Zemindar (19 page)

At first glance I would have guessed myself to be in some Italian resort, for the buildings around me, simple structures washed in white or pastel pink, with jalousied windows and pillared porticoes, were much like those I recalled from my childhood home outside Genoa. Set in smooth lawns dotted with bright flowerbeds and shaded by massive mohurs, peepuls and neems, the lesser buildings clustered, but not too closely, around the Residency itself, a truly impressive pile three storeys high and boasting a fine hexagonal tower, from the summit of which, as it was not yet sundown, fluttered limply the red, white and blue of the Union Jack. Beyond this building, the lawns fell away to the riverbank, while on looking back as the carriage advanced to deposit us at the entrance, I glimpsed again the great domes and golden minarets of the city, thronging, it seemed, almost to the Baillie Guard itself.

The place was
en fête
, from the drugget laid down on the steps to save the ladies’ delicate slippers, to the Chinese lanterns hanging in the trees and the horde of chattering, liveried servants clustered about the entrance to watch the arrivals.

Immediately in front of us, Charles, who was driving the curricle himself, swept up to the entrance with something of a flourish, and in so doing managed to lock his off wheel in the wheel of another gig that was just about to drive away. There was a moment’s impasse as both drivers endeavoured to disengage their vehicles. Connie, grateful for the delay, fumbled in her reticule and took out a small flask, from which she took a couple of eager gulps behind a delicately raised hand. ‘Just to steady me, y’know,’ she said without embarrassment as I caught her eye. Meanwhile the driver of the other gig had jumped down and, while Charles kept his horse in check, put his shoulder to his own wheel and, clenching both hands around the rim of Charles’s wheel, exerted his strength in two directions at once, thus, little by little, freeing the two vehicles. When they once again stood independently on the gravel, he straightened his back, wiped the sweat from his forehead, rubbed his palms on the seat of his pants, and then, very deliberately, walked round the horses’ heads to face Charles.

He was the oddest little figure of a man I had ever laid eyes on, perhaps in his late twenties, standing no more than five feet in his long yellow boots. His legs were bowed as a jockey’s, though his livery and tall hat indicated he was a coachman or groom. Long arms depended from shoulders that were disproportionately broad, and the head beneath the hat was a large one. His face was long and thin, and his eyes, small, black and as bright as boot buttons, were set so far towards his ears that I felt he could not possibly view any object with the two of them at once. He had a small flat nose, and his mouth was looselipped and wide; when he smiled he revealed a double row of large and glistening teeth as faultlessly regular as those of a healthy colt. He was smiling now. For a moment he inspected Charles, his equipage and his wife with dispassionate interest. Then, with his hands deep in his breeches pockets, he spoke: ‘You didn’t ought to ’ave done that, guv, really you didn’t. Now I sees you ’ave your lady with you, so I’ll say no more on this occasion. Very embarrassing it would be—for you! But mark this: if you can’t handle your ribbons better nor that, you ’as no business driving a high-wheeler—most perticular on a crowded occasion like this. Not safe you aren’t. Think what would ’ave ’appened to your lady ’ere, upended in a crowd of blackies.’

‘Sir!’ fumed Charles, jumping down from his seat, and doubling his fists aggressively.

The little man held up one hand commandingly: ‘Now! Now! No offence meant. Just givin’ some kindly advice, see. Stick to a perambulator and you’ll be all right, guv,’ and with a jaunty salute in Emily’s direction, their rescuer stalked back to his own vehicle, mounted and swept off in superb style, leaving a chagrined Charles to stare after him, not sure whether to laugh or swear.

There had been a few smiles and sniggers from the crowd of
syces
and coachmen near the entrance, and as we went up the steps Emily was almost tearful with mortification.

‘Oh, I’ll never feel the same again,’ she whispered. ‘Fancy anyone employing a ruffian like that—capable of speaking to a gentleman as he did to Charles. The … the villain!’

‘And he looked so like a horse himself, don’t you think?’ put in Connie with unaccustomed accuracy, while Wallace exhorted Emily not to give the matter another thought: the fellow was just a lout getting a cheap laugh from the natives.

‘He hadn’t a leg to stand on. It was as much his fault as mine,’ put in Charles with something less than truth, ‘but I certainly couldn’t bandy words with a groom, so I had to let him get away with it. Most unfortunate.’ And he ran a finger under his high white stock. Thus was masculine honour saved and, the business of the evening once begun, our discomfiture was soon forgotten.

The reception rooms were already filled with people when, after leaving our cloaks in an upstairs room, we rejoined the men, made our curtseys and shook hands with our host the Chief Commissioner (as the Resident was called after annexation), Mr Coverly Jackson. His manner towards his guests bordered on the disdainful, but since there were several couples behind us, we did not bother him with our conversation too long, and were soon free to find our own enjoyment.

It was truly a most elegant occasion. The rooms were large and light, with long windows and high ceilings, the furnishings rich and comfortable. Fine polished floors, gleaming mahogany and mellow satin-wood, old silver and brocaded hangings were reflected in long mirrors set to catch the light of splendid chandeliers and countless candelabra, and everywhere there were flowers, massed on tables and sideboards, banked in pyramids in the corners of the rooms, and festooning the daïs on which the band was seated. Music was provided by the bandsmen of three separate regiments in turn, and I wondered if I were alone in my astonishment at how well our old airs were rendered by dusky musicians who knew nothing of the Western tonic sol-fa and had never read a note of music in their lives.

‘Oh, how very delightful it all is,’ sighed Connie. ‘I declare it makes me feel quite young again to hear the music and see all the pretty gowns.’ And her pale eyes came nearer to sparkling than I had ever seen them. Poor Connie, she had chosen to wear a dress of pale yellow muslin, rather limp and
démodé
, which did less than justice to her colouring. But Wallace was very smart and military in his tight blue pantaloons and jacket of blue faced with grey and silver.

Dancing was already in progress as we wandered through the bright rooms in search of friends. The ladies, bell-hooped and crinolined, swam beneath the chandeliers in a tide of satin, silk and sarsenet of every hue, and the gentlemen, in tight pea jackets faced with flashing scarlet, yellow or silver, chests be-medalled, whiskers curled, served only to rival their partners in splendour, while here and there a lone civilian in sober black pointed a contrast.

We were soon joined by Kate and George Barry, Kate, as always in a high-necked, long-sleeved gown of black, her only concession to the occasion being low black slippers in place of her usual high button-boots. ‘Why, Emily,’ she exclaimed with her customary frankness, ‘you are certainly the loveliest young thing here. A very vision! Laura, just look at how the heads are turning in our direction, though goodness knows, you look so charming yourself tonight I declare half the admiration at least must be for you.’ We laughed, but there was no doubt that Emily was attracting a good deal of notice, something of which that young lady was delightedly aware. The tallest and most graceful female in our party, the pale blue of her gown enhanced the deep blue of her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement (and a judicious pinch or two in the cloakroom) making her delicate skin whiter than ever.

I must confess to some complacency regarding my own appearance. The Fates did not bless me with beauty, and I am of too short a stature ever to aspire to true elegance. But my figure was neat and shapely, my coral gown suited my complexion and fitted me excellently, and I knew that few women in the room could match my head of hair, my only outstanding feature, which was long and heavy and glistened with the same dark but ruddy glow as a newly cobbed chestnut. Owning no suitable jewellery, my only ornaments were a corsage of fresh, deep-coral japonica from Kate’s garden, and a matching wreath in my hair. A glimpse of myself in a cheval glass left me content with my overall appearance, and it was with a light heart that I surrendered my programme and its small gold pencil to Captain Fanning, who was the first to claim a dance. I would have preferred not to be the first of the party on the floor but, having no reason to refuse the gentleman other than a desire not to upset Emily, I allowed myself to be led away.

Captain Fanning was hardly a conquest. He was a goodnatured ninny, who thought I must be flattered by his opinion that I was the most ‘fetching spin’ in the Station that winter. His manner, however, was so guileless that I made an effort to appear as pleased as he thought I should be. As a dancer he was erratic, but he was a great gossip and, before returning to my party, I had learned that our host, Mr Jackson, was the most ill-tempered and contentious man in India and that no one could serve under him and survive for more than six months, except for Mr Gubbins, the Financial Commissioner, and he only because he was Mr Jackson’s match. ‘Fight like a couple of toms on a roof,’ remarked my informant. ‘Old Buggins is all bounce and blow and too conceited to admit that he’s anyone’s subordinate, so he has Jackson hopping like a flea on a hot brick.’ He pointed Mr Gubbins out to me, a portly man dancing with measured deliberation, and wearing on his round red face that expression of patriarchal but brittle benevolence that can only be achieved by the pompous.

I returned to my place in good humour. But in my absence something had gone awry. Emily, whom I had expected to be dancing, was seated on a sofa against the wall, with Kate Barry next to her and Charles standing stiffly, almost at attention, beside them.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, as Captain Fanning handed me to a chair. ‘Why ever aren’t you up and dancing?’

Captain Fanning bowed and took himself off for further conquests, as Kate answered drily, ‘Charles feels it would not be the thing for Emily to dance tonight.’ Charles himself said nothing, but Emily looked at me with eyes swimming in tears.

‘Oh surely, Charles,’ I protested too hastily, ‘there can be nothing amiss with Emily dancing—at least with you.’

‘And if she dances with me, can she refuse to dance with any other man?’ he pointed out shortly, but with truth.

‘But …’ I began, but he silenced me.

‘We have already been over the matter, Laura, and Emily knows my wishes.’

I was quite sure she had not known them when we set out, or she would sooner have stayed at home. As it was, her position was ridiculous: the prettiest girl in the room sitting like a wall-flower guarded by an obviously ill-tempered husband.

‘We do not intend to stay long,’ Charles went on, as though to mitigate the sentence he had imposed. ‘Directly after supper we shall return home, but you, of course, can come back later with the Averys.’

‘Thank you,’ I said coldly. ‘And in the meantime may I suggest that it might improve matters for all of us if we moved to one of the side rooms where there are light refreshments. We can at least seem to be happily employed—eating!’

So we moved. Charles provided us with ices, and then, when Connie and Wallace joined us, suggested to Wallace a saunter through the cardrooms; they made their way out through the crowd, and we four females were left to our own devices, with the tantalising strains of a waltz audible over the chatter and laughter. Having danced once with his wife, Wallace was now intent upon the tables, and I knew we would not be able to count on much male company for the rest of the evening, which now loomed ahead as a desert of frustration and boredom. I had not the heart to dance myself when poor Emily was forbidden the pleasure. Two or three other ladies came to speak to us after a time, and while they occupied Emily and Connie with small talk—they were tactful and did not ask why Emily was not dancing—I had a quiet word with Kate.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘Och, woman dear, very little.’ And she shrugged her shoulders expressively, speaking behind her fan. ‘I told Charles to be a man and take his wife on to the floor, and he just said that Emily would not think of dancing at the moment. That was how he put it. Poor Emily, she looked quite stricken. I thought she would flare up and object. I know I would have, and she looked as though she would like to, but Charles bent down and whispered something and, well, that was that! Never heard such nonsense in my life. After all, the infant is still a secret, isn’t it?’

‘Not any more apparently. Emily was told recently by Mrs Barnum that it would be “indelicate” for her to dance tonight, so I expect all Mariaon knows about it. But we had both hoped that Charles … well, that Charles would not think about the matter as Mrs Barnum had.’

‘Indelicate is it, then? Pooh! Old women’s nonsense and nothing more! The girl is as fit as a fiddle, young and lovely and dying to dance, and to my mind that husband of hers is a sight too fond of the proprieties.’

I had to agree, and caught myself reflecting on how much my own ideas regarding Charles, and many other things, had changed over the last several months. A short time ago Charles’s dictum on any subject under the sun had been my law, but now here I was allowing him to be criticized, joining in that criticism, without a thought. I was glad to recognize my return to common sense, and at the same time reluctant to admit to it completely, so I said as primly as was in me, ‘He would be wrong not to consider his wife’s reputation, surely?’

‘Maybe,’ agreed Kate without enthusiasm, ‘but he forgets that she is a very young girl as well as his wife, and I declare that music is making even my old foot tap as briskly as a castanet. No, it’s cruel he is to the child. Downright cruel!’