to me,’ said Una, ‘that Hem cares a great deal more for you than you for him.’

To Ravi this was entirely natural, but, ‘You are Ravi’s best friend?’ Una had asked Hem.

‘There is nothing best about me.’

‘I think there is.’ She said that only to disarm Hem but, as soon as she had spoken, Una had found that it was true. She liked this dark unbending boy who had none of Ravi’s
ease and charm, but she knew that Hem would not have made friends with her unless with Edward’s approval; would not have masqueraded as a gardener.

‘Well, Ravi is Ravi, Hem is Hem,’ he said when Una spoke of this. ‘Besides, I am no use at pretending – I haven’t the wit. Either I am a gardener or I am
not.’ And you are as honest as the day, thought Una, which was inconvenient when she was in love with secret, scent-filled night.

‘Una,’ said Mrs Porter, ‘I feel I should write to your Great-Aunt Frederica.’

‘Aunt Freddie?’

‘Yes, I seem to remember she had considerable influence with your father.’

‘Write to Aunt Freddie – about what?’ Una almost said it, but Mrs Porter forestalled her. ‘There is a great deal of talk going on. I feel I must write to her about Miss
Lamont. It seems Edward is sending Hal away to school; perhaps your great-aunt could prevail on him to send you back to Cerne.’

‘Back to Cerne!’ Una said it in uttermost dismay.

‘I thought that, above all, was what you wanted.’

‘Long, long ago,’ but it was not long, not much over a month. ‘Please, please, don’t write,’ Una wanted to cry. She tried to compose herself and, ‘I
don’t think we need worry Aunt Freddie,’ she said. ‘With what you have told me, and all I understand now, I think I can manage Miss Lamont.’

‘My dear, a girl of fifteen is no match for a woman of thirty-five.’

‘Alix is only thirty.’

‘I think she is more. Una, be careful,’ but, ‘I don’t think she heard me,’ Mrs Porter told Lady Srinevesan. ‘She seemed to be sleepwalking.’

A ring appeared on Alix’s hand. ‘What is it?’ asked Hal. ‘A topaz?’

‘Yes,’ said Alix.

‘Did Edward give it to you?’

‘Yes,’ but, ‘Haven’t you noticed I am wearing it on my right hand?’ said Alix.

All the same, there was a new air about her, Alix’s eyes were not as watchful now; they seemed confident and, Something has happened, thought Una, something definite? Nor did she believe
the ring was a topaz. For two days she hesitated – ‘I think I didn’t want to know,’ she told Ravi. Then she asked Edward, ‘You gave Alix that ring?’

‘As a matter of fact I did.’ Over any other question Una would have been amused to see Edward look like a small boy as he used to when scolded by Great-Aunt Freddie. ‘Alix has
been very good to us – and I was unjust to her, over Hal.’

‘It’s an uncommonly beautiful ring, Edward. What is it?’

‘It’s a brown diamond.’

‘I didn’t know there was such a thing. A brown . . .’ Words failed Una and Edward looked still more sheepish. ‘But it must be very, very rare?’ she said when she
could speak.

‘As a matter of fact, quite rare. I did rather gasp when she chose it.’

‘
She
chose it?’ I might have known, Una thought silently, Where is he being taken? What is he allowing to happen to him? Aloud she said, ‘It must have cost thousands of
pounds.’

‘Not as much as you would think.’ Edward was hedging. ‘Alix happens to have a friend who deals in precious stones.’

‘Has she a friend who deals in concert-grand pianos?’ But he had lost his temporary sheepishness and looked so happy that Una could not say it. ‘I think it looks like
Alix,’ and, challenged perhaps by her silence, he said, ‘I should like you to know I was proud to put it on her finger.’

Then it is serious, probably definite. Something like panic filled Una; she felt sweat on her neck and behind her ears, but she pressed her hands tightly together and nerved herself to say,
‘I suppose you know that before – us,’ she could not bring herself to say ‘you’, ‘Alix lived with Chaman Lal Sethji.’

Edward’s slap across her cheek tingled and made her eyes smart with tears.

‘How dare you repeat gossip,’ said Edward. ‘Cruel gossip. Alix has always had to earn her living.’

‘Since Mr Tanson ran away.’ Una held bravely to her point.

‘So they have regaled you with that titbit too, have they? Alix married Tanson as a young, young girl, almost a child. He abandoned her and she hadn’t the means to trace
him.’

‘Until you helped her.’

‘I am lucky enough to have some money and influence. As for Chaman Lal Sethji, he is a young Marwari and up to date; he wanted to bring his wife out of purdah and Alix went as companion
to his wife
,’ said Edward with disdainful emphasis. ‘Being Alix, she became much more.’

‘That’s what they say.’ Una was steady in spite of the smart in her cheeks, eyes and heart.

‘She persuaded him to let his daughters go to college – something few Marwari girls have done – and made it possible for his wife to have some share in his social
life.’

‘Why did she leave?’ But Edward was too angry to go on.

‘Never let me hear such talk again. Of all people I abominate,’ he said in fury, ‘it is insinuators.’

‘I didn’t insinuate,’ said Una. ‘I said it.’

What is happening to Edward, Una thought? Then, What is happening to me? Edward was quite right to slap me. I said that about Chaman Lal Sethji in malice. ‘
You
malicious!’ She seemed to hear Mrs Carrington’s voice, meet her eyes; they haunted her all the next day. ‘If you have hurt anyone, acted uncharitably,’ Crackers had once
said, ‘you will not be comfortable until you have done something to atone. Take the first opportunity to do, for that person, something kind,’ and, next evening, ‘Edward,
couldn’t you get a horse for Alix?’ Una asked. He knew without telling she was trying to make amends and smoothed her hair. ‘She rides so well,’ said Una.

‘It would be much better than a ring,’ said Hal. ‘She could ride Snowball when I’m gone, when you have got rid of me,’ – Hal was mournful – ‘but
she’s too big for him and so is Una.’

‘And it is hard on her being left when we two go off riding together,’ said Una.

‘You want Alix to come too?’ Edward was pleased and Una had to say, ‘Of course.’

She was startled by his next words. ‘As a matter of fact I bought Mouse for Alix.’

‘Mouse?’

‘Yes, but we couldn’t find a suitable horse for you and Alix insisted you should have Mouse. She said we could easily find or borrow a mount for her.’

‘So Alix gave me Mouse,’ said Una slowly.

‘In effect, yes. Typical of her,’ said Edward. ‘Completely selfless.’

Is she? Una burned to say it with Lady Srinevesan’s inflection. All the antagonism was back. Alix wouldn’t be selfless for nothing – or am I being horrible? Horrible or not,
Una’s pride and joy in the little mare was gone, as it had gone from her chess set. That was back on its board; Ram had mended it, or had had it mended, so finely that no one knew it had been
broken, except Una, Hal and himself, but Una was certain she would never touch it again – ‘And never ride Mouse,’ she vowed.

Ram Chand brought them a card:
Mrs Jacques Lamont
with, crossed out on the corner, an address:
Flat 2, Sea-view, Rue Suffren, La Ville Blanche, Pondicherry
. The
card was old and not clean – it looked dirtier by contrast with Ram’s polished silver salver. ‘Mrs Lamont? Who can that be?’ asked Hal and Una said, ‘I think it must
be Alix’s mother.’

It was Hal’s last afternoon. Though she had protested, stormed, sulked, wept, Edward had stayed adamant and, with Sushila and the rest of the school party, she was travelling to Darjeeling
tomorrow. She had been mollified a little by being given a farewell dinner to which the Paralampurs were to come that night, including Vikram, ‘under my eye,’ said Edward. At four
o’clock Alix had said, ‘Girls, do you think you could manage if I went out for an hour?’

‘Why not?’ asked Una.

‘I had hoped Mrs Porter would ask you to go swimming. I rang Lady Srinevesan but she is at a meeting.’ Alix had had a fright over Hal and was uneasy at leaving them. ‘But
there’s something I have – neglected. It’s been such a rush getting Hal ready.’

‘Another ghastly uniform.’ Hal’s gloom came back.

‘I have to go or I wouldn’t leave you.’

It isn’t to Vikram, thought Una. You haven’t changed or put on scent; in fact your hair is untidy and you have your big white bag, the one you take for shopping. Perhaps this time
it’s genuine.

‘Promise me you won’t go out. Stay together in the garden or here in the drawing room. Hal can practise, Una can work at the writing table, and . . .’ And don’t tell
Edward, Una finished silently for her.

Alix had scarcely gone when a bicycle rickshaw turned, or tried to turn, in at the gate. It was stopped by the gatemen.

‘Alix’s
mother
?’

‘She say she not go away until she sees Miss-babas.’ Ram was disapproving.

‘Of course she mustn’t go away. Ask her to come in – at once,’ Una commanded, and she and Hal ran down the steps to meet her.

The rickshaw-man’s thin legs had to pedal like flywheels to bring the rickshaw along, its load was so gargantuan. Mrs Lamont seemed a mountain of fat, made fatter by her cushions. Alix had
had made for her mother dresses like her own, plain, of silk or cotton in suitably quiet colours but, ‘I don’t like quiet,’ and, ‘I don’t like plain,’ Mrs Lamont
had said. ‘I like loud,’ and her dress was a remnant of Pondicherry days, ‘when I went to the races,’ but, ‘She must have a dressing-up box,’ whispered Hal,
which happened to be the truth. Mrs Lamont’s dress was of white lace over violet silk and with it she wore a feather boa. ‘It was
my
mumma’s.’ ‘Oh, I wish I had
that,’ said Hal. The silk straw of the hat was a little crushed – it, too, had lain in the dressing-up box – it was trimmed with black velvet and had a mammoth crimson rose. The
hair was frizzed in an imitation of Alix’s auburn – once it must have been the same glorious colour, but the dye had turned it to rusty orange; the face, too, was rouged and powdered
into a travesty of Alix – and, Alix could be like this when she is old, thought Una.

Mrs Lamont carried a card case, a handbag – its white had yellowed – and a red parasol with which she prodded the rickshaw man. ‘Ag
ē
! Chelo, chelo
. . . !’ As the bicycle stopped at the foot of the steps, waves of Flowers of Heaven engulfed Una and Hal.

‘Well, here I am at last,’ cried Mrs Lamont. ‘My God! This is a wonderful place you have here. A palace, m’n? No wonder they would not let me in.’

‘We are so sorry,’ said Una. ‘They didn’t know who you were.’

‘No matter now. No matter.’ Mrs Lamont waved the insult aside. ‘The gatemen tell me my Ally is out.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Come, girls. Let’s make hay until she
comes back. Take my things.’ Hal took the card case and bag while, using the parasol as a stick and with Una’s help to heave herself up, Mrs Lamont struggled from her cushions as the
rickshaw man bent himself double to try and get his breath. ‘You must show me your house, your rooms that Ally told me she got ready. Ally’s room too, and all your dresses, m’n? I
want to see everything. My God! Why am I so fat? Ally tells me it is my own fault – I eat too many sweet things, but what is life if you don’t eat? Pull, girls, pull.’

One each side, they brought her into the drawing room where she collapsed on a sofa. ‘On all of the sofa,’ Hal said afterwards.