The Distant Kingdom Read online

  ‘I don’t mind mess, Charles,’ she answered, preceding him into the house.

  He took her into the drawing room and put a lucifer to the fire that was already laid.

  ‘Sit by that, my love. I’ll just stable the ponies; I shan’t be long.’

  When he left, she stripped off her gloves and the soaking jacket of her dark-blue habit and dropped them on the floor with her veiled beaver. Then she went to open the shutters to let what little light there was into the room and stood in front of a looking glass to see if she could do anything about her hair. It was very wet and so she took out the pins and went to sit by the fire, brushing out the knot with her fingers and drying the ends of her hair.

  It had not struck her that she was breaking the most serious of all the conventions: she was alone, in the house of a notorious rake with not even a servant for propriety; but despite his reputation he had never seemed like a rake to her. She knew only that she was with a friend, a man she loved and who had heard what she had done without turning from her in loathing. She shook the rain out of her hair and waited for him.

  When he came back, he noticed at once that she had opened the shutters, as though to announce to everyone in the houses round about that his was occupied. He rather liked the innocence of that, but nevertheless went to shut them again before he lit the candles, saying:

  ‘With these we don’t need what’s left of the daylight, and the shutters will keep out the damp. My poor Perdita, are you very wet?’

  She looked up, smoothing the golden-brown hair out of her eyes, and smiled.

  ‘I’ll be all right, Charles.’ He came to kneel on the floor beside her and brushed the long hair out of her eyes. He held her face in both his hands and kissed her. To his delight, he felt her lips move under his and her hands touch his back. When he pulled away a little to look at her, she said:

  ‘I didn’t know it could feel like that, Charles.’

  ‘Nor I. Perdita, you know that I love you; will you let me show you how much?’

  Suddenly everything seemed very simple and so she nodded.

  ‘I love you too, Charles.’

  He kissed her again, more urgently and, as she responded, started to caress her. She brought up her hands to still his, but he said:

  ‘Let me love you. Perdita, I need you so much.’

  There was nothing in his voice or face to frighten her and nothing to remind her of Marcus’s unhappy attempts. She brushed his face with her left hand and gave herself up to him. His long and varied experience had taught him how to be gentle with her and to wake in her the passion that surged in him, but nothing he had known had prepared him for the importance of making love to a woman for whom he cared so deeply.

  At one moment he saw her looking up at him puzzled. He stilled himself and asked anxiously:

  ‘What is it, love?’

  ‘Charles?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. What is it?’

  ‘I, I …’ She couldn’t put into words the feeling she had of wanting and owning the whole world. She could only say his name again. He kissed her gently, lingeringly and slowly brought to her the unimagined, unanswerable pleasure he wanted her to have.

  Afterwards as he lay with his head on her heart she slowly stroked his smooth, fair hair. When his erratic breathing slowed to a soft, quiet rhythm, she said huskily:

  ‘Charles, I never knew what it all meant until now.’

  ‘I’m glad, love,’ he said sleepily.

  She lay, quiet, by the crackling fire, more at peace than she had ever been. She felt that she had been immeasurably enriched. There was no shame, no embarrassment anywhere in her mind. Charles had shown by every word and gesture that her body was right, and whatever she had done and said was what he wanted because it was said and done by her. It was as though he had freed her for ever.

  She lay there with him for an hour or more before he woke, not really thinking anything except that she loved and was loved. The memories of war had been pushed as far away as those of her difficult, damaged husband. She was Charles’s and he was hers.

  When he woke the fire had died down and cast only a pale red glow on their faces and limbs. In the dim light he raised his head from her breast and kissed her.

  ‘Oh, Perdita.’ He looked down at her lovely face and traced the hollows beneath her eyes and cheekbones. ‘I suppose I ought to take you back now, before your household begins to worry.’

  She smiled and let her arms drop away from him.

  ‘But I will see you tomorrow?’ There was no anxiety in her voice; she was sure, at last.

  ‘Of course; whenever you want me I’ll be there.’

  She went back to Whitney House with him in a mood of profound peace that lasted all through the evening she spent alone, gave her a night of uninterrupted sleep without dreams, and took her through the next morning in a state of astonished happiness.

  The first hint of a snake in her Eden came when she went to the nursery to have tiffin with the children. They greeted her as exuberantly as usual, but quite soon Charlie asked:

  ‘Mama, where is Papa?’

  ‘At Sabathoo with Grandpapa. Well, no not exactly,’ she amended, looking at her little watch. ‘They will be driving back now.’

  ‘But does Grandpapa know the way? Papa cannot see, you know.’

  ‘Yes, Charlie, I know.’

  ‘But why didn’t you go with them? What if Grandpapa gets lost?’

  ‘Grandpapa won’t get lost,’ she said almost sharply as the thought of all her responsibilities came rushing back into her mind, banishing the peace. ‘He knew the way between Sabathoo and Simla long before I ever came to India, Charlie, and long, long before you were born. He will look after Papa for us all.’

  ‘Well, when will they be back?’

  ‘In time for dinner, I expect.’

  ‘Can we stay up, please, please, Mama?’

  ‘Yes, Annie, of course you may.’

  They seemed satisfied and left the subject alone for the rest of the meal and were quite happy for her to leave them then.

  She went to change out of her morning dress of pale yellow muslin and looked anxiously out of the window, hoping to see a break in the low clouds or a diminution in the heavy rain, but both looked well set in. Rejecting the riding habit that had been laid out, she asked her maid to fetch a round dress of delicate rose levantine that Charles had once admired, and dressed to receive him in her father’s drawing room.

  Charles came soon after three, very wet, and saw at once that something had happened to disturb the mood of the previous day. Annoyed that the rain made it impossible for him to take her away somewhere, he sat on one of the sofas near the fire and waited for her to tell him what had happened. But she did not speak, only looking into the flames with an expression of wistful regret that worried him. After a few minutes of growing anxiety, he took her hands and made her face him.

  ‘Perdita, something has happened. What it it?’

  ‘Yesterday was outside time for us, Charles.’ He waited, but when she did not explain he pressed her.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Don’t be angry, Charles; it is very difficult to say.’

  ‘I’m not angry, love, only very worried. You looked so happy when I brought you back yesterday. What has happened?’

  ‘I’ve remembered who I am. Yesterday I wasn’t thinking of anything except you and what you meant to me. But this morning when Charlie reproached me for letting Marcus go away without me, I remembered that I am his wife. Although every bit of me yearns to be with you, Charles, I belong to him.’

  ‘That’s not very fair to me, is it?’

  When he saw the tears on her lashes, he was sorry he had spoken so roughly, and took out his handkerchief to catch them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Perdita. I didn’t mean to do that.’ He smiled ruefully: ‘I have never been in this situation before; I don’t know how to go on.’

  Forgetting for a moment that any of the serv
ants might walk in, she leaned forward and rested her head on his shoulder. She was still holding his hands and so he could not reach out to embrace her.

  ‘Charles, I feel as though everything in me will shrivel and die if I am not with you. But he needs me more than you do. He is blind, and … and I killed his … James.’

  ‘You can’t let that bind you to him. He ought never to have married you; he had no right.’

  Perdita lifted her head and drew back.

  ‘But he did, and he is the father of my child. He could never live alone now, and I am his wife.’

  There was no answer to that. Charles looked at her, his heart feeling as though it was being gripped in an inexorable vice and squeezed quite dry. Trying to keep the pain from his face, he said:

  ‘Do you regret yesterday?’

  ‘How could I? What you gave me then will be with me always.’

  ‘Oh God, Perdita, I feel as though I shall love you to the end of time. You can’t …’

  ‘I must.’

  ‘You won’t make me go away, will you? You must at least let me see you.’

  Her hands moved in his, and her feelings were as clear as though they were painted on her face.

  ‘Of course, Charles. I don’t think I could bear it if you went away now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  That night, just as she was drifting into sleep, she heard the door of her bedroom open. Something in her was forced into a desperate, mute protest, but she made herself call softly:

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Perdita heard nothing more except for the sound of their breathing and knew that he was waiting by her door. She got out of bed and went to shut the door behind him. Then she touched his arm.

  ‘Marcus, my dear, you’ve no dressing gown. You must be so cold. Come here, come to bed.’ She helped him in and pulled the quilt up round him. When she had got in beside him, he gripped her hand and said despairingly:

  ‘I couldn’t put it on. Isn’t that stupid? A grown man feeling around for his dressing gown, finding it, but getting himself so tangled up in it that he could not put it on.’

  Perdita could think of nothing to say that would comfort him, and so she turned very gently to kiss him. His other hand came up to her shoulder and turned her back on to her pillows. Lying back as he buried his ruined face in her breast, she stroked his hair. She was trying to find words to tell him that with practice he would learn to put on his clothes, when he said, his voice choked:

  ‘I hated being in Sabathoo.’

  ‘But Marcus, why? Was Papa … I mean, did Papa say something to distress you?’

  She felt his head shake. Then he said painfully:

  ‘You weren’t there. Without you I am so afraid. I have tried to pretend it isn’t so, but I can’t any more. Cold frightens me; so does heat; the feel of a strange hand guiding me; the sound of voices, of pariah dogs barking, a whip cracking, horses’hooves. Everything terrifies me when you are not there. Oh dear God, Perdita, I need you so much.’

  The irony of his words was bitter. All the time she had longed to give him just what he needed now, he had shut her out; and now that he wanted it so desperately she had found someone else who could give her all the things she needed, yearned for, that Marcus could not give. But as he had told her years before, there is a bond between people who have fought and faced death together that cannot be broken; and now, as Marcus lay in her arms, she could feel the strength of that bond, the bond that had once kept them so far apart. So, pushing all thoughts of Charles out of her mind, she said again and again, knowing that it had to be the truth:

  ‘I shall be there, Marcus. Always. I shall always be with you.’

  His hands began to move over her and he started to make love to her. Despite the anguished protests of her heart, she recognized his need for what it was: a longing for deep, physical solace to drive away the terrors that besieged him. She could not deny him that.

  When it was over, he lay back beside her without a word and was almost instantly asleep. She lay awake, listening to his breathing and to the tick of the clock, hour after hour.

  At first she tried to make sense of what had happened to them all, but that was so fruitless that she tried instead to turn her mind to deciding what she must do to make some kind of life that would be possible for them. Gradually it became obvious that she would have to take Marcus and the children away from India. There was no place in the Company’s army for a blind, lame man, and without the regiment Marcus had no place in India.

  That a return to England would deprive her not only of the man she loved but also of her father could not be allowed to weigh in the balance beside Marcus’s need. Besides, he had responsibilities in England, responsibilities that would one day belong to Charlie. It was only right that she should take them back there. But as three o’clock struck, she turned her face into her pillow, crying silently: How can I do it? Everything I care for is here. I hated England. What will happen to my father if I go now that Aneila is dead? Must I really give up everything just because a savage Afghan child drove a knife into my husband’s eyes?

  She hardly recognized the answer that her other self provided, but its meaning gradually calmed her wild protests until she understood it, and accepted it: not because of his eyes, but because in spite of everything, you love him too. And he needs you now. Then she slept.

  The following morning, as soon as Marcus had gone to his dressing room, Perdita went into her father’s room. He was standing near one of the long windows while his bearer knelt to put on his shoes, and he looked up, very surprised at her precipitate entry.

  ‘What’s the matter, Perdita? Has something happened?’

  ‘No, nothing. But I think I’ve got to take Marcus back to England,’ she burst out.

  Edward looked carefully at her and then dismissed his servant.

  ‘Come and sit down, Perdita, and tell me what all this is about.’

  Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Perdita spoke more slowly:

  ‘The regiment won’t have Marcus back now and James Thurleigh is dead. There is nothing left for Marcus in India. But at Beaminster there must be all sorts of things he could do. From what Juliana told me, he owns most of the county and has hundreds and hundreds of tenants. Surely he ought to be there? And he might be happier.’

  ‘And what about you? Will you be happier there, Perdita?’

  When he saw the expression on her face he was about to apologize but she forestalled him.

  ‘I don’t think that can be part of the equation, Papa. Beaminster is Marcus’s home and one day I suppose it will be Charlie’s. I have no right to keep them here, away from it, just because …’ She faltered and he prompted her gently:

  ‘Because?’

  ‘The idea of England fills me with despair; living with his mother, with terror; and losing you … I wonder how I shall bear it. But I can’t see an alternative.’

  ‘What does Charles say about all this?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered indirectly, ‘there’s that too. But he knows I can never leave Marcus, and he must understand.’ She raised her eyes and Edward saw just how much her decision was going to do to her. He wished that he could dissuade her, but she was so obviously right that he could not even protest.

  Perdita watched a deep crease forcing its way between his eyebrows, and waited to hear what he had to say. When it came, it surprised her in its simplicity:

  ‘I shall miss you; terribly.’

  She put out her hands to him in an involuntary movement, and he took them in a hard grip.

  ‘Papa, couldn’t you come with us?’

  ‘Oh, Perdita dear, no. My whole life has been spent here in India. England would be an exile for me now. I couldn’t settle to that at my age; and my work is here.’

  ‘Then what shall we do about Annie? I love her, and she and Charlie are so accustomed to one another now that it would be cruel to separate them.’

  ‘You must take
her, if you will. There’s no question. A man of nearly sixty, alone, with a four-year-old daughter! It wouldn’t do, and you were right when you told me that she needed a mother. She seems more yours than mine now. Beaminster seems fond of her too.’

  ‘Yes, he is. Oh dear, he must be dressed by now. Papa, I’d better go before he trips over the breakfast table. And I haven’t told him any of this yet, so please don’t mention it.’

  ‘Of course not. But wouldn’t it be easier for you if I suggested it to him so that the final decision could come from him?’

  Perdita shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think so, Papa. I think the idea of making such an important decision would worry him too much at the moment. I’ll tell him, but …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. I was going to ask you to tell Charles, but that’s cowardly. I shall have to do it.’

  But she found it very difficult. Telling Marcus had been unexpectedly easy, and the children were wildly excited, although Annie kept asking worried questions and Perdita had to reassure her endlessly that there were no tribesmen in England, and that the mountains were only hills, and no one would hurt her there.

  Charles came every day, to read the newspapers to Marcus, amuse the children, talk to Edward and be with Perdita, and every day she resolved to tell him but found she could not. Even the worry that one of the children would let the news leak out to him could not force her until Edward told her that he had secured berths for her on a steamship leaving Calcutta in the middle of September, only seven weeks away. She knew then that she could wait no longer, and asked Edward to read to Marcus so that she could be free to talk to Charles alone.

  When he arrived in the middle of the morning she took him to the library, where no one else ever went. They sat down in the deep green leather armchairs on either side of the empty grate, and Charles said:

  ‘You’re leaving.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything else that would bring that expression of determination and anxiety to your lovely face. And, I suppose I have been expecting it.’ He looked at her very straightly. ‘But it doesn’t make it easier.’ Then he laughed, and the bitterness she heard in the sound made her wince. ‘Nemesis is a clever bitch, isn’t she?’