strange matters as sleeping under a mosquito net, rising at dawn to walk along the river and returning to drink tea and eat fruit on the verandah, spending the greater part of the day in the dark and shuttered house to escape the heat, emerging only in the cool evenings to sit on a brick platform in the garden and watch the sudden and colourful sunsets.
Very thoughtfully the Chalmers had decided to allow the young Floods a few days’ rest before introducing them into the local society. Mr Chalmers would not even hear of Charles accompanying him to his office, which was the only justification we had for being in Calcutta, for at least a week. And certainly, once we had settled ourselves in our comfortable quarters, all three of us became aware of a sudden tiredness and lack of energy. No doubt the heat, the humidity and the change from the sea air all contributed to our inertia. But in a couple of days we were ourselves again and Emily began to fret at what she termed ‘this odious inactivity’. I must admit that I was almost equally irked by our inability to get out of the house and grounds and take a look at our new surroundings. It was, according to Mrs Chalmers, quite unheard of for an English lady to walk the roads, even in this residential area, unaccompanied—indeed, to walk at all. ‘This climate,’ she said, ‘precludes exercise for ladies during the hot weather.’ We did take a decorous stroll along the riverbank before chota hazri at dawn, but after that the long hot day lay before us bereft of interest or occupation. On the second evening Mrs Chalmers asked whether we would care for an airing in the landau, but with such obvious lack of encouragement that even the impetuous Emily did not take up the offer. ‘Well, perhaps it is better not,’ she said with relief, ‘the horses suffer as much as we humans in this heat, poor things, and if we go out after dark when it is coolest there are the insects, y’know, and anyway nothing can be seen!’
Mrs Chalmers spent a large part of the day dressed in a loose wrapper, lying on a chaise-longue reading novels and writing endless ‘chits’ to her friends, which were then conveyed to their destinations by one of the many servants. The house appeared to run itself. I never saw her plan a menu, make a laundry-list or so much as enter the kitchen quarters. I could not help recalling the active, useful life my aunt led in Mount Bellew, her intimate interest in every facet of housekeeping, her concern for each member of her household, and her many charities in the village. I had no doubt at all as to which mode of life I would prefer. I was able to fill my time quite adequately with needle-work and sorting the clothing which had accompanied us in our big trunks but which we had not needed on the voyage, but soon discovered that any mending, washing or ironing, even of delicate laces, was not my duty but that of the ayahs , the washerman or the tailor who sat cross-legged on the floor of the back verandah. It was pleasant to discover in my trunk a hoard of half a dozen books, all old favourites, for apart from Mrs Chalmers’s novels (which came from a lending library) the meagre bookshelves contained only works on accountancy, the principle and practice of commerce and the horse.
Emily’s interests and habits did not serve her well in solitude. Within a few days she was privately rebellious and openly glum. ‘Wretched woman,’ she said unkindly of her hostess, ‘can’t she see we’re bored and miserable? Couldn’t she even have a little dinner party so that we would see some new faces? She’s the laziest thing! Can you imagine Mama in a wrapper at noon !’
‘It’s the climate, Emily,’ I said placatingly. ‘People have to adapt to the climate.’
‘Well, I shan’t! Not if it means I spend my days alone in a great gloomy house and my nights sweating under a mosquito net from nine o’clock onwards. Never!’ Then she turned to her husband.
Very thoughtfully the Chalmers had decided to allow the young Floods a few days’ rest before introducing them into the local society. Mr Chalmers would not even hear of Charles accompanying him to his office, which was the only justification we had for being in Calcutta, for at least a week. And certainly, once we had settled ourselves in our comfortable quarters, all three of us became aware of a sudden tiredness and lack of energy. No doubt the heat, the humidity and the change from the sea air all contributed to our inertia. But in a couple of days we were ourselves again and Emily began to fret at what she termed ‘this odious inactivity’. I must admit that I was almost equally irked by our inability to get out of the house and grounds and take a look at our new surroundings. It was, according to Mrs Chalmers, quite unheard of for an English lady to walk the roads, even in this residential area, unaccompanied—indeed, to walk at all. ‘This climate,’ she said, ‘precludes exercise for ladies during the hot weather.’ We did take a decorous stroll along the riverbank before chota hazri at dawn, but after that the long hot day lay before us bereft of interest or occupation. On the second evening Mrs Chalmers asked whether we would care for an airing in the landau, but with such obvious lack of encouragement that even the impetuous Emily did not take up the offer. ‘Well, perhaps it is better not,’ she said with relief, ‘the horses suffer as much as we humans in this heat, poor things, and if we go out after dark when it is coolest there are the insects, y’know, and anyway nothing can be seen!’
Mrs Chalmers spent a large part of the day dressed in a loose wrapper, lying on a chaise-longue reading novels and writing endless ‘chits’ to her friends, which were then conveyed to their destinations by one of the many servants. The house appeared to run itself. I never saw her plan a menu, make a laundry-list or so much as enter the kitchen quarters. I could not help recalling the active, useful life my aunt led in Mount Bellew, her intimate interest in every facet of housekeeping, her concern for each member of her household, and her many charities in the village. I had no doubt at all as to which mode of life I would prefer. I was able to fill my time quite adequately with needle-work and sorting the clothing which had accompanied us in our big trunks but which we had not needed on the voyage, but soon discovered that any mending, washing or ironing, even of delicate laces, was not my duty but that of the ayahs , the washerman or the tailor who sat cross-legged on the floor of the back verandah. It was pleasant to discover in my trunk a hoard of half a dozen books, all old favourites, for apart from Mrs Chalmers’s novels (which came from a lending library) the meagre bookshelves contained only works on accountancy, the principle and practice of commerce and the horse.
Emily’s interests and habits did not serve her well in solitude. Within a few days she was privately rebellious and openly glum. ‘Wretched woman,’ she said unkindly of her hostess, ‘can’t she see we’re bored and miserable? Couldn’t she even have a little dinner party so that we would see some new faces? She’s the laziest thing! Can you imagine Mama in a wrapper at noon !’
‘It’s the climate, Emily,’ I said placatingly. ‘People have to adapt to the climate.’
‘Well, I shan’t! Not if it means I spend my days alone in a great gloomy house and my nights sweating under a mosquito net from nine o’clock onwards. Never!’ Then she turned to her husband.
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