A Proper Education for Girls (29 page)

The Europeans stood by and watched as the bearers unpacked the numerous hampers and spread the contents on white linen cloths on the ground.

“What tree did you say this was?” said Miss Bell, forgetting, for a moment, that she was not supposed to be talking to the disreputable Mr. Hunter. “And what are these polelike things? Are they holding it up?”

“It's a banyan tree. A sort of fig tree, actually, sacred to the Hindus. And to Buddhists. They say it represents immortality. Those ‘poles,’ as you call them, are special roots that grow from the branches to support the canopy. In Sanskrit the tree is called
bahupada
, which means ‘one with many feet.’”

Miss Bell watched greedily as a bearer lifted an enormous game pie and two bottles of claret from a wicker basket.

“There's a statue of the Buddha,” said Lilian, pointing through a forest of banyan roots. “And there's the peepul tree just behind. The Hindus say the peepul is the marriage partner of the banyan. The female to the banyan's male. They say these trees should be planted together, with a ceremony like marriage taking place to celebrate their union.”

“Whatever will they think of next?” said Dr. Mossly And everyone laughed and turned their attention to the feast before them.

D
R.
M
OSSLY HAD
fallen asleep, his mouth wide open. Mr. Vine, usually so restrained, had allowed his disappointment at having to share this excursion with so many others to erode his self-discipline, so that his teeth were exposed in a port-stained smile. Generally unfamiliar with moderation, the officers had soon become boisterous. Captain Lewis had challenged his fellow officers to hold geranium stems between their teeth, boasting that he could use his sword to lop the flowers off them blindfolded. Captain Forbes had ended up with a bleeding ear, and Captain Wheeler had refused, so the others had set upon him to make him eat a geranium … The bearers looked on impassively.

Captain Wheeler then proposed a game of hide-and-seek. “The ladies can hide, the gentlemen can seek,” he said, spitting geranium petals. “We'll flush you out like hounds in a rabbit warren.” And he threw his head back and howled like a dog, so that everyone laughed again.

Mrs. Birchwoode was dragged to her feet by Miss Bell and Mrs. Toomey.

“Get along, Libby,” shouted her husband. “We've already counted to five!”

Lilian followed Mrs. Birchwoode and Mrs. Toomey through the perpendicular roots of the banyan tree. Mrs. Birchwoode slumped against the statue of the Buddha. Mrs. Toomey, unwilling to leave her friend, dodged behind the wide shiny trunk of the peepul tree. Lilian left them both, hastening onward and emerging into the brightness of the afternoon. Somewhere ahead she could hear the sound of water tumbling over rocks. Somewhere behind she could hear Captain Wheeler bellowing that the gentlemen were coming, “ready or not!” To her left the shining greenery of a vast rhododendron swept gracefully to the ground, its leaves crowned over and over again by huge crimson flowers. Lilian plunged into it, fighting her way through its heavy, low-slung branches.

As the foliage closed behind her, she heard footsteps coming up the path accompanied by the sound of labored breathing. Lilian watched Miss Bell hurry past. Her bonnet was crooked on her head
and her cheeks were red. Miss Bell fumbled in her pocket and produced a handkerchief, which she laid purposefully on the ground in the middle of the path. Her button-sided boots skittered on the pathway, and with a rustle of crinoline and a gasp of “Oh!” she was gone.

A minute later Captain Wheeler raced up, following Miss Bell's footsteps like a greyhound after a hare. He sniffed at the handkerchief and gave a howl like a dog, an action which elicited a fit of giggling from somewhere not far ahead.

But now more footsteps were approaching. A lavish but unproductive clearing of a throat told Lilian that it was Mr. Vine. She remained out of sight where she was, and sure enough, a moment later the magistrate appeared. Lilian held her breath. Would he pass by? But no. Mr. Vine had stopped. He was looking about for any likely hiding places, and his eyes lingered on the rhododendron bush for so long that it seemed as though he was staring straight at her.

At that moment a twig snapped. Lilian half turned, but a man's arms were about her waist and holding her tightly before she could say or do anything. Mr. Hunter pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, “You had better not shout out, unless you want Mr. Vine to take my place.” And then his mouth was upon hers, so that she couldn't have called out even if she had wanted to.

For a moment Lilian was furious. How arrogant he was! Why had she never noticed this characteristic when he was at her father's house? After all, Alice had pointed it out to her on countless occasions. But she had not listened, so convinced had she been that he was in love with her. And why would she not be convinced? Had he not told her so often enough? What liars men were!

And yet, now was not the time to be angry, said a voice in her head. She must stay in control of the situation, no matter what happened. Lilian relaxed into his arms. All would be well, she reminded herself. This time she would be nobody's fool. She returned his kiss and his embrace, with apparent enthusiasm.

O
VER
L
ILIAN'S SHOULDER
, through a chink in the rhododendron's armored foliage, Mr. Hunter saw Mr. Vine cock his head, listening. He mopped his brow again and fanned his face unenthusiastically with his handkerchief. Within the rhododendron, Mr. Hunter kissed Lilian's neck. She gasped as he squeezed her left breast and rummaged eagerly within the copious fabric of her skirts in search of a bare thigh. He slid his fingers between her legs. Lilian bit his ear. Mr. Hunter winced. Mr. Vine, on the brink of moving on, hesitated. He looked closely at the rhododendron once again.

“Mrs. Fraser?” he said hopefully. “Mrs. Fraser?”

Lilian and Mr. Hunter stood in silence, their arms about each other. Mr. Hunter kissed her again, greedily and with confidence, despite Mr. Vine's proximity. He pressed her (with some difficulty due to the arrangement of the branches) against the trunk of the rhododendron.

“Mrs. Fraser?” hissed Mr. Vine, sounding suddenly urgent. “Is that you?”

“Is she there, George?” said another voice. Lilian recognized the apologetic tones of Dr. Mossly “Mrs. Fraser, are you in there?” the doctor shouted. “Come out. The game's up!” He listened for a moment. Then, “I think you must be mistaken.”

Within the rhododendron, Mr. Hunter parted Lilian's legs with his knee. “Marry me,” he whispered in her ear. “Marry me and come away with me. Away from Kushpur and all these dreadful people.” He kissed her once more, so that she was not able to answer at first and pinched her nipple with his thumb. Lilian gasped. Mr. Hunter gave her buttock a friendly squeeze. Mistaking silence for acquiescence, he began to undo his breeches. His blood was roaring in his ears, his hands shaking with excitement; he could think of nothing but what was about to take place. He had waited so long, had not seen a bazaar prostitute for weeks, so intent was he on gaining his prize. And now he was about to claim it, those two old fools would not leave them alone. He was almost of a mind to shout out, to tell them to go away and let him make love to her in peace. But then all at once Lilian disentangled herself from his embrace
and, like a wisp of smoke on the breeze, slipped past him (he had no idea how she managed it, as suddenly there seemed to be branches everywhere). He tried to stop her, tried to catch hold of her, but his breeches had fallen about his ankles in cloth fetters and he succeeded only in tottering in a circle like a mechanical toy before crashing backward among the leaf debris in an ungainly sprawl.

“Lily,” he hissed. “Where are you going?”

“Do you really want to marry me?” whispered a voice in his ear. “Then you must get onto your knees and beg me to take you.” He felt her lips against his own, her tongue darted against his, and then she was gone.

“Mr. Vine. Mr. Mossly So you have found me,” cried Lilian, emerging disheveled and breathless from the dark cave of the rhododendron. “Well done, gentlemen. Now, before we return to the others, I must confess to being most curious to see the water garden. Mr. Hunter assures me it is quite the most beautiful sight. Do you think you might be able to show me where it is? I'm sure I can hear the sound of water up ahead.”

Within the bush Mr. Hunter staggered to his feet. He dusted ants off his legs and fastened his breeches. How infuriating she was! He watched as she sauntered away with the magistrate on one arm and the doctor on the other. He wished he could simply forget about her, as he had once done, but now he knew he could not. She was everything he wanted. Still, he said to himself, he had kissed her, had touched her, had almost made love to her, in fact. He was sure that those were things Mr. Vine and Dr. Mossly would never do. Mr. Hunter sighed dejectedly as Lilian and her companions disappeared from view. He could not help but feel sick with jealously nonetheless.

M
R.
H
UNTER WENT TO VISIT
L
ILIAN.
T
HE PURPOSE
of his visit was to tell her that he intended to leave Kushpur, heading north and east into Oudh and from thence to Sikkim, perhaps via Kathmandu. Everything was arranged. The path he would take through the wildest areas of the
mofussil
, across the plains and over the mountains, would be dangerous, the places he would visit unfamiliar to the majority of Europeans. It was a trip he would make alone, for reconnaissance purposes; after all, there would be no point in dragging a team of bearers all the way to Kathmandu and beyond if the local
nawabs
would not even let him pass through their territories. Once he had established that such a venture would be successful he would return with a full expedition the following spring. All he needed was a horse and a mule to carry his camp items. And Lilian.

His mouth was dry as he crossed the compound to Lilian's bungalow. This was not because he was in any way nervous about the journey he intended to make—after all, he had traveled up the country and back many times. No, his mouth was dry because he had resolved to ask Lilian whether she would accompany him on his travels as his wife. He had rehearsed his speech many times. He would get down on his knees. He would hold her hand and not let it go until she had given him an answer. He would beg her forgiveness again and again for abandoning her in England … but no, perhaps it would be better if he didn't mention that, a most perfidious action
on his part but one that, so it seemed to him, she had already forgotten. Surely to remind her of his selfishness and treachery would be a mistake. And anyway, he said to himself, his proposal of marriage would unquestionably wipe out any suggestion of dubious conduct in the past.

Whether Lilian agreed to marry him or not, however, Mr. Hunter was now committed to leaving Kushpur. He had begun to grow the beard he would need to complete his transformation back into the
badmash
he had resembled when Lilian first met him in the bazaar. As a result, his cheeks were already covered with a dense crop of black stubble. He rubbed his fingers across this bristly excrescence as he mounted Lilian's veranda. He was now so nervous that he could hardly remember what he had intended to say.

Mr. Hunter was ushered into Lilian's parlor. Much to his surprise, when he stepped past Harshad he found that he was not alone. In fact, he was joining a whole crowd of people. He felt his face redden with disappointment and annoyance as he was obliged to greet Mrs. Birchwoode, Mrs. Toomey, Mrs. Ravelston, and their husbands; Miss Forbes and Miss Bell (both ladies gasped at his appearance and took each other's hands); Dr. Mossly and Mr. Vine; and Captains Forbes, Wheeler, and Lewis from the barracks. In fact, such was the number of visitors that Mr. Hunter could find nowhere to sit and was obliged to stand beside the hookah, as though he were one of the bearers. He eyed the pipe hungrily. How he wished he could have a puff. He wondered where Lilian was.

“Apparently, Mrs. Fraser is getting changed,” Mrs. Birchwoode informed him, as though reading his mind. “So this
sircar
chap tells me.”

“Was she wearing those breeches again?” said Captain Wheeler. He had come along to witness what he hoped would be an entertaining diversion from his usual routine of marching
sepoys
up and down the parade ground in the sun or lounging with his fellow officers in the barracks. He grinned at Captain Forbes and Captain Lewis.

Mrs. Birchwoode tut-tutted. “Quite possibly. She is quite out of control since her husband died.”

The punkah
swished back and forth overhead, causing the ostrich feathers in Mrs. Birchwoode's headdress to tremble with indignation like the feelers on some gigantic insect. “You are no doubt wondering why we are here, Mr. Hunter. Clearly, we are here to tell Mrs. Fraser that her behavior simply cannot,
must not
, continue. Riding about the countryside wearing men's apparel, dressing as a native, consorting with
hakims
and
boxwallahs
and her own gates and such like … why, she shames us all. The magistrate has procured for her a berth back to England from Calcutta. It will be for the best if she takes it. The sun, the heat, grief at losing one's spouse—all these things can make people behave in the oddest of ways, and it is greatly to our credit that we can excuse Mrs. Fraser on these grounds. We have all seen it before. Our own Mr. Gilmour, the previous resident of this very bungalow—”