Page 25 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
Ignoring the chair she was offered next to her father, Adela marched right up to the principal’s desk, bowed and burst into a rendition of ‘Three Little Maids from School’ fromThe Mikado.
Miss Mackenzie gaped in amazement. When Adela finished, she glanced at her father, who obviously thought she had taken leave of her senses. Then behind her, in the doorway, Prue began clapping enthusiastically.
‘Well, goodness me,’ said the principal, ‘I wasn’t expecting that. But what a sweet voice you have, Miss Robson. You can sit down now. Prue, I imagine this was your idea of a bit of fun. You may go, thank you.’
Adela glanced round at the retreating girl, who winked at her as she went. Had she been duped into making a fool of herself? Adela was too anxious to sit.
‘I know you didn’t ask me to sing, miss, but I made such a mess of my exam paper and Prue said you liked Gilbert and Sullivan so I just wanted you to know I can sing and I really,reallywant to come here and it’s just the sort of school where I know I’d be happy ’cause Prue says if you like drama you can do as much as you want and I only ran away from StNinian’s because they wouldn’t let me act and I got into trouble for standing up for Flowers Dunlop, but I would never run away from here—’
‘Adela!’ Wesley hissed. ‘For heaven’s sake, sit down and be quiet for once.’
Adela flopped into the seat next to him. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.
‘Don’t be.’ Miss Mackenzie smiled. ‘Your entry was unorthodox, but entertaining. I think Prudence might have raised your expectations of StMary’s somewhat. We do encourage creative subjects, but every girl who comes here must achieve a good level of academic achievement too. I’m sorry you were unhappy at StNinian’s; it is a well-run school and I am a personal friend of Miss Black’s.’
Adela’s hopes plummeted. For the rest of the interview she tried to answer the principal’s questions, but her replies were faltering and short. Her stomach churned and her eyes smarted with tears. They left shortly afterwards, with Miss Mackenzie promising a swift decision. Trudging back past the well-stocked furniture stalls of the Lakkar Bazaar, Adela turned to her father and demanded tearfully, ‘Do you think Prue told me to sing to get me into trouble?’
‘Why would she do that?’ Wesley asked.
‘Perhaps she’s another school bully, like Nina Davidge.’
‘She didn’t seem like that to me,’ her father said, ‘and even if she is, you can’t spend your life avoiding people like that. You have to stand up to them.’
Wesley steered her back into town and declared they would treat themselves to afternoon tea at the Cecil Hotel and whatever was showing that evening at the Gaiety Theatre.
Adela revived as they ate cake and drank Darjeeling in the ornate and lofty dining hall while a string quartet played Strauss waltzes and foxtrots for those who wanted to dance.
‘Your mother would love this,’ Wesley smiled.
‘Come on, Daddy. Show me how it’s done.’
As Wesley swept her around the dance floor, Adela had never felt so grown-up. She noticed the interested glances from older women at her handsome father and felt proud of him.
Later in the theatre, they sat in the plush green seats of the stalls in front of the viceroy’s box and laughed at the antics of the amateur players, who were still doing the pantomimeCinderella. Adela determined that, even if she didn’t get into StMary’s, she would one day return and perform on the Gaiety stage.
The next day, before leaving for Kalka and the long journey home, they called on Fluffy Hogg at her small bungalow, Briar Rose Cottage, on Jakko Hill. Although almost seventy and of solid build, Fluffy was fit and red-cheeked from constant walking, and her manner was breezy and welcoming. They sat drinking tea on her narrow veranda with a view north to the snow-capped Himalayas. The early-morning sun struck their peaks, turning them rapidly from rose pink to glistening white.
‘Don’t worry about the exam,’ the colonel’s widow consoled. ‘If Lilian Mackenzie thinks you are right for her school, then she will take you even if you wrote gibberish.’
Before they left, she showed Adela the simple bedroom that would be hers if she was successful. It was painted pale green, with a moss-green bedspread and faded curtains patterned in roses. There was a small writing table, an upholstered chair and a dark chest of drawers with an oval mirror above. Hanging on the wall next to a brightly painted Tibetan scroll was a photograph of a young woman in a long riding habit, sitting side-saddle on a pony.
‘Me in Quetta,’ said Fluffy.
‘You’re beautiful,’ Adela cried.
Fluffy chuckled. ‘All girls are at that age.’
Suddenly there was a loud clatter across the corrugated-iron roof that made Adela jump.
‘Simla monkeys,’ Fluffy said, unperturbed. ‘If you come here, you’ll have to get used to those little devils. Keep the windows shut or they’ll steal your worldly goods.’
Adela glanced out of the window at the mountains retreating into a blue haze. A road wound its way along the hillside into the distance, already busy with carts, mules and porters.
‘Where does that go?’ Adela asked.
‘That’s the road to Narkanda and beyond,’ said Fluffy. ‘It goes all the way to Tibet.’
Adela’s heart leapt with excitement at the mention of the fabled name. When she turned round to face her father and the elderly widow, they could both see the yearning shining in her dark eyes.
