She paused and stepped to the table, pouring herself another cup of tea and retaking her seat in the basket chair.
‘There was no future for us,’ she went on, ‘except to be evicted from the barracks at fifteen. Where might we then go? A small requirement existed for maids for officers’ households, but very few, for the majority were plentifully staffed with cheap Indian labour, and few ladies would care to have about their house and in contact with their children what they called a ’barrack rat‘. We were regarded as inevitably corrupted by the life in which we were bred, and it is sad to say that many of us were. No English merchant or trader in the town would employ a girl. Our only future lay in marrying another private soldier and repeating the heritage of misery.’
She sipped her tea and lifted her eyes to ours. ‘At an early age,’ she declared, ‘I determined that I would not submit to such a cycle. I realized that education was the only chance that I had. The garrison school was not the best, but it had books and it had teachers, and to those two lanterns I clung with desperation that they would guide me out of my wretched existence. Every minute which I spent in school was not only a minute away from the squalor and drudgery of the barrack room, it was an investment in escape.’
A small smile lit up her sombre expression. ‘There was another source of light in my life, gentlemen.
As I grew, I became aware of a young clerk in the barracks, Rupert Eland.
He was only a few years older than I, and we became fast friends. He became the greatest light in my young life, because a marriage to him, when he was of sufficient standing and income to take a wife, would solve all my problems in an instant.‘
She shook her head. ‘But it was not, it seemed, to be. I was fourteen, rising fifteen and soon to be forbidden to live in the barracks, when my stepfather took a hand. He was not going to risk having a daughter living beyond the barracks, one that he would have to support, and so he commenced
arrangements for me to marry one of his fellows, another private soldier. I could not wait for Rupert’s advancement, for the grim future which I feared was almost upon me.’
She set her jaw and looked directly at us, as though daring us to query what she was about to say.
‘I ran away,’ she said. ‘I lied about my age and background and attached myself to the retinue of an English missionary who was departing for Singapore. The teaching which I had absorbed in the
garrison classroom I turned to account in the mission. In the years that followed I became a good teacher and acquired a knowledge of the world at large, and of the Orient in particular, which has been vouchsafed to few women, along with a wide range of oriental languages.’
The smile returned to her face. ‘But I never forgot my Rupert,’ she said. ‘After a few years I returned to India. My poor mother had aged and grown more worn, but my wretched stepfather had changed not at all. He still believed that I would marry some uncouth private of his choice. I was now of an age to make my own decisions as to matrimony, and I did so. I married Rupert Eland, though he had changed his name to Fordeland.’
The smile broadened. ‘It is, I expect, difficult for men such as yourselves to imagine what marriage meant to me. The life of a junior officer’s wife is not a paradise, but it was so far from the squalor in which I had been raised that it might well have been. A junior officer’s wife still lives a life that is bound by service to the army and the Empire, but the differences were, for me, enormous. To occupy our own premises, to employ our own servants, to have space and time to pursue my artistic and intellectual interests, to be able to meet with other ladies who shared my interests, to share my life with a man whom I loved and admired, was as much as I could have desired.’
She became thoughtful again and sipped her tea. ‘Of course, we travelled, we followed where the Empire required Rupert. We travelled in the East, we were in Australia and we went to Singapore.
During that time I bore Rupert two children, a boy and a girl. Some might think that our life was hard, but I do not. I did not wish for more.’
She gazed past us, looking out of the window, and perhaps she saw those far-off days in the Orient.
‘It ended in a cruel misfortune,’ she continued. ‘Rupert had joined some brother officers on a tiger-hunting expedition. I was anxious that he return by nightfall, partly because I was aware that young officers in a hunting camp fall into ways of which I did not approve. I urged him to return at the end of the day and he promised to do so. He kept his promise, as I knew he would. Although he had lingered in camp after their hunt, he rode hard to reach home before sundown.’
She hesitated, as though to nerve herself for the recollection and recitation.
‘He had barely arrived home,’ she said, ‘when he collapsed. We put him to bed, but there was nothing to be done. He died from heatstroke.’
Holmes allowed the silence to stretch a while, but eventually I said quietly, ‘It must have been a calamity for you, Mrs Fordeland.’
‘It was,’ she said. ‘It was. Rupert had always been my future and had become the mainstay and centrepost of my life. At one blow I had lost my only love and the support of our little family. Rupert had not been one of those gilded young men who adopt the army as a gentlemanly occupation until they inherit family wealth. He had no prospect of family wealth, no independent income. He was a career soldier. I had no home to which I might retreat, neither in India nor in England.’
She set her jaw again. ‘It was up to me to ensure that my children and I survived. The only skill that I possessed was in teaching, so I set up a school for the children of officers.
It barely paid the way, but it kept my children and me from absolute penury. Nevertheless, I was always aware that our situation was precarious and that I must take steps to ensure a better future for my children. So it was that, when a friend in the consulate told me of the King of Mongkuria’s search for an English governess, I applied for and was accepted in the post.‘
She drew a long breath, as though an awkward task had been completed.
‘You have read my account of my years in Mongkuria, Dr Watson,’ she said. ‘I assure you that I did not alter that part of my story. King Chula has said that I ’made up from my imagination what was deficient in my memory‘, but that is not so; It is as true as my observation, my recollection and my pen could make it, so I shall not take up your time by reciting it all again. You may wonder why I have told you so much of my past, but it seems to me that you should understand fully how I came to be what I am and what I was when I visited Russia. It may assist you in understanding my reaction to what happened there.’
Sixteen
A Journey Through Russia
‘It had always been my intention to return to Mongkuria. Indeed, it had taken me no little time to persuade the King to grant me leave to come to England to visit my daughter. Unfortunately, while I was here, the King died suddenly. His son was only fifteen years old, so a regency ensued, and they did not invite me to return.’
She looked at both of us, who had sat silent through this recitation.
‘I will not bore you with details of what is, essentially, family history,’ she said. ‘My daughter’s marriage eventually ensured that we made our home across the Atlantic. However, I was not prepared to be simply an ageing pensioner of my wealthy son-in-law. My books had been received with no little success, and I established an income from writing and lecturing, largely, I may say, on the reduced status of women in all parts of the world. It was that which brought me to the attention of an American magazine editor and led to the offer to travel through Russia.’