The Tea Planter’s Wife (28 page)

To Gwen, Ceylon was a place where British dreams had been built and fortunes made, where English families had lived and children had been born, and where her life had changed beyond her wildest dreams. Yet here was a different world, where girls ran about in simple cotton tops and threadbare skirts, where babies gurgled and crawled in the dirt, and people did not have enough to eat.

Liyoni was dressed like the other girls when Naveena brought her back, and she carried a small bundle under her arm.

Gwen glanced up at the sky. Heavy rain clouds had massed on the horizon and they’d be lucky to get back before the weather broke.

On the long journey back, Gwen had felt so sick that Naveena needed to stop the buggy twice for her to vomit in the bushes. But in between bouts of sickness, she and the ayah had concocted a plan.

Back at the house, Gwen helped the child down from the cart and wrapped her shawl round her to protect her from the rain. She glanced at the front door and, heart in mouth, decided to duck round the house to the lakeside, and then slip in through her own full-length verandah windows. Less chance of being spotted, even if it did mean a soaking.

When Naveena turned to attend to the bullock, Liyoni attempted to follow the ayah. Gwen shook her head and took the child’s hand, scared she might struggle, but the girl only hung her head and walked meekly by her side.

As the two skirted the drawing room, Verity was standing at the window wearing a flowing yellow dress, seemingly just staring at the gardener mowing the lawns. She raised a hand to wave
and Gwen saw it freeze in mid-air, its stillness an exact mirror of the surprise on her sister-in-law’s face.

A gust of wind cut through her and, teeth chattering with fear, Gwen nodded and hurried to her room, wanting to slip the girl through to the nursery as quickly as she could. Damn! It had to be Verity. The butler had kept an eye on Hugh all day and when she heard her son thundering about upstairs, she was relieved that he was playing with his train set, just as she’d hoped. How he might feel about another child being in the house she could only wonder.

She motioned to Liyoni to come with her and they went in, stopping only to lock the windows and the bedroom door from the inside. She picked up a dry shawl, removed the wet one from Liyoni’s shoulders, and then, once through the bathroom and the door adjoining the small passageway, it was only a moment before they reached the nursery, and temporary sanctuary. Before she lost courage, Gwen closed the curtain against the daylight, and any other curious onlookers who may have noticed their arrival, then she leant against the wall with her head bowed. How would she cope under Verity’s scrutiny? She calmed her breathing and closed her eyes to stop the tears. Naveena wasn’t in the room, but Gwen knew she would be gathering her things to bring them to the nursery where she and the child would sleep.

In an attempt to get Liyoni out of her wet clothing, Gwen mimed what she wanted her to do, but the girl shook her head and stared at her.

‘You, Liyoni,’ Gwen said, pointing at the child. ‘Me, Gwen. I am the Lady.’

She tried a few words of Sinhala, but with no effect. She hesitated. Liyoni looked doubtful and sullen. Gwen herself felt wary. She knew nothing about the child. Nothing about her character, nothing about her life up until now. Nothing about what she liked or what she didn’t like. She held out a hand to her daughter, but the little girl stared at the floor and didn’t respond. Gwen felt a lump in her throat again. Whatever she did, she must not let her daughter see her cry.

She tried again to divest Liyoni of her clothes, and was struck by how far the little girl might have to go to accept her new life, and how much further she herself needed to go to properly care for her. The feeling of unease grew as she heard her sister-in-law calling from the corridor outside her bedroom. She shuddered, terribly aware of the risk she was taking.

Still wearing her dressing gown, Gwen laid all her clothes out on her bed, plus a swathe or two of sari fabric that she’d thought particularly pretty. It was becoming harder to find an inexpensive dressmaker and she was going to have to ask Naveena to alter some of her clothes. All round the world times were still hard, with some fabrics not only scarce but also expensive. A little while before, Fran had written about the new ready-to-wear clothes shops popping up all over London, and Gwen felt grateful that her relationship with her cousin had been, at least, partially restored, and no mention had been made of Ravasinghe.

Gwen read that, just as Laurence had found ways to streamline tea production, fashion houses had discovered less expensive ways of manufacturing too, and were using new and cheaper fabrics instead of more costly materials. Fran was particularly keen on the new sheer stockings from America, and had sent a saucy photograph of herself showing rather too much leg, and wearing a new rayon dress.

Most of Gwen’s best dresses were made of silk and awfully outmoded now; according to Fran, nobody in London or New York would be seen dead in a flapper dress. She’d included a recent American copy of
Good Housekeeping
to prove it.

Gwen studied the page where the magazine had fallen open. Some of the girls wore feminine two-piece outfits with simple blouses, or a little cardigan and longish wrap skirts. It was a lean look that she could imagine Fran bursting out of, though it would suit Verity well by lending a touch of elegance to her normally lanky appearance. If she curled her hair and wore some red lipstick, it could be the making of her. Being so petite herself, Gwen preferred the sweet short skirts of the twenties.

But her purpose today wasn’t to work out how to get herself more up to date, it was to decide which dresses Naveena might cut down to make clothes for Liyoni. She picked up a few silk dresses, but discarded them right away. A serving girl dressed in silk would attract attention. It was one thing providing for her daughter from a distance; it was much more testing to actually have her living in the house. She hadn’t slept a wink since the child had arrived, and most of the time the knot in her stomach had made it impossible to eat. She flinched at a noise outside her room and knew she’d have to find a way to iron out the dread that was building.

She picked out her old cotton day dresses – the fine wash-softened fabric might do well for the child – and created a small pile of sprigged cotton items: two or three skirts and a favourite but badly ripped red broderie anglaise dress. She rarely wore red but this dress was pretty. She folded the chosen items over her arm and carried them to the nursery.

Naveena was sitting on the floor with an abacus in front of her, and while the child moved the beads across and counted in Sinhala, Naveena was repeating the words in English.

‘What about introducing her to the rest of the household staff?’ Gwen said.

Naveena looked up. ‘Lady, do not break your head. I do that.’

‘I’ve told Laurence that you have had to bring an orphan relative to live here,’ Gwen said.

She’d had to force her legs from trembling as she’d lied to Laurence, and when he’d looked up from his newspaper and frowned, she’d pinched her own flesh hard to keep from giving way.

‘Darling, Naveena doesn’t have relatives. We are her family.’

She took a breath. ‘Well, it appears she does have this one relative, after all. A distant cousin.’

There was a silence, during which Gwen fidgeted, straightening her skirt and tightening the pins in her hair as she fought to steady her nerves.

‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ he said. ‘Naveena has a good heart and I suspect someone has told her a cock-and-bull story
about this missing relative and she has swallowed it. I shall talk to her myself.’

‘No!’

He looked surprised.

‘I mean, you’ve always said that the household is my responsibility. Let me deal with this.’

She waited and gave him a little smile as he paused before he spoke. ‘Very well. But I think we should do our best to find a more suitable home for her.’

Gwen frowned at the memory and looked across at Naveena again. ‘Laurence isn’t happy and Verity is curious as a cat.’

Naveena shook her head.

‘You don’t think I should trust my sister-in-law, do you?’

‘After his Lady die, the girl not happy. Unhappy person can be bad. Scared person too.’

‘Is Verity scared?’

Naveena shrugged.

‘What is she scared of?’

‘I cannot say …’

Naveena’s voice trailed off and there was silence.

The ayah would say no more. She rarely gave away her innermost thoughts, especially about the family, though Gwen wished she would. She couldn’t think of any reason for Verity’s fear, other than the dread of losing her brother, though that might explain her depression and the way she clung to Laurence.

‘I haven’t said anything to Hugh, and he hasn’t seen Liyoni yet.’

Naveena lowered her head and continued the lesson.

‘Maybe you could take her round the garden later, when Hugh has his rest,’ Gwen added.

During dessert, Laurence opened the post. Nothing of real interest for Gwen, except another note from Fran enclosing a snapshot of the latest ladieswear. Gwen was pleased that, judging by the tone of this letter, things really did seem to have completely returned to normal.

Laurence unwrapped a cylindrical item. A magazine rolled out, then lay, curled back on itself, on the white tablecloth.

‘What on earth?’ he said, picking it up and flattening it. ‘It looks like an American magazine.’

‘Can I leave the table, Mummy?’ Hugh piped up.

‘Yes, but no racing about until your food has gone down. And don’t go near the lake on your own. Promise me?’

Hugh nodded, though Gwen had recently spotted him attempting to fish from a narrow promontory at the water’s edge.

As Hugh left the room, Laurence’s frown deepened.

‘Is there a note with it?’ she asked.

He picked up the magazine, and when he shook it, an envelope fell out.

‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Who is it from?’

‘Give me a moment.’ He tore open the envelope and stared at it with raised brows. ‘It’s from Christina.’

‘Goodness! What does she say?’ She tried to keep her voice level, but for the first time in years she felt discomfited by the mention of Christina’s name.

He scanned the note then looked up at her. ‘She says she has a marvellous idea for us, and that I should examine the magazine to see if I can guess what it is.’

Gwen wiped her mouth and put down her pudding spoon. Her stomach was knotted and there wasn’t any hope she could swallow another forkful. ‘Really, Laurence! Haven’t we had enough of Christina’s ideas for one lifetime?’

Laurence glanced up at the snappy tone in her voice, shook his head and then flicked the pages. ‘It wasn’t her fault, you know. Nobody foresaw the Wall Street crash.’

Gwen pursed her lips, but kept her opinion to herself. ‘So what’s in the magazine?’

‘Blowed if I know. It appears to be trash. Just endless advertisements for shoe polish, soap powder and the like, strung together with an occasional article.’

‘Do you think she’s bought the magazine?’

‘Unlikely. All she says is that she has an idea that will transform our fortunes.’

‘But why would a magazine be of interest to us?’

As Laurence threw it down and prepared to leave, Gwen asked if she could use the Daimler to drive to Hatton. With her fabrics now sorted out, she needed buttons and thread.

Laurence, standing by the door with his hand on the handle and his chin jutting out, paused.

‘Well, can I?’ she said.

He hesitated for a moment longer. ‘Actually, I haven’t paid the garage bill yet.’

‘Why not?’

He reddened slightly and looked away. ‘I didn’t want to say. We were a bit short last month and all the cash had to go on wages. Should be clear soon. After the next auctions, that is.’

‘Oh, Laurence.’

He gave a brief nod, then, just as he was about to leave the room, twisted back and continued briskly. ‘I forgot, Christina also says she’ll be arriving soon to discuss this idea of hers. And she has asked if she can stay here for a few days.’

He shut the door quietly and Gwen sat alone, feeling appalled. She was already on tenterhooks trying to settle Liyoni without arousing suspicion, and now Christina would be staying with them. On top of everything else, how would she cope if Laurence fell under the American woman’s spell again? Despite everything he had said to convince her otherwise, she did not trust Christina, and the suspicion that Christina still had designs on Laurence only compounded the strain she already felt. She leant against the wall and closed her eyes.

As it happened, by the afternoon Naveena had developed a fever and was unfit to work, so with a sinking heart, Gwen had to look after Liyoni herself. At first it didn’t go well. In an effort to control her nerves, Gwen was terse and offhand, and the child resisted, crying and clinging to the old ayah’s bedpost. After
Naveena stroked her hands and whispered to her, she eventually gave in and followed Gwen through the passageway. Gwen had no idea what had been said, but Naveena’s instinctive sympathy must have settled the little girl.

In the bedroom, Gwen studied the child’s possessions. Her clothing consisted of what she stood in, plus a beaded anklet, a spare top and a ragged length of fabric.

She took Liyoni to the bathroom and showed her the bath. Though Naveena had washed the little girl, Gwen wanted to give her a good scrubbing before introducing her to Hugh. Self-conscious and hesitant, she tidied the towels and rearranged the soaps, then – not wanting the little girl to pick up on her anxiety – she composed herself. She had expected Liyoni to resist, but when the water reached halfway up, the little girl jumped in fully dressed. With her wet clothes now sticking to her, she looked thin, with a painfully fragile neck and a head full of long curly hair that had matted in places.

Gwen took a breath, still not knowing how to behave. When she poured a small amount of shampoo on Liyoni’s hair and rubbed the child’s scalp to lather up, she felt as if she might lose her nerve. But the little girl giggled and Gwen’s heart lifted a little.

After the bath, the girl struggled out of her clothes, and Gwen handed her a large white towel, then left her while she went back to the nursery to dig out an old shirt of Hugh’s.

Naveena, poor soul, was fast asleep and looking pale. It was a lot for her to undertake at her age. As Gwen gazed down on her, feeling guilty, she heard a scream and rushed back through to her bedroom.

Verity, red-faced, was jabbing a shaking finger at Liyoni, while holding the towel by the tips of her fingers. Fear sliced through Gwen.

‘I found her trying to steal this towel,’ Verity declared.

The naked child stood by the bed looking terrified, her arms crossed over her chest, her hair dripping water on the floor.

Gwen felt a stab of anguish, then squared her shoulders and felt so angry she had to fight her desire to hit Verity. ‘She wasn’t stealing it. I gave her a bath. Give me the towel.’

Verity hung on to it. ‘What! While you leave Hugh outside playing all alone?’

‘Hugh is fine,’ Gwen said, brushing Verity’s words aside. She marched over and snatched the towel, then squatted down to wrap it round Liyoni.

‘Have you lost your senses? She can’t be in your room like this, Gwen. She’ll be absolutely crawling.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Lice, Gwen. Bugs.’

‘She’s clean. She’s had a bath.’

‘You said she was here to help Naveena. She’s a servant. You can’t treat her as if she’s one of us.’

‘I’m doing no such thing,’ Gwen snapped as she stood. ‘And, Verity, as this is my house and not yours any more, I would appreciate it if you didn’t interfere in what I do. Naveena is sick. The child is alone in the world. I am simply doing the charitable thing, and if you can’t find it in your heart to understand that, the sooner you go back to your husband the better.’

Verity turned bright red and scowled, but didn’t speak for a moment or two.

Gwen squatted again to rub the child dry then glanced up over her shoulder. ‘Why are you still in here?’

‘You don’t understand, Gwen,’ Verity said, speaking so quietly Gwen could barely hear. ‘I can’t go back.’

‘What?’

Verity coloured up, shook her head and then abruptly left the room.

Gwen swallowed her anger. The timing of Liyoni coming to live at the house could not be worse. The place would be heaving. Just when she need some peace and quiet to get to know her daughter unobserved, people would be asking questions, wanting to be fed and asking how she was. The last thing she needed
was Verity hanging around watching her, or Christina hanging around watching Laurence.

She tried to look confident as she held Liyoni’s hand, though inside she was quaking. She still felt awkward about the colour of the little girl’s skin, but whatever she felt could not be allowed to count; settling the girl was what mattered, and what was at stake if she dropped her guard.

The sound of Hugh thumping a ball against an outside wall carried through the house. He must have heard her coming too, for when Gwen turned the corner he’d already stopped throwing the ball and was watching with one hand on his hip. His stance, an exact replica of his father’s, made her heart skip.

‘This is Liyoni,’ she said, trying to sound perfectly normal as they walked across the terrace. ‘She is a relative of Naveena’s and she’s going to live here as Naveena’s helper.’

‘Why does she walk funny?’

‘She has a limp, that’s all. I think there’s something wrong with her foot.’

Gwen was struck by Hugh’s stocky legs and his shorts covered with grass-stains. He loved rolling down the slightly sloping terraces, only stopping in the nick of time before the grass fell away. He gave her a toothy grin, and she smiled at his healthy pink cheeks and his strong nose with a streak of mud across it. Liyoni, standing not a yard away, looked fragile by comparison.