Belonging (12 page)

I must admit to feeling really frightened now, but Louisa insists that we must not give in to fear and reminds me that Nana Saheb has promised to protect us should anything occur.

My dearest love to you and Papa.

Your ever-loving Cecily

My dearest Mina,

I am sorry not to have written for the past month, but we have been too busy. I am writing this quickly to tell you that we received news today that the troops at Meerut mutinied on Sunday. They went on to Delhi where they encouraged the troops there to join them. The whole of Cawnpore is in an uproar and all the shops are closed. Arthur has sent Ram Buksh with a note to tell me that things are calm at the Lines but he intends to sleep the night there to ensure that no one tries to stir the troops up. Ram Buksh has assured me that our sepoys are loyal. He has promised to guard Arthur with his own life and has confidence that every other sepoy will do the same. I know what trust Arthur has in his men and cannot believe they would harm him, but I am sick with fear, though I try not to show it.

I will write again by the next post.

Your loving Cecily

Darling Mina,

So much has happened that there is no time to tell it all, but James and Louisa and the children have moved in with us, as it is safer in the cantonment than the Civil Lines and Arthur does not wish me to be alone at night when he is at the Lines.

I am sorry to tell you that the situation is becoming very grave. Today Arthur and James went to the Magazine with Capt. Matlock and Lt. Thomson to mine it, so we could blow it up in case it should fall into enemy hands, but they were unable to do it because the sepoys guarding it were suspicious and followed them everywhere. Nor would they allow James to remove the gold stored in the Treasury. Arthur says they assured him they were true to their salt and wondered what had come over the sahibs that they should be in such fear, but James believes it is a sign of treachery.

However, there is some good news – Nana Saheb drove over from Bithoor as soon as he heard about the Meerut uprising to assure James and Louisa of his support. He expressed his shame at the disloyalty of his countrymen and has offered to shelter Louisa and me and the children at Bithoor in case it becomes necessary. He has also promised to place his men as a double-guard on the Treasury and Magazine to stop them falling into the hands of the mutineers. On this understanding, James and the senior officers have agreed to support General Wheeler’s plan of moving into the entrenchment.

I am trying to stay calm for the sake of the baby, for Dr. Sheldon says shocks and agitation are bad for both of us, but it is hard with so much uncertainty. If it were not for Louisa, I think I should have allowed Arthur to persuade me
to leave, but she is adamant that showing weakness will give heart to our enemies and make things more dangerous for those who have to remain behind. In any case, Arthur says it is now too late and that we are safer here, where we are protected, than travelling in a small group where we may be ambushed. I am confident that Durga Prasad and Ram Buksh will not allow any harm to come to him or us. Let us pray that all will be well.

Cecily

Dear Mina,

I am writing this from the entrenchment where we have taken shelter. I hope you get this letter, for this past week has been full of alarums and anxiety and the post has been disrupted.

Last week, during a fearful storm, an orderly came riding up shouting that all women and children were to proceed to the entrenchment. You cannot imagine the confusion, Mina, for no one knew the cause, nor whether the order was true or false, but James insisted we obey and said he would stay behind and wait for Arthur. So Louisa and I threw some things into the carriage and we took the children and their ayah and drove there as fast as we could. There was chaos when we arrived, with everyone crowding together into the small barracks, but Louisa took command and claimed one of the inner rooms, where we slept on the floor, as we had no furniture. I felt sorry for the poor Eurasian family she turned out, who had to camp on a verandah. I should not have had the heart or the courage to do it myself.

The poor gunners stood all night in the pouring rain and then it turned out to be a false alarm so we all returned home. Apparently the panic was caused by the sight of Nana Saheb’s soldiers coming to take up their posts at the Magazine and Treasury. When Arthur returned from the Lines he said it was a great pity we had been seen to react with such panic, as we have lost considerable face with the troops, who are astonished at our behaviour. Captain Hayes, who came with the reinforcements from Lucknow, told Arthur that if an insurrection does take place we shall have no one to blame but ourselves for showing the natives how easily we can be frightened and, when frightened, utterly helpless.

For the past two days we have been sleeping in the entrenchment at night and returning home during the day, as washing and cooking facilities are extremely limited, but today General Wheeler instructed that we are to remain in the entrenchment. There are only two barracks – one is occupied by sick soldiers and the families of soldiers stationed at Lucknow, and everyone else has to fit into the other. Families are forced to share rooms, so all seven of us – James and Louisa and the children, their ayah Luxmibai, and I – are crowded into one small room, which is airless, and as hot as an oven in this suffocating heat. But we are fortunate compared to many.

Arthur is still sleeping in the Lines with his men; Colonel Ewart of the 1st has also been doing this, and it has proved so effective that General Wheeler has ordered that all officers must do the same.

Pray that all will be well and kiss Papa for me.

Cecily

My darling Mina,

This is probably the last letter you will receive from me until the trouble is over, for the rebels are intercepting the mails and the telegraphs. There seems little doubt now that the troops will revolt. Four days ago, General Wheeler moved his family into the entrenchment. Until then they had remained in their house with all the windows open and he was riding about the Lines jollying up the men who could not sleep because of the heat. He has been fearless, and Captain Hayes says it is only his demeanour that has kept the barrel from exploding.

Last week Mr. Azimullah Khan rode over to look at the entrenchment. James says Lt. Daniell asked him what he would call it and he smirked and suggested ‘The Fort of Despair’, but Daniell retorted that we shall call it ‘The Fort of Victory’. Emily’s husband told her that he thinks we cannot hold out for more than two days if attacked as we are so exposed. The walls are so low a cow could jump over them and when the rains come they will simply wash away. My only comfort is that I know that wherever Mama is she will be watching over us.

My hand is shaking so much that I can scarcely hold the pen. My darling Mina, if we do not meet again in this world I know we shall in the next, for we are part of each other and can never be separated. I am enclosing a letter for Papa, but
do not give it to him unless you hear all is over
. Please forgive me for anything I have ever done to hurt you and remember that I shall be, for all eternity,

Your loving sister, Cecily

In the spring of 1914 I was nineteen. Although I had been living at High Elms since leaving school, I spent most of my time with Mrs. Beauchamp, for I had still not forgiven Aunt Mina for Jagjit’s banishment.

It was four years since I had last seen him but after his departure I had continued to write to him every week in defiance of Aunt Mina’s wishes, and of the school rule that forbade writing to members of the opposite sex unless they were relatives. Although our correspondence was vetted, on Sundays we walked from school to church in a crocodile along Hove seafront and I took the opportunity to slip my letters into a post box. I did not expect a reply. I knew Jagjit well enough to know that he would keep his word to Mr. Beauchamp not to communicate with me in any way, but I had made no such promise.

I did not see much of Simon either, except at Christmas. Over the last few years, in the parliamentary recesses, Mr. Beauchamp had taken both the boys travelling. They had visited all the great cities of Europe, gone walking in Bavaria and the Pyrenees and skiing in the Alps. With the trouble in Servia continuing, and the possibility of a European war looming, Mr. Beauchamp wanted to show them Europe while
it was still possible. I suspected it was also his way of enabling Simon’s friendship with Jagjit to continue, since Jagjit could no longer visit their home.

Each summer I received a postcard from Simon. The year before the picture had been of an alpine meadow full of wild flowers, with a small stone church surrounded by fruit trees and, hanging above them, the snow-capped peaks of the Dolomites. On the other side it said:

I read the postcards with envy, both for his opportunity to travel and see the world, and because he was with Jagjit.

At school I had made no effort to form friendships – what was the point, when everyone I cared about was always taken from me? Aunt Mina had told me that she hoped school would make me less sulky and superior, but I knew the other girls thought me stand-offish. I did work at my studies, though, partly to keep myself busy, and partly because I was determined to leave High Elms able to earn my own living, and the only way to achieve that longed-for independence was to be well educated.

Mrs. Beauchamp was too busy with her suffragette work to accompany her husband and Simon on their trips to Europe. After the great demonstration in June 1908, when hundreds of thousands of people had converged on Hyde Park dressed in the W.S.P.U. colours of purple, white and green, the Liberal
Party had pledged to support votes for women. Two years later they reneged on that promise, and the suffragettes had become increasingly militant, demonstrating outside Parliament, courting arrest and going on hunger strike, throwing stones and setting fire to post boxes. Mrs. Beauchamp’s friend Mrs. Clarke had been active, despite her frail health, in organising a campaign of window-breaking in Brighton, bravely facing down the rowdies who frequently attacked suffragettes in the street, but in November that year she was arrested at a protest march in Brighton. Mrs. Beauchamp was arrested alongside her but the police released her, despite her protests, when they realised she was the wife of a local M.P.; Mrs. Clarke was taken to Holloway, where she went on hunger strike and was force-fed. She was released a few days before Christmas.

That first Boxing Day after Jagjit’s banishment, I had gone over to the Beauchamps’ to thank them for our presents. Enid had answered the door and gasped, ‘Thank goodness you’ve come, miss.’ She showed me into the drawing room, where I found Mrs. Beauchamp sunk into an armchair, with a white face and shaking hands. Her beautiful narrow skirt, patterned in shades of green, was stained red, and at first I thought it was blood, until I saw the empty wine glass on the floor.

‘What is it?’ I asked, sinking down and taking her hands to hold them still. She could not speak, so I unfolded her fists to rub them warm, and found a crumpled telegram in one. It was from Mrs. Pankhurst, saying her sister, Mrs. Clarke, had died the previous day. The autopsy later showed that she had died from a burst blood vessel in the brain, probably caused by the stress of force-feeding.

Afterwards, Mrs. Beauchamp threw herself even more passionately into the campaign, organising local groups and writing to the papers. I knew she missed Mrs. Clarke, and
when I was home in the holidays I always offered to help, although I knew Aunt Mina disapproved.

As the end of school approached, Mrs. Beauchamp suggested that I study for university entrance exams and then apply for a one-year pre-medical course at London University to see if I might be interested in being a doctor. Aunt Mina would of course have to pay, but she was thinking along different lines, because soon after I left school she invited Mrs. Beauchamp over to ask her if she would be willing to present me at Court for my coming out.

‘A
débutante
?’ Mrs. Beauchamp said. ‘Do you think that’s the right thing for Lila? A lot of girls don’t bother these days. It was important when a girl’s only prospect was marriage, but these days women have more choices. Lila’s an intelligent girl; her school results show that. She could be anything she wants – many of the professions are opening to women these days.’ She hurried on before Aunt Mina could say anything. ‘There’s a very good pre-clinical course at London University. It would be a way for Lila to find out if the medical profession would suit her. And, if she wanted to return to India, women doctors are badly needed there.’

She could have said nothing better designed to turn Aunt Mina against the idea. India had always been a taboo subject between us and I knew it would remind her of Jagjit. Realising her mistake, Mrs. Beauchamp added quickly, ‘As you know, our dear late Queen was very keen to encourage women to train as doctors.’

‘Amelia, we are old friends,’ Aunt Mina said, ‘but you have your opinions and I have mine. When Lilian’s f… when I agreed to take Lilian in, I gave my word that she…’ she paused and then turned to me ‘…that you would always have a home with me.’

The awkwardness I felt as I met her eyes made me realise how seldom we addressed one another directly. We were strangers living in the same house, skirting round each other, understanding nothing of what the other was thinking or feeling.

As though reading my mind, she went on, ‘I know we have not always seen eye to eye, Lilian, but I hope there will never be any question of your having to support yourself. My home will always be yours, and I hope you will continue to live here after I have gone – unless, of course, you marry.’

This was the first I’d heard of the house becoming mine, but the picture of myself trapped in Aunt Mina’s suffocating life made me want to run screaming out of it. I hoped it did not show in my face. I could think of nothing to say except, ‘Thank you, Aunt Mina.’

‘Lila, you know Jagjit Singh, who used to spend holidays with us…?’ Mrs. Beauchamp said casually one morning as I sat at the dining room table copying out, in a fair hand, letters she’d drafted to the newspapers. She was careful not to look at me and I was grateful.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said, keeping my face lowered to the letter I was working on.

‘Well, he’ll be visiting us at the beginning of August and, as you were childhood friends, I thought you might like to meet him again.’

My first reaction was elation. I had kept track of Jagjit’s progress from the Beauchamps and had continued to write to him even after he left school and went up to Cambridge to read law. I remembered that his father had intended him to go on to study for the I.C.S., which meant he would be in England for another three years. I thought of him all the time,
and often fantasised about meeting him accidentally. It had been one of the attractions of going to university in London that we might be free to meet in London or Cambridge. I even conducted conversations with him in my mind: he was the one person I felt I could say anything to and expect to understand. My letters had become a sort of diary – a record of my thoughts and feelings – with no expectation of a response. Writing to him was like talking to another part of myself. However, now that the prospect of meeting him was in front of me, I was terrified. I even found myself hoping that Aunt Mina would object, but after four years she must have thought the danger was past.

The one consolation was that Simon would be home too. He was at Cambridge as well, reading history, having gained admission after Mr. Beauchamp had ‘had a word with his old tutor’. Like Jagjit, he had joined the Officers’ Training Corps and usually he would have been home already, but that year they had stayed up for extra training for the war that everyone feared was approaching.

A few days before their arrival, war was finally declared. It is strange, looking back, to realise that I barely gave it a thought. Our life was so quiet that the events of the wider world seemed hardly to concern us. And I was preoccupied with thoughts of meeting Jagjit again.

As the day of his arrival grew closer, I became more and more apprehensive. I cringed as I reviewed my outpourings, artlessly confided with no thought for how they might be received. What must he have thought of me, continuing to write to him for all those years with no encouragement? What could my letters possibly have meant to him? Had he even bothered to read them, or had he left them unopened, as I had Aunt Mina’s letters to me at school? As the day grew
closer I found myself wishing for something to happen – anything to prevent us coming face to face.

The day of their arrival was unusually hot, even for August. After lunch I went up to my room and tried on costume after costume until my bed was covered with rejected garments. Finally I chose a simple cream muslin dress with a square neck edged with
café-au-lait
lace. I looked at myself in the mirror. I knew I was no beauty, but perhaps I was pretty. My oval face and regular features were unobjectionable but my dark eyes and straight dark eyebrows gave me an intense look. At school I had often been reprimanded for scowling and urged to assume a ‘more pleasant expression’. My skin was clear but had a definite olive tinge, not helped by my refusal to wear a hat. Not for the first time, I wished that I had inherited Mother’s pale skin and delicately arched eyebrows.

The path along the foot of the Downs was powder-dry, and by the time I reached the Beauchamps’ house I was perspiring and the hem of my dress was brown with dust. I wiped my face and hands with my handkerchief before entering through the french windows into the sitting room.

As my eyes adjusted to the change of light, a genie materialised in front of me. He was wearing a dark blue suit and a pale pink turban, and if I had met him in the street I should not have known him. He was taller than ever, but with a new breadth of shoulder. His moustache and beard were neatly shaped and his deep-lidded eyes and high-bridged nose no longer seemed too big for his face. But it was his expression – grave, thoughtful, dignified – that made me realise how much he had changed from the awkward, lanky boy I had pictured as I was writing my letters.

The hand he held out to me was large and warm and swallowed mine completely. ‘Lila,’ he said, smiling. He reached for my other hand and stood back to look at me. ‘You’ve grown up, but I would have known you anywhere.’

I glanced towards the tea table, where Simon was standing to greet me. Mrs. Beauchamp smiled at me. ‘Come and have some tea, Lila.’

Jagjit pulled out a chair for me and I greeted Simon and sat down.

Mrs. Beauchamp explained that Mr. Beauchamp was in London, caught up in war planning, but would be back for the weekend.

Jagjit sat down opposite me. I found myself unable to raise my eyes to him and fixed them on the cakes and sandwiches on the table. I felt paralysed with shyness and could think of nothing to say.

Mrs. Beauchamp explained that the suffragists had decided to put aside their campaign for the duration. ‘Of course we must support our men, who are fighting to defend us.’ She looked at me. ‘Simon has joined up,’ she said flatly.

These were the first words that penetrated my paralysis. I looked at Simon in astonishment. He smiled awkwardly. ‘I don’t know why everyone is so surprised. I thought you’d be pleased.’

Mrs. Beauchamp unfolded a napkin and spread it over her lap. She said levelly, ‘Well, I thought it might have been wiser to complete your degree first. You’re young and there’s plenty of time. And you’ve never been strong.’

‘So you’ve always said. Anyway, they say it won’t last long and we didn’t want to miss it.’ He glanced at Jagjit, who looked away, towards the french windows. ‘We decided to join up together yesterday, before we left Cambridge.’

Startled, I looked at Jagjit, but his face was as stony as Aunt Mina at her best.

Simon said hesitantly, ‘We… we’d hoped they’d put us in the same regiment, but – ’

‘ – they wouldn’t take me,’ Jagjit cut in. He sounded bitter. ‘The officer who was interviewing us told me Indians weren’t eligible to be officers. He said I would be of more help if I went home and took up a temporary place in the I.C.S., thereby freeing an Englishman to fight for his country.’

‘I’m sure your mother and father would be grateful,’ Mrs. Beauchamp said. ‘They must be eager to see you after so many years.’

‘But it isn’t fair,’ Simon said. ‘Jagjit was the senior boy in the O.T.C. at school. He won all the shooting medals.’

‘Anyway, they can’t keep me out,’ Jagjit cut in. ‘Indians may not be eligible to be officers, but I shall join up anyway as soon as I get back to India. I’ve booked a passage from Southampton on Tuesday. I just hope I can get back here before it’s all over.’

It was as though he was talking about being left out of the cricket team – as if all that mattered was his stupid desire to be part of this game called war. He did not even glance at me.