Belonging (4 page)

The Beauchamps had lots of visitors: Mrs. Beauchamp’s suffragette friends met there and Mr. Beauchamp often brought friends and fellow M.P.s home from London at weekends and in the parliamentary recesses. I enjoyed being
there – the constant flow of people and the preparations for visitors brought the house alive and made me feel connected to the bigger world. But my mornings at their house came to an end when Simon went off to school. After that Aunt Mina arranged for his tutor to come to me.

I was surprised to find that I missed Simon, and he obviously missed me, because I received a letter from him after the first week. I could tell that he wasn’t happy. Most of his fellow pupils would have been there for a year already, and even the new ones had had a month to form friendships. As his letters continued I noticed that he never mentioned any of the other boys; then, towards the end of the first term, he mentioned having made a friend – ‘a boy in the year above me, a frightfully decent chap, but the rest is a surprise…’ And then the letters stopped. I told myself I didn’t care and when he wrote to say he was bringing his friend home, and that I was bound to like him – ‘Everybody does!’ – I was determined that I wouldn’t.

Aunt Wilhelmina is nothing like I imagined. She is not pretty at all. Her hair is not dark but greyish, and she wears dull colours because she is in half-mourning for her father. He was my grandfather and his name was Henry too, Henry Partridge. I was named after him. Partridge is a funny name because it is a kind of bird and Father and I sometimes go shooting for them. He must have been very old when he died because Aunt Mina looks old, though Father says she’s only thirty-two. Kishan Lal is worried because he says she should be married by now and she must be looking for a husband. I said Father was too old to get married but Kishan Lal says a man is never too old. He says Father is a fine man and any woman would be lucky to catch him, even now. Father is fifty-eight so that means he was twenty-six years older than Mother. That’s a lot.

I wondered if Aunt Mina would cry when she saw me, because the mems always cry when relatives visit them, but she didn’t. She shook my hand and looked me up and down like Father’s subhedar-major does when he inspects the sepoys, and then she told Father that I was dreadfully sunburnt and
that my clothes were quite unsuitable. She said, ‘One could almost take him for a native.’ I saw Father’s scar twitch a little, but he just said, ‘That’s why we need you, Mina. I trust I can leave his transformation into a well-brought-up English boy in your capable hands.’ I wondered if she could tell he was being sarcastic, but she just said that she would do her best but she knew she could never hope to replace my own dear mother, and then her eyes filled with tears and Father said he had to see to his men and went to the Lines and left me with her.

After he had gone, she inspected the house and I could tell she didn’t like it because her mouth puckered up as if she were sucking a green tamarind. Kishan Lal saw too and looked even sulkier. He was already cross because Father had asked Mrs. Hewitt and some of the other mems to help to get the house ready and they had made new curtains for her room and stood vases of flowers all over the house. They also told Allahyar to prepare only English food for Aunt Mina, so for lunch today we had boiled mutton and potatoes. It was like lumps of gristle in peppery water and when Father asked Allahyar what it was he said proudly that it was called ‘harish stoo’ and that the memsahibs had shown him how to make it. Father told Aunt Mina it was supposed to be Irish stew and in his opinion Allahyar’s Indian cooking was preferable, but that she must, of course, do as she thinks fit.

When Father got back from the Lines this evening he took her round the cantonment to leave her cards on all the other ladies.

Today, as soon as Father had gone to the Lines, Aunt Mina said she would blush to entertain anyone in the house in its
present state, and she told Kishan Lal to call all the staff and to tell them that the house needed a thorough clean and that the bathrooms were a disgrace. She ordered each of them to start scrubbing a different room and sent them off to fetch cleaning water and soap. None of them, except the sweeper, came back, so Aunt Mina sent me to find them but they were all hiding and the compound was empty. When Father came home for lunch Kishan Lal told him the servants were all threatening to leave. Father explained to Aunt Mina that each servant has work according to his caste and religion and cannot be expected to do another’s work. He told her if she wants anything done she must tell Kishan Lal, who will manage the other servants. Aunt Mina went red and said that she had never heard anything so ridiculous, but Kishan Lal was pleased.

We both hope she will go home soon.

This afternoon Aunt Mina asked me to read to her from my school books, so I read her my favourite passage from the
Mahabharat
. Mr. Mukherjee says it’s a very fine description but he wasn’t here because he doesn’t come on Saturdays.

But Aunt Mina didn’t like it. She said she had never heard such nonsense and that she hoped Mr. Mukherjee was not filling my head with superstitious native ideas. Then she asked to see my scripture book and was cross when I said I didn’t have one and asked what I learnt at Sunday school. I said I didn’t go to Sunday school. She asked me what I did do on Sundays and I said that I played with my friends Mohan and Ali. She asked whether I had been confirmed yet and when I said no she was shocked and she said she would have to speak to the chaplain. I didn’t tell her that the last time the chaplain was at our house was when he came to argue with Father about not taking me to church. I don’t know what Father said to him but he seemed very cross when he left. Afterwards Father asked me if I would like to go to church and I said no.
But today, when Aunt Mina asked Father whether we would be attending Sunday service with her tomorrow, he said yes. Afterwards Kishan Lal told me this was the first sign. ‘First sign of what?’ I asked, but he just shook his head. Why will no one ever tell me anything?

I haven’t seen Mohan and Ali once since Aunt Mina arrived. She is always finding something to keep me occupied. She says prayers every morning and evening and we have been to church three times since she has been here – once on Sunday, to midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and again yesterday morning. When she first came she wanted the whole household to be present for morning and evening prayers, as she says they are at Home, but Father said the servants are not Christians, and he has no intention of trying to convert them, and he forbade her to try do so. I could tell she didn’t like it but she didn’t say anything, so I asked him to speak to her about Mohan and Ali, but he just smiled and said, ‘Softly, softly, catchee monkey, Henry.’ I asked Mr. Mukherjee what it means but he doesn’t know.

Church is not as I imagined it. I knew it would not be like the pujas that the sepoys do on feast days, but I did not know there would be so much talking and singing. It’s quite boring but Mr. Mukherjee says I should try to listen as it will help my Latin.

Father is being very nice to Aunt Mina, so he must like her. He has called on all the important mems in the cantonment with her and even takes tea with them when they come here if he is not at the Lines. He has told Kishan Lal that Aunt Mina
is now the mem and must be obeyed. Kishan Lal calls her ‘the Great She-Elephant’ and mutters under his breath whenever she asks him to do something. She has changed our food to chops, pies and cutlets, like the other English families eat, and tea is now served with lemon, instead of with milk and sugar and spices as Father and I like it.

For Christmas we had roast chicken and roast potatoes and red cabbage. Aunt Mina supervised the cooking and Allahyar sulked, but I thought it was nice to spend Christmas at home like other people and not at the Club. Afterwards we played cards and I wondered if this was how it would be if Mother were alive.

It’s very late now and I have lots to write before I forget. Something queer happened tonight. Father and Aunt Mina were invited to an Epiphany dinner at the chaplain’s house to celebrate the arrival of the three kings. I thought at first they meant three real kings till Father explained. Kishan Lal was very gloomy when he heard they were going together because Father never accepts invitations. He said that soon Father will be completely under her spell and that we need to keep an eye on them. And he was right, because when Father came in to say goodnight he brought Aunt Mina too. He was wearing his evening clothes and looked very smart and Aunt Mina was wearing a shiny mauve dress and jewellery. As they left I heard him warn her not to expect too much as it would be an indifferent dinner, followed by maudlin songs performed by members of the Fishing Fleet hoping to ensnare a husband.

After they had gone I got dressed and followed them. I got past our chowkidar easily – I knew once the trap was out
of sight he would go and collect his dinner from the kitchen and the gate would be unguarded. I wasn’t sure how I’d get past the chaplain’s chowkidar but when I arrived he was standing outside the gate talking to our syce, so I slipped past without them noticing. By the time I reached an open sitting room window the guests had already gone in to dinner so I hid in the flowerbed behind a raat-ki-rani bush and waited. They took ages to eat dinner and I was almost asleep when I heard the ladies coming back. Aunt Mina and Mrs. Hewitt sat down right next to the window and I could hear them talking about Father. Mrs. Hewitt was congratulating Aunt Mina on working wonders with him and said they had all been convinced he was going native because he sat on the verandah in his pyjamas and seemed to prefer arranging nautches and wrestling matches for his sepoys to mixing with his fellow Europeans.

Then the gentlemen came in and the chaplain’s wife called for everyone to gather round the piano and a lady called Miss Pole was invited to sing. Miss Pole looked just like her name – she was very tall and thin, with a pointed nose – and she clasped her hands under her chin and began to sing in a reedy voice about someone who had falsely sworn a vow and broken it, and how his lover had pined away with grief and died blessing him. I could see that Father was trying not to laugh. Then they all begged Aunt Mina to sing and she said no and they said yes and in the end she agreed, as she obviously meant to all along. She went to the piano and Father stood to turn the pages for her.

I was surprised when she started because she sang beautifully. The song was called ‘What Voice Is This?’ and it was about someone who had died and how her voice was carried on the evening breeze. It made me sad, but Father
didn’t seem to be listening. He was just staring at the floor and forgot to turn the page so the chaplain had to jump up and do it. And then she got to the end and her voice went high and sweet. She was singing: ‘The dead shall seem to live again, the dead shall seem to live again, to live again… to live again…’ and then Father turned and knocked the music off the stand and almost ran out of the room. Everyone looked surprised and Aunt Mina stopped. The chaplain picked up the music and she started again, and then Father came out of the front door on to the verandah and I had to duck back behind the bush.

He stood still for a moment, breathing loudly and making a funny choking sort of noise, and then he plunged off the verandah and rushed straight past our carriage and down the road with the syce staring after him in amazement. He looked even more confused to see me come out of the flowerbed. ‘You wait here for Memsahib,’ I said, and followed Father, but by the time I got home he was already in his room. I came straight here to mine, which is next to his, and listened at the wall, but there was silence. Not long after, Aunt Mina came home in the trap. I heard her thanking the syce before she came into the house and went to her room.

Dearest Mina,

You must have wondered what had become of me after such a long silence! I am penning this on the ship to India, for it was impossible to find the smallest opportunity to write when we were ashore. The steam-barge from Alexandria to Cairo was so crowded that all except the most elderly members of the party were without berths and had to forage for armchairs or a space on the floor. Shepheard’s Hotel, where we were supposed to stay, was already full of passengers coming from India, and even the older members could not obtain a bed. They slept upon couches in the public rooms, but some of us younger ones decided to pay a visit to the public baths, which are open all night.

It was the most romantic evening; I wish you could have seen it, Mina. Men in burnooses carrying flaming torches escorted us through the streets, and in the bath-house women with huge arms pummelled us black and blue and then anointed us with oils and perfumes. Mrs. Weston, who accompanied us as a self-appointed chaperone, protested vigorously at having to disrobe in public but even she was no
match for two brawny Turkish women who held her down and rubbed and scrubbed, laughing and making faces of disgust at one another. We were all quite mortified when they showed us the rolls of dirt that rubbed off us, though I was so sore for the next few days that I suspect it was not dirt at all but skin! Afterwards, feeling wide awake (as one is bound to do when one has been flayed alive!) we kept a vigil on the hotel steps till dawn, watching the donkey boys gather in the streets and people in colourful costumes going about their business. I am enclosing a watercolour I made of the scene but you will have to imagine the delightful warmth of the night air and the scent of jasmine, woodsmoke and spices.

The next day we set out for Suez. Because of Louisa’s condition, she and the children’s ayah travelled in a van pulled by horses, but James and I rode camels. Freddie rode with James and Sophie with me. It was romantic, as I had imagined, but the motion of a camel is quite different from that of a horse and I am still unable to sit down without a cushion! However, anything was better than being confined in one of those tiny crowded vans. Poor Louisa and Luxmibai were very thrown about and bruised.

Aden looked quite sinister, when we arrived in the dark, with strange shadows standing against the sky. A guide told us it is Cain’s burial place and lies under a curse. The hotel was full of rats, which kept jumping over our beds, so you can imagine we did not sleep well! I was quite relieved when our steamer finally arrived. The cabin arrangements are rather primitive compared to the
Candia
, but everyone seems pleased to be approaching our journey’s end. It is all so exciting!

I can’t wait to see India but as we get closer I find myself feeling less and less brave about meeting Arthur again. If only we had met at the beginning of his long leave and had time to
know each other better. But I can hear you and Mama saying that I have made my bed and must lie in it, and I shall. I know I am young and silly and have a lot to learn, but I cannot imagine having a better teacher than Arthur.

I send you all my dearest love and will write again from Calcutta.

Your loving Cecily

Dear Mina,

It was so lovely to find all your letters waiting for me when we reached Calcutta yesterday. The ship arrived late as the sea has been quite stormy and I was shocked to find our wedding has been arranged for the ninth – in six days’ time! – and we leave for Cuttack on the fourteenth. We are to be married in the cathedral. Arthur organised for the banns to be read and has made all the arrangements. I must confess to being nervous about marrying so soon after arriving, but it seems there is no alternative, as Arthur has used up all his short leave and is due back with his regiment in three weeks.

Everything is so different here that I wonder if I shall ever get used to it. My first experience of India was quite startling – near Madras some natives rowed out to meet us in canoes, offering fresh fruit and curious trinkets, but as they got closer it was apparent that they had wholly forgotten to put on any clothes! You should have heard the screams and giggles from the Fishing Fleet on the deck below, but Louisa did not bat an eyelash. I overheard Mrs. Weston telling one of the ladies that the secret to managing natives was not to think of them as men at all!

The sea was very rough around the coast and poor Louisa was quite ill, but she improved when we entered the more sheltered waters of the Bay of Bengal. On the way up the east coast we passed a place called Puri. At dinner Mrs. Weston said there is a famous temple there where each year a procession of great wooden chariots filled with idols is pulled through the streets and the natives used to lie down in front of them to be crushed, in order to gain merit in future lives. She says it is an example of how superstitious the natives are, but James says it is all nonsense.

Before Calcutta we had to take on a pilot near the mouth of the Hoogly (is that not a divine name for a river?), for the shifting sandbanks are very treacherous. The captain pointed to some masts sticking out of the water, which is all that is left of the ships swallowed up by them. There were great bats swooping about at evening, and all night one could hear the wail of jackals, but that was not the worst! The day we arrived I was woken early by a knocking on the wall of my cabin. I rose and dressed and made my way on to the deck and when I looked over the railing I saw two corpses floating beside the ship with their heads banging against the side. One of the sailors on a lower deck was trying to push them away with a pole. The captain told us that the natives use the river to dispose of bodies, as it is their holy river. Most of the dead are cremated, but those who die of the small-pox or in childbirth are placed in the river unburnt. We saw a lot more bodies as we made our way upriver, and everywhere we looked there were vultures and crows making a hearty meal. The water looks like soup, and the banks are lined with crocodiles that look just like logs. It is quite sinister to see them slip silently into the water.

But Calcutta is a grand city, with fine buildings and gardens, and seems almost European. I am staying with the
Wellings, who are friends of Arthur’s, and he is putting up at his club. The Wellings live in Garden Reach, in a charming Indian-style house with a long garden that extends down to the river. I had a surprise when we arrived, for we were greeted by a genie, over six feet tall and almost as broad, with a long black beard parted in the middle and tucked behind his ears. He was wearing a costume of purple and white with gold buttons, and a saffron turban. I thought him a maharajah at the very least and almost curtsied, but Arthur informed me just in time that he was merely the khitmutgar – the major domo. Colonel Welling addresses him as ‘boy’!

It was strange seeing Arthur again at the port. He was accompanied by Col. Welling and another friend in uniform and from a distance I could not tell which of them he was. I was so afraid I would not recognise him, but of course I did when they came forward. He looks so important and distinguished in uniform that I feel quite in awe of him and whenever he asks me a question, even how I take my tea, my mind goes perfectly blank! I fear he must think he has become engaged to an imbecile! Fortunately James and Louisa are remaining in Calcutta as guests of the local magistrate until the wedding, and their presence makes everything easier. Afterwards they go on to Lucknow, where James is to take up the post of collector and magistrate.

The Wellings have been really very kind. Last night they held a party in our honour. I wore my light green taffeta with the silver sash and received a great many compliments on my singing, though it felt odd to sing without you. Officers are not
encouraged to marry until they reach the rank of major, so there are many unattached young officers starved of feminine company, and some are such terrible flirts that it quite turns one’s head. When I told one of them I was engaged to Major Langdon he groaned and said bitterly that no junior officer stood a chance against the ‘liver-decayed old Anglo-Indian with his parchment face and treasure’, which I thought rather impolite. As you know, my ‘liver-decayed old Anglo-Indian’ does not care to stand up, and I was engaged for every dance, so we barely spoke. I am sure Arthur regretted that Papa, Mama and you were not here to sit with him and have one of those discussions that you all so enjoyed.

Today we saw the sights of Calcutta and tomorrow Mrs. Welling is taking me shopping for Christmas presents, as it takes seven weeks for the mail to reach England. I am also to buy material for some new dresses, for she tells me the ones we had made will not do for this climate. I forgot to tell you that we were asked to remove our crinolines on board ship to avoid blocking the gangways, and Arthur tells me he has never seen the point of them and considers them absurd, especially in this heat. He even suggested – in front of the Wellings! – that I should leave off my corsets. I did not know where to look, but it is true that I am finding it hard to breathe, although this is supposed to be the cool season.

I must stop now for the khitmutgar is waiting to take the letters and packages to the post and he looks so imposing that I dare not keep him waiting. It is hard to believe that by the time I receive your reply it will be nearly spring in England and I shall have been married for over three months! Mrs. Arthur Langdon – it sounds so grown-up, I shall hardly believe it is me! This is the last time I shall sign myself,

Your ever-loving sister, Cecily Partridge

Mina darling,

I do not know how to say this – I am sure I should not but there is no one else I can talk to and I feel so alone.
I do not know how I shall bear married life!!

I never imagined it would be like this! How could Mama not have told me? Did you know, Mina, and yet not warn me? Arthur tells me it is what all married couples do, but I cannot believe it. Surely Mama and Papa would never do such things – and as for the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Weston behaving in such a way, it is just too absurd! All Mama said was that I should leave everything to Arthur, and that when a man and a woman love each other everything seems perfectly natural. But it does not seem at all natural to me. It is so unromantic – surely
this
cannot be what all the fuss is about in books?

Oh, Mina, I cannot think how I shall face Arthur again! This morning, when the maid came in to change the sheets, she grinned at me horribly and I felt so humiliated that everyone might know, that I could hardly bear to face the Wellings at breakfast. Fortunately Mrs. Welling kept up such a chatter that no one had time to think of anything else. Then, after church, Arthur went to make arrangements for our journey to Cuttack, and when he had gone she must have seen I was not myself because she said I would soon become accustomed to marriage, and even grow to like it, but I do not believe it. I keep thinking that I shall be married for years and years and years. How ever shall I bear it?

Your wretched sister, Cecily

Dear Mina,

Please forgive my letter of last week. As soon as I had sent it I regretted it, but it was too late to recall it and as the mail only goes once a week you will have had a whole seven days to reflect on my stupidity! Oh, Mina, I am sorry to be such a goose, but it has all been such a rush, and I miss you all so much, and it is so hard knowing that I shall not see you for another four years until Arthur gets his next long leave.

Louisa and James are leaving for Lucknow tomorrow and I shall miss them and the children dreadfully too, especially little Sophie. But I know that none of this is any excuse and that Mama would say that Arthur is now my family. And, indeed, he has been very good. When he came home and saw that I had been crying he said I needed time to get used to married life and he hoped that when we got to know each other better I would come to enjoy it. In the meantime, he has promised not to trouble me until I am ready and has moved into the dressing room next door. I was worried what the Wellings might think, but Arthur says I should not care what others think but do what is right and comfortable for me. He is so straight and honest that I know he must be right about what a man and wife do in private, but I cannot get used to the idea. I mean Mama and Papa! The Wellings! Mrs. Weston! Surely it cannot be! It seems so undignified. But if it is so I must pray for the strength to learn to endure it, for I am determined to be a good wife to Arthur. But before you accept an offer from anyone, Mina, make sure that Mother explains everything to you properly.

We leave for Cuttack in the morning. Give my dearest love to everyone at Home.

Your loving sister, Cecily