Read Online The Raj Quartet, Volume 1: The Jewel in the Crown: The Jewel in the Crown Vol 1 (Phoenix Fiction) by Paul Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Scott
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shaking the pudgy, man-strong hand. “I didn’t know you wanted the job, and my mother’s been dead for longer than I care to remember.”
“Well in that case I’ll call you Edwina if you don’t mind. I’m too old to bow and scrape to a new superintendent. And also if you don’t mind we’ll start by talking about the bloody roof.”
So they had talked about the roof, and the walls, and the tube well that wanted resinking in another place, and then about the children, and Mary de Silva’s intention to send, by hook or crook, a boy calledBalarachama Rao to the Government Higher School in Mayapore. “His parents won’t hear of it. But I’ll hear of it. Where do you stand, Edwina Crane?”
“In matters of this sort, Mary de Silva,” she replied, “I stand to do what the teachers on the spot advise me should be done.”
“Then find a decent lodging in Mayapore for Master Balarachama. That’s the snag. He’s got no place to live if he’s admitted. The parents say they’ve no relatives there. Which is nonsense. Indians have relatives every where. I ought to know.” Her skin was no sallower than little Miss Williams’ had been.
Miss Crane found lodgings in Mayapore for Balarachama and spent a month, which is to say most of her time in four weekly visits to Dibrapur, persuading his parents to let him go. When she had at last succeeded Mary de Silva said, “I’m not going to thank you. It was your duty. And it was mine. But come back now and help me break into the bottle of rum I’ve been saving since Christmas.” So she went back with Mary de Silva to the bungalow the Chaudhuris now lived in, half a mile down the road from the school, and drank rum, heard the story of Mary de Silva’s life and told her own. There had been many other occasions of drinking rum and lime in Mary de Silva’s living room, discreetly, but in enough quantity for tongues to be loosened and for Miss Crane to feel that here, in Dibrapur, with Mary de Silva, she had come home again after a lifetime traveling. For six years she went weekly to Dibrapur, and stayed the night with Mary de Silva. “It’s not necessary you know,” Miss de Silva said, “but it’s nice. The last superintendent only came once a month and never stayed the night. That was nice too.”
At the end of the six years, when the roof of the school had been repaired once and needed repairing again, and the new tube well had been sunk, the walls patched and painted twice, there came the day she reached the schoolhouse and found it closed, and, driving on to Mary de Silva’s bungalow, found the old teacher in bed, lying quietly, temporarily deserted by the servant who had gone down to Dibrapur to fetch the doctor. Miss de Silva was mumbling to herself. When she had finished what she had to say, and nodded, her eyes focused on Miss Crane. She smiled and said, “Well Edwina. I’m for it. You might see to the roof again,” then closed her eyes and died as if someone had simply disconnected a battery.
After seeing Mary de Silva’s body safely and quickly transported to Mayapore and buried in the churchyard of St. Mary, Miss Crane put thetask of finding a temporary teacher into the hands of Mr. Narayan to give him something to do, and went back to Dibrapur to reopen the school and keep it going until the temporary arrived. She also wrote to the headquarters of the mission to report Miss de Silva’s death and the steps she had taken to keep the school going until a permanent appointment was made. She recommended a Miss Smithers, with whom she had worked in Bihar. She did not get Miss Smithers. She got first of all a cousin of Mr. Narayan who drank, and then, from Calcutta, Mr. D. R. Chaudhuri, BA, BSc—qualifications which not only astonished her but made her suspicious. Mission headquarters had been rather astounded too, so she gathered from their letter, but not suspicious. Mr. Chaudhuri did not profess to be a Christian, they told her. On the other hand he
“Well in that case I’ll call you Edwina if you don’t mind. I’m too old to bow and scrape to a new superintendent. And also if you don’t mind we’ll start by talking about the bloody roof.”
So they had talked about the roof, and the walls, and the tube well that wanted resinking in another place, and then about the children, and Mary de Silva’s intention to send, by hook or crook, a boy calledBalarachama Rao to the Government Higher School in Mayapore. “His parents won’t hear of it. But I’ll hear of it. Where do you stand, Edwina Crane?”
“In matters of this sort, Mary de Silva,” she replied, “I stand to do what the teachers on the spot advise me should be done.”
“Then find a decent lodging in Mayapore for Master Balarachama. That’s the snag. He’s got no place to live if he’s admitted. The parents say they’ve no relatives there. Which is nonsense. Indians have relatives every where. I ought to know.” Her skin was no sallower than little Miss Williams’ had been.
Miss Crane found lodgings in Mayapore for Balarachama and spent a month, which is to say most of her time in four weekly visits to Dibrapur, persuading his parents to let him go. When she had at last succeeded Mary de Silva said, “I’m not going to thank you. It was your duty. And it was mine. But come back now and help me break into the bottle of rum I’ve been saving since Christmas.” So she went back with Mary de Silva to the bungalow the Chaudhuris now lived in, half a mile down the road from the school, and drank rum, heard the story of Mary de Silva’s life and told her own. There had been many other occasions of drinking rum and lime in Mary de Silva’s living room, discreetly, but in enough quantity for tongues to be loosened and for Miss Crane to feel that here, in Dibrapur, with Mary de Silva, she had come home again after a lifetime traveling. For six years she went weekly to Dibrapur, and stayed the night with Mary de Silva. “It’s not necessary you know,” Miss de Silva said, “but it’s nice. The last superintendent only came once a month and never stayed the night. That was nice too.”
At the end of the six years, when the roof of the school had been repaired once and needed repairing again, and the new tube well had been sunk, the walls patched and painted twice, there came the day she reached the schoolhouse and found it closed, and, driving on to Mary de Silva’s bungalow, found the old teacher in bed, lying quietly, temporarily deserted by the servant who had gone down to Dibrapur to fetch the doctor. Miss de Silva was mumbling to herself. When she had finished what she had to say, and nodded, her eyes focused on Miss Crane. She smiled and said, “Well Edwina. I’m for it. You might see to the roof again,” then closed her eyes and died as if someone had simply disconnected a battery.
After seeing Mary de Silva’s body safely and quickly transported to Mayapore and buried in the churchyard of St. Mary, Miss Crane put thetask of finding a temporary teacher into the hands of Mr. Narayan to give him something to do, and went back to Dibrapur to reopen the school and keep it going until the temporary arrived. She also wrote to the headquarters of the mission to report Miss de Silva’s death and the steps she had taken to keep the school going until a permanent appointment was made. She recommended a Miss Smithers, with whom she had worked in Bihar. She did not get Miss Smithers. She got first of all a cousin of Mr. Narayan who drank, and then, from Calcutta, Mr. D. R. Chaudhuri, BA, BSc—qualifications which not only astonished her but made her suspicious. Mission headquarters had been rather astounded too, so she gathered from their letter, but not suspicious. Mr. Chaudhuri did not profess to be a Christian, they told her. On the other hand he
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