The Peacock Spring Page 5

  Yet was he a servant? The young man was sitting cross-legged on a mat at a floor desk on which he was writing – or not writing. He seemed to write a word, then gaze into space, his eyes looking directly at Una, though she was sure he had not seen her or her pale dress among the flowers. She saw his lips move and caught a murmur; he was trying over something to himself. Close by him a brazier burned red; every now and then he stretched out his hands to warm them over the coals.

  His lamp, unlike Miss Lamont’s, did not make a pool of light; it was only a wick in an earthenware saucer of oil, the saucer shaped like a leaf, a shape Una had seen in museums. But he ought to have a better light to write by, she thought.

  Hem had said the same thing, and sharply. ‘This is ridiculous, Ravi bhai, when you have electricity. You will ruin your eyes.’

  ‘I like the soft light,’ and Ravi grew cross. ‘You don’t understand. To write poetry, surroundings must be poetical. You are a dolt.’

  ‘And you will go blind.’

  The light was flattering; it threw a circle on the page on which Una could see characters; he was writing in one of the Indian languages and, from the narrow lines, it seemed to be a poem; his hand, holding what she thought was a wooden pen – Ravi would have told her it was an old-style reed pen: ‘Why not a quill or an ink brush?’ Hem had teased – was lit to amber brownness and made a shadow on the page; the light caught his chin and the side of his young face, absorbed and utterly at peace. Against the amber colouring of his neck, the shawl he wore wrapped round his shoulders looked shiningly white and Una noticed he had a flower, a rosebud, behind one ear.

  ‘There is a lady, sweet and kind

  Ne’er was a one so pleased my mind …’

  ‘Come, Hal, let us hear from you,’ Miss Lamont had said after dinner, then coloured, annoyed with herself. Try as she would, every now and again one of these little Eurasian colloquialisms slipped from her – she lived in dread of catching her mother’s perpetual ‘m’n’. ‘Why not? You are Eurasian,’ Una and Hal would have said.

  In the big drawing room, firelight flickered over the pale colours of sofas, chairs and curtains – I had forgotten we had fires in India, thought Una. There was a smell of wood ash, of sweet peas again from Ganesh’s bowls and vases, and the familiar smell of Edward’s cigar.

  Una had seldom seen his face as tranquil as, with her beside him, he leaned back in his chair smoking, watching and listening.

  ‘Hal can sing, Edward – really sing!’ Miss Lamont had exclaimed. Hal sang as naturally as a bird. Signor Brazzi, the visiting singing-master at Cerne, had had the wisdom to do little more than guard her voice ‘and teach her to breathe,’ he had said and, ‘She should learn languages seriously.’ But Hal had no intention of learning anything seriously. She simply sang.

  ‘A lady sweet and kind.’ That, Una knew, was how Miss Lamont already appeared to her young sister.

  ‘I did but see her passing by

  Yet will I love her till I die.’

  But Miss Lamont was not ‘passing by’. She was unmistakably here.

  ‘Now you sing,’ Hal said to her, and the fuller voice, rich after Hal’s treble, soared into the room as Hal, leaning on the piano, gazed at this dazzling new love.

  ‘Le ciel est, par-dessus le toit,

  Si bleu, si calme!

  Un arbre, par-dessus le toit

  Berce sa palme …’

  That poem should be sung calmly, detached as the night, thought critical Una. She makes it sound like honey, but Edward was rapt. ‘This is how I met her,’he whispered to Una. ‘She was engaged to play and sing at a party in Calcutta.’

  ‘But – she’s not a professional?’

  ‘No, but she had to make every penny she could, poor girl.’

  ‘Every rupee … every thousand rupees?’ Una had not meant it to sound so insulting, but the effect was instantaneous.

  ‘If you cannot appreciate … and cannot behave … I suggest you remove yourself and go to bed.’ Edward was at his cutting coldest; Una had seen many people shrivel under that – but for Edward to speak to her in this way, even if she had provoked him, was … was incredible – Una was almost too stunned to think – and for an outsider, a Miss Lamont! – but as she stared at him with disbelieving eyes, it became a curt command. ‘Go to bed.’

  It was an hour before he came to her, an hour of turmoil for Una, but at least he came. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Edward. ‘All this work makes me on edge.’ He stroked her forehead, straightened her pillow. ‘Go to sleep, my silly, and stop thinking,’ and he stayed with her.

  Edward had thought she was asleep when she opened her eyes and, ‘Who is it who lives in the hut at the end of the garden?’ she asked.

  ‘Is there a hut?’

  ‘Yes. Who lives there?’ and Edward had to say, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’

  Two

  ‘I have to go to Japan today,’ Edward announced at breakfast next morning.

  ‘Today!’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately.’

  ‘But we have barely unpacked,’ said Una. ‘Never mind. I have always wanted to see Japan, especially Kyoto.’

  ‘You? What is this to do with you?’

  ‘But you said …’ Una stared at him. ‘You wrote we should travel with you.’

  ‘When I’m on leave, not working. Cheer up,’ said Edward briskly. ‘I shall only be gone two or three days.’ He got up. ‘You have Miss Lamont. You can spend the time getting to know one another.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Una.

  ‘That’s nice and gracious,’ Hal scolded her when Edward had gone. ‘Think how Alix must have felt.’

  They were to call her Alix; Una decided immediately it should be Alix/Miss Lamont. It was difficult, though, to keep to that; Alix knew so well how to disarm.

  At first light the morning after Edward went, Monbad, the young house bearer, came along the verandah with a tray of tea, toast and bananas. ‘Toast and bananas now!’ Una said.

  ‘You will see, you will need them and breakfast too.’ Alix/Miss Lamont had come into the room. ‘We are going riding. Hurry up and dress.’ She herself was in jodhpurs and an orange silk shirt – ‘and jodhpur boots,’ Hal whispered enviously. They only had walking shoes.

  ‘You can ride?’ Una had not meant it to sound rude, but Alix’s colour rose and, as she drove them, she said, ‘I have ridden since I was four. My father taught me. He was in the cavalry, the Lancers.’

  In spite of herself Una was impressed. ‘The Lancers used to have gorgeous uniforms,’ she said.

  ‘The President’s Bodyguard do still; gold-braided turbans wound round a golden kulla – that’s the peaked cap; they wear white-and-scarlet tunics, white breeches, Napoleon boots with golden spurs. Each man must be at least six feet tall and, when they ride in state, they have snow-white sheepskins under their saddles. They are on duty when, for instance, the President holds an investiture. Probably Edward will take you to one, then you will see them standing down the room with their lances and pennants. Before Independence they used to stand guard like that in the ballroom at viceregal balls.’

  ‘Did you go to viceregal balls?’

  ‘Heavens! I was too young, only a little girl. My mother would have gone,’ said Alix, perhaps a little too quickly, ‘except that we lived in Pondicherry. Pondicherry was French, not British, so we only had Government House.’

  ‘Did your mother go to Government House?’

  ‘Naturally,’ but, That’s a lie, thought Una. ‘You will see the troopers.’ Alix had turned the conversation. ‘We shall be riding at the Bodyguard’s parade ground.’

  ‘But are we allowed to?’

  ‘Certain people have permission – diplomatic families, members of the Polo Club.’

  Diplomats they were used to, but polo … ‘Una, can you believe it?’ asked Hal. ‘At this time, at Cerne, we should have been doing PT before breakfast!’

  The early morning was chill enough to be exhilarating; sunlight,
though pale, seemed to spin round the car as they drove; every garden showed ‘showers of flowers,’ and gave glimpses of lawns and roses; creepers flowered over walls and gates and house pillars – And this is still January! thought Una, marvelling. Each roundabout had flower borders. ‘Delhi is called the city of fountains and flowers,’ said Alix.

  ‘Parts of Delhi.’ Una might have said. The roads were as busy and crowded as ant passages, with workers on their way to offices, shops, hotels; hundreds of brown legs, thin for the most part, walking or pedalling bicycles or rickshaws, or driving phut-phut taxis. The street cleaners sent up dust with their twig brooms, and little piles of leaves smoked on the sidewalks giving off a clean acrid smell. Alix turned off the road and bumped along a side track with white notice boards lettered ‘private’ and where, beyond clumps of trees, the green space of the parade ground opened; sure enough there were the troopers, wheeling and circling.

  ‘But where are the sheepskins? The scarlet and gold?’ They had to laugh at Hal’s disappointed face. ‘Silly, you don’t think they work in full dress,’ said Una. The uniforms were a drab grey-green. ‘But the turbans are still splendid,’ she said; they were, dark red, long-ended. ‘And see how these men ride,’said Alix. The parade was over and they were ‘schooling young horses,’ she explained. ‘But come, let’s look at ours,’ and she added, ‘I can’t tell you how disappointed Edward is not to be here at this moment?’

  ‘What moment?’

  ‘When you are introduced to your horses.’

  ‘Our … what?’ And, ‘You mean … we have horses?’

  ‘Look.’

  The three were waiting under an acacia tree which dappled their coats with shade and light as the grooms held them, ready to snatch off the checked-cotton horse-cloths – lettered G, Una noticed. Alix stopped the car, Una and Hal tumbled out, and the horses turned their heads, cocking their ears; one of them whinnied a welcome as Alix went near. ‘This is Una’s.’ The mare was a pale dun, her coat rippled with sable, darker colour in her mane, tail and slender legs. ‘She is called Mouse,’ said Alix. ‘She’s a little mettlesome, but Edward thought you could manage her; and this is Snowball, for Hal.’ A snowy-white pony with something of a palfrey in his thicksetness, wide neck, flowing mane and tail.

  For once Hal was speechless and Una so silent that Alix asked, ‘Don’t you like them?’

  ‘Like them!’ said Hal.

  ‘Of course we like them. It’s just,’ said Una dizzily, ‘that … it’s such a surprise.’

  ‘But you have ridden before.’

  ‘At school and in the holidays in Persia, but the horses did not belong to us. We never dreamed of having our own.’

  ‘Not at Gwithiam?’ There was awe in the way Alix said that name.

  ‘We’re not – we weren’t – that kind of people.’

  There was a third horse, a big handsome chestnut, and, ‘Is that yours?’ Una asked Alix.

  ‘That’s Edward’s Maxim.’

  ‘Edward’s! He has a horse?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not? It was suddenly going too far. Una and Hal collapsed into giggles. ‘Edward, and a horse!’

  ‘Why shouldn’t he have a horse?’ Alix demanded. ‘Why not, if he wants one.’

  ‘Edward wanting a horse!’ They were overcome with laughter.

  Again that colour stained Alix’s neck and cheeks. ‘You are very impertinent girls.’ She had been prepared for hostility, had understood Una’s resentment, but she had not visualized laughter. ‘Your father is like the rest of us, and needs some recreation.’

  ‘But a horse.’ They leant against one another, weak with laughter.

  ‘He plays no game, takes no exercise,’ argued Alix.

  ‘He has never taken exercise.’ Una was wiping her eyes. ‘He just gets himself thin with work.’

  ‘But he must want it – need it.’

  ‘You don’t know Edward as we know Edward …’ sang Una and, ‘What would he do with a horse,’ Hal asked rudely, ‘when he is in Japan?’

  ‘Siam,’ sang Una.

  ‘Assam.’

  ‘Funagity-pan.’ Then Una, catching sight of Alix’s face, tried to say, ‘I’m sorry, Alix. I know you meant to be kind, but it’s true, you don’t know Edward.’

  A burst of fresh giggles, but Alix had taken the measure of them. ‘I see it hasn’t struck you,’ she said with silky smoothness, ‘that Edward might have come to like something different?’

  The laughter stopped; Una’s face was set again. After a moment Hal said, ‘Oh well, are you going to ride Maxim now, Alix?’

  ‘Edward is generous enough to let me ride Maxim when he is away.’

  Beside the mare and pony, the chestnut looked enormous. ‘Well, he’s seventeen hands,’ but Alix swung up on him easily. ‘We’ll walk them on the edge of the parade ground until you see how they go.’ See how they go – not How you can ride. Again that tactfulness that made Una feel so contrary, but, You have just had a brush with her and came off worst, she told herself. Better keep quiet; besides, riding Mouse was an irresistible happiness. The little mare was obedient to every pressure of Una’s leg, the least touch of the rein. ‘You have good hands,’ said Alix.

  From the parade ground, bridle paths led away to open land; Una could see the red-earth rides shaded by feathery-leaved trees. A posse of children cantered down one of them, the riding-master behind. ‘Pony Club,’ said Alix and, ‘That’s how we had to ride at Cerne,’ Una told her. ‘And we rode hired hacks,’ said Hal, ‘and in Geneva. In Teheran we hired ponies too, but they were only little country ones.’

  Una looked down at Mouse with almost disbelieving pride. ‘Edward must have grown suddenly rich.’

  Alix was casting an anxious eye at Snowball, restive under Hal’s too eager hands. ‘Don’t pull at the reins, Hal. You’ll only make him worse.’ Other riders passed them, families who looked at them with curiosity; two Indian women; officers; then a young officer on a dapple-grey mare. After a moment he rode back, then turned and came up to them, saluting Alix with his whip. ‘Isn’t it Alix? Alix Lamont?’

  ‘Good morning, Captain Singh.’ She would have ridden on but he reined in beside them; his eyes, that were gay, friendly – and bold, thought Una instinctively – had taken in her, Mouse, Hal, Snowball and Maxim. ‘New post?’ he asked Alix/Miss Lamont. ‘New people?’ There was a touch of impertinence, of banter.

  ‘Sir Edward Gwithiam has engaged me as companion …’ Una and Hal were relieved Alix had not used the word governess. ‘Companion to his daughters.’

  ‘Sir Edward Gwithiam. Whew! You have come up in the world.’

  ‘Vikram!’ Her voice was sharp, but he was unrepentant. ‘I myself have come down,’ he said, ‘as I well know, but am I not reputable enough to be introduced?’

  ‘You’re not reputable at all,’ but Alix was only half-severe. ‘Girls, this is Captain Vikram Singh of the President’s Bodyguard. Una and Halcyon Gwithiam.’

  ‘How do you do,’ but it was impossible for Una to be prim; set off by the grey’s sidling and fidgeting, Mouse had begun to curvet too. Snowball followed, then bucked, almost unseating Hal, and the grey reared. ‘I had better take myself off,’ said Captain Singh, ‘and knock some of the devil out of this animal. Then, if I may, I’ll come back and ride with you.’

  ‘Arre! Shaitan!’ Alix shouted at Snowball. Una was to learn that Alix often lapsed into Hindi expletives when she was annoyed; now she caught Snowball’s rein and brought him up beside Maxim. ‘Stop pulling, Hal; and Una, you should use your whip when Mouse fidgets like that.’

  ‘Thank goodness I didn’t come off,’ said Hal. ‘Imagine if I had been bucked off in front of Captain Singh!’

  ‘You don’t have to bother about Vikram,’ said Alix, ‘and girls, please don’t encourage him.’ Alix was unable to keep emotion out of her voice so that it sounded like a plea more than advice and, Why? thought Una. Why?

  ‘He says he has come down in the world
. What did he mean?’ asked Hal.

  ‘His father is Pratap Singh, His Highness Pratap Rajendranath Singh, Maharajah of Paralampur.’

  ‘I thought there were no highnesses now, no maharajahs,’ said Una.

  ‘No. Poor Paralampur. I wonder what he will do. They say he has been stripped of his purse as well … Here is Vikram back,’ said Alix. ‘That grey isn’t all that steady; Hal, you had better get off and hold Maxim for me. I will take Snowball round for a few minutes.’

  The Captain came and stood with them while, Una still on Mouse and Hal holding Maxim, they watched Alix schooling the pony, giving him a sharp cut with her whip when he tried his rebellious bucking. Captain Singh did not speak to the girls, only gave them an absent-minded smile, but they both stole glances at him. ‘I suppose he would have inherited?’ Una asked Alix afterwards.

  ‘Yes, he was the Raj Kumar.’ The fact that the young prince was stripped of his title, his palaces, land and money, made him more romantic in their eyes – ‘Though it’s quite right,’ said socialist Una. Vikram, too, seemed remarkably cheerful. He was lithe and slim as a girl, but obviously strong from the way he managed his horse; his skin was as ivory as Alix’s and he wore a small, fine almost pencilled moustache – ‘A dear little moustache,’ Hal whispered to Una. ‘Why does he wear a topi?’ Una was to ask. ‘I thought no one had them now.’

  ‘Indian cavalry officers do, and the players wear them for polo.’

  ‘Did you notice his jodhpurs?’ Hal sighed. Great-Aunt Frederica had been mean about theirs. ‘Surely in the land of jodhpurs,’ she had said, ‘if you need them, they can be made for you there?’

  ‘They should be made for us here, in London,’ but they had to accept the ready-made ones Great-Aunt Freddie grudgingly conceded. The Captain’s seemed moulded to his slim legs, even his army shirt was graceful and his topi was wound with silk in the Bodyguard’s scarlet colours. But he isn’t as good-looking as our young gardener, thought Una.