14 September 1809
The fourteenth of September dawned bright and warm, much like so many other mornings in Calcutta. There was nothing in the appearance of the day to suggest that it would be the last Jemimah spent in the family home.
She had been awake early, though she had slept little. The knowledge that she would leave the following morning had settled over her with a weight she could no longer put aside. The arrangements were complete. The Meridian was expected to sail on the fifteenth, and Madhav would meet her at Tank Square at eight o’clock. Georgiana had taken the travelling case to the keeper near the square, where it would remain safely until they collected it.
There was only one important task remaining: the letter to her parents.
She had thought about it for several days. She wanted to be certain of what she wished to say, and she knew that once the letter was written, the decision would become more immediate.
She went to her room and sat at her writing table. For a while she looked at the blank sheet before her, turning over in her mind the words with which she should begin.
She could not explain everything. There was no point in trying to persuade her parents to approve of a decision they had already rejected. Nor did she wish to write in anger or reproach. She loved them, and she knew that they loved her, even if they could not accept the choice she had made.
At last she dipped her pen into the ink and began.
My dearest Mama and Papa,
By the time you read this, I shall have left Calcutta with Madhav. I know that this news will cause you great distress, and I am deeply sorry for the pain which my departure must bring you.
I have not taken this decision lightly, nor have I acted from a sudden impulse. Madhav and I have known one another for several years, and our affection has grown into a love which neither of us can deny. We have considered the difficulties before us, and we have decided that we must make a life together, even though we know that you cannot approve of our choice.
I understand that you may find it impossible to accept what we have done. I do not expect you to change your feelings at once, or to agree with me simply because I have made my decision. But I hope that, in time, you may come to understand that I have chosen this life with care and with full knowledge of what I am leaving behind.
Madhav has made arrangements for his employment, and we shall have somewhere to stay when we arrive. We have sufficient means to begin, and we shall do our best to make a good life together.
Please believe that I have not forgotten the love and care with which you have raised me. I remain your daughter, and I shall always think of you with affection, even if we must now live far apart.
I beg you not to blame Georgiana. She did not persuade me to leave, nor did she make this decision for me. It is Madhav’s and my own choice, and I alone must answer for it.
Give my love to Sophia and to my dear little Frances. I shall miss them both more than I can say.
I hope that one day we may meet again without anger or sorrow between us. Until then, please know that I have not left because I love you less, but because I have chosen a life which I believe I must live.
Your loving daughter,
Jemimah
When she had finished, Jemimah read the letter through slowly. There were things she might have added, but she felt that she had said what mattered. She had not asked her parents to forgive her, nor had she tried to make her decision seem less serious than it was. She had simply told them that she loved them, that she was leaving, and that she accepted responsibility for her choice.
She folded the paper carefully and placed it inside an envelope. She addressed it to her parents, then sealed it.
For a moment she held it in her hands.
This was the last letter she would write to them from the family home in Calcutta. She hoped that one day they would read it with something other than anger and sorrow, and that they might eventually understand why she had gone.
She put it safely away, ready to give to Georgiana later that day.
The rest of the morning passed with an almost painful ordinariness.
She spent some time with Sophia, who was occupied with a piece of sewing and a conversation about one of her friends. Jemimah listened, asked questions and tried to be as natural as possible. Sophia seemed unaware of anything unusual, and Jemimah was grateful for it. She did not want her sister to spend the day wondering why she appeared distracted.
Frances came to find her later, wanting help with something she had been reading. Jemimah gave her the attention she asked for, though her thoughts occasionally wandered. She found herself noticing the little things she had never previously thought important: Frances’s eager expression when she understood a difficult passage, the sound of her laughter, the way she looked for approval when she had done something well.
She thought of their earlier conversation about reading together, when Frances had asked whether Jemimah would read with her again the following day. “Of course, if you wish it,” Jemimah had answered, and Frances had replied, “I always wish it.” The memory returned with painful clarity. She hoped that, one day, Frances would understand that she had never meant to leave her behind in her heart, even though she was about to leave her in every other sense.
Her mother spoke to her about a household matter, and Jemimah answered as she always would. She even found herself smiling at something Edward said over dinner. It seemed almost extraordinary that the people around her could continue their ordinary lives without knowing that, by the following morning, she would be gone.
She did not wish to remember this final day as one of sadness alone. It was still her family home, and these were still the people she loved. She tried to give her attention to each of them, knowing that she would carry these ordinary memories with her long after the familiar rooms and voices were beyond her reach.
It was later in the afternoon that she found Georgiana alone. Her sister was in her room, and Jemimah closed the door behind her.
“I have written the letter,” she said.
Georgiana looked up.
“To Mama and Papa?”
“Yes. I should like you to keep it for me.”
Jemimah handed her the sealed envelope. Georgiana took it carefully and looked at the address.
“I shall keep it safe,” she said.
“Thank you. You must not give it to them until the Meridian has sailed. I do not want there to be any possibility of their discovering our departure before we are safely away.”
“I understand. I shall go down to the riverfront and wait until I see her moving away from the wharf. Once she is properly underway, I shall return and give them the letter.”
Jemimah nodded.
“I know it will be difficult for you.”
“It will be. But I shall do as I promised.”
Georgiana placed the letter in a drawer and locked it away. They looked at one another, both aware that the moment they had been preparing for had finally arrived.
“And you have the address of the keeper for your travelling case?” she asked.
“Yes. Madhav gave it to me. Here it is.” Jemimah took the small piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to her sister. “You can leave the case with him early in the morning, and Madhav and I will collect it later from him.”
Jemimah smiled.
“You have done so much for me, Georgiana.”
“I wish I could do more.”
“You have done more than I could have asked.”
The sisters spent the remaining part of the afternoon and evening together. They did not speak constantly of the departure. There were too many memories between them, and too many ordinary things which they had always shared. They talked instead of childhood, of their younger days in England, of the people they had known and the places they remembered.
At one point Georgiana brought out an old keepsake which had belonged to them both. They looked at it together, recalling a long-forgotten incident which had once seemed very important. They laughed, and then fell quiet.
“I shall miss you,” Georgiana said.
“I shall miss you too. Every day.”
Jemimah reached for her sister’s hand.
“I want you to know that I have not taken this decision because I love you any less. You have been my closest companion for as long as I can remember. Nothing will change that.”
“I know,” Georgiana replied. “And I want you to be happy. I only wish you could have found a way to be happy here.”
“So do I. But we tried, and there was no way.”
They embraced, and for a long time neither spoke.
When they finally parted, Jemimah knew that this was their last private farewell before she left the family home. There would be no opportunity for another conversation in the morning. She would have to go quietly, without waking the household or attracting attention.
Georgiana walked with her to the door.
“Goodnight, Jemimah.”
“Goodnight, dear Georgiana.”
Jemimah went to her room and closed the door.
She sat for a little while before going to bed, thinking of the people who would wake the following morning without knowing that she had gone.
She would miss them all. She knew that there would be moments in the days and weeks ahead when she would question the cost of her decision. But she had not reached it lightly, and she would not turn away from it now.
Tomorrow she would meet Madhav, and together they would make their way towards the Meridian.
She extinguished the candle and lay down.
For the last time, she slept in the family home in Calcutta.