Belonging (14 page)

‘I’ve hardly seen him. As soon as they arrive he’s off to the card room. Doesn’t come out till it’s time to go, and then he can hardly stand.’

Something else she and I have in common, then. But it must be harder for a girl to grow up with no mother; nor does she seem to have any female friends. I suspect the fact that she is country-born and -bred, like me, doesn’t help, and her
beauty and the fact that she is inundated with requests for every dance must provoke envy among other girls.

I have found out a bit more about Miss Ramsay. She grew up in Assam on a tea plantation; her father was a planter but is now a steamboat agent. I met him briefly at the Club one evening and would never have guessed who he was if I had not been introduced to him by name. He is short, stout and ruddy-faced, and what little remains of his hair is a faded red. She must get her beauty from her mother. Miss Ramsay was two when she died and does not remember her; she was raised by her ayah, who is devoted to her and never leaves her side – for which I must admit I am grateful, because I fear Roland is completely smitten and too used to having his own way to resist the temptation to take advantage of her innocence.

Roland has been away with his regiment for almost a month now, and I must confess, with some shame, to having taken advantage of his absence to get to know Miss Ramsay better. Despite not being one for balls and parties, I have continued to attend them in Roland’s absence in the hope of seeing her. When she failed to appear I even plucked up the courage to call on her and ask if she would like to go for a drive. I could tell she only agreed because she was bored, and all she did on the drive was talk about him. Her ayah sat up front with the syce, with her headscarf pulled tightly around her face, but I was aware of her watching and listening to every word we said, though I don’t know how much she understands.
Generally speaking, servants understand a lot more than we think.

Miss Ramsay brought her embroidery with her and kept her head bent over it and would hardly meet my eyes, though she seemed pleased when I admired it, and indeed I have never seen such fine embroidery or such strange designs or combinations of colours: trees, birds and flowers of a shape and form I have never seen before. She says they are all her own design and come from her imagination. ‘You must have a very vivid imagination,’ I said, and she said that her father told her that her mother, who was Irish, used to read her stories when she was very young. She does not remember her mother, but thinks some of the pictures from the stories must have stayed with her. And then she lifted her beautiful mismatched eyes to mine and I saw that they were full of tears, and I ached to hold her in my arms and kiss them away. I have never felt so tender towards anyone.

I know that I am poaching on Roland’s territory, but I also know his intentions are not honourable, and with his penchant for clichés he would be the first to say that all’s fair in love and war.

I must take care, as my feelings for Miss Ramsay are getting out of hand. Yesterday I found myself thinking about her in the middle of a case and Hussain had to draw my attention to the fact that the plaintiff ’s lawyer had finished speaking. I had to call for a brief adjournment so he could brief me on what I had missed. He made no comment but I wondered if he was thinking of Thornton, who presumably had started off at least trying to be competent. I apologised for my inattention,
which astonished him. I know it is not sahib-like behaviour, but one thing Father taught me was always to apologise when I am wrong.

Roland is back. Tonight we met Miss Ramsay at the Club and the moment she saw him her face lit up. It was obvious they wanted to be alone so I left early. I have been trying to work, but while I look through the case of Gobind Chunder, who is trying to register a claim on land that his Muslim neighbours say belongs to them, all I can see is Rebecca Ramsay in Roland’s arms, and hear that maddening dance music over and over in my brain, compounding my misery. I have put aside the work, but even three whiskies have not helped to deaden the pain and jealousy.

I suppose this must be what they call being in love, because when I am with her it feels as though the whole world is illuminated and every moment is precious and I would not exchange it for anything, and when I am away from her everything seems empty and meaningless. I wonder if this is how Father felt about my mother. For the first time I have some inkling of what her loss might have meant to him.

The hot season is with us again. We have gone through the upheaval of the yearly exodus of women and children to the hills and it seems very quiet. Miss Ramsay did not go with them. She says that her father is unwell and cannot be left, but I suspect that none of the mems has offered to take her under her wing. I do not know whether through Roland or
some other agency, but it seems word has gone round about Mr. Ramsay’s past – it appears that he may have lost his job as a tea-planter because he could not keep his hands off the tribal women – and, as a result, Miss Ramsay has become increasingly isolated. I believe jealousy to be the true reason, however, for it has been apparent from the first that the mems have never warmed to her because she makes their daughters look plain. I have heard spiteful comments being made in voices loud enough for her to overhear, and the other girls no longer speak to her. She pretends not to notice, but she looks paler and more fragile every time I see her and my heart aches for her. I know from school what it is to be isolated and friendless, and once again I am regarded with suspicion because of my friendship with Hussain.

Roland is as obsessed with her as ever, and I have become useful again as a chaperone now that the winter season of balls is over and there are not so many opportunities for them to meet. So we all three, accompanied of course by her ayah, drive out to the tanks and sit by the water, or ride in the early morning before Roland goes to the Lines. I know I am being made use of but I find it hard to turn down the chance of spending time with her.

Last night a party of us – some of Roland’s fellow officers, some Eurasian girls chaperoned by their mothers, and Roland, Miss Ramsay and I, closely shadowed by her ayah – drove out to one of the tanks that provide the town’s water. Miss Ramsay was wearing a spotted white dress made of yards and yards of some diaphanous material that made her seem more ethereal than ever. The party began to walk
around the lake, the young ladies trailed at a discreet distance by their chaperones, but when Miss Ramsay’s ayah tried to follow us Miss Ramsay turned on her and hissed something so ferocious that she dropped back. After that I began to feel uncomfortably
de trop
so I decided to take a walk up a nearby hill to a small temple on top that promised a good view of the tank. It was a bright moonlit night and from the top of the hill it was easy to follow the progress of the party as they walked. As I approached the temple I thought I saw a movement inside.

‘Who is it? Show yourself!’ I called in Hindustani.

A dark shape moved forward but remained in the shadows, the brilliance of the moon illuminating only the base of a fluted pillar and a pair of sandalled feet, which, marbled by the intense light, looked like those of a Greek statue with their high arches and long, elegant toes.

‘Come into the light.’

The figure came forward hesitantly and I recognised Miss Ramsay’s ayah. She salaamed, her hand pulling her veil closely around her face as she turned to leave.

I said quickly, ‘Wait. Don’t go. You were here first.’

She turned back and said in a panicky voice, ‘I must go. Missie Baba may need me,’ but I knew her real fear was of leaving Miss Ramsay alone with Roland.

I said reassuringly, ‘They’re not alone. Come and look. You can see them quite clearly from here.’

She stepped towards the edge of the platform and I pointed to Miss Ramsay, whose white dress made her easy to pick out from the other girls. She stopped near one of the pillars, looking down, her face turned away from me.

In an attempt to make conversation, I asked her how long she had been caring for Miss Ramsay.

‘Since she was born, sahib.’

I noticed that her voice was low and her speech refined. Her accent reminded me of the bibi’s. ‘You’re from Lucknow?’

She glanced round, surprised, then lowered her face again. ‘Yes.’

‘And you knew Miss Ramsay’s mother?’

She nodded.

‘What was she like?’

She hesitated. ‘She was a good woman.’

‘Is Miss Ramsay like her?’

‘How?’

‘Was she very beautiful?’

She shrugged. ‘Some say so.’

I sensed her reluctance to answer and wondered why, but before I could press her further she said abruptly, ‘What kind of man is Sutcliffe-sahib?’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, taken aback by her presumption.

‘Is he a good man? A man of honour?’

I said pompously, ‘I hardly think it’s your place to ask such a question.’

She said quietly, ‘I mean no offence, sahib. I want only what is good for her. She has no one else to care for her.’

‘Surely she has her father?’

She made a sound of contempt that surprised me, considering she was speaking of one Englishman to another, and I was about to say something sharp when she gave a gasp of alarm and I followed her eyes. Below, most of the walkers had returned and were sitting in small groups by the side of the tank. There was no sign of Miss Ramsay’s white dress. Before I could react the woman had taken off down the hill, so fast that I was afraid she’d fall.

I caught up to her and said, ‘You look on this side of the lake. I’ll take the other.’

I knew Roland wouldn’t thank me for disturbing his
tête-à-tête,
so it was a relief, when I finally found him, to learn that Miss Ramsay’s ayah had discovered them first and insisted on taking her home. Roland was seething. ‘I’d only had a few minutes alone with her before that virago found us. Oh, Henry, she’s the most mesmerising creature. Sometimes she’s all ice and at others she’s all fire.’

‘Roland, you didn’t…’

He snorted. ‘Chance would be a fine thing! We were getting on splendidly and then… then that harridan burst in on us. I’d made a bit of a mess of Rebecca’s dress and if looks could kill I’d be dead now. She told me she’d tell Rebecca’s father… if he complains I’ll be up before the C.O., but it would be worth it. I just wish I’d had a little longer alone with her.’

I wanted to hit him, and yet I am no better than he, because lying in bed last night I found myself fantasising about what it would be like to be with her and I knew that Roland was right: she would be wild, passionate. I have never envied anyone the way I envy him. I would give anything for her to care for me, but she has eyes only for him. I cannot bear to watch them any more so I have decided to take some of the leave I have due to visit Father. Perhaps this time I can find out a little more about my own past.

Dearest Mina,

You will probably never receive this letter as the mail has ceased, but writing to you comforts me. It is the worst thing, waiting for something to happen. Everything is quiet, yet we can feel the tension in the air: a storm waiting to break. It is horrible being cramped up here in the dark in this little room, and I am so filled with fear, but of course we cannot show it for the sake of the children, who are as happy and excited as if we were on a picnic. To them it is all a game. I heard Freddie say to Sophie this morning, ‘You fire shells and I’ll return shot from my battery,’ and despite our fears Louisa and I exchanged a sick smile. She is, as always, brave and resolute. How I wish I were like her, but I am not. All I can think of is the terrible things they say were done at Delhi to pregnant women and innocent children. Louisa says I must not think of them, but I cannot get the pictures out of my mind. How could human beings be so cruel, and why do they hate us so much?

The heat and dust are stifling. Yesterday the lid of my writing bureau, my wedding gift from Mama, split in two.

We have just heard the news that Capt. Hayes and Lt. Barbour are dead – cut down by their own sowars. General Wheeler had sent them out a few days ago to rescue any civilians who might have survived. Today he recalled two patrols of Arthur’s troops, who are trustworthy, and instead sent out some troops from the 56th, who have been showing signs of disaffection. Everyone knows his purpose is to get rid of them. Their poor officers went bravely, not showing that they knew their fate. One of them is Lt. Tremayne, Emily’s husband. I do not know how she will manage without him.

All the officers have now been ordered to sleep in the entrenchment. Arthur alone is permitted to sleep in the Lines because his troops are the only ones who have shown no sign of disaffection. I truly do not believe that Ram Buksh and Durga Prasad would allow their men to hurt us, but I cannot help remembering that many of the worst atrocities in Delhi were done to helpless women and children by their own servants. When Ram Buksh came back with Arthur I felt so guilty for doubting him that I could not meet his eyes.

Our case now seems hopeless. This morning we were woken by shots and went out to discover that the 2nd Native Cavalry had rebelled and shot their risaldar-major who tried to stop them. I was frightened for Arthur, but he and his men turned out on to the parade ground, together with the remainder of the 56th under the command of their native
officers, where they remained standing to attention and ignoring the pleas of the rebels to join them. Soon after, the 56th too rebelled, firing at Col. Williams who rode out to intercede with them.

To my relief, General Wheeler summoned Arthur to the entrenchment along with his native officers, but then, for some reason that no one can understand, Gen. Wheeler ordered our native gunners to fire upon Arthur’s men, even though they were standing quietly in their ranks and showing no signs of rebelling. Arthur tried to stop them but Gen. Wheeler overruled him. When the first shot landed near them they looked startled but seemed to think it was a mistake and remained at attention, but when two more landed among them they broke ranks and ran for their Lines.

No one knows why Gen. Wheeler should have ordered such a thing, but James thinks it may have been to test the loyalty of the native gunners, who have been behaving sullenly. If so it was a mistake, for they became so uncooperative afterwards that Gen. Wheeler offered them an opportunity to leave the entrenchment and they all took it.

I have never seen Arthur so upset. He begged for permission to go to his men but Gen. Wheeler forbade him to leave the entrenchment. Arthur went white and for a moment I truly thought he would attack the general but at that moment Ram Buksh leapt on to Arthur’s horse, which he had been holding, and rode away. Our sentries fired after him but fortunately missed. He told us when he got back this evening that he had remembered that our guards were on the Treasury and Magazine and, fearing that when they learnt that their fellows had been fired upon for no reason they would hand the buildings over to the mutineers, he had ridden off to stop them. But it was too late, for when he got
there he found that both were already in the hands of the rebels and that
Nana Saheb has assumed command over them
! It is strange how calmly we took the news, almost as though we expected it, although poor James feels terrible about having trusted him.

General Wheeler has recalled all the officers and assigned them a position along the walls. As Arthur no longer has any men to command, he has volunteered to serve under Captain Moore. It must be humiliating for him to take orders from a junior officer, but he says this is no time for pride and every man is needed now. Ram Buksh has been allowed to remain, along with a few other loyal native officers. Durga Prasad wanted to join them but Arthur asked him to go out and round up their men. He returned with them a few hours ago but when he asked them to collect their rifles they refused to pick them up for fear we should fire upon them again. Gen. Wheeler will not to let them enter the entrenchment, so they are in a barracks outside, where Arthur says they are exposed to fire from every side. Durga Prasad is to command them. Arthur and James have given him all the money they have for food and provisions, as it is of no use to us now.

When Arthur came back from parting with Durga Prasad and his men, he broke down and wept. In the last few days I have seen his strength, courage and kindness, his unfailing generosity and patience, and the comfort and reassurance he dispenses to everyone around him. I truly have grown up, Mina, and if – through God’s mercy – we survive this, I shall never doubt him again.

My darlings, if I do not see you again in this world, I know I shall see you in the next.

Your ever-loving Cecily

James has just told us that General Wheeler has received a strangely courteous note from Nana Saheb stating his intention of attacking us at ten o’clock. It is now ten minutes to ten. May God have mercy on us.