Page 4 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
Reluctantly, James followed the nun indoors, beckoning Aslam to follow with the boy. Sister Placid showed them into a gloomy hallway. She left James with the boy and took Aslam with her to the kitchen. The wait seemed interminable. ‘Brat’ was uncharacteristically silent. James wanted to say something encouraging but was stuck for words too. He couldn’t rid his mind of Aruna’s distraught weeping and cursed himself for allowing Logan to manipulate him into helping in his sordid affair.
Sister Placid returned with Aslam, carrying two glasses of mango juice on a tray. James took one. She beckoned to the boy to sit on a stool beside her while she helped him sip his drink.
‘What is your name, little one?’ she asked, her voice kind.
He sat staring warily up at her. She turned back to James.
‘What is his name and what native language does he speak?’ she asked.
James did not know the answer to either question. He could hardly admit he was known derogatorily as ‘Brat’. He searched for a suitable Catholic name to please her. A local saint from his home county in Britain sprang to mind: StAidan of Lindisfarne.
‘Aidan,’ he said. ‘The boy is called Aidan and he understands English. That’s all I know about him. He was brought to our plantation.’
‘He is a Britisher.’ She said it more as a statement than a question.
‘I-I believe his father was Scots,’ James admitted, then cursed himself for saying so. Before she could ask him anything more, he drained off his drink and put down the glass. ‘I really must be off.’
‘But you must speak to Mother Superior about leaving the boy.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t delay.’ James searched his pockets and pulled out all the cash that he had and handed it over. ‘This is a donation to the convent.’
‘Thank you, MrRobson,’ said the nun, her look steely.
James flushed at her use of his name. The wretched woman must have been questioning Aslam. What else had his bearer let slip? He put his hand briefly on the boy’s head.
‘Now, Aidan. Be a good chap and do whatever Sister asks.’
Aslam said something encouraging in another language, perhaps Assamese. The boy’s eyes filled with tears but he stayed mute.
James turned quickly away. ‘Come on,’ he hissed at Aslam and strode back through the convent entrance. They marched through the gate, and thechowkidarlocked it behind them.
Climbing once again into the trap, James glanced back at the orphanage but the steps were empty. Nun and boy had not come to the door to watch them go. James’s insides were leaden as he whipped the pony into a trot. He waited for the surge of relief to come, but it never did.
