Chapter 8: Cochin

There was something vaguely familiar about the man sitting opposite Mimi and me in the landau, but for the life of me I could not think what it was.

The carriage made its way along narrow streets, through a hubbub of people; sellers bawling their wares, buyers haggling at street-side, open-fronted, shops and those infernal, sacred Indian cows, neither having any regard for the passing vehicular traffic.

The fellow sat opposite me leaned forward.

“I neglected to properly introduce myself, Sir Elijah. I am Principal Writer Oswald Repp, personal secretary to his Excellency Huck Dolihaye.”

I knew that a Principal Writer in the Administration Department of the Honourable East India Company was the equivalent rank of a captain in the Military Department of the company. It was then I realised why Oswald Repp looked familiar.

“Do you have a brother who has recently married, Mister Repp?” I asked.

He stared at me in astonishment. “Why, yes, I have. My brother Eustace was joined in Holy Wedlock to a Miss Georgina Spelfin-Jones some two weeks ago in Madras. I would have attended the ceremony but was inundated with important work, and duty always comes before family or self.”

Actually, he looked rather pleased he had been unable to attend his brother’s wedding. “But how do you know of my brother’s marriage?”

“I was privileged to be at the ceremony and...”

“Then you know the female that my brother has foolishly taken as wife?”

“A little, we were...” I began before he again interrupted me.

“Who are her people? We Repps are related to the Repps of Repton you know, but what of her...”

“I believe she is related to the Spelfin-Joneses of Gwaelod y Garth.” I said, with no idea of Georgina’s antecedents, or indeed where Gwaelod y Garth was located other than somewhere in Wales. However, Repp’s obvious disdain for the marriage had rankled me.

“Why do you say that your brother has foolishly taken a wife, Mister Repp?” Mimi had also been irked by his reference to a foolish marriage. “Does he not have to be married to gain promotion, as you presumably had to?”

Oswald Repp flushed a deep red. “Yes, I married for advancement, but other than promotion I gained nothing from matrimony. My wife was a hugely large, domineering woman, who spoke with a lower-class accent. She had a gargantuan appetite for food and ... other things, and made demands on me that a man twice my stature and stamina could not have met. Once my promotion was assured I packed her off back to England. That was five years ago, and I am pleased to say I have heard nothing from her since.”

“But you did not have to marry her. Surely there were others in the fishing fleet more of a match for your physique and, err, sensibilities, and spoke in a more refined accent than her?” I said. Repp shook his head and replied in a glum tone of voice.

“Unfortunately, by the time I reached Madras she was the only female left unattached and unengaged.”

“Well, your brother was one of the first to be married, and he had the entire fishing fleet to choose from. He and his betrothed must have found each other to be their soulmate for them to be married after only two or three days of courtship.”

He brightened up at the news. “Yes, perhaps Eustace’s marriage will be more successful than mine. I hope she makes a good impression on him and his...”

Mimi exploded in a laugh that she disguised as a coughing fit.

“I must have swallowed a fly, “ She said, eyes streaming, after regaining her breath. I had managed to conceal my mirth at Repp’s comment. Georgina Spelfin-Jones would have made more than an impression on Eustace. Like as not she would have flattened the poor fellow on their wedding night. Then the image of Eustace mounting Georgina brought to mind my efforts to reach the saddle on a camel, and I nearly ‘swallowed a fly’.

Mimi had recovered her composure, and seeing me close to laughter took Repp’s attention away from me.

“What happened to your wife, Mister Repp – if you have heard naught from her for years you may now be a widower.”

Repp shrugged his shoulders in a who-knows-or-cares gesture. “Belinda returned to her home town of Nuneaton and reverted to her maiden name of Lovelace. That is all I know.”

“Nuneaton? By now she should have lost a lot of weight.” I said.

Mimi nearly swallowed another fly.

The landau drew up to the entrance of the grounds surrounding Mattancherry Palace. Repp sat up and showed himself to the guard, who waved the carriage through. We turned left soon after passing through the portcullised entrance, and after a short drive drew up outside a sprawling, single-storied, residence. Dusk, or what passes for dusk in the tropics, had fallen, but a Hunter’s Moon gave enough light to show the surrounding area to be a grassy verdant sward, with a scattering of bushes and trees. The air was heavy with the fragrant scent of exotic flowers and herbs.

“This is the guest bungalow,” Repp announced. “There is a full staff to meet all your requirements. They are accustomed to dealing with Europeans, and the Major Domo, Ranji Ram, speaks excellent English.” As Repp was speaking a gaggle of servants appeared at the side of the landau. An imposing looking Indian with a black turban, and beard to match, gave orders in a language I did not recognise, and our trunks were taken from the carriage into the building.

We got from the carriage and I thanked Repp for his help. He gave a wintry smile.

“I am used to meeting European visitors when His Excellency is absent. It is a regular occurrence.” With that the carriage drove off.

I had the impression Mister Repp was not at all pleased to have to meet and greet visitors. Greeting did not appear an Oswald talent, although I expect his paperwork was always in meticulous order.

“If you will follow me, sahib and memsahib, I will show you to your accommodation.” Said the black-bearded fellow, who I took to be Ranji Ram. We followed him along a corridor that was separated from an outside veranda (a sort of outside cloister, open to the elements but shaded from the sun) by a bamboo and rattan partition. Ranji Ram opened a door into a large airy room with two ceiling-mounted fans. “This is your withdrawing room, sahib. When you sit in here pull that rope to the side of the door and the punkah wallah will soon have the fans working.”

(A punkah wallah is the fellow who had to continually pull on a rope to work the punkah, a ceiling-mounted fan that cools a room when operated.)

Further along the corridor, another door opened into our bedroom.

“There is a connecting door to the withdrawing room, and a rope by the bed to have the punkah wallah operate the fan.” Ranji Ram informed me. The next door along the corridor opened into a dining room. “There is also a connecting door in the bedroom to this room.” He pointed to a rope near the window. “One pull on that rope will have the fan working. There is a kitchen further along this corridor if the memsahib is interested, and a bathroom at the rear of your bedroom. I will send a ladies maid to attend the memsahib and a valet to attend you in a very soon moment, sahib. Dinner will be served at eight.” Ranji Ram gave a slight bow and left.

We spent a restful night sleeping in a comfortable European type bed rather than the charpoy on board Bengal Star. The punkah wallah must have worked all night as there was a cooling draft when we adjourned to bed and when we awoke next morning. We were served an English breakfast in the dining room where the evening before we had been treated to meal consisting of some sort of roast game bird, not unlike a partridge in flavour, accompanied by green vegetables, whose names I disremember, and what appeared to be potatoes. I was not aware that potatoes grew in India and had surmised they must have been shipped out from Europe at great cost. However, I later learned potatoes are grown in India, where they are known as aloo. The meal had commenced with mulligatawny soup, which Ranji Ram warned we might find ‘rather spicy for newly arrived sahibs and memsahibs but it is very damn tasty’. Ranji was correct on both points, ‘rather spicy’ being an understatement, as in Tamil mulligatawnhe translates as ‘pepper water’. Fortunately, there were several carafes of water on the table, which Ranji assured us was drawn from a well in the palace grounds, and that ‘no untouchable has been near it’.

Our morning breakfast consisted of kedgeree, which I recalled I had enjoyed whilst on the Royal Progress through Gloucestershire with Princess Alexandrina and her mother the Duchess of Kent. Both Mimi and I tucked into the dish and washed it down with copious cups of chai, which is the Hindi word for tea. I am not a great lover of tea, or at least not of the beverage served in the clubs and restaurants of London, but I admit Indian chai is extremely palatable. I doubt there will ever be a heavy consumption of tea in England, as the price puts it out of the hands of working folk, who are in any case wedded to small beer and coffee. Mimi and I finished our breakfast, and after freshening up we sat in reclining chairs on the veranda. It was while we were gazing about our surroundings that I spied a landau travelling towards the bungalow. At first I feared it might be Oswald Repp. The robust build and thatch of fair hair of the driver marked him as European. but it was plainly not the diminutive Repp. In the short time I had been in India I knew how unlikely it was for a European to be doing such a menial task as driving a carriage, and thought the driver might be a former member of a Madras European Regiment down on his luck. The fellow who stepped down from the driver’s bench was dressed in the skirt-like garment worn by Indian men. He held out his hand, and in a refined, upper class, English accent introduced himself.

“I am Huck Dolihaye. I apologise for not being here to greet you, Sir Elijah and Lady Greenaway.” His handshake was firm and vigorous

“Not at all, Your Excellency,” I said. “We have been more than suitably received and entertained by Mister Repp.”

Dolihaye grinned. “Oswald Repp is conscientious in his work and painstaking in the execution of his duties, but I would never call him entertaining. I imagine he shot off as soon as he had deposited you at the guest bungalow?” He saw my answering smile and continued. “You are probably surprised seeing me dressed as a native? This skirt-like garment is a mundu, known as a dhoti in other parts of India, and the overshirt is a kurta. They are extremely comfortable and cool to wear. Of course when in Madras I must dress as a pukka sahib and suffer the consequences.”

I vowed then I would purchase a similar set of the comfortable, cool, and utilitarian clothing as soon as possible.

“I have come to invite you to my official residence,” Dolihaye said. “But first let me take you on a carriage ride. We are in the spacious grounds of Mattencherry Castle. The palace was built by the Portuguese as a gift to the then King of Cochin.” He paused. “Not that any Portuguee actually lifted a finger to build the place but merely drew up the plans and had the locals do the hard work. It is now the official residence of the Maharajah and Maharani of Kerala; Their Highnesses Maharajah Prajeshvara Ayanampudi and Maharanee Saraswati Ayanampudi. Praj, as he likes to be called by Europeans, is away with his son on a state visit to Jaipur, far to the north, and the Maharani is the de facto ruler. Actually, she is the real ruler as Praj spends most of his time when in Kerala enjoying the pleasures of the hunt, and the flesh, while Sara, as she likes to be called by Europeans, runs the state.”

“With your assistance?” I said.

He gave me a long hard look. “I am here merely as an advisor, Sir Elijah. My suggestions are sometimes acted on, sometimes ignored. Kerala is a princely state and the Honourable East India Company has no direct, or indirect, influence in the running of the state.”

I began to apologise when Dolihaye gave a loud laugh.”That was the official version of my position, Sir Elijah, and yes, I and Her Highness ensure the state does what John Company desires. Thankfully, the current Governor of Madras Presidency has the wit to leave the operation of diplomatic and commercial events to those who know the country and the people. I wish the same could be said for the present Governor General of India, who seems determined to interfere in every aspect of Indian life.”

By this time Mimi and I had boarded the carriage and Dolihaye was seated on the driver’s bench. He turned about to face me. “I hope my rant has not offended you, Sir Elijah?”

“Not at all, Your Excellency. I am like a newly arrived Griffin who should keep his ears and eyes open but his mouth shut.”

Dolihaye laughed and cracked the whip, and we set off at a smart trot around what was an extensive botanical garden. Many of the bushes, flowers, shrubs and trees were unknown to me, although Dolihaye rattled off their Latin names effortlessly. He pointed to some large shrubs that resembled blackthorn bushes.

“Erythroxylum novogranatense, the coca plant. Brought here from Java by the Dutch. It is not an indigenous plant of India or the East Indies, and those in Java must have been imported by the Dutch from their colony in South America.”

It was only much later that I recalled it was from the coca plant that White Lady was produced.

Mimi was entranced by what she saw. “I wish I had thought to bring my sketch pad along with me,” she said. Dolihaye brought the carriage to a halt.

“You are an artist, Lady Greenaway?”

“Just an amateur dauber, Your Excellency.”

“Mimi is a first-class artist, and I say that not as a husband but as a viewer.”

Dolihaye turned the carriage about and headed back to the guest bungalow.

“We will return to your quarters and pick up the sketchbook, and anything else Lady Greenaway requires,” he said.

Once equipped with sketching pad and pencils Mimi spent the rest of the journey quickly getting down on paper the flora of the park. From time to time Dolihaye would stop the carriage so Mimi could take a more thoughtful appraisal of what she intended capturing on paper. Eventually, we drew up alongside a structure that could have been transported from Amsterdam or Delft.

“This is The Mansion, the official residence of the Honourable East India Company’s Resident Advisor to the State of Kerala,” Dolihaye declared. “As you can tell it was built when the Dutch controlled Cochin. Ironically, this building is modelled on the one in Amsterdam that once housed the headquarters of the Dutch West Indies Company.”

A groom appeared and took the bridles of the horses while Dolihaye, Mimi, and I descended from the carriage.

“I will not be needing the carriage until later, Akram, you may unharness the horses and see to them.” He turned to me. “I hope I can persuade you and your wife to stay for lunch, or even dinner this evening?”

There was no reason not to take up his offer, and I gratefully accepted. Dolihaye led us into a sparsely furnished room.

“I apologise for the lack of chairs, chaise longues, and the other paraphernalia of an English withdrawing room, Sir Elijah. I try and live as much as an Indian of my class /caste would live, although still maintaining some British attributes.” He pointed to a sideboard with several decanters on view. “Many Hindus are teetotal but there are just as many who are not. You see there are cushions and low tables in the room? My Indian guests are more comfortable on a cushion than in a hard-backed chair, although most make a beeline for the only two armchairs.” He indicated that Mimi and I sit in the aforementioned chairs while he sat on a cushion. He rang a bell on the low table at his elbow and a male servant appeared at the door.

“Some chai please, Gupta, and bring the box of Fortnum and Masons biscuits.” Dolihaye turned to me and smiled. “Special occasions call for a speciality. I hope Captain Hands has brought fresh supplies to Madras.”

“You know Captain Hands of Hermes, Your Excellency?” I inquired

“Only by reputation, and please call me Huck – ‘Your Excellency’ is rather a grandiose title for a simple soul like me.”

“Then you must call me Jack, and my wife is Mimi.” I responded.

“Why have you come to Cochin, Jack? It is not the usual venue for visitors from Blighty -- “ He stopped abruptly. “I mean Britain. Indians refer to the British as bilāyatī, foreigners. British soldiers of King’s and John Company regiments, have corrupted that word to ‘Blighty’ and use it to refer to Britain. I am afraid I have slipped into the habit.”

The biscuits and chai arrived, and after sipping my chai and nibbling on Messers Fortnum and Mason’s excellent biscuits I answered Huck’s question.

“I am trailing a French woman, Eloise de La Zouche, who sailed from Pondicherry to Cochin about three months ago. Have you come across the female?”

Huck could tell by my usage of ‘female’ rather than ‘lady’ I was not a friend of Eloise de La Zouche.

He gazed at me for a spell. “I can’t say I recognise the name, and I am certain I would have remembered a French female arriving in Cochin. However, I am frequently absent from Cochin and she could have arrived when I was elsewhere. That being said, a foreign female living in Cochin would be known to all and sundry, and yet I have never heard anyone mentioning her name.”

“It is possible she only stayed a few days in Cochin and sailed off to someplace else,” I said.

“If you know the name of the vessel she shipped on then there would be a record in the Harbourmaster’s office of where the vessel sailed to.”

“Captain Adie of Bengal Star has promised to enquire at the Harbourmaster’s office regarding vessels arriving from Pondicherry in the last three months...”

“You know Norton Adie?” Huck interrupted.

“It was his vessel that brought Mimi and me to Cochin.”

“Norton and I are old friends,” Huck said, a smile on his face. “Actually those muskets he carried were for me, well for the Kerala State Guard, but at my behest. The Guard has never fired a shot in anger but have polished their musket barrels so often and so vigorously that when they fired a feu de joie on the occasion of the Maharajah s birthday last year, two musket barrels exploded due to them being polished and scoured to a brilliant, shining, finish and a perilously thin condition. I knew the Calcutta Armoury had more than enough old muskets with unpolished but perfectly serviceable barrels, and had them shipped to Cochin for a knockdown price.” Huck winked at me. “No doubt Norton stopped off en route and picked up some portable cargo that went undeclared on his manifest?” He laughed at my astonished expression. “I know he smuggles in pearls and sapphires from Ceylon. The island was once a part of the Madras Presidency but is now under the direct control of the Governor General of India in Calcutta. I have no official knowledge of Norton’s nefarious activity, and even if his activity was known of in Madras I doubt Calcutta would be informed. There is a certain...” he paused, searching for the correct term, “disconnection between the Presidencies of Madras and Calcutta.”