The Tea Planter’s Wife (14 page)

What could she do? Perhaps she could say that she had delivered only one child, or maybe she could pretend the baby was dead – but no, for that they would need a body. Gwen watched Naveena sitting by the window with the baby in her arms, and wished herself far away from this awful country where a white woman could give birth to a brown baby for no reason. No reason at all. The air stilled and for a horrible fractured moment Savi Ravasinghe’s face slid into her mind. No! Oh God. No! Not that. It couldn’t be. With her breath knocked right out of her, she doubled over.

Utterly worn by her labour, she couldn’t be thinking straight. Surely she would have known if the man had taken advantage of her? And then another thought almost tipped her over the edge. What about Hugh? Dear God. This couldn’t be happening. If it was possible that the baby girl might be Savi’s child – terrible, terrible thought – what about Hugh? Was it likely that two fathers could have been involved? She’d never heard anyone speak of such a thing. Was it possible? Could it be possible?

She looked over at Naveena again and, with a heavy heart, glimpsed the moon between breaks in the cloud where it was high in the fading night sky. Almost morning. What was she going to do? Time was running short. She had to decide before the servants started moving about the house. Nobody could know. The wind seemed to get up and then the sound of a car’s tyres crunching on the gravel sent blood pounding to her temples.

Both she and Naveena froze.

Naveena was the first to rise. ‘It is the master’s sister,’ she said, and wrapped the covering blanket over the baby’s tiny head.

‘Oh God! Verity,’ Gwen said. ‘Help me, Naveena.’

‘I hiding the baba.’

‘Quickly, do it quickly.’

‘In nursery?’

‘I don’t know. Yes. In the nursery.’ Gwen nodded, then stared straight ahead in absolute panic. As Naveena hurried from the
room, Gwen listened to the sounds of Verity entering the hall and then heading down the corridor. Within minutes there was a knock on the door. Gwen’s breath was coming way too fast, her mind so frantic she could not think of a single coherent thing to say, and, as Verity swooped in looking flushed and over bright, she was certain she would give herself away.

‘Darling, I am so sorry. Are you all right? Can I see them?’

Gwen inclined her head towards Hugh’s crib.

‘Where’s the other one?’

Gwen’s lips twisted slightly and she felt her chin tremble, but she took a breath and stiffened before speaking. ‘Doctor Partridge was wrong. There was only one. He’s a boy.’

Verity walked across and stooped over the crib. ‘Oh, isn’t he gorgeous! May I hold him?’

Gwen nodded, but her heart was thumping so hard she pulled the bed covers up to her chin to hide her chest. ‘If you wish. But please don’t wake him, he’s only just fallen asleep.’

Her sister-in-law picked Hugh up. ‘My, but he’s so tiny.’

Gwen’s throat felt strangled. She managed to improvise an answer, though her voice came out sounding thin. ‘I must have been carrying a lot of water.’

‘Of course. Has the doctor seen you yet?’ Verity said as she put Hugh back in his crib. ‘You look awfully pale.’

‘He’ll come when he can. He was out on another call last night apparently.’ Gwen felt her eyes smart, but did not say any more. The less she said about anything the better.

‘Oh, darling, was it perfectly awful?’

‘Perfectly, yes.’

Verity drew up the chair and settled herself beside Gwen. ‘You must have been awfully brave to do this on your own.’

‘I had Naveena.’

Gwen closed her eyes for a moment, hoping Verity would take the hint. She was acutely aware that, in the rush, Naveena had not closed the door to the bathroom, and although she must have
shut the door to the nursery from the bathroom, she wanted her sister-in-law to leave before the baby girl woke.

‘Shall I tell you about the party to cheer you up?’ Verity said.

‘Well, actually –’ Gwen began.

‘It was wonderful,’ Verity continued, taking no notice. ‘I danced for so long I’ve actually got blisters, and can you believe it, but Savi Ravasinghe was there too, dancing most of the night with that Christina woman. He asked after you.’

Dismayed by the turn the conversation had taken, Gwen raised a hand to fend off the woman. ‘Verity, if you don’t mind, I need to rest before the doctor comes.’

‘Oh, of course, darling. Silly old me chattering on when you must be absolutely shredded.’

Verity stood and took a few steps towards the crib. ‘He’s still asleep. I can’t wait for him to wake up.’

Gwen shifted in the bed. ‘He will soon enough. Now, if you don’t mind.’

‘You must rest, I see that. I had planned to see Pru in Hatton today, if that’s all right with you. But I’ll stay if you need me …’

So much for helping out, Gwen thought but didn’t say, although she was intensely grateful Verity would be leaving again.

‘Go,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

Verity turned and headed for the door. There was the faint sound of a baby’s cry and then it stopped. As her sister-in-law spun round with a grin, Gwen went rigid.

‘Oh, lovely, he’s woken up,’ Verity said as she came back over to the crib, but when she saw Hugh she frowned. ‘That’s odd, he’s still asleep.’

There was silence, and though it lasted for just a moment, for Gwen it was so fraught that it seemed to go on for a lifetime. As she closed her eyes, willing the baby girl not to cry again, she felt as if her skin was on fire. Please God, don’t let her make any noise while Verity is staring at Hugh.

‘They do cry in their sleep,’ she managed to say in the end. ‘Now do go to Hatton. I have Naveena.’

‘Very well, if you’re sure.’

As her sister-in-law closed the door behind her, Gwen leant forward and hugged her knees. A sensation of being uprooted from the earth took over, and she felt so fragile that one gust of wind might lift her from the bed and carry her off. She rang the bell for Naveena.

When the ayah came back she sat at Gwen’s side and held her hand.

‘Naveena, what am I going to do?’ Gwen whispered. ‘Tell me what to do.’

The old lady stared at the floor, but didn’t speak.

‘Help me. Please help me. I’ve already told Verity there was only one baby.’

‘Lady, I do not know.’

Gwen started to cry again.

‘There has to be a way. There has to be.’

Naveena seemed to struggle for a moment, then took a deep breath. ‘I am finding village women in the valley to look after baba.’

Gwen stared at her and the woman met her gaze. Was she suggesting she should give the baby away to a stranger? Her own child?

‘It is only way.’

‘Oh, Naveena, how can I just give her up like that?’

Naveena reached out a hand. ‘You must be trusting me, Lady.’

Gwen shook her head. ‘I can’t do this.’

‘Lady, you must.’

Gwen bowed her head in desperation. Then she looked up and when she spoke her voice shook. ‘No. This can’t be the only way.’

‘Just one other, Lady.’

‘Yes?’

Naveena picked up a pillow.

Gwen gasped. ‘You mean smother her?’

Naveena nodded.

‘No! Not that. Under no circumstances.’

‘People are doing it, Lady, but it is not good.’

‘No, it’s not, it’s terrible,’ Gwen said and, horrified that they’d even spoken of such a thing, she hid her face in her hands.

‘I am thinking, Lady. Going to far valley with baba. You pay a little money?’

For a moment Gwen did not reply, but lifted her head and stared straight ahead with tears blurring her vision. She shivered. The truth was she could not keep the baby. If she did she would be cast out with a child that was clearly not her husband’s. She’d probably never see her baby boy again. Where would she go? Even her parents might have no option but to turn their backs. With no money, no home, it would be a far worse life for the little girl than going to live in the village. At least there she wouldn’t be too far away, and maybe one day … She paused. No. The truth was there never would be
one day
. If she sent the child away it would be for ever.

She looked at the old woman and spoke in a whisper. ‘What shall I tell Laurence?’

‘Nothing, Lady. I begging you. Like with his sister we are saying only one baby.’

Gwen nodded. Naveena was right, but she trembled at the thought of speaking such a terrible lie. Verity was one thing. With Laurence it would be so much harder.

Naveena’s eyes filled with tears. ‘It is best. The master being scorned, if you keeping.’

‘But, Naveena, how could this have happened?’

The old lady shook her head and her eyes looked terribly pained.

The ayah’s obvious emotion made Gwen feel even worse. She closed her eyes, but then all she saw were her silky French knickers lying on the hotel bedroom floor. She forced herself back to the night of the ball, tried to remember every detail, got to the point where Savi was stroking her temple, then … nothing.
Trapped in a moment she could not recall, she felt violated. What had he done to her? What had she allowed him to do? She could only remember waking up half undressed when Fran came in. Again she wondered if it was even possible for there to be two fathers. The thought that it might not be only intensified her sense of violation, and sent her heart beating wildly. Hugh had to be Laurence’s son. He had to be.

‘Lady, do not distress.’ Naveena took hold of Gwen’s hand and stroked it. ‘You wish to name the baby?’

‘I don’t know the right kind of name, for a child like –’

‘Liyoni is a very good name.’

‘Very well.’ She paused. ‘But I must see her one more time.’

‘Not good, Lady. Better she go now. Do not be sad, Lady. It is her fate.’

Gwen’s eyes stung. ‘I can’t just send her away without seeing her again. Please. Maybe if we lock the door to the corridor? I have to see her.’

‘Lady –’

‘Bring her to me so that I can at least feed her, can’t you, just once, and then later a wet nurse in one of the villages down in the valley can take over?’

With a sigh that seemed to give away her fatigue, Naveena took a step back. ‘First, we waiting for the sister to leave.’

Neither spoke as they waited, but the moment they heard Verity’s car take off, Naveena closed the bedroom shutters and brought the baby back.

There were no bruises, no red face, she was nothing like Hugh at all. A perfect baby the colour of dark milky coffee.

‘She is so small,’ Gwen whispered, and touched the softness of her silky cheeks.

The little thing latched on the moment Naveena put her to Gwen’s breast. The sensation of the suckling was strange enough, but then, shocked once again by the darkness of the child’s face against her own white skin, Gwen trembled. As she unlatched the child from her breast, the baby’s eyes were huge; she shrieked
once, sounding indignant, then sucked at the air. Gwen turned to face the wall.

‘Take her. I cannot do it.’ And though her voice sounded harsh, the stark pain of knowing she was turning away her own flesh and blood was worse than the pain of her birth.

Naveena took the baby from her. ‘For two days I be gone.’

‘Let me know as soon as you’re back. Are you sure you can find someone?’

Naveena shrugged. ‘I am hoping.’

Gwen glanced over at Hugh, desperate to hold him tight and terrified he might be taken too. ‘They will look after her properly?’

‘She will grow up well. I light a candle, Lady? It is peaceful. Will help you rest. Here is water. I will get hot tea and come. To ease the heart, Lady.’

Thoughts sped through Gwen’s brain as she reached for the glass of water, shaking uncontrollably. She tried to think if there was anyone who could act on her behalf, but looking for a different answer to explain the colour of the child’s skin would take time she didn’t have. Right now she had given birth to a baby that was not her husband’s, and if she were to talk about the night at the ball, nobody would believe she hadn’t been intimate with Savi Ravasinghe willingly. She had allowed him up to her room, hadn’t she? Laurence would reject her and Verity would have him to herself. It was as simple as that. And if she were ever to question anyone, she would have to admit the fact of Liyoni’s birth. She couldn’t do that. Not ever.

Although at first the baby’s colour had shocked her, it was what that colour really meant that stopped her heart from beating. She felt lost. Godforsaken. Her hand shook so much that the water spilt, soaking her nightdress and trickling down her chest. She felt as if this terrible thing she had agreed to would mean peace and sleep were gone for ever. And her guilt would surely destroy the return of those heavenly feelings she had discovered with Laurence. The girl’s dark eyes came back to her – an
innocent newborn baby needing her mother – and for a moment Gwen’s longing to cradle both her babies grew stronger than her desire to keep her marriage intact. She picked up Hugh and rocked him, then she wept and wept again. But when she thought of Laurence’s trusting smile and his strong arms wrapped round her, she knew she could not keep her tiny baby girl. As the grief bit into her heart, she realized she and her daughter would never enjoy happy memories. But worse – far worse – was that this poor little girl, through no fault of her own, would be forced to live with neither a father nor a mother.

They waited until almost dusk. Verity had not yet returned from Hatton, so Gwen kept watch as Naveena bundled up the baby and placed her in an old tea-picker’s basket. She climbed into a bullock buggy and put the baby in the back, but just as they were about to leave, McGregor stepped out of the darkness. Gwen hid in the shadows of the porch, holding her breath and listening as Naveena claimed she was going to visit a sick friend in one of the Sinhalese villages.

‘The buggy is not for your own private purpose,’ McGregor was saying.

Gwen felt her jaw grow rigid.

‘Going just one time, sir.’

Please make him let her go.

‘Do you have the master’s permission?’

‘The mistress say.’

‘What do you have in the basket?’

Panic swept through Gwen, the breath sucked right out of her.

‘Just old blanket the mistress give.’

McGregor moved to the other side of the buggy, and Gwen couldn’t hear what he said. If he were to check the basket now, she might as well be dead. As a few more words were spoken, Gwen prayed, for the sake of all that she held dear, to please let McGregor leave. She couldn’t hear what they were saying now, couldn’t even hear if they were still talking, and in the darkness she couldn’t see if McGregor was already looking inside the basket.

As the memory of her foolishness on the night of the ball overcame her, she longed to step forward and admit her wrong. If she hadn’t been jealous of Christina she never would have accepted
help from Savi Ravasinghe, so only had herself to blame. If she spoke now it would all be over … but then, hearing the sound of footsteps and the buggy starting to move off, Gwen slipped back into the house, dizzy with relief.

Poor Naveena had not wanted to go in the dark, but the difficulty of keeping the baby without her cries being heard was too great.

In the time that Gwen was alone she longed for sleep, but every few minutes she kept checking on Hugh. After an hour or so she heard Laurence’s car. She threaded her fingers through her tangled hair to tidy it then made her escape to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She pressed her fists to the sides of her head and longed to sink to the ground. But knowing she could not, she splashed her face and tied back her hair then sat on the edge of the bath and waited for her hands to stop shaking. When she heard Laurence enter the bedroom, she pinned a smile on her face, found her courage and went through to the bedroom.

Laurence was standing motionless with a look of amazement on his face as he gazed at his son for the first time. She watched while he remained unaware of her presence, taking in his broad shoulders and the way his hair waved at the front. Struck by how happy he looked, she knew she couldn’t bear to reopen the hole in his heart. It wasn’t all about protecting Laurence – a selfish current ran through her too – but for both their sakes she had to go through with this.

She took a step forward and he turned at the sound. She realized that, along with amazement, there was also a look of what she could only call relief on his shining face. Unsurpassable relief. As they stared at each other, his eyes sparkled, but then he screwed up his face as if to stem the tears.

‘He’s like you, don’t you think?’ she said.

‘He’s perfect.’ He stared at her in awe. ‘You’ve been so brave. But where’s his twin?’

She froze, unable to think or feel, as if every moment that had passed between them had never been. He was a stranger. She
fought the urge to run, and with an effort of great will walked across to him instead, somehow able to hide her distress.

‘There was only one baby after all. I’m sorry.’

‘Darling girl, you have nothing to be sorry for. I couldn’t love you more, but this … this means so much.’

She forced herself to smile.

He held out his arms. ‘Come here. Let me hold you.’ He hugged her and as she leant her head against his chest she felt his heart beating.

‘Gwen. I’m so sorry I’ve been distant. Forgive me.’

She stretched up and kissed him, but felt torn. She ached to share this terrible confusion, get the truth into the open and stave off the lifetime of lies before they began, but his wide, spreading smile stopped her. After so many weeks Laurence was back, not just physically, but emotionally too. She was able to hold herself in and allowed him to continue hugging her, but she knew nothing could ever be the same again. Something was flowing out of her: safety, security, she wasn’t sure what, but it left her feeling shaken and desperately alone. She listened to the harsh screech of birds taking off over the lake, and felt the thump of his heart against her cheek again. She was drained, and not even the warmth of Laurence’s smile could stop the crushing pain she felt.

Once the doctor had been to check Gwen over, she made up a string of excuses to explain why Laurence must leave her alone, but the truth was she could only grapple with her pain during his absence. The same thought kept recurring: could two men father twins? She’d wondered if she could pretend to be finding out for a friend, but because of her pregnancy she’d had no time to forge individual friendships here, so Laurence would see through that. For much of the time they lived in isolation and most social functions, like the Governor’s Ball or the Golf Club Ball, they attended together. Who could she trust with this? Not her parents. They’d be horrified. Fran? Maybe she could talk to Fran, but it would be ages before she saw her again. The fact that she could not actually
remember Mr Ravasinghe making love to her didn’t help. He had seemed to be so kind. He had stroked her forehead. He had stayed with her while she felt sick. But what more? Not knowing was driving her mad.

By Laurence’s third night back at home, Naveena had still not returned from the village and Gwen hardly dared imagine what would happen if the woman had been unable to find a foster mother. As her anxiety increased, the child’s dark eyes began to haunt her. She was on high alert, edgy, jumping at sudden noises, and the constant worry that Laurence might discover the truth made her feel ill.

He tiptoed into her room just as she was finishing off Hugh’s late-night feed.

‘Why are you always creeping up on me?’ she said. ‘You gave me a fright.’

‘Darling, you look tired,’ Laurence said, ignoring her bad temper.

She sighed and wiped the curtain of ringlets away from her face.

Now the milk had come in, Hugh was a voracious little feeder, but had fallen asleep at the breast. Laurence adjusted her pillows, then sat on the edge of her bed and twisted round to face her. She shuffled her bottom up a little, then rotated her neck to ease the tightness that came from allowing the baby to feed for too long.

He took her hand. ‘Are you managing to get any sleep, Gwen? You look so pale.’

‘Not really. I take so long to fall asleep, and by the time I do, he’s awake again.’

‘I am a little worried that you don’t seem yourself.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Laurence, I’ve just given birth. What do you expect?’

‘Only for you to seem a little happier. I would have thought you’d be so tired from feeding Hugh that you’d fall asleep instantly.’

‘Well, I can’t.’ She’d spoken abruptly, really barking at him, and felt shamed by the sad look on his face. ‘The baby doesn’t sleep much either.’

His brow furrowed. ‘I’ll call John Partridge again.’

‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m just tired.’

‘You’ll feel much better if you have some decent sleep. Maybe you should limit the time you spend feeding?’

‘Whatever you think,’ she said, but could not tell him that the times when Hugh was feeding were her only moments of internal peace. Something primal about the suckling infant soothed her. She could watch his soft curved cheek and fluttering lashes, and feel better; yet if he opened his blue eyes to stare at her, she could see only the dark eyes of the other.

When he wasn’t feeding, he cried. Cried so much that all she could do was hide her head under her pillow and weep.

Laurence leant across to kiss her, but she turned her face away and pretended to fuss over Hugh.

‘I’d better put him in the crib or he’ll be awake before I know it.’

Laurence stood and reached over to squeeze her shoulder. ‘Sleep. That’s what you need. I hope Naveena has been a help.’

Gwen dug a nail into the fleshy part of her palm and kept her eyes lowered. ‘She’s visiting a sick friend.’

‘
You
should be her priority.’

‘I’m all right.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. Goodnight, my love. I hope you feel better in the morning.’

Gwen nodded. She couldn’t tell him she felt that she might never sleep again.

After he had gone, she blinked angry tears away. She tucked the baby in his crib and then looked herself over in her bathroom mirror. Her nightdress needed changing and her hair stuck to her neck in damp trails; the skin of her breasts and upper chest was almost translucent and marbled with fine blue veins, but it was her eyes that shocked her. Her usually bright, violet eyes had darkened to almost purple.

Back in her room, bereft of all hope, Gwen slumped in her chair. She wanted to cry but had to hold on to herself somehow. Naveena had been gone a day longer than she had expected, but
at last she heard the sound of a bullock cart pulling up, followed by voices. Her mind emptied as she waited.

A few minutes later Naveena came into the room and Gwen sat up, sharply drawing in her breath.

‘It is done,’ Naveena said.

Gwen let out her breath. ‘Thank you,’ she said, almost sobbing with relief. ‘You must never speak to anyone of this. You understand?’

Naveena nodded, then said that she had told the Sinhalese village woman who had taken the baby that Liyoni was the orphan child of a distant cousin, and that she, Naveena, could not look after her. She had arranged for messages to come up from the village. Once a month, on either the day after full moon or the day before, the foster mother, who could neither read nor write, would slip a charcoal drawing into the hand of the coolie driving the daily bullock cart that fetched milk for the plantation. The coolie would be paid a few rupees and told that the drawings were for Naveena. As long as the drawings arrived at roughly the right time, Gwen would know the child was well.

After Naveena had left, another chilling thought held Gwen in its grip. What if Naveena didn’t keep her promise? What if she spoke of it? The accusing voices in her head would not stop going on and on, until she covered her ears and cried out against their words.

A God-fearing Englishwoman does not give birth to a coloured child.

When Gwen opened her mouth, at first no sound came out, but then, as the loss of her baby girl tore at her heart, a deep moan began to rise from the pit of her stomach. By the time it reached her open mouth it had become a terrible growling animal sound over which she had no control. She had given her own tiny newborn baby away.

It was another day before Doctor Partridge managed to make a second appearance, and by the time he did, the afternoon was drawing to a close. Gwen looked out at the lengthening shadows in the garden and squeezed her hands together. She scanned the
room and ran a palm over her towel-dried hair. Naveena had left the window ajar and placed a large vase of wild peonies on the table nearby, so at least the room smelt fresh.

Gwen sat up in bed waiting for the doctor, turning her hands over and over, examining her nails without seeing them as her fingers twisted this way and that. Wearing a newly laundered nightdress, she stilled her hands and, pinching her cheeks to bring back the roses, she muttered the words she must say. Inside she felt sick with nerves, but if she could just remember the right words … She heard the shriek of tyres and tensed.

Then, through the open window, came Laurence’s voice. She had to strain to hear but he was not a quiet man, and she thought she heard him say something about Caroline. Then came the doctor’s quieter response.

‘But damn it, man,’ Laurence said even more loudly, ‘Gwen is not herself. You should have come straight here. I know there’s something wrong. There has to be something you can do.’

Again the doctor’s soft-voiced reply.

‘Good God,’ Laurence said, and then continued in a hushed voice. ‘What if the same thing happens? What if I can’t help her?’

‘Childbirth affects some women badly. Some recover. Some do not.’

Gwen could not make it out, but she heard Laurence mention Caroline’s name again. She felt like a child, eavesdropping on her parents.

‘How long has she been like this?’ the doctor asked, and then the two men walked out of earshot. He’d taken the doctor to the lakeside, so that they would not be overheard by the servants. He already knew! Her throat dried and, just in time, Gwen stopped herself thinking that way, though every muscle throbbed with the tension of waiting. She cast around the room, wanting to hide, while sliding further down beneath the sheets. She heard a door bang, then footsteps in the corridor. The doctor would be in her room. Any moment now.

The door opened. Laurence came first and then the doctor,
who approached with a hand stretched out in greeting. When she took it and felt the warmth of his palm, tears stung her eyes. He was so kind, she longed to tell him, to just blurt it all out and be done with it.

‘So how are you now?’ he said.

She gritted her teeth, looked him in the face and, quelling the fear that he might smell the guilt on her, swallowed before speaking. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Can I check the baby over again?’

‘Of course.’

Laurence went to the crib and lifted his sleeping son. Her heart constricted at his rapt attention.

‘He’s quite a chap. Feeds non-stop.’

Gwen interpreted Laurence’s comment as a criticism. ‘He’s hungry, Laurence, and it soothes him. Surely you must hear him cry?’

The doctor sat in the chair beside Gwen and, taking the baby in his arms, looked him over. ‘A bit on the small side, but he does seem to be growing bonnier every day.’

‘He was early,’ Laurence said.

‘Yes, of course. Yet I am surprised it wasn’t twins. Must have been water retention after all.’