Late February 1809
Jemimah arranged to meet Madhav at Basu Bari. She had thought carefully about what she wanted to tell him, and knew that the conversation would mark a turning point in their lives.
They found a few moments together on the veranda, while the rest of the household was occupied with its usual afternoon activities.
“There is something I must tell you,” Jemimah said. “I have spoken to Mama and Papa.”
Madhav looked at her with surprise.
“You have?”
“Yes. After our last conversation, I kept thinking that before we considered leaving Calcutta, I wanted to know whether there was any possibility at all that they might accept our marriage, and whether we could find some way of remaining here.”
“And what did they say?”
“Much as I feared they would. Mama was very distressed. She could not accept the idea of my marrying you, and Papa, although kinder in the way he spoke, was no less firm.”
“I am sorry, Jemimah.”
“I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Papa might be willing to consider it. He likes you, Madhav. He has always spoken well of you. But when it came to the question of marriage, that was not enough.”
Madhav nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
“I think I knew what their answer would be, but I had to ask. I could not simply leave without making certain that I had done everything possible to remain.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“Have you spoken to Georgiana?”
“Yes. I spoke to her before I went to Mama and Papa, and I told her afterwards what they had said. She was very kind, as I knew she would be. She does not agree with them, although I think she understands why they feel as they do.”
“I am glad you have her support. It must have been difficult to speak to your parents without being able to confide in someone first.”
“It was. Georgiana has always understood me rather better than I sometimes give her credit for. I do not think she would wish me to make such a decision without first trying every other possibility.”
“And does she believe there is another possibility?”
“I think she wants to believe there is, but she cannot see what it might be. She is very fond of you, Madhav, and I know she would be happy if we could find a way to marry without losing the affection of our families. But she thinks that, now both our families have refused, there is little more to be done.”
Madhav considered this.
“And do you think she is right?”
“No,” Jemimah replied. “I cannot pretend that I do. I know that things are difficult, and I cannot see an easy answer. But I do not believe that we should give up simply because the people we love cannot accept what we wish to do.”
He studied her face.
“Then we must consider what we can do.”
Jemimah turned towards the courtyard. The sounds of the household seemed particularly familiar that afternoon: the movement of servants, voices from the inner rooms, the occasional call from one of the family. She had come to Basu Bari so often that she no longer thought of herself as a visitor. She knew the arrangement of the rooms, the places where Kamala liked to sit, the sounds of Anandamayi’s laughter, and the quiet authority with which Annapurna directed the household.
“I have been thinking about what it would mean to leave,” she said. “Not only Calcutta, but this house and all the people in it. I have grown very fond of your family. I don’t think I had understood quite how much until I began to imagine not seeing them every day.”
“I know,” Madhav replied. “And I should find it difficult too. My family is part of everything I have known. My father has given me responsibilities, and my mother and the others have always been close to me. I would not leave them lightly.”
“Nor would I expect you to. I know what it would mean for you.”
He looked at her.
“There is much that we should consider before we decide anything. I would not wish you to leave your family and everything familiar to you without knowing what sort of life we might make elsewhere.”
“I understand. But I don’t think we can remain here and hope that our families will eventually agree. We have given them the opportunity to accept us, and they have refused.”
“Yes. I have come to the same conclusion.”
He paused before continuing.
“There is a place I have been considering. Penang.”
“Penang?” Jemimah repeated. “I know the name, of course, but very little about it.”
“It is also called Prince of Wales Island. George Town is the principal settlement. It has become an important trading port, and its position in the Straits of Malacca makes it a useful place for merchants whose business extends between India, China and the other ports of the region.”
“Is it very different from Calcutta?”
“Very different in some respects, though there are things you would recognise. There are merchants, shipping, warehouses and people from many different parts of Asia. It is a busy commercial settlement, but smaller than Calcutta. The harbour is important to its life, and ships from many places call there.”
“And the people?”
“There are Malay families, Chinese merchants and traders, Indians, Europeans, and people who have come from other settlements in the region. It is a place where different languages and customs meet. You would not be the only person who had arrived from somewhere else.”
Jemimah considered this. She had always been interested in the different peoples and customs of Bengal, and the prospect of living somewhere new was not without its attractions. Yet she knew that visiting a place and making a home there were very different things.
“Would I find it difficult to live there?” she asked. “I mean, would there be other women with whom I might become acquainted? I should not like to spend all my days alone while you were occupied with business.”
“I would not expect you to. There are European families there, as well as the households of the merchants and officials. I cannot promise that you would find the same kind of social life as we have here, but I believe there would be people with whom you could form friendships.”
“And what sort of house might we have?”
“That would depend upon our means. I should hope we could find a modest but comfortable home, with sufficient space for us to live properly. I would not wish to begin with more than we could afford.”
She smiled. “I have no expectation of a grand establishment, Madhav.”
“I know. But I should like us to be comfortable, and to have a household of our own.”
The thought of that appealed to her. A home in which they would make their own arrangements, where neither would have to live entirely according to the expectations of the other’s family, seemed both unfamiliar and welcome.
“Would we be able to make friends there?” she asked.
“I believe so. It would take time, naturally. I know some of the merchants who trade through the settlement, and I would hope that my work would bring me into contact with others. You would have to become accustomed to a new place, just as you did when you first came to Bengal.”
“I was much younger then.”
“And perhaps more curious than cautious.”
She laughed. “I hope I have not become entirely cautious.”
“No. I do not think that is in danger.”
For a moment they were both silent. Jemimah looked towards the courtyard again, thinking of the life she had come to know at Basu Bari. She would miss the family, the familiar routines and the warmth of the household. But she was beginning to understand that a life elsewhere need not mean turning her back on everything she had come to value.
“You said you had been considering Penang,” she said. “Have you made any enquiries?”
Madhav nodded.
“I have made a few preliminary enquiries through a gentleman I know there, Mr Thomas Ashford. He is a British merchant with whom my father has had business dealings. I have had some correspondence with him in the past, and he knows something of my work.”
“What sort of work does he do?”
“He is involved in the import and export trade. His business requires correspondence with merchants in other ports, the keeping of accounts, the arrangement of consignments and the negotiation of commercial matters. He has need of someone who understands the business and can deal confidently with different merchants and agents.”
“And you think he might employ you?”
“He has indicated that there could be an opportunity. I have not received a definite offer, and I would not wish you to suppose that everything is settled. But he knows my abilities, and I believe there is a reasonable prospect of an arrangement.”
“That sounds encouraging.”
“It is, but there is much to establish. I must know what duties he would expect me to undertake, what remuneration he could offer, and whether the position would be sufficiently secure for us to begin our life there.”
“And you have not told him about me?”
“Not yet. I have made enquiries about the possibility of work for myself. I thought it better to establish whether there was a genuine opportunity before introducing the question of our travelling together.”
Jemimah nodded. “I think that was wise.”
“If he is willing to employ me, I shall explain that I intend to bring my wife. I would want him to understand that we should need accommodation suitable for a married couple, at least until we could find a home of our own.”
She looked at him.
“You have thought about this carefully.”
“I have had to. I could not ask you to leave everything behind on the strength of a vague hope.”
“And if Mr Ashford cannot offer you the position?”
“Then we shall have to consider what else might be possible. I do not want to pretend that Penang is certain until we have the necessary arrangements in place. But it seems to me the most promising possibility at present.”
Jemimah was quiet for a moment.
“I should like to go,” she said at last. “I cannot say that I know what life there will be like, but I would rather discover it with you than remain here knowing that we cannot be together.”
Madhav looked at her with affection.
“Then we must make certain that we are both prepared for what it will involve.”
“I am prepared to try. I know there will be difficulties. and I do not expect everything to be easy.”
“I am glad you understand that. I should never wish you to think that I am offering you an effortless life.”
“I would not ask for one.”
He smiled, and for a moment the uncertainty between them seemed less formidable.
“There is another matter,” he said. “Even if Mr Ashford agrees, we shall need time to arrange everything. I must settle the terms of the employment, find out when a suitable vessel might be sailing, and make arrangements for our passage. We shall also need to consider what money we shall require until I am established in my work.”
“How long do you think it might take?”
“Several months, I should imagine. It would be unwise to hurry. I would rather have everything properly arranged before we leave.”
“Then we must be patient.”
“Yes. And careful.”
Jemimah looked down at her hands. There was still something troubling her, something she had not quite been able to put into words.
“Madhav, there is one thing I want you to understand. I do not wish you to think that I expect you to leave your family because mine will not accept us. I know how much your parents mean to you, and I know that you have responsibilities towards them. I would not want our life together to begin with your feeling that you had been forced to abandon everything that has mattered to you.”
“I know that,” he said gently. “And I would not want you to believe that you were being asked to do the same. We cannot make our families approve of our marriage, but that does not mean we cease to love them. I should wish to remain in contact with them, if that were possible, and I should hope that in time they might understand.”
“I should like that very much. I cannot imagine never seeing Mama and Papa again, or never knowing how my sisters are. And I should miss your mother and Kamala, too. They have been so kind to me.”
“They have grown fond of you, Jemimah. Their difficulty is not that they dislike you. It is that they cannot imagine how our marriage could fit within the life and expectations of our family.”
“I know. And I cannot blame them for loving you and wishing to protect the traditions they have always known. But I cannot change who I am, any more than you can change who you are.”
“Nor should either of us have to.”
She looked at him, grateful that he understood.
“I would want us to make a home in which we could both remain ourselves,” she said. “I would never ask you to give up your beliefs, and I should not wish to be asked to give up mine. We must respect one another, as we have always tried to do.”
“That is what I want too. We may have much to learn about living together, but I believe we can do so without either of us having to deny what we believe.”
She reached for his hand briefly, then let it go as she heard voices approaching from inside.
“I think we must consider this properly,” she said. “Not only the journey and the practical arrangements, but what our life would be like once we arrived.”
“Of course. We should not allow ourselves to be carried away by the hope of being together without thinking about what that will mean.”
“And we must be certain that we are doing this together. I do not want you to feel that you are leaving your family solely because I cannot remain here. And I do not want to feel that I am simply following you to another country.”
“You are not. We would be choosing a life together. I shall make the enquiries and deal with the commercial arrangements because I know that world better than you do. But the decisions must be ours.”
“That is all I ask.”
He looked at her with quiet seriousness.
“Then let us not decide everything today. I shall write to Mr Ashford and ask him for a clearer idea of what he might be able to offer. When I have heard from him, we can consider the matter again. If the opportunity is a real one, we shall have something definite to discuss.”
“And until then?”
“Until then, we continue as we have always done. We shall see one another, and we shall think carefully about what lies before us.”
Jemimah nodded. It sounded simple, but she knew it would require care and self-command. She would have to visit Basu Bari, speak with Annapurna and Kamala, laugh with Anandamayi, and take part in the familiar life of the household, all the while knowing that a different future might be possible. Madhav would have to do the same when he visited the Fairfax house.
They had not secured employment, arranged their passage or settled the details of a new home. Penang remained a possibility rather than a certainty. Nor had they decided that they must leave Calcutta. There was still a part of Jemimah which hoped that, with time, their families might reconsider their objections, though she was beginning to understand that such a change could not be relied upon.
As they walked back towards the house, she felt that something had altered between them. They had not found an answer to every difficulty, nor had they made a final decision about their future. But they had begun to speak of the possibility of another life in a more practical way, and neither had turned away from it.
For the present, that was enough. They would wait for Madhav’s correspondence with Mr Ashford, consider what it might mean, and decide together when they knew more.
Jemimah was still reluctant to leave the city and the people who had become part of her life. But she was beginning to understand that remaining in Calcutta might not be possible if she wished to share her future with Madhav.
She had not yet accepted that sacrifice. But for the first time, she was prepared to consider it.