Thursday’s Child. Helen Forrester

served under him.

      ‘I do know,’ I said, my mind made up. ‘We shall go to India, and we shall hope to win your parents’ goodwill. You shall teach me carefully the customs of your caste, so that after a while people will half forget that I am English, and then perhaps your father will not be so angry and you can make peace with him.’

      ‘You are good,’ he said. ‘You would not have to alter completely your way of life – you need only conform in public – perhaps wear a sari.’

      His face cleared, and I said: ‘You are right about being married soon. We will put up the banns immediately and we can then be married a week before you go.’

      ‘What are banns?’ he asked.

      I explained about a registry office marriage. He was full of excitement. ‘I will go to the Registrar tomorrow,’ he said. He squeezed me hard against him, and then got up abruptly, fumbling in his pocket for money to pay our bill.

      We decided to go back to town by bus, and as we waited in the darkness at the bus stop near the inn, he came close to me and held me to him, and talked quietly about our future life together.

      Our children could be Christians, he said, if I wished it, but he would prefer to bring them up as Hindus as they would have to live in India. This question had already occurred to me, and I said that they should be Hindus. I knew from previous conversations with Ajit that the rules of conduct laid down for Hindus were wise, and all I asked of Ajit was that what we taught our children should be free from corruption or bigotry.

      He chuckled. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said, ‘and put out of your mind most missionary writings about us. You will find purity of thought in India as well as here.’

      ‘I shall be happy if our children are like you,’ I said.

      He trembled. ‘I am not good,’ he said. ‘I … I want that we do not wait three weeks for our marriage.’

      ‘The time will go quickly,’ I said, unclasping myself from him, as the lights of the bus swept us.

      As the bus jogged back to town, I puzzled over the best way to break the news of my engagement at home. My head was heavy from lack of sleep and I could not think very well, so I decided to leave the question until the following day.

      Knowing that Ajit’s dragon did not provide supper, I insisted that he should come home for a meal.

      As our shoes were dirty, we went in through the back door. My heart was pattering and I think Ajit’s must have been too, but Mother was too busy to notice any difference in us. She was just taking a pie out of the oven.

      ‘Come in, children,’ she said. ‘I hoped you would come soon. I have made a pie for supper. Peggie, pass me that cloth. Ajit, I am glad you have come. Perhaps you would like a wash. Hang the rucksack on the door.’ She flew round the kitchen like a plump robin.