Page 204 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
EPILOGUE
Belgooree, early December
At dawn Clarrie rode along the path through the jungle up towards the temple clearing. She knew it so well that every tree and bend in the track was familiar. The jungle was alive with birdsong. As she reached the shadowed glade, dew was already glistening on the ferns and grass as the sun spread across it.
She dismounted and went to lay a posy of flowers on one of the stones from the monkey temple that had collapsed into ruins long ago.
‘For you, dear Ayah Mimi,’ Clarrie murmured.
She gazed at the tumble-down hut where Sophie’s old nursemaid had once lived as a holy woman before Clarrie had brought her to live at Belgooree well over twenty years ago. The old woman had never recovered from her exertions on the night of the Gulgat attack. Exhausted, thesadhvihad been carried back to her hut. She had never emerged again. Two weeks later, when Clarrie had taken her daily bowl of milk, eager to let Ayah Mimi know that Sophie was safely in Calcutta, she had found the old woman cold and lifeless on her sleeping mat.
The ayah had protected her beloved Sophie right to the end. Perhaps she had felt able to let go of life, knowing that Sophie had got safely away. Clarrie was sure that thesadhvihad known without being told.
Clarrie sat down on a damp stone and breathed in the earthy smell of vegetation, watching the sky lighten in the east to a vivid peacock blue.
How long ago it seemed when she had ridden here on her pony, Prince, as an impulsive eighteen-year-old and fallen from the saddle – only to be rescued by the handsome Wesley Robson.
Clarrie smiled wistfully. How infuriating and arrogant he had been that day – yet so attractive and full of life. They had both been so young and foolishly confident, not guessing at all the trials ahead of them – separation and war, loss and heartbreak. Yet Clarrie would have gone through it all again rather than miss a minute of her precious time with Wesley. Sitting here in the place where they had first met, forty-five years later, Clarrie still felt as alive and young at heart as she had then.
How she missed him! She wished he could have known about Adela marrying kind Sam – and that the young couple were expecting a baby. Clarrie felt her heart lift at the thought of a new life being born at Belgooree in the spring. The start of the next generation. She had so much still to be thankful for.
She knew how her passionate daughter grieved for the son she had left behind in Britain. Adela had shown her the precious photograph that Sam had taken of Adela with John Wesley – the likeness to his grandfather Wesley was heartbreaking. Yet Adela had been cheered by a letter from Martha Gibson promising that when Jacques turned twenty-one, he would be told about his true parentage and the origin of the swami’s stone. None of them knew how the boy would react to discovering he was John Wesley, the son of an Indian prince and a tea planter’s daughter. That was far in the future but she knew how it gave Adela comfort and hope.
Clarrie felt the winter sun warming her face as it strengthened. Harry would be home soon for the Christmas holidays. She felt a familiar fierce tug of love for her dark-haired, lively son. Then there was James ...
Clarrie had been unnerved by Libby’s letter – kind, interfering, generous-hearted Libby – telling her of James’s return. She had not been able to settle for days for thinking about this development. What did it mean? Why Shillong? Was it to be near his old tea planting friends for fishing and hunting? Or was it because it was a couple of hours from Belgooree and her?
She would know soon enough. Clarrie had taken Libby’s hint that she invite her and James to Belgooree over Christmas. She had replied at once, insisting that Libby and her father must join them on Christmas Eve for the holidays. Just two days ago, she had received a phone call from a joyous Libby telling her excitedly of Ghulam’s miraculous return and their swift engagement. At once, Clarrie had invited Ghulam too. How Libby deserved her happiness! Despite the uncertain times, there was so much to be thankful for and celebrate this Christmas. Little had she thought she would be seeing James again so soon – if at all.
Clarrie’s stomach fluttered with excitement. She gave a laugh of embarrassment that echoed against the rocky cliff that sheltered the glade. She was behaving like eighteen-year-old Clarrie Belhaven again and not the matron approaching sixty-two that she was! She stood up. She had lingered long enough. There were jobs to be done. The last of the autumn pickings had to be processed before she shut down the machines for the cold season.
Just then she heard a crackling of twigs and the soft thud of hooves. Clarrie turned to see if Adela or Sam had come to join her. The rider appeared on the edge of the clearing, a man in shadow with the light streaming in behind him. Clarrie gasped. For a shocking moment she thought it was Wesley. He sat up in the saddle, a silhouette of wavy hair and broad shoulders. Clarrie pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
A deep voice disturbed the quiet. ‘Clarrie? Are you all right?’
Clarrie felt a flicker of sadness. Wesley would have called her Clarissa.
It had never struck her quite so strongly as it did in that instant that the Robson cousins were passably alike.
‘James,’ Clarrie said, suddenly breathless. ‘What are you doing here?’
He dismounted and walked into the light. Now she could see that his thick hair was white and his bullish face was not as handsome as Wesley’s. Yet the penetrating gaze of his blue eyes was unsettling; it was the look of a much younger man.
‘I’m looking for you of course,’ he replied. ‘Adela told me you’d be here but I’d already guessed.’
‘You must have set off very early from Shillong,’ she said, trying to slow the thumping of her heart.
‘So you know about Shillong?’ James asked in surprise.
‘Libby wrote and told me,’ said Clarrie.
James grunted. ‘Of course she would.’
He stood several feet away, as if fearing to come nearer. It struck Clarrie that James was as unsure about her feelings for him as she was about his for her.
‘What else did she tell you?’ he asked.
‘Everything,’ said Clarrie. ‘At least about you and Tilly. I’m sorry.’
