Page 127 of The Sapphire Child
Andrew felt a sudden surge of conflicting emotions: confusion at his mother’s behaviour, guilt at believing the worst of Esmie and anger at being kept in the dark about the full story. But could he really trust this old man’s memory? Perhaps, over the years, the padre had embellished Esmie’s part in the rescue attempt and grown more critical of his mother’s actions.
Andrew swallowed. ‘Do you know what happened between my parents after that – when they went to Scotland?’
Bannerman sighed. ‘No. Only that your mother never returned to India. That’s something you’ll have to ask them about.’
Then Andrew recalled the wounding words that Stella had once hurled at him just before she was sent away from Ebbsmouth, about his mother packing him off back to India as a baby with his ayah. He hadn’t believed it for a moment and had deliberately tried to forget her words, but now they seemed to have a sudden power.
Bannerman got stiffly to his feet and put a gnarled hand on Andrew’s head.
‘Dear boy, I can see this has all been a bit of a shock. I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be helping you get better, not burdening you with past tales of woe. But I didn’t want you thinking badly of your stepmother. Esmie is one of the most compassionate people I’ve met – and she’s loved you deeply, right from when you were a baby staying in her house at Taha.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘In those first days after Harold died, your parents lodged with me here, but you stayed on with Esmie. Your mother said it was because a crusty old bachelor like me wouldn’t want a crying infant in the house, but we all knew that it was really because you brought such comfort to Esmie’s broken heart.’
Andrew’s insides twisted. For an instant he remembered what it was like to love his Meemee deeply.
‘I’ll see you at breakfast,’ said Bannerman, moving past him.
Suddenly Andrew asked, ‘Which house was the Guthries’?’
‘Number Ten, The Lines. Just five houses down the street and around the corner from here.’
Andrew nodded. ‘Goodnight, Padre.’
‘Goodnight, Andrew. Sleep well.’
Andrew spent most of the following day in bed. He felt listless and his headache had returned. He lay in the dark of the shuttered room trying to rid his mind of conflicting thoughts about his parents and their short-lived marriage. Had his mother really had an affair with Dickie? Was Mamma, in fact, rushing off to be with Dickie when she was kidnapped? Why had Esmie not done more to keep an eye on her friend?
Then Andrew reminded himself that Esmie would most probably have been nursing at the mission and that was why his mother had spent so much time round at the padre’s bungalow. And wherewas he, baby Andrew, during all this? He found it hard to banish the image of Esmie cradling him and tending to his needs while his mother, restless and distracted and perhaps in love with a man who was not his father, plotted to escape and leave him behind.
He drifted into fitful sleep with troubling dreams that vanished when he awoke. Manek came in often, persisting in his attempts to get his master to drink tea and nimbu panis sent in by the padre.
On the third day, feeling stronger, Andrew forced himself up and into uniform. He had lain in bed dwelling on destructive thoughts for too long. He was a soldier who was neglecting his duties while his comrades toiled without him in the summer heat, facing daily dangers. His continued anger at his parents and stepmother seemed petty and self-indulgent.
Andrew rose too late to see the padre at breakfast. Afterwards he determined to see how far he could walk before the heat grew too oppressive. Out of curiosity, he set off down the dusty street lined with bleached wooden bungalows neatly fenced off by hedges of thorn and trim beds of pink and red flowers. In a few minutes he was standing outside Number Ten.
It was set further back from the road than the padre’s house and a vine grew along the faded green veranda. A huge mulberry tree half-obscured the dwelling and a monotonous insistent call of a solitary bird pierced the air. Andrew stood hesitating at the gate, wondering whether to go any further. As he reached for the latch, a dog rushed from under the veranda steps and began barking at him.
An ayah came onto the veranda to see what had disturbed the dog. She leaned down and lifted up a small girl, pointing to the soldier at the gate.
Andrew waved. The girl, with round pink cheeks under a yellow bonnet, waved back. With a frisson, Andrew knew he had been there before. Esmie’s words came back to him.‘You had an ayah called Sarah but she left us to get married when you were three. Afterthat, Karo helped me. You and Gabina used to run around together, thick as thieves!’
According to his father, Gabina was to be ayah to the new Lomax baby. How their lives had diverged since he had taken that fateful voyage to Scotland! Gabina had remained closer to his own family in India than he had. Although he had stopped playing with the Pathan girl once he was old enough to go to school, Andrew remembered her as a cheerful companion.
He stepped away from the gate. The small girl was still waving at him from the veranda. As Andrew gave a final wave and walked away, he thought about Belle. Perhaps he cared more about his half-sister than he liked to admit.
When Bannerman returned for afternoon tea, Andrew was already packed. He told his host of his intention to return to the barracks.
‘I’m very grateful for the billet you’ve given me,’ Andrew said. ‘It’s been the lap of luxury compared to being in camp. I can’t thank you enough. I hope you’ll forgive the harsh things I said while I’ve been out of sorts.’
‘Dear lad!’ Bannerman clapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’s been a pleasure having you here and keeping me company. And I’m the one who should be apologising. Perhaps I was a bit too frank with you about your mother’s behaviour at the time of the kidnapping – I know it was a shock to hear it – and Lydia was acting out of character. She was under a lot of mental strain. She couldn’t really cope with India. Some British never get used to life here. She can’t be blamed for that. The point I was trying to make was that none of it was Esmie’s fault.’
Andrew nodded. With difficulty, he asked, ‘I wonder, before I go, whether you could tell me where the British cemetery is? Where DrGuthrie is buried.’
‘Of course,’ the padre agreed at once. ‘I’ll take you there myself. Let’s have tea first and then I’ll drive you round. It’s too far to walk in the heat.’
As the sun lost its strength, Bannerman led Andrew under a simple archway proclaiming ‘Taha British Cemetery’ and then inside a brick-built enclosure. They walked past neat lines of military graves to an area at the far wall where the gravestones were rather haphazardly dotted across the scorched grass, some shaded by feathery trees.
The padre stopped in front of a carved headstone, dappled in late-afternoon light. Someone still tended the grave; the ground around it was greener and obviously watered.
IN FONDEST MEMORY OFDRHAROLDGUTHRIE,BORNJANUARY1886,DIEDOCTOBER1920. DEARLY BELOVED HUSBAND OFESMIEMCBRIDE. TILL WE MEET AGAIN,MAYGOD HOLD YOU IN THE PALM OFHIS HAND.
