A Proper Education for Girls (28 page)

“Sit by me,” said Lilian at last.

Mr. Hunter lowered himself onto the settee. He felt hot all over and his clothes felt tight and uncomfortable. Lilian rubbed his thigh with her sandaled foot. “You are so kind to me,” she said. “Giving me so many beautiful things. I feel that I should give you … something in return. Something of myself.”

Usually so eager to talk endlessly on his favorite subjects (in particular his own splendid accomplishments as a plant hunter), Mr. Hunter found he could not speak. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to throw himself down before her, but he did none of those things. All at once he felt that if he spoke, if he moved or laid a finger on her, she would disappear, like a wraith of smoke from her hookah, and the words he was sure she was about to utter would be lost forever.

U
NKNOWN TO EVERYONE
but Harshad, Lilian had scheduled her departure for the end of the week. At night, she practiced packing her things into her panniers and rolling her bedding up tightly. She had collected together everything she would need for a month's travel—rice, clothing, painting materials, cooking pot, and utensils. The thought of going away, the knowledge that soon she would be journeying back to Alice, made her tingle inside with anticipation. What an adventure it would be! She smiled. She saw Mr. Hunter stare at her lips greedily and inch forward. Lilian squeezed his hand. She almost wanted to tell him so that he could share her excitement. How well everything had turned out! She could see the pulse in his neck throbbing rhythmically with the beat of his heart. His expression betrayed a mixture of lust and expectation, which was exactly what she had hoped for.

Lilian sprang to her feet. “I have these paintings to send to Kew,” she said. “I must be rid of them this afternoon or they will be delayed. I wonder, would you be so kind as to take then to the
dak?
You did offer to do this small task for me, did you not?” “What?” Mr. Hunter blinked at her, confused.
“Now?”
“Yes, now,” said Lilian. “You can come straight back. I have something for you,” she added, stepping closer. “For when you return. Something warm, and soft to the touch. Something that you tasted once before, when we were at my father's house.” She put out a hand and stroked his hair. Her voice was no more than a whisper. “You seemed to like it then. Will you not try it again now?” She leaned toward him and kissed his lips gently.

W
HEN
M
R.
H
UNTER
returned, dusty and exasperated from his hasty trip back to the
dak
, he was told that Lilian had gone out.

“Did she say where?” he demanded.

“No,
sahib
,” answered Harshad. “Though she said she had promised you something. A reward for your … your kindness.” Harshad held out a silver platter. Upon it, the afternoon sunlight turning its flawless velvet skin to gold, rested a large, ripe peach.

A
TRIP WAS ARRANGED BY
M
R.
V
INE TO SEE THE BOTANIC
gardens at Khinsamaghar. The magistrate was assured by Mr. Hunter that all manner of delightful April flowers would be on display, and as the heat of the day was not yet intolerable, it promised to be a pleasant excursion. It was clear to Mr. Hunter (whose face had darkened with irritation that he had not suggested this outing himself) that this expedition had been arranged with Lilian's gratification foremost in the magistrate's mind. Indeed, Mr. Vine had initially intended to take Lilian only, for once agreeing with Lilian's unspoken opinion that the society of the other Europeans would be both irksome and tedious. But on this occasion Lilian agreed with the magistrate's usual view that the company of these same Europeans was both desirable and useful: she would not have to be alone in his company.

As he made his way toward the
ghat
beside the barracks the magistrate could not help but feel exasperated to see the broad backs and ample behinds of Mrs. Birchwoode, Mrs. Toomey, and Mrs. Ravelston. Mr. Hunter had not been invited, but he had turned up anyway.

The journey was to be made by water—such a voyage proving to be faster and without the inconvenience to throats, eyes, and clothing occasioned by the clouds of dust that rose from beneath the wheels of vehicles or the feet of bearers. The band of cutthroats Mr. Vine had hired to man the vessel looked as though they would
be just as likely to rob their passengers and toss them overboard as transport them to their desired destination, though they hauled on ropes and heaved on the tiller willingly enough. The magistrate shouted shrilly at the leader of the group—a burly dark-skinned individual with an eye patch whom Lilian was almost certain she had seen insensible with
arrak
in the bazaar not two nights earlier. The man ignored Mr. Vine (which did not go unnoticed by certain of the Europeans) but bellowed a command of his own as the boat lurched away from the riverbank and into the brown waters.

“How exciting!” squealed Miss Bell as a herd of elephants swam down the river, driven past the vessel and on toward Kushpur by a team of
mahouts
. “Did you ever see such a thing?” The
mahouts
held on to the tails of their beasts with one hand, shouting and whisking their switches in the air with the other. The boat swayed and heaved in the roiling waters. Mrs. Birchwoode's vast bulk shifted sideways, pinning Lilian securely against Mr. Hunter as a frigate might pin a coil of rope to the dockside. Mr. Vine rubbed eau de cologne on his temples. Mr. Hunter slid his hand along the bench where they sat, his fingers hidden beneath the folds of Lilian's skirts, and squeezed her hand.

The boat made its way slowly up the river. Mr. Vine sat in silence, his brow moist with sweat, distracted by the nearness of Lilian. Although he knew that it was ungentlemanly to stare, the truth was that he found he was unable to keep from doing so. In the end he abandoned all pretense and allowed his gaze to remain fixed covetously upon her. Beside him, Dr. Mossly smiled and nodded almost continually, in the hope that Lilian would eventually notice these movements and might smile and nod in return. Mrs. Birchwoode had turned her back on Lilian and was lecturing Miss Bell in an undertone (which everyone was able to hear) on how best to show off her natural advantages of face and figure in order to catch herself a husband.

Miss Bell's face turned pinker the louder and more indiscreet Mrs. Birchwoode's remarks became, until Mr. Birchwoode (who appeared to be selectively deaf to his wife's voice) at last stirred
himself to interrupt her by pointing out a group of
sepoys
lounging on the riverbank. The soldiers were staring directly at them.

“Can they not see who we are?” said Captain Lewis after a moment. He stood up, in case the
sepoys
should be in any doubt as to what such pale faces and such red uniforms might represent. The
sepoys
remained where they were, sitting and squatting on the ground. Captain Wheeler and Captain Forbes also stood up. The
sepoys
watched the boat gliding past with burning eyes. Eventually, some of them struggled to their feet. Half of their number saluted, one or two of them with their left hand. Captain Lewis's face turned thunderous at such an insult, and he was all for putting ashore and taking his sword to the miscreants. Holding on to a rope end, he leaped precariously onto the side of the boat, waving his saber and shouting bloodthirsty curses. A distressed murmuring broke out among the ladies.

“Such insolence!” drawled Captain Wheeler. He joined Captain Lewis at the side of the boat (though he was too indolent to leap up beside him) and spat into the water.

“There's nothing we can do,” said Captain Forbes. “They'll be out of sight behind a bend in the river in a moment, and you'll never see them again. Besides, you'll only alarm the ladies if you carry on.”

“Don't you know what this uniform should mean to those fellows?” snapped Captain Lewis.

“Of course I do,” said Captain Forbes, looking at the civilians on either side of him. “But you'll have to leave it.”

Captain Lewis and Captain Wheeler subsided. After all, there was champagne in the hampers they had brought and there were pretty girls to talk to, the same pretty girls whose faces were now flushed with excitement at the display of soldierly bravado they had just witnessed. The officers returned to their seats.

“Miss Forbes,” said Captain Wheeler gallantly, “your brother tells me that he used to call you ‘Tibby’ when you were a child. Can you tell us why?” And the incident was forgotten, carried away on a flurry of chaste giggling from Miss Forbes and Miss Bell and a gale of manly laughter.

T
HE GARDENS HAD
once belonged to the
raja
of Khinsamaghar. His inability to produce a direct heir, however, meant that on his death his entire personal fortune had been redirected into the coffers of the Honourable East India Company.

“How else would peace have been maintained in the region?” remarked the magistrate as they berthed at the
ghat
below the palace and gardens. “The Doctrine of Lapse is disliked by the
nawabs
, but that's only because they can't see the benefits.”

“And what happened to the
rani?
” said Lilian. “After her husband died?”

“She receives a pension of some sort, I believe,” replied the magistrate. “She had an adopted son whom she tried to put forward, but the claim was not tenable under the terms of the doctrine.”

“Come, come, old chap,” said Mr. Ravelston, eyeing the rump of his disembarking niece as it swayed before his eyes. “Just forget the politics, can't you? Everyone's happy enough.”

“How delightful,” cried Mrs. Toomey The gardens were spread out before them like a regimented Eden. An artificial stream burbled down a gleaming conduit between terraces bursting with color. Clumps of bushes and low, clipped hedges marked out a gravel pathway leading away from the river and into the rhododendron bushes. “I don't think we've had an outing like this since, well, since …” Her smile froze.

Everyone looked at Lilian for signs of feminine weakness—a moist eye perhaps, a trembling lip; a pale cheek, at least.

“Well, well,” said Dr. Mossly heartily, after a moment. “I doubt that any tigers ever find their way into this place.” He gave Lilian a concerned look. “Mrs. Fraser, would you like to sit down?”

“I've been sitting down since we left Kushpur,” retorted Lilian. “I don't need to sit down every time someone says the word ‘tiger,’ you know.”

The other members of the party were already making their way into the garden, the ladies sheltering beneath parasols or beneath
the large umbrella-like canopies carried by bearers. Behind them, more bearers toiled up the slope, their backs bent beneath the weight of several hampers generously filled with food and drink.

“Does the Company maintain these gardens?” asked Lilian. Why had she never come here before? It was no more than a day's ride away. She was certain she would have remembered if Harshad has said something about them. Or Mr. Hunter. Perhaps the superintendent would be interested in acquiring some of her paintings.

“Yes,” said Mr. Hunter before Mr. Vine could answer. “Various species are collected from all over India and brought here for cultivation. Some fail, but many succeed. It provides the basis for the cultivation of new crops—indigo, hemp, mahogany, tea.”

“And you have collected species for this garden?”

“Not this one,” said Mr. Hunter briskly. A misunderstanding between himself and the wife of the garden's superintendent had ensured that he had not been employed to collect specimens for the Company's gardens at Khinsamaghar, though he was not about to share this information with Lilian. “Though I've collected many species for the Calcutta gardens. And Kew, of course, as well as for private collections like your father's.”

“And you will be off again on another trip soon, I understand,” said Dr. Mossly with a smile.

“Yes. Quite soon.”

“When, exactly?” Dr. Mossly's smile became fixed.

“Soon.”

“Do you need any help with your preparations for departure? My assistant in the hospital is not too busy just now. Perhaps I should send him over?”

“You had better go before the rains, had you not?” interjected Mrs. Birchwoode. “While the weather is not too hot. Before the middle of April would be advisable.”

“Good heavens, Libby,” cried Mr. Birchwoode. “Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of the fellow!”

“Shall we settle ourselves beneath that tree?” said Mr. Hunter, pointing towards the only visible shade in the garden. He offered
his arm to Miss Bell. He was wearing his riding boots and his new calfskin breeches. So what if he was holding the arm of another young lady? Perhaps it was time that Lilian realized that she was not the only pretty girl in Kushpur.

Miss Bell threw Mrs. Birchwoode a fearful look. She accepted Mr. Hunter's arm as though he had offered her a dead carp to lay her hand on, though Mr. Hunter was too busy looking at Lilian to notice. Lilian, however, had taken Dr. Mossly's arm. She was pointing out the cathedral arches of the banyan tree and appeared unmoved by the sight of Mr. Hunter's manly thighs and well-cut breeches.