The Distant Kingdom Page 12

  Mrs Fletcher’s plangent voice brought her back to the present and she looked at her visitor with some sympathy mixed with her dislike. The older woman must once have looked very like her pretty daughter, but years in India, with all their anxieties, resentments, fevers and disappointments, had made her face sag and wrinkle. Her complexion was sadly yellowed and her brown eyes were lacklustre. She made great efforts to repair the ravages of time, and her caps and bonnets were always adorned with false ringlets, but her own hair had not been as dark and glossy for many years and the contrast was nearly as sad as the bitter twist to her lips. Perdita smiled at her.

  ‘I am really much better now, thank you, Mrs Fletcher. Doctor Drummond is even allowing me to take a little exercise. He says it is beneficial. But you really need not feel responsible for me. After all, quite apart from my husband, I have my stepmother close at hand.’ Perdita watched in some amusement as Mrs Fletcher arranged her face into an expression of deep concern. She smoothed the ends of her handsome barège mantler, obviously admiring its thick green sheen, unaware that the colour only accentuated her sallowness, and said:

  ‘That puts me in mind of something I meant to say to you. We, that is, I, do not believe that it would be wise of you to see much of, er … Mrs Whitney.’

  ‘I do not know what you mean. She does not go out into society, but there is no reason for me to avoid seeing her. After all my husband need not go, though when we were all together naturally she met and spoke to him, and did not seem to mind being unveiled in his company.’

  ‘So I understand. It was all very unfortunate, but I am quite sure Lord Beaminster would agree that you should cut the connection now.’

  Perdita had been lying on her daybed under a soft pale yellow silk quilt, under instructions to keep calm for the good of her child, but at this example of monstrous prejudice, she sat up angrily.

  ‘Mrs Fletcher, let me make one thing quite plain: Aneila Whitney is my father’s wife. Without her, I do not know how I should have survived Charles’s birth. How could I cut such a connection?’

  ‘Well, please promise at least that you will not greet her in public?’ pleaded Mrs Fletcher. ‘It would give such a bad impression.’

  ‘Mrs Whitney does not go into public places. I shall visit her quite privately, as she prefers. But if it will make you feel any better, I shall undertake never to mention her to the ladies of other regiments.’

  ‘I do think that would be wise; but please do not excite yourself so much. I am sure you should lie down. Now that is better. Let us talk of pleasanter things. Do you go to the Governor General’s ball next week?’

  ‘Yes, I believe so. Doctor Drummond has promised to release me soon, and we shall probably be there. Tell me,’ she went on, her good nature demanding that she should make some kind of reparation for shocking her visitor, ‘who else is here this season?’

  ‘Well, naturally Maria and the children; she is the only one from our Station, but there are plenty of others, and of course all the Governor General’s suite. And then I believe that there is a gentleman from America staying here. I have not met him yet, though I understand he is quite respectable – and often received by Miss Eden.’

  ‘What is he doing in India?’

  ‘I cannot imagine, my dear. Oh yes, I think I heard someone say that he is a writer and that he is making a grand tour, or something of the sort, though it sounds quite absurd I know. I really did not listen.’

  ‘Well he sounds more entertaining than the usual convalescent officers up here to recover from their excesses in the plains.’

  ‘Lady Beaminster, sometimes I wonder whether you quite appreciate the difficulty of life out here for most of the Company’s servants.’

  Perdita’s ayah saved her from having to answer by opening the door to usher in Doctor Drummond, whom her mistress greeted with relief.

  Seeing her expression, he smiled understandingly before turning to her visitor to say:

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Fletcher. I trust you are well?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Doctor Drummond. Apart from my back, which as you know, is always torturing. Yester …’

  ‘You are always very brave,’ he said, bowing urbanely. ‘And now I am afraid I must break up your tête-à-tête with Lady Beaminster.’

  He moved over to open the door for her and reluctantly she rose, saying as she passed Perdita’s sofa:

  ‘I know you are too sensible to forget our little discussion, my dear.’ She averted her eyes ostentatiously from the flamboyant silver bed and nodded to the doctor as she walked out of the door.

  He was too polite to say anything about her, but his narrowed eyes were full of mischief as he came back to Perdita’s daybed. He shook her hand and asked how she was feeling.

  ‘Very well. It seems fraudulent to be taking up so much of your time when there is nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘It is always a pleasure to see you, as you well know. But I do think you have been remarkably lucky.’

  ‘I had very good nursing.’

  ‘So it seems. I have just come from Mrs Whitney. Your father asked me to look in on her now and then.’

  ‘Oh, how is she? I have longed to see her, but until you let me out of here I cannot; she will not come here.’

  ‘So she told me. And I said to her that I would allow you out today. I am a little worried about her. She tells me that she has had all her other children with great ease, but I understand that that was all sometime ago. She seems rather low, and I think it would do her good to see you.’

  ‘Of course I shall go. But, Doctor Drummond, please tell me what it is you fear for her. Is it serious?’

  ‘Please do not agitate yourself, Lady Beaminster. There is nothing particularly alarming, but as I said, she seems low, and she had a small fever. But I shall keep an eye on her. Now tell me exactly how you are.’

  But Perdita had nothing to report and after a brief physical examination he told her that she was fit enough to get up.

  ‘Though you should not ride just yet. But you will definitely be well enough to dance at the ball at Auckland House next week.’

  ‘I am glad. I have been looking forward to it.’

  He looked surprised, and Perdita remembered how she had told him of her dislike of the constant round of dreary entertainments at the Station. Now she laughed a little and said:

  ‘Ah, yes, but this one will be different. I want to meet Miss Eden again. I only spoke to her briefly, but she was so much more interesting than all those vapid women.’

  Doctor Drummond, who had a huge admiration for the Governor General’s elder sister, was pleased to see that his good opinion of Lady Beaminster had been well founded. He smiled, with the twinkle that made him so engaging, and agreed, telling her of many of his heroine’s exhibitions of humanity, of how she rescued two unfortunate orphans, of the money she gave for the starving, of her untiring devotion to her brother’s support, although, he went on:

  ‘Like you, she very much dislikes the ceaseless dinners and balls. I am sure you will find her most agreeable, She … But I must not go boring on.’ He stood cup to leave. ‘Your husband will be happy to know that you are completely recovered; he had been very worried about you.’ Perdita flushed, and a small, wistful smile widened her lips, which made the doctor wonder a little; but speculation about his patient’s marital affairs was outside his province, and so he said nothing.

  Soon after he had gone, Marcus came in and stood by her side, looking at her sombrely. She smiled warmly up at him.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Marcus? Doctor Drummond says I am well again and can get up.’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered shortly, thinking of the pleasure of his renewed friendships, while she had been confined to her room. He and his fellow-officers had been so much easier together when he did not have to worry about protecting Perdita from their sarcasm or his friends from the boredom some of them quite obviously felt in her company.

  Perdita lowered her eyelids in disappoi
ntment. Guiltily aware of having hurt her yet again, Marcus knelt down on the floor by her sofa and took both her hands in his.

  ‘My dear, I am truly glad.’ But it was too late, and the unshadowed trust with which she had looked at him was gone from her eyes. She smiled politely at him now, and gently withdrew her hands.

  ‘I am not allowed to ride yet, but he says I may visit Aneila if you have no objection.’

  ‘Naturally not. You must do as you wish, always. But I hope he will allow you to ride again soon. I have something for you. Come.’

  He helped her up, smoothing the huge white cashmere shawl round her shoulders, and took her over to the window. There he showed her a syce standing outside in the garden holding a stocky grey mountain pony. Perdita smiled, for some reason amused by the hairy little beast.

  ‘Marcus, thank you. You should not give me so many things.’

  He was standing close behind her with one hand still under her left elbow when he said:

  ‘Why not? I know how much you have missed riding Moti, and you have given me so much.’

  Perhaps he was just shy of me when he first came in, thought Perdita, and Doctor Drummond was right that he has been concerned. If he can say something like that, perhaps he does care after all. And so she leaned back just a little, so that her body was brushing against his, and said:

  ‘Have I, Marcus, truly?’

  ‘But of course, my dear,’ he answered, stiffening and withdrawing from her, ‘not least a son.’

  Again she felt shrivelled by his coolness and embarrassed to have tried to touch him, when he clearly found it distasteful. He seemed so different from the man who had carried her into Aneila’s house, and who had walked beside her palanquin holding her hand. She moved away from him, determined not to give way again to her impulses to reach him.

  ‘I should dress now. Would you send ayah to me?’

  ‘Certainly. I have to ride with Thurleigh this afternoon, but I shall see you at dinner.’

  She had to exercise all her self-control to prevent her dislike of Captain Thurleigh overcoming her. She and Marcus had been so much happier together once he had left the Station, but now that they were back in same town as he, they seemed to have lost the easy warmth they had shared, and try as she might she could not help blaming his friend. However, provided she kept her intercourse with Marcus at a polite but restrained level, they would do well enough.

  Her resolve not to burden him with her desire for warmth between them lasted well into the next week, and when she went to her room to dress for the Governor General’s ball she felt that they were in remarkably good accord. That and the pleasure she took in her new gown helped to banish much of her usual nervousness.

  The gown had been made from a piece of white satin embroidered with delicate gold threads, which Mrs Macdonald had sent her in a parcel of silks from Calcutta with a letter saying:

  The white satin is called ‘Amy Robsart’, which seems sadly inappropriate. But I hear that it is all the rage in England, and I have bought the only lengths to have arrived here, so you will be very modish when you wear it.

  Perdita had immediately liked the rich-looking material, but she had been afraid it would be too magnificent for any occasion Simla could offer until she had received an invitation to the Auckland House ball. Then she had called for her durzee and given him firm instructions to copy a plate in the latest Indies’ Magazine her mother-in-law had sent out.

  The result was a magnificent creation with a very full skirt that made the most of the delicate white flowers framed in gold on the gleaming satin. The corsage was cut very low and the sleeves were daringly short, set dose to the shoulder with several lace falls hanging gracefully from them.

  With her hair becomingly dressed and one of Marcus’s presents, a delicate diamond necklace, adding the finishing touch of elegance, she felt enough confidence to stand in front of the long pier glass in her bedroom. For the first time in her life, she could look at her reflection without embarrassment, and even smile at it. She was surprised to find that she liked the look of herself; but she also felt a kind of recognition, and wanted to say something like, ‘Oh, so there you are at last.’

  When she emerged into the hall where Marcus was waiting, he said involuntarily:

  ‘My dear Perdita, you look delightful. That is a new gown, isn’t it?’

  She smiled at him and did not find it necessary to brush away the compliment with some self-denigratory phrase as he had half expected. All she said was:

  ‘I am glad you like it.’ But she carried her head high and, looking at her, he believed she would play her part that night without shrinking.

  Nevertheless, he watched her covertly as they drove to Auckland House and as they entered the ballroom, where she was introduced to many strangers. He was pleased to see that she greeted them adequately and smiled as they spoke to her, and he enjoyed the surprised and admiring glances she aroused. Quite soon he felt able to leave her with the colonel’s lady while he went to pay his respects to Mr Colvin, His Excellency’s Private Secretary.

  Mrs Fletcher directed Perdita’s attention surreptitiously to a group of colourfully dressed Indian men seated round the Governor General, and said in a loud whisper:

  ‘Is it not shocking that there should be natives at our ball? I for one will not dance tonight, and you would be well advised to do the same. What Miss Eden can be thinking of I cannot imagine!’

  Perdita looked down at the squabby little woman unbecomingly dressed that night in deep maroon figured satin, and tried to hide her revulsion. She said as politely as she could:

  ‘I do not see why we should be shocked. The boot will probably be on the other foot, as my husband would say; I gather that Sikhs are like Hindus and find it shameful that we English ladies should dance in public at all.’

  ‘What nonsense. You must not make too much of native superstitions. Ah, here is dear Maria.’

  Perdita suddenly remembered a promise she had made to Mrs Macnaghten, who had called on her the day before, and moved off with as much grace as she could muster. She was quite determined to avoid the petty malice of Maria Jamieson, who, she had heard, had been telling as many people as she could all about ‘poor Miss Whitney who so extraordinarily managed to snare dear Lord Beaminster’.

  As she walked across the room towards Mrs Macnaghten, Perdita looked appreciatively around her. Like all the rooms in Simla except her father’s, this one had plain white walls, but they had been embellished with red patterns, stencilled around the cornice to match the unusual curtains that seemed to have been made up of alternating stripes of red and white cloth. At either end of the great room fragrant wood fires burned merrily, their comforting crackle mingling with the orchestra’s playing. Towering vases of magnificent rhododendrons flamed against the white walls, and festoons of red muslin decorated all the doorways.

  The visiting Sikhs, thought Perdita, far from blighting the ball with their contaminating presence, added greatly to the evening’s entertainments. They were dressed in brilliantly coloured satins, and their jewels were far more lavish than any of the ladies’. Watching them, Perdita envied her father on his mission to their ruler’s court, and wished that she could talk to them instead of exchanging suitable conversation with the English guests. Marcus came up to her as she stood near the Sikhs’cushions and persuaded her to join a quadrille that was forming.

  Perdita still found the complicated dance worrying, but managed not to make any very obvious mistakes. Marcus’s expression of amused pleasure told her that he understood both her doubts and her determination to overcome them, and at the end of the dance they walked off the floor together in obvious accord.

  Several of the ladies who had not been in Simla the year before and had not yet met Lady Beaminster decided that little Mrs Jamieson’s tongue had run away with her. The new countess behaved with perfect propriety, they decided, and was obviously on the best of terms with her interesting husband. Her happiness pleased the more
generous of them, and several of them looked forward to making her acquaintance.

  They were not at all surprised later in the evening to see her claimed for the waltz by Mr Colvin. As Lord Auckland’s Private Secretary, he was an important man in Simla, and it seemed fair that he should choose to dance with that glowing creature. And, of course, it meant that Lord Beaminster would be free to stand up with one of them.

  Perdita was delighted that Miss Eden had yielded to the blandishments of her brother’s aides-de-camp for a waltz, which she found much easier to dance than the difficult quadrille, and she liked Mr Colvin, who had been introduced to her earlier by his wife. But as they whirled into the throng of dancers, neatly avoiding Sir Henry Fane and his daughter, she was suddenly afraid she would not be able to think of anything to say to him Looking around for a subject, she saw the gorgeously dressed Sikhs and said something to him about the ill-conceived surprise on their faces.

  Mr Colvin answered:

  ‘It has been explained to them that it is the custom for English ladies to dance at gatherings such as this, and that you are not what they call “nautch-girls”, but I think they find some of our customs hard to understand.’

  ‘So I believe. I heard from my father that some years ago the King of Oude believed that a group of ladies had been dancing for his entertainment and waved them away when he was bored. It must have been rather difficult.’

  ‘I had not heard that. But these fellows would never do anything like that. They are very polite, you know. They told his lordship that roses bloomed in the garden of friendship and that nightingales were singing in the bowers of affection sweeter than ever.’ He laughed.

  Perdita felt that he was mocking the Sikhs in a way he would never mock an Englishman, however absurd, and protested:

  ‘But Mr Colvin, don’t you think those are rather pretty conceits?

  Just imagine having nightingales singling to one in a rose bower of affection. I think I should like it very much.’