Colonel Bronsen-Grey was on his way to take over my father’s duties and we were to make immediate preparations for our departure.
It seemed like fate. I could not help feeling very excited. This time I should not leave India with the same reluctance.
Aubrey St. Clare was delighted, and when he heard that we were booked on the Aurora Star, he decided he would return home on the same ship.
It proved the state of my feelings when I did not feel any great regret because we were going with him.
We had no home in England and my father decided that we should stay at an hotel while we looked for a temporary home and he ascertained from the War Office what his duties would be. When he knew we could set about finding a more permanent residence, which he expected would be in London.
My ayah took a tearful farewell of me. She was fatalistic and that helped her to overcome her sorrow at parting. It was ordained, she said and she had known that when I returned, I would not stay long in India.
“It is well that you go,” she said, ‘even though those who love you suffer at the parting. There will be trouble here and I am happy to know that you will be safe. The monsoons have failed to bring the rain and the crops are bad. When there is famine people look round for those to blame, and they blame those they envy . those who may have what they would like themselves. Yes, I should rejoice. It is best for you. Do not be impulsive as you have always been, little Su-Su. Think first. Do not seize the dross in mistake for the gold. “
“I promise you, dear ayah, that I will curb my impulses. I will think of you always and try to be wise.”
Then she embraced me and kissed me solemnly.
As I stood on deck the last person I saw as we sailed away was my ayah, standing there, looking lonely and forlorn, her pale blue said moving gently in the breeze.
It was a magic voyage. I felt very happy. How different from that time when I, a lonely little girl under the vigilance of Mrs. Fearnley, had tried hard not to burst into noisy protestations at being dragged away from my father and my beloved India. This was quite different. My father seemed younger. Only now did I realize the strain under which he had been living. He had never talked to me about the fear of trouble; but it must have always been there an undercurrent of apprehension. I remember moonlit nights, leaning over the rail, looking up to the rich velvety sky and the golden stars, listening to the gentle movement of the sea below. Aubrey was my constant companion; in the morning we paced the decks together; we played games; we indulged in lengthy discussions at meals with our table companions; we danced afterwards; and I wanted those days to go on and on. I tried not to look too far ahead when we should reach Tilbury and say goodbye, my father and I going to London and Aubrey to that stately home in Buckinghamshire.
There was something unreal about life on the ship. One felt that one was floating in a little world apart from the real one. There were no troubles here nothing but long sunny days, lying on deck, watching the porpoises and the dolphins frolic, while the flying fish skimmed the water, and here and there the hump of a whale could be seen.
One day an albatross, and presumably his mate, followed the ship for three days. We marvelled at the beautiful creatures with their twelve-foot wing span; they circled above us and there were times when we thought they were going to land on deck. They were waiting for the food, left over from meals, to be thrown into the water.
They were magic days with calm seas and blue skies and the ship sailing peacefully home.
Even so one was reminded of change. There was a day when we skirted a hurricane and the chairs slid across the deck and it was impossible to stand up. That was symbolic, I thought. Nothing lasts forever; and the most perfect peace can be quickly shattered.
We reached Cape Town, which I remembered from that other journey. This was different. My father, Aubrey and I went out in a flower-decorated carriage drawn by two horses in straw bonnets. It seemed far more exciting than on that previous occasion; perhaps that was due to the company.
It was the night after we left Cape Town. We had had a rough passage round the Cape and were now sailing northwards to the Canaries. We had left the tropical heat behind and the weather was bland with hardly any wind.
My father had gone to bed, which he often did after dinner, and that left me alone with Aubrey. We found our favourite spot on deck and sat side by side listening to the gentle swishing of the water against the side of the ship.
“It won’t be long now,” said Aubrey.
“We shall soon be home.”
I agreed a little sombrely.
“It has been a wonderful voyage.”
“For a particular reason,” he replied.
I waited and he turned to me and, taking my hand, kissed it.
“You,” he said.
I laughed.
“You have contributed to the enjoyment. My father is delighted that you are here and he can go to bed with a free conscience and leave me in good hands.”
“So he thinks that of me, does he?”
“You know he does.”
“Susanna, I have been thinking. When we get to England … what?”
“What? It is all planned. Father and I will go to an hotel and look immediately for a house. And you … you have your arrangements.”
“We are not going to say ” Goodbye, it was nice to have known you” when we get to England, are we?”
“I don’t know what will happen when we get to England.”
“Doesn’t that rather depend on us?”
“There is one theory which says that everything that happens depends on ourselves, while another believes in fate. What is to be, will be.”
“I think we are masters of our fates. Will you marry me?”
“Do you … mean that seriously?”
“I am deadly serious.”
“Aubrey …” I murmured.
“You are not going to say, ” This is so sudden”, are you?”
“No.”
“Then you will?”
“I think I will.”
“You only think?”
“Well, I have never had a proposal of marriage before, and I don’t quite know how to deal with it.”
He burst out laughing and, turning to me, took me in his arms and kissed me.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he said.
“Have you been wanting me to?”
“Yes, I think I have.”
“You think! Don’t you know? You are so definite in your views on every other subject.”
“I feel such a novice … at love.”
“That is what I love about you. So young … so fresh … so innocent… so honest.”
“I would rather be more worldly like some of the wives .. Mrs. Freeling, for instance.”
For a moment he was silent. I thought he looked uncertain and was about to say something. He appeared to change his mind and I wondered if I had imagined it.
“Those people are not really worldly, you know,” he said at length.
“They are older than you and pose all the time as socialites. Don’t be like they are, for Heaven’s sake. Just be yourself, Susanna. That’s what I want.”
He held my hand tightly and we looked out over the sea.
“What a perfect night,” he said.
“A calm sea, a gentle breeze and Susanna has promised to marry me.”
When I told my father he was faintly disturbed.
“You are very young,” he said.
“I am eighteen. That’s a marriageable age.”