Zemindar (102 page)

‘Come now, Mr Roberts, I believe they are doing their best for us,’ I replied.

‘But does he not see that the longer we remain here, the weaker we all become? By the time any relief does at last appear, we shall not be able to stagger out of the Baillie Guard but will have to be carried out in litters—every last one of us.’

‘Perhaps. But I have decided to take the easier course of hoping for the best. It’s less wearing on the nerves to cultivate optimism than anticipate disaster, is it not?’

Mr Roberts made no reply. His dove-grey alpaca jacket was ridged with grease round the collar and on the lapels. His shirt (dyed, like all shirts by that time, in curry-powder or ink) was frayed and dirty; even his hands were ingrained with grime. He fidgeted all the time he talked, scratching at a hole in the knee of his trousers, rubbing the tip of his nose, fingering his lips with his dirty fingers, pulling at his beard, shuffling his feet.

We were sitting on the steps of the inner courtyard, catching the last of the sun; on the same steps where once I had sat and watched the sad pyre of Emily’s stained possessions take fire in the July heat. The tree in the centre of the courtyard still stood, though most of its branches had been taken for fuel, and the squirrels—they too were thinner now and less sleek—scampered busily up and down the bole and on the broken earth below it. I remembered that July evening, but as though another had lived through it, not I. I recalled the shimmering heat rising into the almost equal heat that did not shimmer; the squirrels, the goat with its enquiring yellow eyes and the children playing with their homemade wagon. I remembered my prayer that I had made in such a strange mixture of despair and confidence: ‘God send him back to me—for me!’ but now that Oliver had indeed come back to me the need for that prayer and its fervour were hard to imagine.

‘You have the advantage of youth, dear Laura,’ Mr Roberts said after a long pause. ‘That is why philosophy is still possible for you. I wish I could emulate your stout heart and unbowed will. But …’ His hand strayed to his face, picking at the stubble on his ill-shaved cheeks, then wandered down to the small beard, now ragged and perceptibly more white than I remembered it. ‘But for me … I cannot explain it. I can no longer find comfort in my thoughts. In resolutions. In history … nor even books. I find myself bereft of all the tools with which to build up fortitude.’

His eyes, behind the spectacles, had a lost expression and filled with tears as he ended. He straightened his collar self-consciously.

I put my hand on his knee. ‘Dear Mr Roberts, bear up! Don’t give way now. We are nearly at the end of it, after all. I don’t care what plans or instructions General Outram has, we know now that help, real help, is on its way to us from Delhi. It will be here within days; everyone says so. They cannot be longer than a couple of weeks at most and perhaps not that long. All the world knows our situation now; they will not let us endure this for one moment longer than is necessary. Remember, we are in touch with the outside now. Messages come and go every day. Your alarm is needless, but I do understand it. It’s due to the long effort you have made; and discouragement and apathy always accompany not having enough to eat. You know that. Oh, dear Mr Roberts, don’t give way now; you mustn’t!’

He drew himself upright on the hard step and for a moment I caught a glimpse of my old mentor, contained, pedantic, precise.

‘No, no, I am not really giving way. It has become rare for us to exchange such moments of sympathy. There are very few to whom I can express myself as fully and as confidently as I can to you, Miss Laura. The self-indulgence of expression weakened me, but momentarily, I do assure you, only momentarily.’

‘I know. We all need a shoulder to cry on sometimes.’

Again silence fell between us, and my mind immediately deserted the matter at hand, genuine as was my sympathy for Mr Roberts, and flew to Oliver. Soon he would be coming. Usually I waited for him on the front verandah, but today I would let his coming be a surprise.

‘We have—I think I may say, Miss Laura, that we have found comfort in each other’s company in some strange and diverse situations?’

‘Indeed you may, Mr Roberts. Great comfort.’

‘My mind is inclined to be a little woolly these days. I hope it is not too apparent, but I do find it difficult to drag my thoughts together. The hunger, I suppose. But one thing never eludes me: my admiration for your character.’

‘Come now, you mustn’t flatter a poor girl!’

‘No, indeed no. No flattery there, merely the plain truth. All through this … unpleasing military exercise, you have been a tower of strength to those who have known you. I have often wondered how one so young could be so equable, so unsurprised and unfrightened in the face of all our evils. It is not due solely to a good brain, nor the resilience of youth, nor to a disciplined character. It has often puzzled me, that well-spring of strength on which you have drawn since entering the Residency. Now I think I have found the fount of your steadfastness. You are in love, are you not, Laura? With Oliver Erskine?’

As with Kate, so now I saw no need to prevaricate with my old friend. I nodded, smiling—no doubt foolishly.

‘I am.’

‘And he reciprocates your regard, I trust?’

‘I believe so.’

I waited for him to felicitate me, express his delight at my happiness.

But instead he subsided into himself again, and plucked anew at the hole on his knee.

‘The last strand has given,’ he said, so softly and strangely I hardly heard, and thought I must have misheard him.

‘I am pleased,’ he then said in a more normal tone. ‘I am glad that your happiness is assured. Or rather … Miss Laura, I am trying to be glad!’

The atmosphere between us changed. I half guessed what was coming and wished it would not.

‘I cannot suppose you were ever aware of it, but there was a time, a long time ago now, of course, when I almost allowed myself to hope that I might be lucky enough to influence your affection toward myself.’

‘Mr Roberts …’

‘No! I would like to say it all this once, and then go away and never mention it more. Of course, it would not have been an ideal match for you because of the disparity in our ages, and I realized that fully. But I found in your company, in your character, so much ease and contentment that I hoped you felt some of the same in mine. I knew it was unlikely that you could love a man so much your senior in years with any great passion, but a good understanding between the parties, shared interests, like-mindedness, have often proved a sound basis for marriage. And you had given me to understand that your pecuniary situation was not of the soundest. I allowed … yes, I did allow myself to hope for your hand. At one time. Perhaps I should not be telling you this now, but you will not take offence. I want you to know that I was willing, most willing, to give you more than books and the fruits of my experience in India. In fact, Miss Laura, it is more than
wanting
to give.’ He paused, clenching his hands together. ‘I did give. I have given you my elderly heart, and in gratitude for so much that you gave me.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said, which was true.

‘You need say nothing, my dear. It is enough that you have listened to me with kindness. I know you will not laugh at me or betray my confidence. I am glad you know, and … and I am also glad it is Mr Erskine who has won you. A formidable rival for me, was he not, Miss Laura,’ he asked with a brief attempt at levity, ‘but I believe he will make you a good husband. I hope you will be happy. Very happy.’

Emily had been right. All those months ago, thoughtless, frivolous, unhappy Emily had guessed my friend’s secret, and I, busy as ever with every concern but my own, had missed the meaning in his interest.

‘Goodnight, Laura. Thank you for your patience. Have no fear, we will not need to refer to this again. I … I am most sincerely glad that you have found happiness; I hope it will endure for all your life.’

We both stood up and he turned to go, while I tried to think of something suitable to say.

‘I almost forgot …’ He stopped on the top step and produced a book from his pocket. ‘I happened to come across this among my few remaining possessions. You know they commandeered my trunk of books, my three-drawer chest and almost everything else I owned to build into the walls—in July, when the rains came and everything was tumbling down?’

‘I remember you telling us. It was a shame!’ He had been disconsolate at the loss of his books, old and treasured friends that had accompanied him wherever he went.

‘Yes.’ He seemed to forget what he wanted to say, then saw the book in his hands and continued.

‘I came across it, and recalled your fondness for the Aurelian Emperor and the fact that you had been forced to abandon your own copy. I thought you might like to have it. As a memento of a friend? Please accept it.’

He put into my hands a beautiful morocco-bound copy of Marcus Aurelius.

‘I would love to have it,’ I assured him soberly. ‘I have missed him all these months. I will treasure it for many reasons, but mostly to honour the donor. I will never abandon this copy, I promise you.’

Mr Roberts smiled wanly, gazing at me through his spectacles.

‘Dear, kind Laura,’ he said, and walked slowly away with bent head, weariness evident in every line of his shabby figure.

I entered our kitchen and sat down. Smoke from the small fire below the soup pot filled the room; otherwise it was empty. For no reason that I could name, I felt upset and alarmed.

I half intended to tell Oliver what had occurred, but remembered my assurance that I would not betray Mr Roberts’s confidence; telling Oliver would do so. When he arrived, I merely said that Mr Roberts had visited me and was worried at some further rumours regarding General Outram’s intentions. I also showed him the book, delighting in the soft tooling of the binding. On opening it for the first time, I found that Mr Roberts had inscribed it:

For Laura, with Affection and Gratitude
.

‘
The perfection of moral character

consists in this: in passing every

day as the last.’ M. Aurelius

Henry M. Roberts                November 1857

‘That’s so like him,’ I smiled, while Oliver read the inscription over my shoulder. ‘Exactly in keeping with his character.’

‘Is it? He doesn’t seem to put it into practice too well.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Opium is not usually the recourse of the philosophical, the self-sufficient.’

‘No, I see what you mean. He said just this evening that he seems to have lost the capacity to find comfort in books, studies and observation of life. He was rather sad, Oliver, and he made me sad for some reason too.’

‘A full belly is all any of us needs to cure us of melancholia! He’ll be right as rain as soon as we get out of here.’

I laid down the book, found my shawl and followed Oliver out of doors for a walk. Kate was back from the hospital and Jessie had brought Pearl in to feed her. The wish for privacy often drove us out of doors, even when the weather was bad, and I sometimes wondered how our courtship would have progressed had Oliver, like Charles when he was engaged to Emily, been allowed to see me only in the presence of a third party. Not that we had the chance to stray very far along the path of impropriety; there were people everywhere, whatever the hour, and Mrs Bonner, who was usually sitting on her stretch of verandah with Minerva when we left, probably took great care in timing the length of our absence, always observed the direction we took and asked with interest where we had been. She had told Kate in accents of sorrow that she believed I had ‘
une
tendresse
’ for my cousin-in-law, and Kate had enjoyed telling her there was no relationship and I was perfectly free to indulge my affections for Mr Erskine if I so pleased. ‘Oh, but I do hope it is merely a case of propinquity,’ Mrs Bonner had sighed. ‘Not a suitable match, Mrs Barry. Not suitable at all.’ After this, Oliver had made a point of winking at Minerva whenever he caught sight of her and now she started giggling even before he was in winking distance.

The pandies’ band-concert was in full spate as we sauntered through the dusk to the Baillie Guard. Each evening rebel bandsmen on the far side of the wall would remind us of the comforts of former days by playing a selection of familiar airs such as
Annie Laurie, The Flowers of the Forest
, and
Auld Lang Syne
. Perhaps they hoped that the musical reminder of pleasant evenings with friends at the cantonment bandstand would serve to depress our spirits, but in fact they were listened to with enjoyment, and even the final impudence of
God Save the Queen
provoked only laughter.

‘Tomorrow,’ Oliver announced as we walked, ‘I am to go down the mines. A listening-post, I believe, is what I am to be entrusted with. It should be interesting.’

‘Oh, Oliver, no!’ I was aghast. ‘You are not well enough yet, and your arm …’

‘I’m as strong as I am ever going to be without a decent meal. It is something I can do, and will relieve the monotony of pouring bullets; believe me, that can become very monotonous. As to my arm—I can hold a pistol in my left hand and at point-blank range—which it would be—even I am not likely to miss if I actually need to pull the trigger; though it seems from what I have heard that one is unlikely to come face to face with one of the others. That ginger-haired fellow, what’s-his-name—Kavanagh—he spends half his life underground lying in wait for pandies who never show up or, if they do, either argue with him or run for their own lines. I’ll be fine; Toddy has been giving me a short course of instruction as to what to expect.’

‘I do wish you wouldn’t. There are so many dangers … a fall of earth could be the end of you. But … if you’ve made up your mind, I don’t expect you’ll listen to me.’ He grinned and said nothing.

‘I know. I’m fussing. But I know something else too. You are going to be thoroughly uncomfortable and miserable down there. Much more so than you imagine; the mines unnerve the stoutest characters and I’ll be surprised if you venture down a second time.’