Tilly True (39 page)

‘He could be gone for weeks,' Clem said, getting to his feet. ‘But you'll be looked after from now on, I'll see to that.'

‘You're a good friend.' Smiling, Tilly held out her hand. ‘We are still friends, aren't we?'

Clem nodded silently, holding her hand in a firm grip and then releasing it as if the mere touch of her skin had burnt his flesh. ‘Is there anything I can get for you?'

‘More than anything I need a bath,' Tilly said, sighing. ‘I'd give anything for a tub of hot water.'

‘I'll see what I can do.'

He was gone, leaving Tilly feeling even more alone than before and also rather foolish. This was a strange and potentially dangerous world that she had come to, and by venturing out on her own, she realised now that she had taken a foolish risk. Setting her teacup down on the table, she closed her eyes. It seemed like a miracle that it had been Clem who found her. Fancy meeting him of all people.

Opening her eyes with a start, Tilly realised that she must have fallen asleep and now someone was rapping on the door. Getting stiffly to her feet, she went to open it and found herself face to face with a well-dressed, middle-aged woman with a pleasant smile.

‘Mrs Palgrave? I'm Louisa Barton. My husband is colonel-in-chief of the regiment. May I come in?'

Remembering the catechism of manners taught her by Francis, Tilly smiled and stood aside. ‘How do you do, Mrs Barton? Please come in.'

Mrs Barton swept into the living room, leaving a trail of lavender cologne in her wake. She looked around, frowning and shaking her head. ‘This won't do at all, Mrs Palgrave.'

‘Tilly. My name is Tilly, ma'am.'

‘Captain Palgrave is a charming, but irresponsible wretch. I'm very fond of him, but I shall have a few words to say to him when he returns to camp.'

Tilly was about to protest and defend Barney, but Mrs Barton held up her hand. ‘I know, you're madly in love with him and I'm not too old to remember how that feels, but this situation cannot continue. Pack your things, Tilly. You're coming with me.'

‘Thank you, but if it's all the same to you, ma'am, I'd rather wait here for my husband.'

‘He might be gone for weeks, that's just the way things are, and that is why we look after young wives like yourself. You simply can't go on camping in bachelor quarters, my dear. I won't take no for an answer.'

Although Tilly was used to the weekly communal bath night at home, she was uneasy and embarrassed when undressing in the presence of Mrs Barton's ayah. Back in Delhi, the paniwallah had brought the water to fill the tin tub, but bathing was a private matter. Hattie had been happy to allow Meera to attend to her most personal needs, but then Hattie had been brought up in a house full of servants. Tilly was not at all sure it was proper to have a woman wash her hair when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. However, it seemed churlish to refuse help and Mrs Barton's shelves were well stocked with Pears' soap, scented bath crystals and even tooth powder that must have been sent out from England. After a long, luxurious soak, Tilly felt relaxed and the unpleasant experience in the town was fading into a memory. As soon as she was dressed and the ayah's skilful fingers had worked their magic on her hair, she was shown into the drawing room.

Mrs Barton set her embroidery hoop aside, smiling at Tilly. ‘Are you feeling better now?'

‘Yes, thank you, ma'am.'

‘Sit down, Tilly.' Mrs Barton's smile faded. ‘I've spoken to my husband and I'm afraid he's rather cross with Captain Palgrave.'

Perching on the edge of a chair, Tilly clasped her hands in her lap. She could think of nothing to say that would excuse Barney's behaviour.

‘I'm so sorry, my dear, but my husband has made it quite clear that you cannot be allowed to stay. Captain Palgrave was wrong to bring you all this way without first gaining the permission of his commanding officer, and there simply isn't a suitable married quarter available.'

‘Oh!' Tilly stared at Mrs Barton, quite lost for words. ‘Oh, dear!'

Mrs Barton's stern expression softened into a sympathetic smile. ‘I am sorry, Tilly, but I'm afraid you will have to return to Delhi as soon as travel arrangements can be made.'

‘Not without Barney?'

‘He may be away for several weeks, maybe even months. It would be better all round if you went back to Delhi. I know it's hard my dear; I've been a soldier's wife for nearly twenty years and I do understand how painful it is to be separated.'

Bowing her head, Tilly bit her lip; she must not argue and she must not cry.

‘You have family in Delhi? Or friends with whom you could stay?'

‘I was staying with Barney's brother and sister.'

‘Splendid. I'm sure they'll be only too pleased to have your company again, at least until a married quarter becomes available. As soon as the travel arrangements have been made I'll see that a telegram is sent informing them of your return.' Rising to her feet, Mrs Barton gave a tug on the bell pull. ‘Until then, you'll be our guest.'

‘Yes, thank you, ma'am.'

Although the Bartons treated her with nothing but kindness, Tilly felt uncomfortable living in their home and would have willingly gone back to the bachelor quarters had it been possible. During the two days that it took to organise her transport, Tilly was introduced to some of the other officers' wives at a formal afternoon tea party held by Mrs Barton. Despite their well-mannered reception, Tilly was aware that she was being scrutinised and appraised, and that beneath the smiling veneer these women were just as spiteful and catty as Ethel Bootle. They had known the minute she opened her mouth that she was not one of them, despite her efforts to ape Hattie's way of speaking and clipped, upper class tones. And why should I change for them, Tilly thought angrily, as she packed her clothes in a valise. Barney loves me for what I am and they're just a pack of silly snobs. Why should I care what they think? But she did care, very much. Her romantic dreams of life in India had been blighted by the contempt of her class-conscious compatriots and, quite suddenly, Tilly longed for home and for the warmth of her family. Despite the strange but undeniable beauty of India, she found herself yearning for the sights and sounds of London: the pale fingers of morning mist curling over the river, the mournful hooting of steam whistles and the costermongers' cries.

On the morning of her departure from the cantonment Tilly was up early, dressed and ready long before the ayah came to tell her that the tonga had arrived. Mrs Barton was waiting for her in the entrance hall, and even though she had never for a moment betrayed her inner feelings, Tilly was certain that her leaving was just as much a relief to Mrs Barton as it was to herself.

‘The bearer has taken your valise to the tonga, my dear.' Mrs Barton presented a soft, scented cheek for Tilly to kiss. ‘I do hope you have a good journey.'

‘Thank you for everything, ma'am.'

‘Don't thank me, Tilly. I've done little enough, but we'll make sure that your next visit is a happier one.'

‘You will explain everything to Barney?' Tilly said, handing Mrs Barton a letter that had taken her the best part of the night to compose. ‘Please tell him to contact me as soon as possible.'

‘Of course I will.' At a signal from Mrs Barton, the bearer opened the front door. ‘I'll say goodbye here,' she said. ‘If I go out in the sun without a parasol it ruins my complexion.'

As Tilly made her way along the tree-shaded path she saw a familiar figure standing to attention by the tonga. ‘Clem!'

Holding out his hand, Clem helped her into the carriage. ‘I've been detailed to see you safely to Delhi, ma'am.' He sprang up beside her, signalling the tonga-wallah to drive on.

Clutching her straw hat to prevent it from blowing away in the stiff breeze, Tilly relaxed against the squabs. ‘Thank goodness it's you. I don't think I could have stood it another minute if I'd had to put up with some la-di-dah subaltern.'

Clem shot her a serious glance. ‘You don't sound too happy.'

‘Of course I'm not happy. I came up here to be with my husband but because of a lot of red tape I have to go back to Delhi.'

‘Don't make excuses for him, Tilly. You know very well that your old man dragged you all the way up here without getting permission, or fixing up a married quarter.'

What Clem said was true, but that only made it worse. Turning on him, Tilly frowned. ‘I'll fall out with you good and proper if you say bad things about Barney. I made him bring me so it wasn't his fault.'

‘If you say so, ma'am.' Clem looked away, staring at the dusty road ahead.

His formal tone and the stubborn set of his jaw might, at any other time, have incensed Tilly even more but she knew that he had only spoken out of his concern for her. His thinly veiled contempt for Barney was both hurtful and annoying, but for all that Clem was a good friend and Tilly relented, reaching out and laying her hand on his sleeve. ‘Don't do that to me, Clem. We're friends and always will be, so you can stop calling me ma'am.'

Clearing his throat, Clem stared down at her hand. ‘I'm your friend, Tilly, but you can't be mine. The army don't allow fraternisation between the ranks.'

‘I don't give a tinker's cuss for the bloody army.' Tilly slipped her hand through his arm, giving it a squeeze. ‘No more nonsense now, Clem Tuffin. It's a long way to Delhi and goodness knows what Hattie and Francis will say when I turn up on their doorstep, so we might as we make the best of things.'

Tilly and Clem soon slipped into an easy, companionable way with each other and their past squabbles were all but forgotten. Secretly, for she wouldn't have admitted it to Clem for the world, Tilly was impressed with his ability to organise their trip. He seemed to know exactly how to get the best bargain from the coolies touting for business and even managed to secure an empty compartment. If Tilly was thirsty, the chaiwallah brought them tea; if she was hungry, Clem only had to lean out of the carriage window when they stopped at a station and the food vendors would rush to serve him.

On the second day, they had left the spectacular mountain scenery and the train was making good speed across the plains. Clem had said they would arrive in Delhi at about midday, and as far as Tilly could judge without asking him to consult his pocket watch it must be mid-morning. Sitting back in her corner, Tilly was tired of staring at the scenery flashing past her eyes. Glancing at Clem, she experienced a wave of affection for him that took her by surprise. Perhaps army life had changed him, or maybe she had not known him very well in the old days, back in the East End. But he had certainly matured into a fine-looking young man. The fierce Indian sun had burnt his city pallor away, turning his skin to a golden tan and bleaching his dark blond hair with flaxen streaks. The strenuous physical training had given him a lean, muscular appearance and Tilly sensed in him an air of confidence and authority that had been lacking under the bullying regime of his father.

As if sensing her gaze, Clem opened his eyes and smiled.

Tilly opened her mouth to speak. She wanted merely to enquire as to the time, but there was a sudden jolt and the screaming of brakes, a hideous juddering, lurching, and an ear-splitting cacophony of sound. Thrown forward by the sudden impact, Tilly's neck snapped backwards in a painful whiplash. The carriage pitched and rolled like a ship floundering in the trough of a huge wave and, for a heart-stopping moment, it hung in the balance.

Chapter Nineteen

The world was upside down and Tilly was crushed between the ceiling of the compartment and the inner partition leading to the corridor. The impact of the derailment had stunned her, and although she had not lost consciousness, it took her a few minutes to regain her senses. For a terrifying moment, she couldn't move, and the thought flashed through her mind that she was paralysed. The compartment was filled with dust and in the dim light she could just make out the shape of the window above her head. As the grinding movement of the carriages slowly came to a juddering, shattering halt, Tilly could hear the screams, groans and cries for help from their fellow passengers.

‘Clem.' Coughing and choking as the powdery dust filled her mouth and nose, she peered into the tangled wreckage of their compartment. ‘Clem.' There was no answer. Gripped by panic, Tilly struggled to sit up, almost crying with relief as she realised that the weight pressing down upon her had been luggage that had toppled off the rack. ‘Clem, are you all right? Speak to me.' Somehow she managed to wriggle free; she was bruised and sore but at least no bones were broken. Crawling and picking her way carefully through the debris and broken glass, she saw a boot sticking out from beneath a pile of splintered wood and twisted metal. Tearing at it with her bare hands, sobbing and calling his name, she was certain that Clem must be dead. Her fingers touched something warm and sticky and her stomach lurched at the sight of blood.

‘I must keep calm,' Tilly said out loud. ‘Clem, I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm going for help.'

Slowly and painfully, she climbed up through the wreckage towards the daylight. Her clothes were torn and her hands cut and bleeding but eventually she managed to squeeze out of the shattered window. The scene that met her eyes was one of carnage and destruction, with wreckage and bodies everywhere. The lucky survivors, many of them with terrible injuries, staggered about beside the tracks searching for their friends and loved ones. Others, who were less badly hurt but in a state of shock, sat with their heads in their hands as if unable to take in the horror of the situation. The uninjured were attempting to drag their fellow passengers from the mangled carriages.