January 1809
The beginning of 1809 brought little outward change to Jemimah’s life. The familiar pattern of the household continued, with visits to be made, invitations to be answered and the ordinary business of family life occupying her days. Her father remained absorbed in his work, while her mother attended to the management of the house and the social obligations which seemed never to diminish. Georgiana and Sophia had their own interests and friendships, and Frances, growing more lively and inquisitive with every passing month, continued to demand a good deal of her elder sister’s attention.
Jemimah took her accustomed part in all of this. She had no wish to withdraw from the life she had known, nor had her affection for her family diminished. If anything, she found herself more conscious of the small pleasures of home: a conversation with Georgiana, an evening spent reading, or Frances settling beside her with some new question that could not possibly wait until the following day.
Yet beneath these familiar arrangements lay a question which she could no longer put aside.
She and Madhav had not spoken again at length about their conversation in the garden at Basu Bari. They had acknowledged that their feelings for one another were changing, and that their circumstances were not simple. But neither had attempted to decide what should happen next. Jemimah had begun to understand that wishing to be together was one thing; discovering how they might make a life together was quite another.
It was therefore to Georgiana that she first turned.
Georgiana had always been the person to whom Jemimah went when she needed to talk freely. Their closeness had survived the changes of childhood and the demands of life in Calcutta. Although Georgiana was quieter and more cautious by nature, she understood her elder sister well and was rarely surprised by her opinions.
They were together one afternoon when the younger girls were occupied elsewhere. Jemimah had been unusually thoughtful, and Georgiana had noticed that she seemed to be weighing her words.
“Is something troubling you?” Georgiana asked.
Jemimah hesitated. “I think there is something I ought to tell you.”
Georgiana put aside her sewing. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“I have become very fond of Madhav Basu.”
Georgiana looked at her for a moment.
“I had rather suspected that.”
Jemimah smiled faintly. “Then perhaps I have not been as discreet as I imagined.”
“Not entirely. You have always enjoyed his company, but lately you seem to notice when he is present and when he is not.”
“I suppose I do.”
Georgiana waited, allowing her sister to continue in her own time.
“It is more than friendship now,” Jemimah said. “We have not spoken of it in quite those terms, but I believe that we both understand.”
Georgiana’s expression grew serious. She knew Madhav and liked him. He was intelligent, considerate and well regarded by their father. But she also understood that an affection between Jemimah and a Bengali Hindu gentleman would be viewed very differently from an ordinary friendship.
“Have you thought about what it might mean?” she asked.
“Yes. Though perhaps not as much as I ought.”
“Jemimah, you know that Mama and Papa would find it difficult.”
“I know.”
“And his family?”
“I do not know what they would think. I have not yet spoken to Madhav about it in detail.”
Georgiana was silent for a moment, considering how best to express what she wanted to say.
“I am not saying that he is not a good man. I think very highly of him. But you must understand that this would not be a simple matter of asking Papa’s permission. People would have opinions, and not all of them would be kind. You would be expected to live according to customs which are not ours, and there would be questions about your religion.”
“I have thought about those things.”
“Have you thought about what it might mean for your place in this family? You would still be our sister, of course, but things might not be as they are now.”
Jemimah looked at her.
“I should never wish to lose my family, Georgiana. Nor would I expect Madhav to give up his.”
“I know. But it may not be as easy as either of you hopes.”
“I am not expecting it to be easy.”
Georgiana reached across and took her hand.
“I would never wish you to be unhappy,” she said. “But I should like you to think carefully before you allow yourself to become committed to something that may be very difficult.”
“I have thought about it. And I know that it may be difficult. But I cannot pretend that my feelings are not real simply because the consequences may be uncomfortable.”
Georgiana gave a small sigh.
“I did not expect you to say otherwise.”
Jemimah laughed softly. “You know me too well.”
“I do. And I know that once you have made up your mind about something, it is not easily changed.”
“I have not made up my mind about everything.”
“No,” Georgiana replied, “but I suspect you have made up your mind about Madhav.”
Jemimah did not answer immediately. Then she gave her sister’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“I believe I have.”
They did not discuss the matter further that afternoon, but Georgiana’s response gave Jemimah some comfort. She had not expected her sister to approve without question, and she was grateful that she had listened without reproach. There was still much to consider, but at least she no longer felt that she must keep her feelings entirely to herself.
A few days later, Jemimah visited Basu Bari. The family had continued to receive her with the same warmth as before, and she had become so familiar with the household that she no longer felt the need to observe everything as a visitor might. She knew the servants by sight, recognised the voices of relatives in the courtyard and was accustomed to the interruptions which were part of daily life there.
The afternoon was warm, and the household was quieter than usual. Annapurna was occupied with arrangements for the evening meal, while Kamala had come to visit with her young son. Anandamayi was in the courtyard, talking with one of the younger members of the household staff. Madhav had been called away to attend to a matter connected with his father’s business.
Jemimah sat with Kamala on the veranda, listening as she spoke of her own household and the small difficulties of managing it. She had come to enjoy these conversations, finding in Kamala a friend whose experience of the world was different from her own, but whose observations were often remarkably familiar.
“You must come again soon,” Kamala said. “There are several things I have been meaning to show you, and I should like your opinion about something.”
“I shall be very happy to come,” Jemimah replied, “though I cannot promise that my opinion will be of much use.”
“Then I shall ask it all the same.”
Jemimah laughed. She was about to answer when Madhav returned. He exchanged a few words with his sister before sitting down nearby.
“Has my sister been finding work for you again?” he asked.
“Only asking my opinion,” Jemimah replied.
“Which is often a more demanding task.”
Kamala gave him an amused look. “You need not concern yourself. I have no intention of asking her to settle any of your business affairs.”
“I am relieved to hear it.”
The exchange was light-hearted, but Jemimah found herself watching him as he spoke. She had grown familiar with the rhythms of this household: the easy affection between brother and sister, the small interruptions of family life, and the way business and domestic matters could occupy the same afternoon without seeming to intrude upon one another.
It was a world in which Madhav belonged completely. She had come to feel comfortable within it, and Annapurna and the others had made her welcome. But she knew that visiting a household as a friend was very different from becoming part of it.
That thought stayed with her on the journey home.
A few days later, she and Madhav found an opportunity to speak privately in the garden at Basu Bari. The afternoon was beginning to cool, and the sounds of the household carried faintly through the open doors. They walked slowly along the path, neither seeming in a hurry to return indoors.
Jemimah had been unusually quiet.
“You have something on your mind,” Madhav said.
“Have I become so easy to read?”
“Not always. But I have had some practice.”
She smiled, then looked towards the house.
“I have been thinking about what we said the other day.”
“So have I.”
“I suppose we cannot go on pretending that nothing has changed.”
“No,” he said. “I do not think we can.”
She turned towards him.
“Do you believe there is any future for us here?”
He did not answer immediately. His expression was thoughtful, and Jemimah recognised that he was considering the question carefully rather than searching for a comforting reply.
“I think we must first decide what we mean by a future,” he said. “If we were to marry, we could not simply continue as we do now. We would each have to make changes.”
“I know that.”
“I am not sure you do. Not entirely.”
“Then you must explain.”
He looked towards the house.
“My family would expect my wife to make her home with us. Basu Bari is not merely my father’s house. It is the centre of our family life. My mother manages the household, my brothers have their place within it, and Kamala, though married and living elsewhere, remains closely connected to us. A wife joining the family would be expected to take her place in that household.”
Jemimah listened carefully.
“You mean I should live here?”
“Yes. That would be the natural expectation. It is how my family understands marriage, and I do not think my father would readily accept a different arrangement.”
“And would you wish it?”
Madhav considered the question.
“I should wish to have you with me. I should be glad for you to know my family as I know them, and to share the life that belongs to us. But I would not want you to come here without understanding what that would mean.”
Jemimah glanced back towards the house. She thought of Annapurna, of the women moving through the courtyard, of the household’s daily routines and its religious observances. She had been welcomed as a guest, but she had never been expected to take part in the responsibilities of the family.
“I have often wondered what life is like for the women of your household,” she said. “I have seen something of it, but only a little. I know that I should have much to learn.”
“You would have much to learn,” he agreed. “But you would not be without help. My mother would expect to guide you, and Kamala would be near. Anandamayi would probably take great pleasure in showing you what she thinks you ought to know.”
Jemimah smiled.
“I can imagine that.”
“But I must be honest with you. There would be expectations. You would be living among people whose customs and beliefs are not the same as those in which you were brought up. There would be religious observances, family duties and ways of doing things which might sometimes seem unfamiliar.”
“I have never expected your family to change its customs for me.”
“No. But you would have to decide how you could live within them.”
“And how would you expect me to do so?”
“I would expect you to remain yourself,” he said. “I would not ask you to pretend to believe what you do not believe, or to abandon your own faith. But I cannot promise that everyone would find that easy to understand.”
Jemimah was silent for a moment.
“I should not wish to give up my faith,” she said. “Nor would I ask you to give up yours.”
“I would not.”
“Then perhaps we should begin by accepting that we would each bring our own beliefs into the marriage.”
“I agree. But it would not always be as simple as saying so. There are ceremonies and observances which are part of family life, and there would be questions about how our children should be brought up, if we were fortunate enough to have them.”
She had not yet allowed herself to think very far ahead. The mention of children made the question suddenly more substantial.
“You have thought about all this,” she said.
“I have had to. It would be unfair to you if I did not.”
“And what of your work? Would you continue in your father’s business?”
“That is another matter. My father expects me to take an increasingly important part in his affairs. My responsibilities are here, and they are not easily put aside. Even if we were to establish a separate household, I should still be expected to remain closely involved in the family business.”
“Would you want to?”
“Yes,” he replied, without hesitation. “It is work I understand, and I have no wish to abandon what my father has built. I should like to make my own contribution to it, too.”
Jemimah nodded. She had never imagined that Madhav would wish to turn his back on his family or the work which had occupied so much of his life.
“And I should still have my family,” she said. “My parents and sisters are here. I could not simply cease to be their daughter and sister because I had married.”
“Nor should you.”
“But would they be able to visit me here? Would I be able to visit them?”
“I see no reason why you should not. But I cannot pretend that it would be without difficulty. Your parents would have to accept the circumstances of our marriage, and my family would have to accept that you were not what they might have expected for me.”
“And there would be the opinions of other people.”
“Yes.”
He said it quietly. Neither needed to explain further.
Jemimah looked again towards the house. She thought of the kindness with which Annapurna had received her, of Kamala’s friendship and Anandamayi’s lively affection. She did not doubt that they cared for her. Yet she could not assume that their welcome as a friend meant that they would accept her as Madhav’s wife.
“I should not want to come here and make difficulties for your family,” she said.
“Nor would I want you to feel that you had to make yourself smaller in order to be accepted.”
She looked at him.
“Would you be able to stand between me and your family if there were disagreements?”
“I would try to be fair to everyone. But I could not promise that there would never be disagreements, or that I should always be able to satisfy everyone.”
“I would not expect you to.”
He smiled faintly.
“You see, Jemimah, this is not a simple matter of your joining my family. Nor is it a matter of my joining yours. We would have to find a way of living together which neither of us has yet experienced.”
“I know.”
“And we should not imagine that affection alone will settle every question.”
“No,” she said. “But it may give us a reason to try.”
He looked at her for a moment, and she saw that her answer had touched him.
They continued walking. The garden was quiet, and the late afternoon light fell across the courtyard beyond. Jemimah felt that they had spoken of things which had long needed to be said, though there was still much they did not know.
“There is another question,” she said after a while.
“What is that?”
“Would we be able to make a home of our own? Not far from your family, perhaps, but somewhere that belonged to us?”
Madhav thought about it.
“It might be possible, though I do not think my father would welcome it. He would see it as a departure from the proper arrangement of family life. And even if we had our own house, I should still spend much of my time here and in the business.”
“I would not want to separate you from them.”
“I know. But I should like us to have some privacy, and a place where we could establish our own household. I cannot say how easily that could be arranged.”
“And if we did, would it make matters simpler?”
“Some things, perhaps. Others would remain exactly as they are.”
Jemimah gave a small sigh.
“It seems that every answer produces another question.”
“That is often the way of things.”
They had reached the far end of the garden. From inside the house came the sound of Anandamayi laughing, followed by Kamala’s voice calling to her. Jemimah smiled at the familiar sounds.
“I should like to think that we could find a way,” she said.
“So should I.”
“But I do not want us to build our future upon something we have not properly considered.”
“Nor do I.”
Madhav paused before continuing.
“Let us not decide anything simply because we wish it to be possible. We must understand what we would be asking of one another, and what our families would be asked to accept.”
Jemimah nodded.
“I think that is right.”
They returned to the house without reaching a decision. Kamala was waiting for them, and Anandamayi had found some reason to draw them into a conversation about a book she had recently begun reading. The ordinary warmth of the household resumed around them, but Jemimah carried their discussion home with her.
She had learned more clearly what it might mean to become Madhav’s wife. It would mean joining a household whose customs and traditions were not her own, and accepting responsibilities which she had so far observed only from the position of a visitor. There would be much to learn, and perhaps some things which would not come easily.
Yet she did not find the prospect unwelcome. She was fond of his family, and the thought of sharing their daily life did not seem strange or unattractive to her. She knew that affection alone would not answer every question, but she believed that, with patience and goodwill, they might find a way.
When she saw Madhav again, several days later, she found that he too had been considering their conversation.
“I have been thinking about what we discussed,” he told her.
“So have I.”
“I do not believe we have yet found an answer.”
“No,” she said. “But I am glad we spoke of it.”
“So am I. There are possibilities we have not yet considered. I should like a little time to think about them.”
Jemimah looked at him.
“Do you have something in mind?”
“Not yet. I would rather not suggest anything until I have considered it properly.”
She nodded.
“Then take the time you need.”
“I shall speak to you again when I have something more useful to say.”
“I shall look forward to it.”
They parted without making any promise beyond that. But Jemimah felt that something important had been achieved. For the first time, they had begun to consider what a shared life might actually involve, rather than simply acknowledging that they wished to be together.
She still hoped that, in time, their families might come to understand the depth of their affection and accept that what had grown between them was neither a passing fancy nor a youthful rebellion. She could not imagine giving up Madhav, but neither could she yet imagine a life in which they were separated from the families and the city they both loved.
For the present, she held fast to the belief that some understanding might still be reached.