Page 146 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
Sam smiled. ‘I do remember, because you bothered to speak to me– not like most of the memsahibs. And I’ve heard about you from Adela since.’
‘Of course.’
Adela poured out the tea, while Sam asked politely after Rafi. She felt a pang of affection for him, attempting to be sociable when she knew how confused and on edge he must be. Adela got up and fetched the package from the dining table.
‘I’m going to tell you something, Sam, and I don’t want you to interrupt until I’ve finished. It’s quite hard to take in. At the end you can ask any questions you like.’
He looked at her, baffled.
‘Last week Mother gave me this parcel. Your mother sent it a couple of months ago.’ Adela held up her hand to stop the protest that was rising to his lips. ‘I thought the gifts were for me, but they weren’t. They’re for you.’
She took out the shawl from its brown paper and handed it to him.
‘MrsJackman explained in her letter how she came to have it. She’s not your real mother, Sam. The woman who gave birth to you was Jessie Logan, a tea planter’s wife. When you were a week old, she saved your life by bundling you up in this shawl and giving you to her ayah to take to safety. She also gave the ayah an ivory bracelet to buy food or anything you might need, until she could rescue you. That never happened, because her husband, Bill Logan– your real father– shot Jessie and then turned his gun on himself.’
Adela paused. Sam was staring at her intently, his face in shock.
‘The deaths were covered up because things were volatile at the time– it was fifty years after the sepoys’ Mutiny, and the authorities feared unrest on the anniversary. The police officer who suppressed the truth of the murder also made sure that the ayah handed over the baby to him. He gave you to the Jackmans because MrJackman was a fellow Mason in the Shillong Lodge. They couldn’t have children of their own and were more than happy to take you on.’
She stopped to allow Sam to take in her momentous revelation. He shook his head in disbelief.
‘It’s impossible,’ he said. ‘It’s just another story concocted by that woman to make you feel sorry for her, to get to me.’
‘No, Sam, it’s all true,’ Sophie spoke up. ‘Open the shawl and you’ll find the bracelet. Look at it now.’
Sam did as she told him. He held up the small circle of carved elephants’ heads, yellowed by age. Sophie pulled back the sleeve of her cardigan. She was wearing an identical one.
‘See. It’s the same. I was given one just like it. My mother was Jessie Logan too. I was in the bungalow at Belgooree that day—’
‘Belgooree?’ Sam gaped.
Sophie nodded. ‘Our parents were renting it– trying to save their marriage perhaps, away from the gossip of the Oxford Estates. It was my sixth birthday, and I saw Ayah Mimi running off with you. Mother made me go and hide. I never saw her again ...’
Abruptly she stopped, her eyes welling with tears.
Sam whispered, ‘Are you telling me that you’re my sister?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie said through her tears, ‘and you’re the brother I’ve been searching for. To think we were living in the same part of India and have known of one another for years!’ She held out her arms to him. ‘Can I have a hug from my wee brother please?’
They stood up and went to each other. Sam put his arms gently around Sophie and rubbed her back. Adela gulped back tears of her own. She rose, feeling suddenly an intruder on their emotional reunion. Sophie broke away from Sam.
‘It’s thanks to Adela that we’ve found each other.’ She smiled. ‘If she hadn’t got in touch with MrsJackman and befriended her, this would never have happened.’
Sam looked at Adela. She saw him struggle with conflicting emotions. It would take time for him to come to terms with the truth.
‘I’ll leave you both for a bit,’ she said, smiling, ‘so Sophie can tell you more about your family. I’ll be at the Grand Hotel with Prue.’
She picked up her jacket and went to the door.
‘Adela,’ Sam said, his voice husky. ‘Thank you.’
Adela didn’t return to the flat that night, and Sam didn’t come looking for her. She bedded down with Prue, who talked of her exploits in Jubbulpore and her frustration at not seeing Stuey.
‘Sounds like you found other distractions at the Gun Carriage Club,’ Adela teased.
‘Well, being a grass widow– or a grass fiancée– doesn’t mean you can’t have fun,’ said Prue breezily.
‘Is there such a thing as a grass fiancée?’ asked Adela.
