Page 23 of The Girl from the Tea Garden (The India Tea #3)
A dela returned to Simla in January, the trip with her mother and Auntie Tilly set in motion and their passages booked for July.
The end of the holiday had been marred by the fuss over Bracknall.
Sophie had been uncharacteristically tearful and upset with Rafi on discovering that her husband had known all along from Boz that his former boss was still in position.
Rafi said he had kept it to himself so as not to upset her.
Yet Rafi had been aghast to hear that Adela had been working for the hated man.
Their virulent dislike of the chief forester baffled Adela, but neither Sophie nor Rafi would explain their strong revulsion, other than to say that Bracknall was a bully who in the past had made their life hell.
So Adela had promised that she would look for a job somewhere else if Bracknall should return in the hot season.
‘Don’t stay away so long again,’ Wesley had urged when hugging his daughter goodbye. ‘Your mother and I miss you terribly, and Harry will wander round like a lost puppy, I know it. And if you are all going to desert me in July, I must see you before then.’
‘You will, I promise.’ Adela burrowed in like she used to as a girl and gave him an extra hard squeeze around his waist.
‘How about I arrange that hunting trip in Gulgat with Rafi before the monsoons? We’ve been meaning to do that for ages, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, let’s,’ Adela agreed, although her appetite for hunting had waned as her passion for the stage had soared. Still, she wouldn’t miss a chance to go on shikar with her father.
‘It’ll be your birthday treat in June,’ promised Wesley.
Adela was touched by the enthusiastic welcome she received from Fluffy Hogg.
‘How I’ve missed you! It’s been so quiet; don’t stay away so long next time. Now what would you like for supper? I thought kedgeree.’
Adela was just as pleased to be back in Simla, catching up with Deborah and other friends. At the theatre, where Jack and the Beanstalk was in its final week, Tommy greeted her dramatically.
‘Thank goodness you’re back– the pantomime is on its knees. Another of the chorus has gone down with laryngitis. You must save the day.’
Adela went on that night, coping with multiple costume changes and dancing as a fairy, a maid and a flower.
Helping behind the scenes before Christmas, she had watched them in rehearsal and remembered the routines easily.
After the final curtain call, the cast repaired to The Cottage– the Club annex, where women could mix with men– and partied late into the night.
As they left, Tommy was already talking about what productions they would put on for the summer season.
‘I think we should do another of those exotic tableaux,’ he enthused, ‘ The Arabian Nights perhaps, and invite any visiting nawabs and rajas to take part. The Viceroy is keen to encourage greater mixing of the races– thinks it’ll keep those Congress agitators happy.’
Adela gave a wry smile. ‘I think Gandhi and Nehru are looking for a bit more than just Indian princes performing at the Gaiety.’
‘Well, we’ve got to do our bit towards extending the hand of friendship.’ Tommy winked.
The flurry of holidaymakers over the Christmas season soon scattered and Simla experienced a lull in social activities. The theatre closed for redecoration and would be used by Indian drama groups before the annual migration of government departments and personnel at the start of the hot season.
There was little for her to do in the Forest Office, and the amiable Guy had been sent off on a course in silviculture to the college at Dehra Dun so Adela quickly grew bored.
She and Tommy spent a lot of time at the cinema together.
Wet, blustery weather set in that brought down trees and smothered the mountains in thick mist for days on end.
The air smelt of sodden earth and pines.
‘Ah, reminds me of holidays in the Scottish Highlands,’ said Fluffy, relishing the stormy weather and insisting on taking Adela out for walks. ‘Breathe in that air. Isn’t it so invigorating?’
From the top of Jakko Hill, they held on to their hats and leant into the wind as if invisible arms held them up. Looking north-east towards the forested hills of Bashahr province, Fluffy said, ‘I quite forgot to tell you. Sam Jackman paid me a visit while you were away.’
Adela’s stomach flipped at the unexpected mention. ‘Did he?’
‘Yes, he was down visiting Sundar; it’s nice they’ve become friends, isn’t it? I often think Sundar is still sad about his wife, despite putting on a brave face all the time.’
‘So what did Sam have to say?’
‘We talked a lot of current affairs. He’s very knowledgeable about such things despite being cut off in the hills– such a nice young man. I think he was sorry not to see you.’
‘Did he say so?’ Adela blushed.
‘Well not exactly, but I’m sure he didn’t just come to see a wrinkled old widow like me.’
Adela linked arms with Fluffy. ‘You’re not at all wrinkled. And by the sounds of it he enjoyed his visit.’
‘He did stay till after tiffin.’ Fluffy smiled. ‘We found so much to talk about. I think he must get quite lonely in Narkanda.’
In the last week in January, Boz took Adela and Fluffy to a Burns Night at Clarkes Hotel, where the Scots in the community put on dinner and entertainment in honour of their famous bard.
After much whisky and reciting of poems, the tables were shoved back, a Gurkha piper struck up a reel and they danced late into the evening.
Emerging into a suddenly starlit night, the women decided to walk home rather than take a rickshaw, Boz insisting on escorting them to their door.
‘What’s going on down there?’ Adela asked, peering into the Lower Bazaar. Most of the lights were out, but she could make out shadowy figures hanging things between the trees and the balconies of tightly packed houses.
Boz gave a grunt. ‘They’re putting out the Congress flags for Freedom Pledge Day.’
‘Of course,’ said Fluffy. ‘It’s the twenty-sixth tomorrow. I wonder who will be speaking.’
‘They get bolder every year,’ Boz said. ‘No doubt there’ll be some bigwig sent from Delhi to put fire in their bellies and stir up the coolies from the hill states.’
‘The Praja Mandal movement, you mean?’ asked Fluffy. ‘Is it having any success?’
‘Aye, there have been disturbances up in Dharmi and Nerikot. It’s just a matter o’ time before the rulers bow tae pressure.’
‘Pressure to do what?’ Adela asked.
‘They want changes like abolishing the old serfdom,’ explained Boz, ‘where the rajas’ people have tae work for free so many months a year.’
‘Sounds like a good thing, doesn’t it?’
‘Aye.’ Boz dropped his voice to a murmur. ‘But the government doesnae like anything that rocks the boat with the princely states. We like to have good relations wi’ them.’
Adela gave him a knowing look. ‘So you can extract their timber and employ their coolies I suppose.’
‘Exactly,’ Boz agreed.
Adela gazed down at the covert activity; she could just make out the Ganj, the open area in the heart of the bazaar, where a platform was being decorated. ‘Will it be quite a spectacle? We weren’t allowed to go anywhere near it when I was at school.’
‘I’ve never been,’ said Boz. ‘It’s frowned upon for government servants to be seen there– CID keep an eye on who goes to listen. You’d better steer clear, in case Bracknall gets tae hear about it. That’ll be the end of your wee job at the office.’
‘Well, no one can stop me,’ Fluffy declared, ‘from going to listen to the speeches.’
Adela hadn’t intended to go– it was a raw day with a biting wind and flurries of sleet– but returning at lunchtime for tiffin, she found Fluffy on the point of leaving for the Ganj.
‘You’re not going on your own.’ Adela was firm.
‘I don’t want to get you into trouble, my dear,’ Fluffy was anxious.
‘I sort out camp beds and file post.’ Adela laughed. ‘No one’s going to worry about a minion like me.’
They skirted the Mall, taking the steep steps opposite the theatre down to the Lower Bazaar.
They could hear the demonstration before they saw it, a cacophony of drumming, singing, shouting and horns.
The streets were crammed with Indians come to take part or watch the procession along the lower road.
A phalanx of young men and a few women (dressed in homespun cotton under woollen jackets that marked them out as Gandhi’s followers) carried aloft the tricolour flags of the Congress Party, while behind them pressed scores of hills men in their bright caps.
Many of the town’s porters and a smattering of office workers swelled the crowd too.
‘It’s a bit of a scrum,’ Fluffy faltered.
‘Are you sure you want to go on, Auntie?’
‘I’m still keen to hear the speeches.’
‘Come on then; we’ll just stay for a little longer.’ Adela linked her arm protectively through her guardian’s and they jostled forward towards the Ganj.
They couldn’t get near enough to hear what the speakers were saying, apart from a few snatched words of Hindustani about swaraj , which Adela knew to mean freedom, and how soon the Britishers must leave India to the Indians.
Adela saw a stocky youngish man take to the stage dressed in simple Punjabi shalwar kameez and a black beret.
‘Looks like a communist,’ Fluffy surmised.
He raised his fist in the air and saluted the crowd, his face animated. He shouted above the hubbub and soon they were cheering and repeating his slogans. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Adela couldn’t possibly know him.
‘Oh dear,’ Fluffy said, tugging on her arm. ‘Looks like trouble.’