Zemindar (23 page)

‘Oh, not at all! The men they send out here are a pretty sorry lot on the whole too!’

‘It is something that your strictures are so justly distributed between the sexes.’

‘Why shouldn’t they be? Women have no corner on stupidity.’

‘Thank you,’ I commented drily, and again we both laughed.

If Mr Erskine was in the habit of talking as freely and as forcefully to all his acquaintance as he had done to one unknown young woman, then it was no wonder he was unpopular with his compatriots in cantonments. Yet I had to admit to myself that I enjoyed his frankness, however little I could agree with his opinions.

‘But now, as to your seeing something of the “real” India, I think I can promise you a nearer glimpse when you come to Hassanganj. Naturally a “paid companion” must accompany her employer?’

‘I expect so, and indeed I shall look forward to it, if Charles permits the visit.’

‘Permits? A strange word to use in connection with an invitation?’

I could have pinched myself for my clumsiness.

‘Has my brother already decided not to develop our connection then?’

‘Oh, no, certainly nothing like that! I only meant that I have no idea what his intentions may be, and as you say, I must do as he bids.’

‘Must you? Then I must see that he “permits”.’

He was looking at me again with an expression that was part derisive and part puzzled, though I could not account for the puzzlement until he spoke, after a pause.

‘The docility of your words is in marked contrast, Miss Hewitt, to the obvious independence of your bearing, and I believe of your mind. What a very uncomfortable life you must lead! I wonder what is the real reason for your leading it?’

‘We have already discussed the matter,’ I said firmly. Those amber eyes were too penetrating to be comfortable. ‘May we return to the subject of Hassanganj? I would like to know more about it.’

‘Ha!’ he exclaimed, quite undeceived. ‘Hassanganj? I don’t know what I can tell you about it, except that it is my home and has been the home of my family for three generations. There is a funny old house, and a garden and park and the things that go with them. I am too used to it all to be able to see it objectively or give you a sufficient picture of it, I believe. I like the way I live, but it wouldn’t suit many. I am of a solitary turn of mind and for me the great attraction of the place is that we are a day’s journey from the nearest white face, so I do not have many visitors. Apart from that—well, I have my work. I own a fair-sized slice of India, and it takes all I have to give in the way of time and energy to keep it going, and … well, that’s about all I can think of.’ He paused and I saw that he was searching his mind for some detail that would communicate his life to me. ‘I don’t suppose you will care for it, even if young Charles does “permit” the visit. But perhaps some of your curiosity regarding the “real” India will be satisfied. It is at least
that
!’

‘I am sure I shall find it intriguing.’

‘You think so?’ And again I found those penetrating eyes regarding me with concentration. ‘Yes, I believe you very well might. Well, we shall have to see. Not that you are going to like all that you find in India, Miss Hewitt. It is a cruel country, a cruel and a heartbreaking country. But perhaps you will find the strength to withstand it, as all of us who love it have to learn to withstand it.’

The music had stopped. For a moment we stood at the end of the room furthest from the Barrys, as the floor cleared and the dancers made their way back to their seats. It was then that I was recognized by Mrs Wilkins—once more in purple satin, but now very
décolleté
and befeathered—who uttered a little shriek as I caught her eye, then bore down on us accompanied by a large round officer, who, judging by her proprietorial grasp of his arm, must be ‘the Major’.

‘My dear Miss Laura, how nice!’ she exclaimed, grasping my hand. ‘We was hoping to see you here tonight. This is the hubby, and he knows all about you.’

I introduced them hurriedly to Mr Erskine, who had drawn back as they approached me. Mrs Wilkins gushed her delight at meeting him, then turned back to me.

‘I was just saying to the Major when we was dressing, “I wonder if those Floods and Miss Laura will be there. My, how I would like her to know you!” And now here you are. And looking so well. Wait till I tell my Elvira! She’s not here, poor thing; the invitation was just for the Major and me, and she was so mortified at being left at home. But not quite comfortless, I’m pleased to say, not quite comfortless! A very nice young man she has now—an ensign in the 71st—and they have, made up a little party at home. But she’ll be that disappointed not to have seen you. Quite took by you, my Elvira was, on that nasty ship, and so she should be with all your kindness to us. My! When I remember the state we were in until you came and helped us, will I ever forget it! And your cousin? Is she well, and her husband?’

‘Very, thank you, but they decided to leave early.’

‘Oh, well, that’s a pity! I’d love to stay and talk, and let the Major get to know you better, dearie, but I’m that hot and thirsty, and we will be keeping you from your friends, I have no doubt, so we must leave you now. We go back to our station tomorrow, so I cannot even hope to see you soon, as the saying goes, but now that I know you are in Lucknow, I’ll write and maybe you can come out to us for a few days—to get to know the Major and let Ellie see you.’

‘That would be delightful,’ I lied.

Then Mrs Wilkins leant towards me and whispered behind the purple feathers of her fan, ‘My! You’re a true heartbreaker in that pink. I always knew you’d be a stunner in a pretty dress; too conservative you are, y’know, as a general rule, but tonight you’re lovely, dear! And I think I can guess why.’ She giggled and winked in the direction of Mr Erskine, who was being polite to her husband; then with more assurances of her affection, she pulled that gentleman away in search of sustenance.

So I was looking ‘lovely’ on account of Mr Erskine! I wished there were someone with whom I could share the joke.

I had not given a thought to the Averys since we had all gone in to supper together, nor had I caught a glimpse of them since. But, as Mr Erskine took me back to my seat, I began to wonder where they could be, and hoped they had not forgotten that they were to take me home in their carriage. On looking at my watch, I found it was after three o’clock in the morning. The band still played, but raggedly, without the zest of the earlier hours. A few young people still danced, but many more sat around the room in tired silence, the men easing their feet in their tight boots, the women hiding yawns behind their fans. The flowers had drooped in the heat of the long evening; empty glasses and ice cream dishes cluttered the tabletops, and candles guttered dismally before flickering out in a spiral of smelly smoke. Groups of scarlet-clad servants stood hopefully near the doors, anxious to summon the remaining guests’ carriages.

I had hardly sat down when Connie, trailing her sad yellow muslin and with her ginger hair all over her face, appeared in a doorway clutching a glass, peered round the room, swaying, and then, spying us, made her way unsteadily across the floor. One of the gentlemen got up hurriedly and offered her his chair—just in time. Connie’s legs gave way under her and she flopped down, shrieking with laughter and waving her glass at the ceiling: ‘Ish been a lovely parshy,’ she informed us, while the champagne she had spilt ran down the side of her face unheeded. ‘Oh, shush a lovely parshy.’

The glass dropped from her hand, her head sank forward on her bosom and she was asleep before any of us had done more than gasp.

‘Wally!’ snapped Kate, getting to her feet. ‘George, go and find Wally! We must get her home. It’s too bad that the servants should see her in this condition.’

George hurried off, and I picked up the smashed glass and wiped Connie’s face with my handkerchief, horribly conscious all the time of the black bulk of Mr Erskine in the background. Connie was no responsibility of mine, but I was living in her house and for some reason that I could not explain to myself, I was ashamed that Mr Erskine, of all people, should see my hostess in such a condition.

George was an age finding Wally. Meanwhile, for us who were left with Connie, the embarrassment grew more acute as her snores grew louder, interspersed with hiccoughs and the agitated movements of her hands and feet. One by one the gentlemen who had formed the party around the Barrys made some excuse and took themselves off, so that by the time George returned, only Kate and myself kept watch over the unfortunate woman—Kate, myself and Mr Erskine. Too much of a gentle man to leave us alone, he had seated himself in a chair vacated by one of the others, crossed his long black legs, and proceeded to make light of the whole business.

‘Bless you, Oliver,’ said Kate, voicing my sentiments exactly, as the last of our cavaliers drifted away and Mr Erskine sat on, thus publicly giving us his support. ‘We have forgotten her all evening and we should have known what would happen. What can Wally be thinking of to allow her to become like this?’

‘What indeed? But if her husband is the stout, florid man with the loud laugh and the loud voice, then I can tell you he is thinking of making money at cards. Or was when I looked around the rooms some time ago. He seemed settled for the night at that time.’

‘I’m sure he was!’ said Kate. ‘That would be Wally all right. Oh, thank heaven! Here he is now.’

Wallace bent over his wife, at once ashamed and concerned, and tried to bring her to her senses. But she was past rousing. He slapped her hands and pinched her cheeks, imploring her to ‘wake up’. Poor Connie merely responded by taking a wild swing at his head and commanding him in slurred tones to go away. Every eye in the room was upon us, and my mortification mounted, the more so as Wallace himself was far from sober and used a voice to rouse his wife that could have been heard across the river. Eventually, all methods of resuscitation having failed, Wallace and George between them half carried, half dragged Connie from the ballroom, and only the servants at the doorway had the decency not to smile as they passed.

‘I had better fetch my wrap,’ I said to Kate. ‘I hope Wallace has not forgotten that I am going home with them.’

‘No, no, my dear, you must come with us. I do not like the thought of you driving with them now. Why, Wallace is in hardly a better way than Connie!’

‘I don’t care for the idea much myself, but Wallace may need my help with Connie when we reach the house.’

‘Then he must manage without it! Indeed, I will not allow you to travel with them. You have had enough embarrassment for one evening.’

‘But …’

‘If I may intrude?’

For the moment we had both forgotten Mr Erskine’s silent but attentive presence. ‘I would be delighted to take Miss Hewitt home, Kate. I have to pass Mariaon as I am putting up with Major Cussens, and if she will direct me, I can have her home in no time.’

‘Oh, no, I really couldn’t allow it. I…’

‘But I insist. You cannot go with the Averys, Miss Hewitt, even if they have remembered that you are expecting to, which seems unlikely, and there is plenty of room for you in my carriage. I will be waiting for you at the door when you have collected your cloak.’

Thus it was that in a short time I found myself beside Mr Erskine in his high, light gig. He handled the reins himself, and behind us on the step stood the odd little man with the high hat with whom Charles had had a passage of arms on our arrival at the ball—such aeons ago. He stood at the horse’s head as Mr Erskine handed me up, and did not recognize me. But I could not be mistaken and I smiled as I realized that Charles would certainly consider him one more point in the disfavour of his employer.

The fatigue, of which I had been conscious before Connie’s appearance, had vanished in the ensuing agitation, and I felt sufficiently grateful to Mr Erskine for his consideration of Kate and myself to put myself out to be pleasant.

‘It was very kind of you to remain with us when George went to fetch Captain Avery, Mr Erskine. It was an unpleasant moment for both of us, particularly Mrs Barry, who had no reason to be involved.’

‘Don’t worry about Kate,’ he answered. ‘That poor woman was not the first drunkard she has had to deal with. Not by a long chalk. But you, Miss Hewitt, what reason had you to be involved?’

‘Mrs Avery is my hostess. I could scarcely have deserted her, could I?’

‘Hmph! And does this sort of thing happen often—in the Avery
ménage
, I mean?’

‘No! Well—that is, not so badly! But poor Connie—well, the truth is she acquired the habit of drinking gin when she was ill at one time, her doctor advised it, and now she can’t break herself of it.’

‘I see.’

I could tell he was smiling, though I could not see his face. It was a dark night now: the young moon had long since descended and the myriad stars were dimmed by great galleons of silvery-grey cloud hurrying before a chill wind that made me glad I had borrowed Emily’s sealskin cape.

‘My relatives appear to have brought you to a rather unfortunate household, Miss Hewitt. A wife too fond of the bottle and a husband too fond of the cards. It must be an education for you. Tell me, what does my brother Charles think of it?’

‘I don’t believe he realizes Mrs Avery’s weakness. And since he spends a good deal of time with Captain Avery, I presume he does not object to gambling,’ I answered primly.

‘Do you?’

‘It is no business of mine.’

‘Of course, I was forgetting. A “paid companion” must just put up with her lot, I suppose? But don’t tell me that the delectable Emily is as unconcerned? Surely she is shocked by her hostess’s partiality for gin?’

‘Yes, she is—and I am very glad she did not see Connie tonight. It would have distressed her.’

‘Of course.’

He drove in silence for a time, sitting forward, relaxed, with his elbows on his knees, and the reins gathered in one hand. I sat very erect and uncomfortably close to him on the narrow seat, so that the skirt of my dress overspread one of his knees. I am not by nature shy, but he made me feel awkwardly aware of myself, and I examined the profile of his face, with its high-arched nose, with some resentment. Remembering the snatch of conversation I had heard from the Banqueting Hall window, I was not surprised, now that I knew him, that he had managed to ‘run the gauntlet of matrimony’ so successfully. He was a disquieting creature.