Surrender to Love

Later, when she had had more time in which to prepare herself, she would open her mama’s small trunk and... “Burn everything, my dear!” she knew Harriet would say in her usual decisive fashion. “No sense in being morbid.” Aunt Harriet had no patience with what she had always called “sickly, sentimental twaddle.” But her mama’s few treasured possessions were hers to do whatever she wanted with, Papa had told her. No, when she went through the trunk she wouldn’t even tell Aunt Harriet. Why should she?

Alexa had not meant to postpone doing what had to be done for longer than a day or two at the most, but it was getting close to harvest time and there was much more than usual to be done and seen to at that time. The accounts had to be done each day and the coolies paid and supervised to make sure they did not grow lazy or careless. Every coffee bush had to be carefully inspected each day until the coffee “cherries” had turned from yellow to purple-red and were ready for picking at once. And after that there was the rest of the lengthy process that was involved—the “pulping,” the period of fermenting, and then the washing—before at last the beans could be dried and packed for shipping to the rolling mills in Colombo. Papa continued to have his good days and his bad days, and both Alexa and Harriet were kept so busy that there were literally no moments to spare for anything that did not have to be done at once. I’ll do it later, Alexa promised herself. After all the cherries have been picked. But in the end she almost forgot about the key and what it was meant to open, and the days continued to race by; each with their different crises and problems to be dealt with.

“Didn’t I hear Sir John Travers say something about coming up here next week when he was here for the services?” Harriet said over breakfast one morning, adding in a sharper voice: “I suppose you’ll insist on doing as you wish about it, but if he’s coming up only to speak to your papa about wishing to make matters official, then I do hope you will consider very carefully the fact that your papa is still not quite his normal self and might find the idea of losing you as well too much to bear at this time.”

“I know,” Alexa said a trifle tiredly, looking up from her plate of freshly sliced fruit topped with cream. She was in no mood to enter into an argument with Aunt Harriet this morning when they were both so much on edge. “Poor Papa.... Of course I would not dream of deserting him while he needs me. In fact I have already written to Sir John explaining matters to him, so you need not worry. Muttu took the letter down to Kandy to catch the mail coach very early this morning.”

Poor Papa! By now Alexa had had enough time to grow used to his changing moods, which seemed to depend on the amount of brandy he consumed. Sometimes he came downstairs to wander about aimlessly, and sometimes he would remain all day locked up in his room until it was time for dinner, if he chose to join them. On some occasions he would call her “Victorine” and “my love,” but fortunately those were the times when he was so inebriated that he would soon fall asleep at the table and have to be carried up to bed. Now that she was able to understand so much better, Alexa did not let herself become upset at such times; but

for the most part he knew who she was and would speak to her kindly, if a trifle absently. He too seemed to have forgotten about the key he had given her and his rather hesitant wish to have her wear one of her mother’s favorite gowns to dinner one night. And if she remembered the key at all she always thought quickly that it would be much better to wait a little longer.

With the passage of time would come forgetfulness and healing in the end. Perhaps it was what they all needed.

Chapter 17

“So you’re determined to go after all? Hah! All I can say then, since your mind seems made up, is that I hope you remember to exercise some discretion, my dear. I’d go along with you myself if I could feel comfortable about leaving your papa alone in his condition.”

“Aunt Harriet...” Alexa caught herself sighing impatiently. “You know quite well that I have already postponed going to dinner at Mrs. Dearborn’s place twice and that it would seem unconscionably rude and almost like a snub if I were to do so again. Besides, I have both Muttu and Ayah with me as chaperones, and haven’t I promised to act with the utmost discretion? Goodness, you never used to fuss so when I used to go on hunting trips with the boys that were far more dangerous than traveling a few miles to have dinner with a neighbor we have all known for years.”

“You know very well that there’s a difference,” Harriet snapped before she sighed and said almost resignedly, “Oh, go on and get on your way then, and I hope that at least you’ll make sure of being back before dark tomorrow. It’s difficult enough as it is without having you off gallivanting.”

Aunt Harriet had sounded quite grumpy, Alexa thought resentfully after she had started out. As if she was letting her down by leaving for a few hours. But she was not for the world going to let her aunt’s sourness—or anything else, for that matter—spoil this evening for her. Her first formal call on her own. Her first step towards becoming independent.

To Alexa’s secret relief she was the only dinner guest that night. She had been hoping that there would not be too many other neighbors there, or any young officers; but this was even better than she had anticipated and she soon felt quite at ease and relaxed with Letty Dearborn and the Senhor da Rocha.

“Do you like curry? I’ve developed quite an addiction to it, I’m afraid, and the hotter the better! But there’s chicken stew with boiled vegetables too, just in case.” The way her hostess screwed her face up at the mention of chicken stew made Alexa burst out laughing.

“After three glasses of sherry and now wine into the bargain, I do not think it matters in the least what I have to eat, as long as it is not chicken stew and boiled vegetables.”

“Ah! You see, Paul? A female after my own black heart. Didn’t I tell you so? She’s not a bit like those namby-pamby creatures who are all false smiles and ugly whispers—are you, my dear? And now they have it that poor Paul is a result of one of my late husband’s indiscretions. Little do they know! I was a dutiful wife while he was still alive, because I didn’t know any better at the time, I suppose. But Samuel was much older than I was, and the poor dear could not... Well, never mind. Never speak ill, as the saying goes. Kept his Eurasian mistress hidden away somewhere because all his friends were doing the same, but couldn’t beget children! Anyhow, I remember saying to Paul—didn’t I, love?—wait until you meet Alexa Howard. She’s different, independent. Got a mind of her own too. Hope they don’t have time to get their knives into her in Colombo, though. I’ve managed to develop a hide as thick as an elephant’s by now, of course, but, well, I’m glad you didn’t let them change you, my dear. I like you, you know.”

As the meal progressed Letty Dearborn’s lack of formality and her direct manner of speech made it easy for Alexa to talk quite freely and honestly herself, not only to Letty but to Paul as well.

They had soon progressed to first names. “Miss this, Mister that; always thought it was ridiculous among people who feel comfortable enough with each other to become friends. You don’t mind, do you?”

She did not mind in the least, Alexa thought, enjoying being able to sit together with both her new friends after dinner instead of retiring while Paul indulged in a cigar and port by himself. In fact, Letty actually lighted up a cigar for herself after she had ordered cognac for all of them.

“Another silly custom!” she’d said. “Like not being able to smoke if you’re a female. But don’t you try a cigar if you’re not used to it, my dear. Make you very sick indeed!”

They sat around the table talking for what seemed like hours, while Alexa took small, careful sips of her cognac and the cigar smoke swirled under the punkah fan. Paul spoke of his life in Brazil and the influence of Portugal there, and Letty related some of her experiences when she had first begun to manage her husband’s estate on her own. “You’ll probably face the same thing some day, love. Women hate you and the single men without prospects want to marry you; at least until you get as long in the tooth as I am now. And the married ones want to bed you, thinking you ought to be grateful. Glad you’re not shocked by my bluntness but I thought you should be warned, at least. Of course, I keep forgetting, don’t I, that you’re still single, and can pick and choose, eh? Still young too. Plenty of time ahead of you yet, and you’ll have all the choices in the world. Don’t even have to stay here because there’s no other place to go and England’s too damn cold. You could probably live anywhere in the world you decide to live, if... Think you’ll marry Sir John in the end? No. I apologize for that! Prying...detest prying. But I always tend to talk too much when I’ve had more than enough to drink, as Paul will tell you.”

“Oh, but of course I don’t mind anything you say...” Alexa began, but Letty had risen abruptly to her feet, coming over to lean down and give her a perfumed hug.

“I know you don’t, love, or I wouldn’t have apologized, you know. Never apologized to any of them for anything! But I do know when I’ve had enough and should go upstairs to sleep it off. Doesn’t mean you two young people have to waste the rest of the evening though, does it? Have Paul take you for a stroll in the new rose garden while the moon’s still up. Think it was full last night, wasn’t it, Paul? Well, good night, my dears.”

After Letty had kissed them both and departed with a casual wave of her ring-bedecked fingers, Alexa found herself rather confused and uncertain of what she should do next until she heard Paul say quietly, “Would you care to stroll outside for a while, or would it make you feel uncomfortable to be alone with me?”

“I...” Alexa met his gravely searching eyes and suddenly gave a shrug and a small smile as she extended her hand. “But why should I feel in the least uncomfortable being alone with you now that we have become friends? And I do not even care if there is a moon tonight.”

That last defiant comment had burst from her spontaneously, and soon afterwards Alexa could have bitten her tongue for saying something so pointless. She was relieved when Paul, instead of questioning her, merely helped her to her feet, offering her his arm before saying with a humorous quirk of his lips, “I am glad you trust me, because I am afraid your duenna has fallen sound asleep.” »

Her poor ayah, who had been sitting on her mat in one corner of the large dining room all evening, had fallen asleep quite early, as Alexa had not failed to notice with relief. And now she said with her dimple showing, “Oh, it would be quite cruel of us to wake her, don’t you think?” Poor Elisa was growing old, and once she had closed her eyes almost nothing could wake her until dawn, as Alexa knew very well and her aunt did not. And she meant to make the most of this one lighthearted night of feeling free, a free spirit among kindred free spirits.

Outdoors lay a different world from the orange lamplit dining room. An enchanted fairy world of silver light sliced through with black shadow; and damp earth smells mingling with the heady scents that drifted from flower beds, and thick vines that clung to bowers and hung from trees. And perhaps, Alexa found herself thinking almost defiantly, she needed to be walking outdoors with a man whom she could trust not to take advantage of her ignorance and her untried emotions. Perhaps she needed to prove at least to herself that she had changed and become stronger—no longer a weak, helpless creature who allowed her intellect to be ruled by her senses and the cloying, insidious lure of a moon-bathed tropical night.

As if he had sensed some of her secret thoughts and reservations, Paul da Rocha continued to talk easily as they strolled along the crazy-paved path that led to a small summerhouse in the center of the sunken rose garden. He spoke of his childhood and his parents and his sisters who had all been married off by the time they were fifteen years old. “And by now—Luisa is only twenty—they are all three like old women, even to look at. Sharp-tongued and nagging, with nothing to converse about except children and servants and other domestic matters. I felt desperately sorry for them at first; sold off like cattle to men they had barely met and did not know. I can still remember how Luisa, who was closest to me in age, cried bitterly all night before her wedding day. She thought she loved a friend of mine she had once exchanged glances with. But within a day or two afterwards, how she preened as she showed off her wedding gifts—her large new house with so many servants to do her bidding, her jewels and new finery.”

“Oh!” Alexa cried, puzzled as well as revolted. “But I never could... Only, I suppose that your poor sisters had no choice in the matter and so there was nothing to do but make the best of things. They could not be really happy, could they? Sometimes even I hate being a female and being so limited in every way. You should count yourself lucky that you were born a male, you know!”