He accepted the glass, his curious eyes not leaving her face.

  Giving him a last smile, she turned and walked out.

  Henry stood where he was, the glass gripped in his hand, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

  Outside, Vottie vomited into the flower bed.

  18

  Mount Edgecombe Sugar Estate

  November 1909

  In Nomazizi’s room, the African servant was ready to feed, her body now producing milk for two babies. Maria watched her, mesmerised. Nomazizi seemed perfectly comfortable to feed a child who wasn’t her own.

  Standing in the corner, Maria felt like an intruder but she couldn’t stop watching. Angel was drinking steadily now, in big gulps, so much so that she began to choke.

  Maria stepped forward but quickly saw that her help wasn’t needed: Nomazizi lifted the baby and patted her back gently. Angel burped and began to cry, a sound that filled both women with relief. Nomazizi settled the infant back onto her breast and Angel began suckling again.

  Watching Angel, Maria felt overcome with sadness and loss. She thought back to a few nights ago, when she’d sent Leleti to find out exactly what had happened to the baby’s parents, and also if anyone knew of any family.

  Leleti had reported back within a few hours: ‘Both the mother and father are dead, Medem, just like the master said. They say the husband went mad.’

  ‘Did you find out if there are any relatives?’

  ‘No, but I went to their room and there was nothing left there except for these things,’ Leleti said, placing a small bundle in Maria’s hands. There were a few of Angel’s clothes, the parents’ indenture certificates, and two letters addressed to Chinmah Naik, care of the estate.

  Maria opened the first envelope, which had the return address ‘Lutchmee Mottai, c/o Sezela Sugar Estate’, and took out the single sheet.

  Our dear Chinmah

  We were glad to hear from you but we are concerned about your health and Angel’s. What is happening there? Is Ramsamy looking after you both? We will try to get permission to leave our plantation and come to visit. Please look after yourself and give Angel a kiss from us until we can see you.

  Lutchmee and Sappani

  The second letter, with a return address of Vottie Singh at the same farm, was dated only a month ago, in early October.

  Dearest Chinmah

  I hope this letter finds you and baby Angel in good health. I am now with Lutchmee in Sezela and we want to see you. We are taking the 3 p.m. train into Durban for Diwali. Meet us there if you can.

  Vottie

  Back in her own house, Maria looked down at the mewling baby. ‘You poor thing,’ she crooned. If only this baby had been born a different colour, she pondered sadly. But then, as she soothed the baby, walking to and fro in her bedroom, taking in her lush eyelashes, her perfect skin as soft as a kitten’s fur, her darling rosebud mouth, a gaping hole in Maria’s soul began to close.

  Perhaps it would be possible for her to raise this baby as her own, she thought. The little thing was already so at home here, in Maria’s bedroom. Leleti had helped her get the cot out of the store shed alongside the house, where Andrew had dumped it after her last miscarriage. Together, the two women had heaved it out into the sunshine. It was dusty but intact.

  Maria had then gone through the wooden boxes, searching for the layette she’d collected during her pregnancies. She’d never disposed of it, remaining hopeful that perhaps it would still be used one day for a baby of her own.

  She decided that she would talk to Andrew that evening.

  Waiting for the right time, Maria pushed her food around on her plate without bringing it to her mouth. Andrew, sitting across from her, had been quiet all evening and she wondered if this evening was the right time to discuss this after all.

  ‘The Protector came today. There’s going to be an investigation,’ Andrew suddenly said. She looked up, noticing how old and tired he seemed. ‘Kasim says that he spoke to the Indians and told them what to say … well, God knows what story he concocted, but I can’t see how we can come through this. Two murders and a suicide, and now an orphaned baby. Perhaps it would have been better for the baby to have—’

  Maria gasped and put her knife and fork down with a clatter. ‘Don’t even say such things, Andrew! She’s a completely innocent soul.’

  Andrew looked stricken – he often forgot what a tragedy his wife had had to go through recently, losing their own baby so late in the pregnancy. Quickly getting up from his chair, he walked around the table and knelt next to her seat, clasping her hands in his. ‘I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me,’ he said.

  Maria stroked his head and said, ‘I’ve been thinking … Maybe the baby can be ours …?’

  Abruptly, her husband stood up, went back to his place and refilled his wine glass. Not meeting his wife’s eyes, he said, ‘The harvest has been good but it is still not enough.’

  ‘What does that have to do with us keeping Angel?’

  ‘I’m all out of options, Maria. I can’t get any more loans and there’s a real possibility that I’m going to have to sell the plantation.’

  Maria’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t realise things were so bad,’ she said. ‘But the baby, we could—’

  Andrew raised his hand and shook his head, stopping her before she could go any further. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said, as gently as he could. ‘We’ve used our life savings on this venture and now it’s time to cut our losses. We can’t return to England with another mouth to feed, and a coolie baby at that. She would not belong.’

  Later, in her bedroom, Maria sat at her writing desk for a long time, thinking. She thought about the baby that could so easily have been hers. She could already feel the seeds of affection taking root in her heart.

  Angel, blissfully unaware of how close she’d come to perishing, and of the dire circumstances she was now in, was fast asleep, her tiny fists raised on either side of her head.

  Finally, sighing, Maria took some of her pale-pink stationery out of the desk drawer. Dipping her pen in the ink, she began to write.

  Maria was looking at the baby’s clothes that Leleti had neatly arranged. Angel was gurgling in the cot and blowing spit bubbles, her little hands grabbing at something only she could see. The light was streaming in the window and her brown eyes were bright and curious.

  The doctor had been to examine the baby, and declared her small for her age – which Andrew had finally been able to establish by contacting the Protector and asking him to look at the Umzinto’s records. They revealed that the birth of Angel Naik had been difficult. But the doctor now declared the child relatively healthy, given all she’d been through.

  Now, Maria looked up as there was a tap at her bedroom door.

  ‘A woman is here,’ Leleti announced, knowing that this was going to be hard for the madam.

  ‘Tell her to wait in the kitchen. I’ll be down shortly,’ Maria said, her voice breaking and betraying her at the end of the sentence.

  When Leleti left, Maria stood above the cot and sighed. She’d played out every possible scenario and there wasn’t a single one in which Angel could stay with her, and she could raise this bonny little infant as her own.

  She lifted Angel onto her right shoulder and let the happy baby grab her blonde hair. She inhaled the scent of her and touched her silky head. ‘I’ll miss you, little one,’ she said, as she buried her face in Angel’s hair and wept softly.

  When Maria walked into the kitchen with Angel ten minutes later, there was no sign that she’d been crying.

  She examined the Indian woman in front of her. Leleti had clearly offered her water and the woman was now seated in a chair, sipping slowly from a tin cup.

  ‘Angel!’ the woman cried, jumping up and reaching out to take the baby.

  Maria stepped back, clutching Angel closer to herself. ‘You’re Lutchmee?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I’m Vottie. I am also a friend.’

  ‘Yes. I found your letter,’ Maria replied. She felt hot and flustered. I should have asked Andrew to be here, she berated herself.

  ‘Is Angel better? What happened to her?’ Vottie asked, the concern clear in her big brown eyes.

  ‘She’s recovering well and she’s such a good girl,’ Maria said, and Vottie could hear the genuine warmth in the white woman’s voice.

  ‘Chinmah was our friend on the ship,’ Vottie told Maria. ‘We were even there when Angel was born. She is like our own. We will take care of her.’

  Leleti had crossed over to the madam and now she slowly eased the baby out of her arms. Maria was silent. She swallowed hard as Leleti placed Angel in Vottie’s arms.

  ‘She looks just like her mother,’ Vottie said, looking down at the infant and brushing away tears with her free hand. ‘Please, if you don’t mind, could I see where Chinmah is buried?’

  ‘Of course,’ Maria replied. ‘Leleti, take Vottie. I’ll keep Angel and give her her bottle.’

  ‘It is very sad. Everyone is still talking about it,’ Leleti said as they walked down the path that led to Chinmah’s grave. Without prompting, Leleti explained the circumstances surrounding Chinmah’s death.

  Vottie listened, trying to make sense of it as she wiped away her dusty tears. Silently, sorrowfully, fervently, she wished that she and Lutchmee had not let Chinmah return to Ramsamy that day after their Diwali trip to Durban – but at the same time, she knew that, in reality, there had been nothing the two women could have done. If Chinmah hadn’t returned, there would simply have been trouble all round, and then probably a fine, at least, and cut rations, and maybe even whippings. Vottie cried even more tears at the powerlessness of herself and her fellow immigrants – they were utterly at the mercy of others in this foreign land so far from home.

  Leleti stopped at an empty field that looked like any other, with clumps of weeds and wildflowers in places, and neat mounds in untidy rows. She pointed to three mounds of earth, darker than the soil around them.

  By Hindu rites they should have been cremated, but Vottie had come to accept that rituals weren’t practical on the plantations. She stood in silence, staring at the mounds – there wasn’t even a name or number to denote which was which, so she didn’t know which grave contained her friend, which the husband who had abused her, and which her rapist. She herself wasn’t going to end up like that, she decided; she wasn’t going to be beaten to death by any man, and her remains weren’t going to be shovelled over in a weedy field in a strange land.

  Vottie recalled the last time she’d seen Chinmah, her painfully thin body, and the fears she’d had about Angel. ‘We will take care of your baby,’ she whispered into the sky.

  The two women walked back to the house in silence.

  Maria was standing on the veranda, holding Angel against her chest, waiting for them. Her eyes were red and her face puffy but set in a serious expression.

  ‘She’s just been fed. That should hold her until you get back to your plantation. I’ve packed some things for her,’ she said, looking down at the bag at her feet, in which she’d put all the clothes and bedding that had once been intended for her and Andrew’s own little babies. In the bag she’d also put the small bundle that Leleti had found in Chinmah’s room.

  She kissed Angel lightly on her forehead, before putting her gently into Vottie’s arms and walking stiffly into the house. She didn’t look back.

  19

  Sezela Sugar Estate

  December 1909

  ‘We can start again. A new place, a new beginning.’ Sarju’s eyes searched hers for a response. ‘This baby could be ours, you know, then maybe our own will follow.’

  Vottie looked coldly at the man in front of her and attempted to veil her utter resentment. He saw it and bristled under her gaze.

  ‘I’m not ready to be a mother,’ Vottie said quietly. She thought about the many times she had paid for the foul-tasting extract made with ground black cohosh mixed with dried and powdered acacia seeds. It brought on her bleeding so that she could be certain that Sarju’s seed wouldn’t grow inside her.

  But this felt different. Angel was in her arms, already flesh, already loved.

  More than anything, she wanted to put the hurt behind her. Hatred and sadness were weighing her down, and she felt as if she could hardly keep her head up some days. With Angel in her arms she felt hopeful. The child was like a soothing balm, and while she’d remained asleep for most of the journey, her eyes were wide open now and innocent.

  Sarju watched her coolly. ‘I am saying that we can keep that baby and it will be ours, Vottie. You and me, its mother and father.’

  The sun was setting and Vottie knew that she needed to get back to the master. She also knew that she couldn’t bring Angel into the hell she endured with Sarju.

  ‘Chinmah wanted Lutchmee and Sappani to raise her; she told us that herself.’ Before Sarju could say anything else, she picked up Angel’s things and left the room.

  Lutchmee and Sappani were sitting outside their room, waiting, a lantern at their feet.

  ‘Is she okay?’ Lutchmee asked, as both women peered at Angel.

  ‘She is perfect,’ Vottie said, smiling and putting down the large bag containing all the baby would need for the next few months. ‘Mrs Wilkington looked after her well.’

  Taking the baby from Vottie’s arms, Lutchmee held out Angel for Seyan’s inspection. ‘This is your new sister,’ she said. Looking unimpressed, he nevertheless put his face closer to inspect the tiny arms and face.

  Watching the happy little family scene as Sappani and Lutchmee fussed over Angel in the dim light seemed to gnaw at Vottie. This was a picture of everything she did not have …

  ‘Here,’ Vottie said, pushing some money into Lutchmee’s hand. ‘Buy the children what they need for Christmas.’

  ‘Where is this coming from?’ Lutchmee asked.

  ‘I don’t have to give Sarju any money and the master is generous.’

  ‘Thank you, Vottie,’ Lutchmee said, then, lowering her voice, added, ‘What happens when his wife comes back?’

  ‘I won’t be here then,’ Vottie said and turned away, making it clear that the subject was closed.

  Seyan yawned – he’d quickly lost interest in the new arrival – and was soon asleep.

  Angel sucked on her hands while Sappani heated up the milk to prepare her bottle. Then, cradling her in her arms, Lutchmee fed Angel who stared at her with wide eyes.

  ‘She’s a hungry girl,’ Sappani said warmly.

  Once the child had drunk her fill, Lutchmee changed her and then rocked the baby until her eyes closed.

  With both children now asleep, the parents sat out on the veranda, having brewed a pot of tea. This had become their ritual and it was a time they both looked forward to every evening. To have this sort of magic every night was irresistible to them both. When it was that late and quiet, it seemed as if they were the only people in the world. Sitting next to each other in silence was blissful.

  Sappani stroked Lutchmee’s hair; still slightly damp from her bath earlier, it fell over her shoulders like a heavy black cloth. He caught the scent of coconut and inhaled deeply.

  ‘Are we going to be able to look after Angel, another mouth to feed, Sappani?’

  ‘She is ours now, part of our family,’ he said, reaching for her hands and enclosing them in his own.

  She nestled her head against him. ‘You have given me everything I could have hoped for,’ she said softly.

  She knew instinctively that now was the time for her to speak out, to tell her truth. Looking straight ahead and pausing only for breath or to hold back her sobs, she told him about her past – her marriage to Vikram, her mother-in-law, the sati she’d escaped.

  Sappani listened without interruption

  She took a deep breath and told him about her time in Madras and how she had come to the coolie camp. She didn’t say it with any shame; it simply rolled out, as if it had been another life or was someone else’s story rather than her own.

  When she was finished, she sat in silence, her cheeks wet with tears.

  Sappani sat absolutely still, staring into the darkness.

  Certain that she’d pushed him away forever, Lutchmee made to stand, but Sappani gently pulled her towards him. He buried his face in her hair. She held him and closed her eyes. She’d never felt so connected to anyone in her life, as if they inhaled and exhaled the exact same breath.

  When he pulled away, he left her hair wet with his tears. ‘We never need to speak of this again,’ he said.

  Standing, he held out a hand and helped her up, and together they walked inside. There, he kissed her in the centre of her forehead and then inside each of both her open palms.

  Sarju had on new trousers that he’d bought with his first sirdar’s wages – so much more than the lowly workers got. ‘Better for the work of a big man,’ he said to Vottie when he showed them off to her.

  It had been three weeks since he’d started as sirdar on this estate, and he felt like he was finally coming into his own. Secretly, he’d hoped that he would be an overseer in charge of the line gang that Sappani was in. He wanted to rub his success in that man’s face. But he was prepared to be patient.

  ‘Kuppen came to the fields today to tell me that I am overworking the Indians. I had to tell him, it’s not your job!’

  Vottie listened, sitting on her haunches next to the fire, hoping to get his supper ready quickly so that she could return to the master’s house.

  ‘I told him to go back to building that school that he and that pariah care about so much, to leave the real work to me.’