Page 73 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘Ayah, you don’t have to talk about this if it upsets you, but do you mind if I ask you something about Sophie’s baby brother?’
Ayah didn’t flinch but fixed Adela with a steady gaze. After a long moment she nodded her assent.
‘A male friend of mine in Simla came from an orphanage in Shillong– he was adopted by a British couple– and he’d be the right sort of age for Sophie’s brother. I know it’s a long shot, but can you remember the name of the orphanage where you ... where the Logan baby was taken? Was it the Catholics or the Welsh Baptists?’
Ayah began to twist her hands in her lap. Her eyes focused on something distant. Her voice when she spoke was thin and high-pitched, like wind through reeds.
‘I don’t know which orphanage.’
‘But I thought you went to work in one in the hope of finding him.’
‘I did,’ she whispered, ‘but only because I thought that’s where the police officer would have taken him.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Adela felt a stab of disappointment.
‘That night – before the terrible thing happened – I took baby sahib in a basket to the village like Logan Memsahib said,’ Ayah recalled painfully. ‘She thought the baby was in danger from Logan Sahib – he was shouting so much at the baby. Ama, a wise local woman, sheltered us. But afterwards Burke Sahib, the policeman, found me and took him away– said I was stealing a white baby and I was never to try and find him or Sophie again or I would go to prison—’
A dry sob broke from her throat. Adela immediately threw her arms around the tiny woman.
‘Even though he made bad threats,’ croaked Ayah, ‘I did everything to try and find Sophie because I knew from Burke Sahib that she was still alive. Logan Memsahib had kept her daughter safe by getting her to play hide and seek. But it was many years before I knew this – not until Sophie came back to me ...’
‘Oh, Ayah, I shouldn’t have made you remember!’ They rocked back and forth.
‘I never forget,’ said Ayah, ‘not one day of my life. The little sahib is always in my heart.’ She looked at Adela with a spark of hope in her rheumy eyes. ‘Perhaps this Simla sahib is him.’
‘That’s what I keep wondering,’ Adela said. ‘Do you think I should mention it to Auntie Sophie?’
‘What is his name? Is he a nice man?’
‘Tommy Villiers– and yes, he’s nice. He’s fun and a bit of a show-off, but that’s an act he puts on– underneath he’s kind and really quite caring.’
‘Tommy Villiers,’ Ayah repeated. ‘What does he look like?’
Adela pulled from her pocket the recent programme fromThe Arabian Nights.
‘It’s not very clear and he’s dressed up in a turban, but that’s Tommy sitting in the front. Do you think he looks anything like either of Sophie’s parents?’
‘The eyes,’ said Ayah, ‘they are kind, like Logan Memsahib’s.’
It didn’t seem much to go on. ‘Would it be cruel to get Auntie Sophie’s hopes up?’ Adela said, sounding worried.
‘It is much more cruel never to know. If there is a chance, then tell her,’ Ayah urged.
‘But how can we ever prove it?’
Ayah sighed at the impossibility. ‘If the gods have been good, then he will still possess the elephant bracelet.’
‘What bracelet?’
‘Logan Sahib had two that she wore. One she gave to Sophie, and one to me to sell if needs be to feed the baby. I tucked it into his shawl when that man took him away.’
‘I’ve seen Sophie’s bracelet– it’s made of ivory elephants’ heads. I used to count them as a child. Twelve heads.’
Ayah Mimi nodded in agreement.
‘I’ll write to Tommy and ask him.’
The old woman smiled and cradled her face with slim bony fingers. For the first time in ages Adela heard her old nanny break into a song of joy.
