The Girl from Cobb Street (16 page)

‘I don’t understand. What fence?’

‘There’s an unofficial rule of no marriage under thirty. The ICS have it too. The army has a saying:
Subalterns cannot marry, captains may marry, majors should marry, colonels must marry.
If you want to marry before you’re thirty, you have to have the CO’s permission and it’s usually refused. Or you have to send in your papers.’

Daisy looked baffled. ‘Send in your papers?’

‘Leave the regiment.’

‘But that’s so unfair.’ She was indignant.

‘It sounds it, I agree, but it’s done for a good reason. If you marry early, you never have sufficient money. Regimental life is expensive. You’re expected to stand your rounds in the Mess, expected to entertain regularly. And, of course, while the older men have furnished their quarters, you have to start from scratch.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘I appreciate we won’t have an easy life, at least not for a few years, and I’m sorry for my part in creating the mess. Sending that telegram—I shouldn’t have done it—I can see that now. But we still have each other and surely we can make a decent future together.’

He squeezed her hand back. ‘We’ll make a start on it, I promise. After you get back from Simla.’

Daisy felt happier than she had for days. At last they were talking properly. The evening’s conversation had been open and sincere. It hadn’t mended everything that was wrong, of course. She’d had a faint hope that he’d follow her into the bedroom but when he’d said a friendly goodnight and disappeared along the corridor, she hadn’t tried to stop him. The marriage was still fragile, she knew, and they must take things slowly. He’d been right when he said they’d had a wretched beginning and perhaps he was right, too, in thinking a break would help them start afresh when she returned from Simla. This morning he’d left for the camp very early to supervise preparations for the parade, which was to be the grandest of affairs. She wondered how men and horses would stand up to the increasing temperature. Every day seemed hotter than the one before and the heat was gradually seeping into her very bones. For large portions of the day, she felt too dazed even to pick up a book.

This morning, she’d risen when the sun was only just over the horizon and was trying for the hundredth time to concentrate on one of the novels she’d borrowed from the station library. She sat in the shade of the veranda and gazed fixedly at the page but, despite the early morning cool, the words danced before her. Eventually she gave up the effort and sat quietly looking out onto the wilderness that was their garden. She’d discovered a book on native birds in Gerald’s small, rickety bookcase and now knew the names of several of the species that visited regularly. Cheerful little bulbuls with red and yellow rumps flew between the bushes and, in the furthest trees, she could see paradise fly catchers with tails like long, white streamers. She laid the book to rest on her lap and closed her eyes, then sensed rather than heard something watching her. A monkey—a black-faced langur monkey she’d been taught—was peering at her between the posts of the veranda and behind him a whole troupe was gathered, watching her in silence. Jocelyn had told her never to look a monkey in the face; if you didn’t make eye contact with them, she’d said, they wouldn’t bother you. She picked up her book, studiously ignoring them, but nevertheless feeling wary. Rajiv, of course, was nowhere to be seen. One of the monkeys started to chatter noisily, then others joined in, and soon the chatter had turned into loud shrieks. Several started to bound around the garden, flying at each other in mock charges.

She was about to slip indoors and out of harm’s way when she heard footsteps on the path. Looking up, she saw two well-dressed Indians walking towards her. They waved their arms at the monkeys, who shrieked back at them before deciding it was safer to leave.

‘Thank you for scaring them away.’ She stood up to welcome her visitors. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do.’

‘It is our pleasure, memsahib. But surely you have servants?’ This was the older man, his grey hair and slim figure giving him an air of distinction. ‘What are your servants doing—they should be protecting you.’

She was tired of having to explain her household, so she simply smiled and asked them if they would care for a drink of water or for tea. She could feel the sun starting to throb and her head begin its familiar ache. They were clearly embarrassed by her invitation and she knew that she must have made a mistake, breached a rule of which she was not even aware. It was not customary, it seemed, for a lone woman to entertain Indian gentlemen.

‘Thank you, memsahib.’ The older man bowed. ‘You are most kind. But we have come on business.’

Her face cleared. ‘Then it’s my husband you’ll want to see.’

‘Yes, indeed. Lieutenant Mortimer.’

‘He’s working. You’ll find him at the camp.’

There was a moment’s silence and the two men exchanged a look. She began to feel uneasy.

‘Alas, memsahib, but we cannot go there.’

‘It is not possible for us to gain entry,’ the smaller man said quietly.

This was yet another rule she hadn’t known. ‘Then perhaps I can help you.’

‘Thank you, memsahib. My colleague and I would be most grateful.’ And the grey-haired man handed her a sheaf of papers. ‘Would you be so kind as to give these to your husband?’

‘Of course, but what are they?’

The smaller man gave a faint cough. ‘They are bills, memsahib.’

‘Bills? You are owed money? Lieutenant Mortimer owes you money?’

Her plain speaking was evidently too much for them. They could not look at her but bowed their heads in the same jerky movement.

‘I’m sure he can’t have known of these.’ She was not at all sure but she must put on a brave face. ‘I’m sure he’ll pay you immediately, once he sees them.’

There was a slight pause and then another bow. ‘Of course, memsahib. We must go now.’

Daisy watched them walk back along the path, the papers still in her hands, clinging stickily to her curled fingers. This could only lead to trouble, and just as she and Gerald had begun to grow closer. She looked up at the luminous sky and felt only sadness. He would blame her for the bills and for his difficult situation. If it hadn’t been for her …

She went indoors and placed the sheaf of papers in a prominent position on the desk. She would say nothing, she decided, but instead wait for Gerald to ask how they came to be there. But even that thought made her nervous. The men’s visit had disturbed her badly and it was impossible now to go back to her book or even pretend to read. Her body craved movement. She began to walk rapidly up and down the room. But it was too enclosed, too limiting, and she knew she had to get out of the house. The bicycle stood nearby, abandoned against the wooden posts of the veranda. She’d managed the trip to the civil station, so why not another expedition? But this would one be different. Today she wouldn’t be seeking distraction. Instead it was peace of mind she needed. She would ride out in search of tranquillity. Without having to think, she knew where she would go. Since her visit with Grayson, the temple of Nandni Mata had never been far from her mind.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
t took her nearly an hour to reach the ruined site, far longer than she’d anticipated. But the rising temperature had made cycling very difficult and she’d almost given up several times and turned for home. But something had kept her going and now she was pushing the bike down the sandy path and towards the temple.

At the top of the flight of steps, she stood looking out on the peaceful scene that stretched before her. It was much hotter than when she and Grayson had come and her skin was prickling badly. She chided herself for her stupidity. She should have realised that this was the wrong time of the day to visit, and that such a large, open space could only be an invitation to the sun’s brilliance. She would go down to the temple for a short while only, just long enough to visit her goddess once more. Then she could return to this vantage point and rest in the shade before she made the return journey. She left the bike propped against one of the huge stones that littered the grassy ledge and then made her way slowly down the stairs. She felt her limbs weak with fatigue, as though she were walking in slow motion, each leg hardly moving, yet somehow reaching down to the step below. Her
topi
protected her neck, but there was a burning sensation at her back and she quickened her pace to find shelter between the columns of the temple. Soon she was walking up the temple steps to its inner terrace, making for Nandni Mata, but she still felt the same burning sensation. It seemed strange that the sun could penetrate this far into the building. It must do, for what else could be inflaming her body so oddly? She turned suddenly; she’d had the feeling she was being watched. Were they eyes that were burning into her back? Her gaze swept the empty space. Nothing but rubble, broken stone and shifting sand. It was the heat again. She was allowing the heat to get to her.

Nandni Mata was as beautiful as she had been days ago. Daisy stroked the shining black stone with gentle fingers, willing the goddess to come alive. It was foolish, but this statue was the only connection she had with her mother, this and a creased photograph. Lily must have bought the brooch in a shop or from a market stall, as Grayson had suggested, but what if the connection were closer than that? What if the brooch had come from here, from this very place? What if her mother had been here? It was a fantasy, she knew, and she traced the necklace once more with her fingers, smoothing the stone pendant over and over, trying to feel her mother’s presence. But she could not. All she could feel was the still, suffocating heat. She looked at the statue again and the goddess stared back. Her look was baleful. She hadn’t noticed that before. A strong impulse to leave was flooding over her, for the temple hadn’t brought the peace she sought and she didn’t know why. It was as though the spirit of the place had withdrawn and left her exposed. Yes, she must definitely leave, and leave now.

She backed quickly away and walked through the regiment of columns to the top of the temple steps. A sudden noise above her head made her look skywards and there, held in suspension, was a stone, a very large stone, hurtling through the blue, hurtling towards her. She stepped back into the shelter of two columns a second before a deafening crack shattered the stillness of the arena and a rock lay in splinters on the steps below.

Oblivious of the sun and her pounding heart, she raced down the steps and across the open space. The temple had seemed about to fall into ruins above her head and she must reach safety. Panting heavily, she ran up the far flight of steps to regain the grass ledge. Once there, she bent over, her breath coming in short, sharp stabs. Her bicycle remained leaning where she’d propped it and she grabbed at its handlebars. She could not rest here. She must leave now, no matter how hard the journey ahead. Frantically she wheeled the bike along the sandy track, looking straight ahead. The most frightening of the statues loomed on either side and she dared not glance at them. As soon as she was able, she jumped on the bicycle and began to pedal.

The road was cruel, baked hard by the sun, and she would need every ounce of strength to reach home. Yet even as she cycled herself into exhaustion, her mind would not be still. Could it really be that after so many thousands of years, the temple had been about to fall around her ears? Not today of all days, surely, not the one day she had gone there alone. A piece of the roof must have sheared off, she consoled herself, and that could happen at any time. But it had happened just as she was about to leave. And the stone she’d seen falling had been irregular, uncarved, not seeming to be part of the edifice at all. A rough boulder plunging through the air. It could have hit her. If it had been a little more to the right, a little nearer to the terrace, it
would
have hit her. Even as her body vibrated with heat, she could not prevent a shiver of dread. It had been a lucky escape.

Escape! The rock had been meant for her. It was an absurd notion, but somehow she was sure of it. She had sensed eyes on her, hadn’t she, expectant, malevolent eyes? Even now she felt the spirits of the temple in pursuit. They had tried to kill her, her dazed mind was telling her, and she must get to safety, get to the bungalow. She had her head down, her legs racing and pedalling blindly, and saw nothing until suddenly a horse was rearing in front of her, and she fell from the bike.

‘Daisy! My God, are you all right?’

Anish jumped from the saddle and rushed towards her, scooping her slight form into his arms and setting her gently on her feet by the side of the road. She hadn’t seen him since he bid her goodbye in the bazaar but even in her badly shaken state, she felt a rush of pleasure at meeting him again. He continued to hold on to her, supporting her with his arm until she stopped trembling.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

He pointed to the abandoned bicycle, which lay sprawled across the centre of the road, its wheels still ticking. ‘You looked as though all the demons of hell were pursuing you. What happened to scare you so?’

She flushed in embarrassment, unable to put into words the feelings that had sent her fleeing, oblivious of everything around her. She felt incredibly stupid, halfcrazed. To imagine that the temple had changed its nature since her last visit, that it meant her ill and had sent avenging spirits to pursue her! How nonsensical. But the fear hadn’t quite departed and when she tried to reassure him that all was well, she made no sense.