Early February 1809
Madhav did not seek Jemimah out immediately after speaking with his family. He needed a little time to consider what had happened, and to understand more clearly what their responses meant for the future he and Jemimah had begun to imagine.
He had hoped that his father might at least be willing to consider their marriage, even if he could not approve of it at first. But Raghunath had been quite clear. He could not accept an English Christian wife for his son, and he expected Madhav to consider a marriage within their own community.
His mother and Kamala had been less direct, but their feelings were no less difficult to overcome. They liked Jemimah and had welcomed her into their home. Neither, however, could see how she might become part of the family without changes and compromises which they believed would be too great.
Madhav knew that he must tell her. He also knew how much she had hoped that they might find a way to remain in Calcutta.
They met a few days later at Basu Bari. Kamala had helped to arrange an opportunity for them to speak privately, and they went into the garden, away from the activity of the household. The afternoon was warm, and the shade of the trees offered some relief from the sun.
Jemimah noticed at once that Madhav seemed more serious than usual.
“You have spoken to your family,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And?”
He was quiet for a moment.
“My father cannot agree to our marriage. I do not believe he will change his mind.”
Jemimah looked down at the path. Although she had expected difficulties, hearing the answer made them more real.
“And your mother?”
“She likes you, Jemimah. I think you know that. But she cannot see how our marriage could work within the family. She is concerned about our different faiths, the expectations of the household and what it would mean for the children we might have.”
“And Kamala?”
“She understands why I wish to marry you, but she is worried about what you would be giving up. She thinks it would be difficult for you to live here, even if you were willing to make the effort.”
Jemimah was silent. She had known that there would be objections, but she had hoped that the affection between the two families might count for something.
“Did your father say that he would never accept me?”
“He did not use those exact words. But he made it clear that he could not approve of the marriage, and that he expects me to consider another match. He has known the Mukherjees for many years, and he believes their daughter would be a suitable connection.”
“Has he already approached them?”
“No. He has been considering the possibility, but he has made no formal approach. Their daughter is called Sabitri. I know her, though not particularly well. We have met at family gatherings, and I have always found her perfectly agreeable. But I have never thought of her as a possible wife.”
Jemimah considered this. She had heard the name mentioned at Basu Bari, and now she understood that the prospect was more than a general expectation that Madhav should marry within his community. There was a particular young woman whom his father considered suitable.
“And does your father expect you to agree?”
“He would like me to consider it seriously. I have told him that I cannot do so while my feelings for you remain as they are.”
She looked at him.
“I had hoped that because your family knew me, and because they had always been so kind, they might be willing to consider it.”
“So had I.”
“Your mother has always been particularly welcoming. I thought perhaps, if we were prepared to make a home at Basu Bari and I could learn what was expected of me, there might be a way.”
“I know. I told them that you were willing to do so.”
“And what did they say?”
“They do not doubt your sincerity. But my father believes that the difficulties are greater than any of us could reasonably expect to overcome. My mother is afraid that you would find yourself in a position where you could never feel entirely at home. And Kamala thinks that you might find it difficult to maintain your own family relationships and way of life.”
Jemimah looked towards the house.
“I don’t think I should find it difficult to care for them,” she said. “I already do.”
“No. But they believe that caring for my family as a friend is different from becoming part of it as my wife.”
He reached for her hand.
“I do not want you to think that they have turned against you. They have not. Their feelings for you are genuine. But they cannot separate their affection for you from what they believe marriage must mean.”
Jemimah squeezed his hand.
“I am glad you have spoken to them. I would not have wanted us to make a decision without knowing how they felt.”
“Nor would I.”
For a little while they stood in silence. Jemimah thought of Annapurna’s kindness, of Kamala’s friendship and of the many happy afternoons she had spent at Basu Bari. She had imagined that, with patience and goodwill, she might find a place within that household. It was painful to discover that the welcome she had received as a friend might not extend to the life she had hoped to share with Madhav.
“Could we not have a home of our own?” she asked at last. “Somewhere close enough for you to continue your work and to visit your family, but where we might establish our own household?”
Madhav looked at her thoughtfully.
“I have considered that. It might solve some of the practical difficulties, but not the objections themselves. My father would still regard the marriage as unacceptable. I should still be expected to take my place in the family business, and my mother would still worry about the religious and family arrangements. A separate house would not change what they believe.”
Jemimah sighed.
“I had hoped there might be some way of making it work.”
“So had I.”
“Do you think it is impossible?”
“I think it would be very difficult. And I do not wish to persuade you to undertake a life in which you would always feel that you were being asked to justify your place.”
“But I would be willing to try.”
“I know. That is one of the reasons I have found this so difficult. I do not doubt your willingness, Jemimah. But I cannot promise that willingness alone would be enough.”
She turned away for a moment, looking across the garden.
“I suppose I have been thinking of how much I should enjoy being part of your family. I have never imagined that it would be without its difficulties, but I had hoped that we might learn to manage them.”
“I should like that too.”
“Then what are we to do?”
Madhav took a moment before answering. There was something he had been considering, although he had not yet allowed himself to think of it as a real possibility. He knew that raising it would be difficult, but he could see no reason to conceal it from her.
“There is something else we might have to consider. I do not know whether it is a possibility we should pursue, but I think we ought at least to discuss it.”
Jemimah turned towards him.
“What is it?”
“Perhaps we should consider whether we must remain in India.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“Leave India?”
“Yes. I know it is a considerable thought, and I am not suggesting that we make any decision now. But if we cannot find a way to marry and live here without placing ourselves and our families in an impossible position, perhaps there is somewhere else where we might have a chance to establish a life together.”
Jemimah was quiet. She had considered the possibility of leaving Calcutta in the abstract, but she had not yet imagined leaving India altogether. The country had been her home for so many years. Her family was settled here, and so were her friends. To leave would be a much greater step than simply establishing a separate household.
“Have you thought of somewhere?” she asked.
“Not yet. I have some knowledge of places where there may be opportunities for a man with my experience, but I have made no enquiries. I should need to consider the possibilities carefully before I could suggest anything.”
“And you would be prepared to leave your family?”
Madhav looked towards the house.
“It would not be easy. I should miss them greatly, and I would not wish to abandon my responsibilities. But I must also consider whether I can build a life of my own. I have spent much of my life preparing to take on my father’s business, and I have always expected to remain here. I had not imagined that I might one day have to consider another course.”
Jemimah understood that he was not speaking lightly. He was not simply offering to take her away from difficulties. He too would be leaving a life in which he had a place, a family and responsibilities.
“I would consider it, Madhav,” she said at last. “If that were what it took for us to be together, I would consider it. But I confess I had hoped we might find a way to remain here.”
“So had I.”
“I do not want to leave my family, or the life I have known, simply because things have become difficult. Nor would I want you to feel that you had to abandon yours.”
“I would not ask you to make such a decision without being certain that it was what you wanted.”
“And I should not ask you to do anything I would not be prepared to do myself.”
He smiled faintly.
“That is why I wanted to speak to you before going any further.”
She looked at him, her expression thoughtful.
“Do you believe there is somewhere we might go?”
“I believe there may be. But I would need to find out more. I should like to consider what work I might be able to obtain, where we might live, and whether we could support ourselves. It would be wrong to ask you to leave everything familiar for an uncertain prospect.”
“I agree.”
“Let me make some enquiries. I shall think about what might be possible, and when I have something more definite to tell you, we can discuss it together.”
Jemimah nodded.
“Very well. But I hope we shall not have to go.”
“So do I.”
They began to walk back towards the house. Neither spoke for a little while, and when they reached the veranda the familiar sounds of Basu Bari surrounded them. Kamala was talking with Anandamayi, and Annapurna was giving instructions to one of the household servants. It was an ordinary afternoon, much like so many others Jemimah had enjoyed there.
She felt a sudden sadness at the thought that she might one day have to leave it. She had come to think of Basu Bari as a second home, and the people within it as friends whose company had become part of her life. The prospect of losing that closeness seemed almost as difficult as leaving Calcutta itself.
Madhav noticed her expression.
“Whatever happens,” he said quietly, “I do not want you to think that you have to decide everything now.”
“I know.”
“We shall consider it together.”
She smiled, though her thoughts remained troubled.
“I am glad we have spoken.”
“So am I.”
They parted later that afternoon without making any decision. Madhav had promised to consider what possibilities might exist beyond India, but Jemimah was not yet ready to accept that this would be their only future.
On her journey home, she found herself thinking about her own parents. She had been so concerned with whether Madhav’s family could accept their marriage that she had not yet asked whether her own family might be willing to do so.
Her father knew Madhav well. He had always spoken of him with respect, and her mother had found him agreeable from the first. They had welcomed him into their home and had come to value his friendship with the family.
Surely that must count for something.
Jemimah knew that her parents would have concerns. She could not imagine that they would find the prospect easy, particularly where religion and the expectations of society were concerned. But she had not yet given them the opportunity to understand how serious her feelings were, or how carefully she and Madhav had considered the future.
She did not want to leave Calcutta without first speaking to them.
By the time she reached home, she had decided that she must tell them. She would begin with her mother, and then speak to her father. She would not pretend that the conversation would be easy, but she owed them the truth.
Perhaps, if they understood, they might find a way to accept Madhav.
It was still possible, she told herself, that they might not have to leave at all.