the curtains rolled up to enable her to observe the passing countryside (though this also allowed in a fearsome heat, a choking cloud of dust and numerous buzzing insects), she reflected on her good fortune to be away from it all. And, more important, to be away from home—to be somewhere other than in the stultifying atmosphere of her father's house, surrounded by the clutter of his endless possessions. Admittedly, the conservatory with its wealth of botanical specimens had provided a satisfying diversion, but in the end she had felt as imprisoned and constrained as the very plants that she grew. And as she had finally quitted the great house, liberated, it seemed, by Selwyn Fraser's proposal of marriage, she had secretly prayed never to return. Now, only the thought of Alice, still at home in England, caused her any anxiety.
Over the following days, Lilian made some useful and, to her mind, necessary modifications to her way of life. As they traveled farther inland across the Indian plains, rather than use a parasol to keep the blistering sun off her pale skin, she adopted a pith helmet.Instead of asking her husband to speak to the bearers, she struggled to learn the rudiments of their language so that she could converse with them herself. On their second night on the road, at her request, one of the bearers had shown her how to use the rifle. She practiced by blasting into pulp the pendulous fruit that hung from the mango trees at the roadside and was now proficient. She made sure that the rifle was well oiled and ready for use at all times.
They traveled only in the mornings. In the afternoons Selwyn slept, exhausted, in whatever
dak
bungalow they had reached. Lilian, however, was too restless to lie meekly at his side. With the rifle over her shoulder, her notebooks, paints, and brushes in her bag, and her easel and paper strapped to her back, she would wander off to explore the surrounding countryside. To facilitate this, beneath her skirts she took to wearing a pair of her husband's trousers, which enabled her to climb over fallen trees and scramble up rocks with ease and no loss of dignity.
“Really, my dear,” her husband said after a week of watching his wife disappear into the brush. “This is most irregular. What will the natives think to see a lady wandering about alone in the jungle?”
“Ram comes with me,” replied Lilian. “And these are the plains, not the jungle.”
Selwyn's flushed face turned a deeper shade of crimson, as it always did when she contradicted him. “Has your sense of propriety completely deserted you?” he cried. “Besides, there may be thieves, or wild animals, awaiting you if you stray too far. This fellow Ram you seem so fond of will be sure to run off and leave you to your fate. What if you fall and break your leg? Or get bitten by a snake?”
Lilian pretended not to hear him.
I T TOOK ALMOST three months to reach Kushpur. Three months in which Lilian seemed to grow in stature, while her husband appeared to dwindle. Rather than finding the heat enervating, Lilian thrived on it. Her complexion became rosy, her walk became a confident stride.
“You walk like a man,” her husband complained peevishly, as he scratched at the weeping blebs of psoriasis that covered the backs of his hands. “And what's that gibberish you're always muttering?” He scowled and gave a feeble cough. “And for goodness' sake make sure you take that hat off before we meet anyone we know.”
“Who do we know out here?” inquired Lilian mildly. She was cleaning the rifle with oil and a piece of soft cotton cloth.
“And stop fiddling with that gun. Anyone would think you were a
sepoy.”
Lilian looked at her husband reproachfully. His thick sandy hair had lost its shine and now enfolded his skull in a lusterless woolen helmet. His eyes were sunken and dull, ringed with gray wizened flesh, as though the moisture was gradually being sucked out of him by the hot breeze. His skin was mottled
Over the following days, Lilian made some useful and, to her mind, necessary modifications to her way of life. As they traveled farther inland across the Indian plains, rather than use a parasol to keep the blistering sun off her pale skin, she adopted a pith helmet.Instead of asking her husband to speak to the bearers, she struggled to learn the rudiments of their language so that she could converse with them herself. On their second night on the road, at her request, one of the bearers had shown her how to use the rifle. She practiced by blasting into pulp the pendulous fruit that hung from the mango trees at the roadside and was now proficient. She made sure that the rifle was well oiled and ready for use at all times.
They traveled only in the mornings. In the afternoons Selwyn slept, exhausted, in whatever
dak
bungalow they had reached. Lilian, however, was too restless to lie meekly at his side. With the rifle over her shoulder, her notebooks, paints, and brushes in her bag, and her easel and paper strapped to her back, she would wander off to explore the surrounding countryside. To facilitate this, beneath her skirts she took to wearing a pair of her husband's trousers, which enabled her to climb over fallen trees and scramble up rocks with ease and no loss of dignity.
“Really, my dear,” her husband said after a week of watching his wife disappear into the brush. “This is most irregular. What will the natives think to see a lady wandering about alone in the jungle?”
“Ram comes with me,” replied Lilian. “And these are the plains, not the jungle.”
Selwyn's flushed face turned a deeper shade of crimson, as it always did when she contradicted him. “Has your sense of propriety completely deserted you?” he cried. “Besides, there may be thieves, or wild animals, awaiting you if you stray too far. This fellow Ram you seem so fond of will be sure to run off and leave you to your fate. What if you fall and break your leg? Or get bitten by a snake?”
Lilian pretended not to hear him.
I T TOOK ALMOST three months to reach Kushpur. Three months in which Lilian seemed to grow in stature, while her husband appeared to dwindle. Rather than finding the heat enervating, Lilian thrived on it. Her complexion became rosy, her walk became a confident stride.
“You walk like a man,” her husband complained peevishly, as he scratched at the weeping blebs of psoriasis that covered the backs of his hands. “And what's that gibberish you're always muttering?” He scowled and gave a feeble cough. “And for goodness' sake make sure you take that hat off before we meet anyone we know.”
“Who do we know out here?” inquired Lilian mildly. She was cleaning the rifle with oil and a piece of soft cotton cloth.
“And stop fiddling with that gun. Anyone would think you were a
sepoy.”
Lilian looked at her husband reproachfully. His thick sandy hair had lost its shine and now enfolded his skull in a lusterless woolen helmet. His eyes were sunken and dull, ringed with gray wizened flesh, as though the moisture was gradually being sucked out of him by the hot breeze. His skin was mottled
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