Page 173 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

The young man on the gatepost saw them approaching with guns at the ready and jumped back down to safety. Halfway to the gate, Clarrie stopped and called through the loudhailer in a clear voice.

‘I am Robson-mem’. What are you doing on my estate? The police are on their way. Go back to your homes. We are peaceful people. Jai Hind!’

Then she repeated her words in Hindustani.

The noise subsided a little but the assailants continued to chant while battering at the gates.

Clarrie tried again. ‘I wish to speak to Sen sahib. Come forward, please, and explain why you are attacking my property.’

After a few moments, the men parted to let their leader step forward. He held up his hand for calm. Clarrie walked towards him.

‘We don’t wish to harm you, Robson memsahib,’ he said, ‘but you are hiding a fugitive from my state – the Khan woman – and we demand that you give her up.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ replied Clarrie. ‘There are no runaways here.’

‘We know that is not true,’ said Sen. ‘She has been seen here. She must come back to Gulgat to face charges. The Khans have taken state property – I can see the palace car from here.’ He nodded through the gates to Rafi’s old Ford that was parked by the godowns.

‘That car doesn’t belong to Gulgat,’ said Clarrie, ‘and you have no jurisdiction here. Please take your men away; otherwise it will be you facing charges when the police get here.’

‘Better to hand her over now,’ Sen threatened, ‘or I won’t be able to answer for what these men might do. They want to see justice done.’

Libby was suddenly incensed. ‘You call terrorising women justice?’ she said. Clarrie put a restraining hand on her arm but Libby carried on. ‘You have been misinformed about MrsKhan. She was here but she’s long gone.’ She saw the doubt cross his face. Despite her drumming heart, Libby continued with as calm a voice as she could manage. ‘In fact, it was someone from the palace at Gulgat who came here and told her to leave and never come back, so she took his advice and left. So I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey, MrSen.’

He looked at her with dislike. ‘I don’t believe you – there’s another Britisher woman at the house – I saw her just before.’ He focused on Clarrie. ‘And how else would you know my name, Robson-mem? Please tell Khan memsahib to come with us now and no one else will be harmed.’

‘We have nothing more to say to you,’ said Clarrie, ‘until the police get here.’

He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘It will take hours for police to come if at all. We will be long gone by then.’

Clarrie turned away and hissed at Libby and Nitin to follow. They walked back to the bungalow. Libby’s chest was so tight she could hardly breathe. At any moment she expected a gun might be fired at them through the gate as they made their retreat.

No sooner had they gained the top of the veranda steps than there was an explosion behind them on the drive. The women grasped each other in shock. A firecracker had been hurled over the perimeter wall. More followed. The clamour beyond the gate started up again. Clarrie tried once more to reason with the unruly gang through the loud hailer to no avail. There was no sign of Sen, who must have retreated to one of the trucks. Mohammed Din wanted to use his gun to warn them off but Clarrie said no.

‘Hold your fire,’ she ordered, ‘I don’t want to provoke them further. The police should be here soon.’

But the rabble showed no signs of going away. The shadows began to lengthen across the garden. Libby listened in vain for sounds of rescue but no police came. Sen was right; the police could take hours. Their service was overstretched, their British officers retired and Muslim rank and file transferred to Pakistan. It might be days before anyone came.

Sophie stood up. ‘I won’t see you all be harmed because of me. Perhaps if I agree to return the car to Gulgat ...’

‘You’re going nowhere,’ Clarrie declared. ‘We’ll face whatever’s coming together. This is my home and no jumped-up official from Gulgat is going to tell me what to do.’

Just then, Libby heard a change in the chanting. Or was it the sound of something else? Gradually a swell of voices grew louder – not aggressive but melodious.

‘What’s that?’ Libby hissed.

Sophie’s anxious expression turned to surprise. ‘It’s women singing.’

Clarrie grabbed the binoculars from the table. Libby held her breath, looking at her for explanation.

‘It’s Shimti,’ gasped Clarrie. ‘She’s leading the tea pickers. There’s hundreds of them!’

Libby and Sophie rushed to her side. Even without the binoculars, Libby could see women pouring out from the village. They advanced through the trees, a multi-coloured army, ringing bells, banging pots and singing at the top of their voices. Within minutes they were surrounding the trucks and milling around thegoondas.

Libby watched, stomach knotted and heart pounding, fearful that the men would retaliate with violence. The men were shouting at them, threatening them with their long knives. Shimti faced them clutching nothing but a thick staff and berated them.

Clarrie tensed beside Libby. ‘Sophie,’ she hissed, ‘you must keep out of sight.’

Reluctantly, Sophie withdrew into the shadows. ‘Tell me what’s happening,’ she begged.