Page 52 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
He would have come back sooner if it hadn’t been for Fatima’s request that he seek out Ghulam. On his way up the Sutlej Valley, Sam had come across the activist openly distributing leaflets in Nerikot, just as Fatima had suspected. Sam had found Ghulam a highly persuasive man, and had given him sanctuary at the remote bungalow at Sarahan, knowing that Boz and his foresters would not be using it until midsummer.
Ghulam had rekindled in Sam his fierce anger at the injustice suffered by the poorest in India at the hands of the rich and powerful. Ever since his boyhood, when he’d watched impotently as destitute and starving tea pickers had thrown themselves into the Brahmaputra River and tried in vain to reach his father’s steamer, Sam had raged that such things were allowed to happen. It was why he had joined the mission. It was why he must remain single and dedicate his life to bringing about a better world. Ghulam was the same, though he believed in revolution by force if necessary, whereas Sam was against violence. Yet meeting Fatima’s brother had reminded Sam that only by being single-minded and without emotional ties could you hope to achieve such goals.
Sam steeled himself to put away the blanket and bury his desire for Adela. He knew that she cared for him– it shone from her beautiful green-brown eyes– but she deserved better. The warm-hearted Robson girl would find no difficulty in attracting others to her – of that he was sure.
CHAPTER 9
Adela, in camisole and knickers, was rifling through the wardrobe in the green room looking for the yellow sari she was to wear for the tableaux. Deborah was already dressed in green pyjama-trousers, a tunic and a gold-edged shawl, and was applying her make-up.
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in, Tommy!’ Adela called. ‘Any idea where my sari is? Tommy, if you’ve hidden it, I’ll string you up by you know what—’
Deborah’s squeal cut her off. Adela emerged from the wardrobe to see a handsome young Indian in a glittering gold coat, tight white trousers, curling slippers and a magnificent blue turban studded with jewels.
Adela gaped.
‘I’m terribly sorry, ladies,’ he said in a cut-glass English accent. ‘I’m looking for MrVilliers; I’m to be in his play.’ By the amused look on his slim moustachioed face, he didn’t look at all sorry. Adela dived behind the wardrobe door, pulled on a silk dressing gown, and re-emerged with a smile.
‘I thought you were Tommy Villiers; he’ll be here somewhere. Do you want me to find him for you?’
‘Well, that’s most kind’ – he eyed her – ‘but shouldn’t you put something on first?’
‘Oh, Tommy’s seen it all before,’ Adela said, and then laughed, ‘hasn’t he, Deb?’
But her friend was too shocked at the appearance of an Indian in their dressing room to speak.
‘I must say,’ Adela said, padding barefoot to the door, ‘you look terrific in that outfit. Wardrobe have really pushed the boat out for this production, haven’t they? Are you with the Indian Army?’
‘No, I’m not.’ He gave her a bemused look.
‘You’re not with the forestry lot, are you? It’s just that you look familiar.’
He looked amused. ‘No, not the forestry either. But I think I know who you are. Miss Robson from Belgooree, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Adela smiled. ‘So you’re something to do with tea?’
He shook his head. ‘Sophie Khan told me to look out for you.’
‘You know Auntie Sophie? How lovely!’
She led the way into the corridor and stopped in astonishment. Two liveried guards, standing either side of the door, saluted. For a dazed moment Adela thought they must also be part of the production ofThe Arabian Nights.Then realisation dawned; they were wearing the yellow-and-turquoise livery of the Raja of Gulgat.
She turned and stared at the Indian actor, blood rushing to her cheeks.
‘Oh Lord.’ She gasped. ‘You’re– are you arealprince?’
He gave a charming smile. ‘Sanjay Singh of Gulgat, the Raja’s nephew.’
Adela dropped in a curtsy, clutching her dressing gown and feeling ridiculous. ‘I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I thought you were an Indian officer or someone on leave– just dressed up for the play.’
He chuckled and swept her with a look. ‘No need for ceremony, Miss Robson, especially given the circumstances.’ He held out a hand. ‘My friends call me Jay.’
‘Call me Adela, please.’ She shook his hand. ‘What a fool I feel.’
‘Your openness is refreshing,’ he assured her. ‘I prefer it any day to the fawning of courtiers or the stuffiness of British officials. And yes, I am dressed up for the part. You’re much more likely to see me in cricket whites than all this.’ He swept a mocking hand over his appearance.
‘We must find Tommy,’ she said hastily, pointing up the corridor. He insisted she went ahead. ‘It’s very good of you to volunteer for the play,’ she said over her shoulder as she led the way. ‘Have you acted before?’
