Proving My Sanity - My Women Could Be Disinherited free porn video

Proving My Sanity

Copyright Oggbashan September 2016

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. The name of a minor character has been changed to Mr Lal.

Note: A guinea at the time of this story was a gold coin worth one pound and one shilling (£1.05). An agricultural worker’s earnings for a year were about twenty-five guineas in a good year.


I think my staff are holding me prisoner. It could be through love, or for some other reason, but I am unable to escape.

It started when I was laid low by an odd summer fever. My doctor didn’t know what it was, or how to treat it, but he pretended knowledge he didn’t have. His instructions on treatment confined me, not just to the within the bounds of my estate, but have literally tied me up, helpless. He ought to know more because medicine has improved during Queen Victoria’s reign but he is a country doctor who doesn’t keep up to date. I think he is still using 18th Century remedies in 1850.

I know I am aged but until the fever struck I was hale and hearty for my age. During the fever I was u*********s most of the time, and when awake I was raving, making no coherent sense. Now I know who I am, where I am and who my attendants are, but they still treat me as if I am insane.

One of the complications of the fever that is still with me is sudden uncontrolled thrashing of my arms and legs. The doctor thought I might injure myself during these fits so he ordered that I should be tightly wrapped at all times except for calls of nature. For those, I should be escorted by at least four people to ensure I do not harm myself. But those four people are women, Anglo-Indian women, Sumitra, Asha, Gita and Meena. They have Christian names such as Anne, Mary etc, but we always use their Indian names.

I am, or was, a Nabob. I had made my fortune in India before I returned to England bringing some of my younger female Anglo-Indian servants with me. Servants? I should be honest with myself. They are not my servants. That may be what they do, but they are really my harem of mistresses. All of them are Christians, at least nominally.

I bought a comfortable estate of several thousand acres and a medium size country house which has forty bedrooms and parts of considerable antiquity. The cost of that estate barely dented my wealth and actually increased it because rent from the tenant farmers is profitable, particularly since I invested money in improving the fields they use.

My wife and new-born son died together several decades ago in India. Since then I have not sought another wife. I had and have many Anglo-Indian mistresses, willing to share my bed whenever I needed them. Now, uninvited, four of them share my bed protecting me from myself.

After the fever I found it difficult to swallow my normal food. The doctor suggested milk-based possets or thin gruel. Even the gruel was too much for me and made me vomit uncontrollably. Sumitra, my senior mistress and effectively my housekeeper, found something I could swallow and retain – breast milk. At any time at least one of the Indian ladies has given birth recently. I should be ashamed that I have so many half-Indian c***dren but I’m not. They are the joys of my elderly existence – or they were until this fever struck.

Sumitra arranged a rota of wet nurses for me. Several times a day a leaking breast is pushed into my mouth and held there until I swallow. My protests are ineffectual, ultimately stifled by soft warm flesh. My bondage prevents anything other than a verbal objection. I suppose I could bite, but I wouldn’t. I know it is done as gently as possible and with love and affection. I can’t repay that love with a bite.

That is my real problem. I am bound by love, restrained by loving hands, silenced by warm breasts or lips, cradled in soft bonds that swamp me.

Take my situation now. I am sitting on a chair in front of my dining table. On the table is a glass of water and a few soft biscuits especially prepared for me by the pastry cook. But I can’t reach them. Why not?

My body is inside in a long sleeved nightgown with padded mittens sewn to the end of the sleeves. My legs are bound together with long scarves. My arms are secured to my sides by more long scarves. Around those bonds two sarees are tightly wrapped around me, making me a helpless silk sheathed bundle from beyond my feet up to my neck. That bundle is tied to the chair with more scarves around my ankles, my thighs, my waist, and my chest. Individually the bonds are loose and soft. Together they make me totally confined and restrained no matter how much I struggle. But if I struggle my mistresses will assume I am having a fit. To stop me biting myself they will stuff my mouth with silk before hugging my head between their soft breasts.

If I protest in words, my voice is stifled first with insistent lips or my mouth filled by a naked breast. If I still try to speak, silk fills my mouth and is held there with another long scarf wrapped round and round my head before my face is dragged deep into a cleavage.

I can’t write or even dictate this account. I am keeping it in my memory until there comes a time when I am free to write it in my private diary.

The only requests my mistresses do listen to is when I want the toilet. I have to give timely warning. They have to remove the bonds attaching me to the chair, carry me to a commode, loosen the saree around my lower parts, clean me up and then return me to my enforced immobilisation.

I’m being unfair. I did ask to go out of the house into the garden. They loaded me into the Bath Chair, tied me to it, and wheeled me around the formal gardens. Even so, they were afraid that my balding head would catch the sun, so I was wearing a capacious bonnet which blinkered me like a nervous horse. At first all I could see was straight ahead – the tight saree-clad buttocks of the woman pulling the Bath Chair. While a pleasant sight, I asked for the bonds around my head to be loosened so that I could turn it. Reluctantly Sumitra eased the scarf that was fastening my head to the chair. As I expected, the gardens were well kept but I was unable to talk to the gardeners. The women didn’t let me. As soon as a gardener came into sight, the chair was wheeled in a different direction.

I have more freedom in bed at night. My massive four-poster bed is occupied by me and four women directed by Sumitra. One of my ankles is tied to hers while she lies on top of me with a woman closely pressed against each side of me. The third woman is propped against the headboard, her legs splayed wide while my head rests on her body below the waist. If I show any signs of a fit, that woman’s legs clamp around my head while the other three stifle any thrashing with their naked bodies.

Sumitra ensures that I am tired. As soon as the four of them are positioned surrounding me she brings me to an erection, stuffs it inside herself and rides me until I’m exhausted. I’m not a tall man and I have become shorter with age. Sumitra’s lips cover mine while she makes love to me. If I cry out in the night, as apparently I used to when in the fever, the woman at the headboard will turn around until her lower lips muffle my outburst, sometimes nearly smothering me as Sumitra presses down on her backside.

I have hope that I may be relieved from my bondage. Ultimately the doctor will return and should listen to my protests that the silken confinement is no longer necessary. But he is not intending to visit me again until next week.

Mr Harris, my Steward and only indoor male servant, is away in London negotiating the purchase of some of a deceased neighbour’s estate. That land would be a useful addition but the legalities are complex. The trustees of the deceased all have to agree. Mr Harris might be back before the doctor’s visit, or perhaps later than that.

My Indian ladies accept the doctor’s edict unreservedly. They would not disobey it and release me unless Sumitra orders them to do so. She won’t. She’s enjoying having me as her helpless victim.

My few English maidservants are unlikely to help. They are usually below stairs and even if they came near me, Sumitra is their superior in the servants’ hierarchy. They wouldn’t defy Sumitra, particularly as Sumitra is not just my Housekeeper. Sumitra has been my mistress for more than two decades. She is treated not just as the Housekeeper but as the Lady of the Estate.

Now Sumitra has become more than my mistress. She is my dominant mistress and my jailer. I can do nothing, not even speak, without her consent. While I know she is doing everything because she loves me, that love is overpowering, enveloping, smothering and imprisoning me. I am totally helpless even when she is making love to me.

I can understand their concern for my welfare. They are all dependent on me. But why are they, and particularly Sumitra, treating me as if I am insane and need constant protection from myself? I can understand them wanting to stop my uncontrolled thrashing but their soft enveloping bondage is too extreme for that. If they want just to limit my movements when necessary, their arms, bodies, and perhaps a few wraps while the fit lasts would be enough. Four women all of similar size to me are ample to restrain me for the now infrequent episodes.

When I first came back to awareness of my surroundings I would thrash about several times a day. Now? The frequency has reduced to once or twice a day. Within a few days the occurrence might be zero, but my bondage continues unabated.

This morning I had an unexpected opportunity to speak to Sumitra alone. The three other bed companions had briefly left the room for their morning ablutions, but not before leaving my ankles tied to Sumitra’s, my hands bagged in mittens, my arms secured to my sides. I couldn’t release myself but I could speak unless Sumitra stopped me with her lips or a hand over my mouth.

“Why, Sumitra?” I asked.

She moved her head close to mine.

“Why what, Anthony?” she whispered in my ear.

“Why are you keeping me a prisoner? I’m no longer ill. I’m recovering, yet you are still smothering me as if I could harm myself. Why?”

Sumitra’s first answer was a long kiss, not the fierce kisses she had given me to stop my words, but a delicate loving one. She pulled back and looked at me.

“We love you, Anthony. I love you. We were afraid that we might lose you. We wanted to wrap you in our love, to keep you safe. Even wrapping you in scarves and sarees was an expression of our love, hugging you more effectively than our bodies can.”

“But it has gone on too long, Sumitra. I could understand it when I was raving, but now? I’m nearly well again. I can eat more than breast milk or gruel. While it is pleasant to meet so many naked breasts, the need has passed.”

“Those breasts were showing love and care. They still want to. Not all of us have the words to tell you how we love you, but our breasts and lips can.”

“I know I am loved, Sumitra. But making me helpless is going too far. I ask again. Why?”

“Why? We are all afraid. If you were to die, what would happen to us? We are far from our home country, women and c***dren in a land that doesn’t always value us as you do. We need you. Yet you are old. You won’t die this time. Our care made sure you didn’t. But eventually we will be left alone. What then? What...”

“Sumitra.” I spoke sharply. “Of course I know you, all of you, will outlive me. It would be unnatural if you didn’t. I have made preparations for that eventuality – except for one last act that will complete the legalities. Before the fever struck me down I had already started the process for that last thing. It was presumptuous of me, I know, but I had to try. What date is it now?”

Sumitra seemed taken aback by my last question. She answered. That answer doesn’t matter. It was a date in the middle of the 19th Century but what I needed to know was how long I had been incapable and imprisoned. The duration from start until this conversation had been four complete weeks and a couple of days.

“I cannot finish making your future secure while you hold me prisoner. I need to be free, to be dressed as an English gentleman, and to go to the village – with you. I am sure if we go by carriage I could travel that short distance. Will you let me go?”

“”If we do, what if you have another fit?”

“If I do, which is becoming unlikely, you and the others could just hug me. That would be enough. You don’t need to tie and wrap me up. The four of you could easily overpower me. You are younger, stronger and four to my one.”

“I’ll ask the others. Where do you want to go in the village?”

“The vicarage. I need to speak to the Vicar. I need to check that he did what I asked him to do.”

The others came back into the bedroom.

“He wants to go to the vicarage,” Sumitra announced. “As himself, unrestrained. Can we permit that?”

“I don’t see why not,” Asha said slowly. Gita and Meena nodded.

“Then we should get him ready. Have you brought his shaving things?”

They had, as every morning while I had been restrained. My head was cradled between two soft breasts as Sumitra straddled me. She shaved me as expertly as any barber but my erection acknowledged that she was an attractive and desirable woman.

They removed my bonds and dressed me even though I could have done that for myself. As I walked, blessed relief, through the various rooms and corridors to the breakfast room the other women servants acknowledged me by dropping curtseys. My legs weren’t working as well as they should. I had been restrained or ill too long.

After breakfast I asked to go to my study. I removed some papers from a locked drawer before announcing that I was ready to go to the vicarage. I had to wait sometime before Sumitra and the three others dressed themselves as English Ladies.

In the carriage I was swamped by their massive crinolined skirts. The carriage was driven by one of my younger women who would stay with the horses. At the vicarage Sumitra had to get out first to give me room to descend. I needed her help to climb down from the carriage. The Vicar’s maidservant dropped a curtsey and led us to the main living room. She asked whether we wanted refreshment. I declined. She went to tell the Vicar that we were there.

The Vicar was slightly surprised to meet four Indian women dressed so fashionably but greeted us pleasantly.

“Has it happened?” I asked bluntly once the formal introductions had been completed.

“Yes, Mr Andrews. On the last three Sundays. No one raised a voice against it but there was some headshaking. Are you sure?”

“Sure? Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise. But...”

I walked over to Sumitra who was sitting with her skirts spread about her. I dropped to my knees in front of her.

“Sumitra,” I said looking up at her puzzled face, “Will you marry me, please?”

She gasped. She looked at the other three women.

“Mr Andrews!” She protested, “Do you know what you are asking?”

“Of course I do,” I replied impatiently. “I’m asking the woman I love to marry me. Will you?”

“What about the others?” she asked. I could hear the Vicar draw breath sharply. It was common knowledge that I had a harem.

“I can only marry one,” I replied. “I will, or YOU will, look after the others.”

“And the c***dren?”

“And the c***dren.” I replied.

“Then I have to say yes. I will marry you.”

“Good. Vicar?”

“Yes, Mr Andrews?”

“Now?”

“NOW?” he replied.

“Yes. Now. Why not? The banns have been read. We have three witnesses here, and you. The church is empty. We can marry now.”

We did. I was married to Sumitra in an empty church with the other three women as bridesmaids and witnesses.

After the wedding we returned to the Vicar’s living room. He produced some champagne to toast the Bride and Groom. No doubt he will add it to my account.

I produced the documents I had taken from my study. There was a small problem because I needed witnesses who weren’t involved. The Vicar could be one, but we needed another. He sent his maid to fetch the sexton. I could sign my new will, leaving everything to my wife, with provisions for my mistresses and all the illegitimate c***dren. Sumitra was still in a state of shock, twisting her wedding ring on her finger to check it was real.

I had another request for the Vicar that caused him some consternation. I wanted all my illegitimate c***dren to be baptised. I handed him a list of all of them with their dates of birth, the appropriate mother’s name, and my name as father for all of them. Officially recognising them in the Parish Register would give each of them some claim on my estate.

Baptisms should be conducted with the Church’s congregation present. If that was to be done on a Sunday the length of the baptisms would be difficult. We compromised. They would be baptised at a suitable Wednesday morning service. I told Sumitra to arrange for all the mothers and c***dren to attend.

Once the Vicar had got over his shock I could see that he was calculating how many fees he could charge for the marriage and baptisms.

I made him even happier. I asked him to see whether any of his poor parishioners would like their c***dren baptised at my expense. If we were to have a bulk baptism, a few more might not make much difference, except to the c***dren and their parents.

“I have a small problem with that request, Mr Andrews,” the Vicar said diffidently. “Some of the c***dren who need baptism have unmarried parents because they can’t afford the fee.”

“How many?” I asked.

“About ten couples, I think. Maybe a dozen.”

“Very well, Vicar. I’ll pay for a mass marriage service before the baptisms. Would that be acceptable?”

“It would be very generous, Mr Andrews. It has been a cause of concern to me for some years.”

“Arrange it. I’ll pay, and we’ll attend, won’t we, Mrs Andrews?”

Sumitra blinked. It was the first time I had called her Mrs Andrews.

“Yes, Anthony - husband,” she replied. “We’ll be there.”

The Vicar was beaming as we left. Several marriages, a mass of baptisms all with the fees guaranteed by me, and the whole of his flock would be legitimately married. Once he had forwarded the records to his Bishop he would avoid the mild criticism he had had from that quarter for his parishioners living in sin – especially me.

Once we were a few hundred yards from the Vicarage I spoke seriously to Sumitra.

“Wife,” I said, “I have provided for you, for the other women, and all the c***dren, whether I live or die. But, and this is very important, our marriage, my will and disposition of my estate could be challenged if there is any suggestion that I was not and am not in full possession of all my faculties. Your restraint of me must stop. Now. If not, all I have done could be overturned. Do you understand?”

“Yes, husband. I understand. But what if you have a fit?”

“I won’t, despite that stupid doctor. But if I do, your reaction must be minimal and temporary, lasting only the minutes that are wholly necessary. At all other times I must appear to be my own master.”

“Even in bed, Anthony?”

“What we do in bed must stay as a bedroom secret. Remember this is important. I must be unrestrained whenever anyone else could see, even a junior maidservant.”

“I will try, Anthony.”

“You must do more than try. You must let me be my own man, loved by you and the others, as I love you all, but not, never, controlled by you.”

“Even if we do it with love, because we love you?”

“Even then. You can love me, but not imprison me as you have been doing. If you do, you risk losing everything, not just for you, but for all the women and c***dren.”

How can I explain it to Sumitra, my new wife? If I am considered to have been insane at the time of my marriage and the signing of my will, my marriage and bequests could be declared invalid. All my assets would go to my closest relative, a distant cousin, but lawyers would take large fees from my estate whether the cousin is successful or not.

My private life is already thought to be scandalous because I have Indian mistresses. Marrying Sumitra won’t make much difference to the public aversion to my ménage. That idiot doctor could be easily persuaded to say that the fits I suffered during the fever were evidence of insanity – particularly if he was offered a substantial sum of money.

I, and we, need to demonstrate that although I am frail because of my age, I am of sound mind and able to make decisions by myself. The vicar could testify that I asked for the banns to be read for my marriage to Sumitra before I had the fever. My solicitors could say that I rewrote my will before the fever, and in anticipation of my marriage. I didn’t sign and deliver my testament until after the marriage, but the document had been written months ago.

But how do I prove that I was and am sane? I reached out to take Sumitra’s hand. I brought it to my lips and kissed it. I’ll need her help to prove my sanity, and perhaps that of my mistresses as well. How?

+++

Back at the house all five of us sat down in the summer parlour for tea. After the maid had left I looked at the four women dressed in their crinolines.

“I feel safer while you are dressed as English ladies,” I said.

“Why, husband?” Sumitra said, stumbling over the unfamiliar word husband.

“When you are wearing your sarees I know you can whip them off and wrap me tightly in seconds. As you are now? You haven’t got material to wrap me.”

“I think you underestimate us, Anthony. Please stand up, and you English ladies please stand too.”

Sumitra locked the parlour’s door. The other three women stood, one behind me, and one each side of me. There is one thing about all four of them being Anglo-Indian, not Indian women. They are taller than Indian women might be. All of them are slightly taller than me. Sumitra stood in front of me. Her crinolined skirt spread around her, the lower frill splayed across the carpet.

“Ladies?” Sumitra said.

Six arms grabbed me and pushed me gently downwards. Sumitra bent forward and grasped the front hem of her dress. She pulled it upwards as the three women pushed me forwards under Sumitra’s crinoline. She dropped it to the floor. I was enclosed in darkness inside her wide skirt. I tried to lift an edge. I couldn’t. The three women were standing on the frill of Sumitra’s skirt trapping me.

“As you can see, Anthony,” I heard Sumitra say through the muffling layers of skirt and petticoats, “We don’t need sarees. A crinoline and dress is enough. But you know that our naked bodies can restrain you. You are our captive whenever we want.”

Naked? Sumitra was naked under her crinoline. My face had brushed against a bare leg. What if?

I felt around in the darkness to put my hands on her thighs. I felt her flinch at my touch. I brought my head up between her legs until I felt hair against my face. Between that hair was a warm soft place. I kissed it.

“Anthony!” Sumitra squealed. “You can’t! Not here!”

I could. I did. I kissed. I extended my tongue and licked. My tongue entered between her lower lips and caressed. The crinoline was shaking around me as Sumitra tried to pull away but my hands on her thighs meant I kept tonguing her. She groaned above me. Her cleft became warmer and wetter as I licked, kissed and sucked.

Soon, too soon, her dress and crinoline was lifted. I emerged still kneeling.

“Why, Anthony, why?” Sumitra asked.

“I was showing my wife how much I love her,” I replied.

“And us? What about us?” Meena asked.

“Lift a skirt, and I’ll be there,” I answered.

Three skirts lifted as one.

“I can’t do all three at the same time,” I protested. “Who is first? Wife? Can you choose one for me to start with, please?”

Sumitra pointed at Asha. Two skirts lowered. I crawled under and inside the one still raised. My tongue was exhausted by the time I had produced squeals of delight from all three of them.

+++

After I had satisfied all four of them it was time for luncheon. We had moved into the small dining room where a cold collation had been laid out. As often before I thought that we should have luncheon in the large dining room because it became crowded with all my mistresses and their c***dren. I know how many there are, but Sumitra and the three I had taken to the vicarage are currently my principal mistresses – and wife.

After luncheon I asked the four of them to join me back in the summer parlour. We all sat down. I sat on an upright chair facing four ladies with wide spreading skirts.

“I have a problem,” I started bluntly. “I have married Sumitra. I would have married all four of you but English Law doesn’t allow that. What I will do is treat you as if I had married all of you and Sumitra is my senior wife. My will sets up a trust for all my assets. My official wife Sumitra is the principal trustee advised by my family lawyers, but you three unofficial wives are also trustees.”

“What does that mean?” Gita asked.

“Listen, and I’ll tell you. The trust provides for my estate to be kept together to provide an income to support all four of you, my other mistresses, my, no, our c***dren and the staff. I am trying to buy more land that will provide a larger income so that all of you will live in comfort. Those who want to marry after I have died will be given a dowry, as will the female c***dren. The boys? The trust will give them support to find a career, buying commissions in the Army for example – possibly the Army in India because it might be awkward for them in the English Army.

But... I have to keep saying this. It will only work if there is no doubt that I was and am sane at the time of my marriage to Sumitra, and when I signed my will. There must be no evidence that any of you influenced my decisions. The marriage probably can’t be challenged because I asked for the banns to be read before I became ill. My will? My lawyers drafted it a couple of months ago but I only signed it today. If I am successful in buying the other land I will have to alter my will slightly. I can only do that if I am sane.

I’m old. Sometimes I’m physically frail. What we did before luncheon was tiring for me and I will have to have a short sleep this afternoon. My brain still works and I must demonstrate that it does for the next few months. I must be seen to be acting independently and not as the puppet of my wife and mistresses. If I don’t? My will could be overturned in favour of a distant cousin and all of you could be homeless and penniless.

So, Sumitra, Asha, Gita and Meena? I love you all. I know you love me. How are we going to show that Anthony knows what he is doing and doesn’t need a wife to tell him what to do, nor women to wrap him up to protect him from himself? Any ideas?”

“Cricket.” Gita stated bluntly.

We all looked at her blankly. She giggled.

“I’ll explain that. If Anthony needs to demonstrate that he is sane and acting unconstrained then he needs witnesses to his capacity. Agreed?”

We nodded, still confused by Gita’s mention of cricket.

“The doctor is incompetent and could be persuaded that Anthony is not sane. The Vicar disapproves of us. Marrying Sumitra has helped but the Vicar knows the rest of us are mistresses and Anthony has many bastards here. So we need other people to be able to say Anthony is sane. If those people have benefitted from Anthony’s decisions, then they would have an interest in considering those decisions to have been made by someone in full command of their faculties. Hence – cricket.”

“I still don’t follow what you are getting at, Gita,” I said slowly.

“Neither do I,” Asha added.

“Anthony? You own the meadow between the Church and the river, don’t you?”

“Yes, Gita. But it is a water meadow. It floods in winter and is only used for summer pasture.” I said, still confused.

“And cricket is played only in the summer, when that field isn’t flooded. Yes?”

“Yes, Gita, but...”

“Just listen, Anthony and all of you. If Anthony turns that meadow into a cricket pitch for the village, builds a cricket pavilion on the dry edge close to the road, and gives it to the village...”

“I get it,” Meena said. “the village will be grateful to Anthony. But if he isn’t sane when he does all that, they could lose the field and the pavilion.”

“Exactly. And if Anthony starts the cricket by inviting cricket teams to play, and hosts the event, he must be sane. When he presents the winning team with the cup to be played for every year – he’s sane. When he is President of the Cricket Club – he’s sane.” Gita was getting excited by her own idea.

“The actual work of getting the meadow turned into a cricket pitch, and the pavilion built? That can be done by the local architect and the village builders. All Anthony would actually have to do is pay the bills and he can easily afford that. That field is worth what? Five shillings a year rent as pasture? That’s nothing compared with Anthony’s wealth.”

“I’ve thought of something else,” Asha said. “When in India Anthony built dams and bridges on the river by his land to cope with water during the monsoon. If we built a couple of dams upstream to hold water back in winter, the field wouldn’t flood and could be used all year round for things other than cricket. That might stop some of the village houses flooding as happens some winters.”

“OK, Ladies. I’ve heard enough. Gita’s idea is brilliant. The village will have a cricket pitch and Asha’s dams. We can develop these ideas further. What else does the village want or need that my money could provide? Even if I spend a couple of thousand pounds it won’t make a dent in our fortune.”

“Our fortune?” Sumitra asked.

“Ours,” I repeated. “You don’t get it, do you? By marrying you, Sumitra, and writing my will to set up the trust, when you become a widow you four will inherit everything. My fortune will be yours – if I am sane now. And Cricket could be the deciding factor. I’m sane because of cricket. But now I need a rest. Sumitra? Can you ask the Head Gardener to come to see me at five o’clock, please?”

“Yes, husband, I will. Meena will be with you while you rest.” Sumitra replied.

“Does Meena have to be with me?” I asked.

“You’re not fully fit yet, husband. She will be there if you need anything and to look after you. When you wake she’ll massage your legs. You’ve walked further today that you have for weeks.”

“Massage?”

“Yes, Anthony,” Meena replied. “I’ve been gently massaging your arms and legs every night while you were asleep. We knew, even if that idiot doctor didn’t, that restraining you all the time would damage your muscles. So I’ve been working on them several times a day. If you are awake for the next massage I’ll work harder. It might hurt but it will help you to get strength back sooner.”

“Very well, Meena, and thank you.”

Meena, Gita and I went to my bedroom. I was surprised just how tired I was. I didn’t object as Meena undressed me. Gita had to help Meena to undress. Victorian ladies’ clothes are intended for maids to fasten and unfasten. The wearer cannot dress or undress herself without help. Gita left us. Meena snuggled her naked body next to mine. It was bliss to be completely unrestrained in that bed.

I woke up about an hour later with a twitch in my right leg. Meena’s hands stroked it gently until the twitch subsided. I went back to sleep. I woke up again with my head resting on Meena’s shoulder and my lips close to her breast. I kissed that breast gently. Meena pulled my face closer. I kissed again.

“Anthony?” Meena was awake.

“Yes, Meena?”

“We mistresses are only nominally Christians. You know that?”

“Yes.”

“If we were Hindu, you could have four wives, couldn’t you?”

“I suppose so, if we were in India. It wouldn’t mean anything in England, Meena. Here I can only have one wife – Sumitra. I married her today and tonight she must sleep with me alone. The marriage would be incomplete without consummation.”

Meena laughed.

“Even though you already have four c***dren by her? English customs are stupid.”

“I might agree with you, Meena, but to protect you and the c***dren I must seem to abide by English laws. They will provide for you and our two c***dren.”

“Yet I’d like to be a wife too, Anthony, even a subsidiary wife. As Hindus that would be possible.”

I sat up and looked down at Meena’s naked body that I loved so much. She was serious. She wanted to be my wife.

“If we still lived in India I could marry you and the other two as well as Sumitra. But as soon as we arrived back in England those marriages wouldn’t mean anything, Meena.”

“It would to me, Anthony. I know you love me but...”

“I’ll think about it, Meena. It could be dangerous for our campaign to ensure I’m seen as sane. If, and I only say if, Hindu marriages could happen, they would have to remain a secret. I would only do it if I marry all three of you as well as Sumitra.”

“Or more than three? Your other mistresses would like the status even if only they knew, Anthony.”

“Fifteen wives? The Vicar would have a heart attack if he knew.”

“He does know, Anthony. You listed fifteen mothers of c***dren to be baptised with you named as father of them all.”

“So he does, Meena. He does. He did turn pale when I handed him the list of c***dren. Oh well. We’ll see.”

“And now I’ll massage your legs, Anthony. Try not to yell too much when I dig my fingers in hard.”

Meena’s massage did hurt. When she helped me to dress my calves were sore. When I started walking I could feel the effect of her massage. I was steadier on my legs as I acted as her lady’s maid to dress her. Why not? I have years of experience of undressing and dressing my mistresses.

+++

When I met the gardener he wasn’t convinced that the meadow was a suitable place for a cricket pitch but his expertise didn’t extend to making a cricket pitch. He suggested that I needed specialist advice before even announcing the proposal of a village cricket pitch.

He knew that Tom Anchor from the village had been a paid cricketer, a player, not a gentleman cricketer. A couple of weeks later Tom, the gardener and Mr Harris my steward had made enquiries and recommended that I employ a professional cricket groundsman to see whether the meadow was suitable. I paid for Tom to travel to the county town to talk to the cricket club staff.

+++

My steward Mr Harris had returned ten days after I had married Sumitra. He had successfully completed the purchase of the additional land. I had paperwork to sign and a revised will drawn up by my solicitors to take account of my marriage and my enlarged estate. To my surprise he also brought a hastily written letter from my distant cousin James, congratulating me on my marriage to Sumitra. At first I thought the letter was useful. If James had written to congratulate me on my marriage, he couldn’t later claim that the marriage was void because of my incapacity. But there was another earlier letter from James, asking if he could come to visit me to discuss unspecified matters. I wrote back extending an invitation for James to come whenever convenient to him.

+++

Over the next few days after my marriage I gradually regained the mobility I had enjoyed before the fever. Meena’s daily massage was helping as was my resumed sexual activities with my extensive group of mistresses. Perhaps each particular mistress was more likely to ride me than I to ride her, but even that meant considerable effort from me. Three weeks after my marriage I had spent at least one night with all fifteen of them.

The Vicar had to delay the marriages and baptisms because some of the potential husbands and fathers needed persuasion to make their situation legal. Although the marriages and baptisms would make the relationships legitimate, it also meant that the men would be legally liable for their wives and c***dren. Eventually I cut the Gordian knot by offering a dowry of ten guineas to each bride and five guineas to each baptised c***d. The money persuaded the waverers. The marriages would be on a Tuesday morning, the wedding lunches and dancing in the afternoon, and the christenings on Wednesday morning. There would be little work done on my estate or my tenants’ farms on either day.

+++

Tom Anchor returned with the news that the cricket club’s groundsman was willing to come to assess the meadow in return for his travelling expenses of a couple of guineas. I discussed it with Tom, my steward and the Head Gardener. I thought that ‘expenses’ was not enough for professional advice. I wrote to the groundsman and enclosed a cheque for ten guineas.

As I had thought, ten guineas produced a faster response. The groundsman, Arthur Green, replied that he would arrive next week. By a coincidence he would be coming to the railway station a few miles away on the same train as my cousin James. I sent the carriage to collect them. Arthur Green would meet Tom Anchor, the head gardener and Mr Harris in the Steward’s office, have lunch, and then go to the meadow.

James would have lunch with Sumitra and me.

+++

The train was exactly on time. I was surprised that my cousin James was so young, in his early twenties. He seemed a pleasant enough young man even though he could be a threat to my plans for Sumitra, my mistresses and c***dren.

After lunch James and I went to my study. We discussed the weather, and my, or rather Gita’s, idea for a village cricket pitch. James thought it was a splendid idea. He had played cricket a few times when at Oxford. He had enjoyed it but admitted that he wasn’t very good at it, averagely competent for a young gentleman but neither a batsman nor bowler. He told me that the county’s grounds man Mr Green had been accompanied by an Indian man, his assistant in training.

He soon came to the point of his visit.

“Cousin Anthony,” he said, “I am aware that your solicitor considers me to be your next of kin, and might possibly inherit your property if you hadn’t made a will. But you HAVE made a will, so I won’t inherit. I wouldn’t anyway. I’m NOT your nearest relation.”

“You’re not, James? Then who the d... is?” I nearly swore, most unlike my normal self.

“You had an elder half brother John, son of your father’s first wife. She died giving birth to him. Your father married your mother ten years later, and you were born two years after that marriage. But you know all that, sir.”

“I do. But John would be twelve years older than me, and I’m old. You’re not telling me that John is still alive, surely?”

“No, Cousin. I’m not. John died eight years ago in Australia where the family sent him after an unspecified scandal. I don’t know WHY he was sent to Australia. I only know that he was.”

“He was transported to the New South Wales penal colony by order of a court,” I said. “He was very lucky to escape hanging. But I’ve tried to forget John and his misdeeds. Other people were involved and their c***dren are still around. They don’t want that scandal aired again.”

“That’s very well but in later life John married in Australia and produced a son and heir. That son is your nephew, a closer relation to you than I am. I didn’t know of his existence until a couple of months ago. I had a letter from him informing me that he was coming to England.”

“The deuce he is! Why?”

“I understand that it is something to do with the governance of New South Wales. His name is Robert, Robert Andrews of course, and he is an elected member of their local parliament.”

“He’s what? How can that be? He’s the son of a convict!”

“Apparently that doesn’t matter in New South Wales. He was elected because he is a major landowner. He has a property of about one hundred and fifty thousand acres of pastoral land, much more undeveloped land and several businesses as well.”

“So he’s a wealthy landowner?”

“Yes, Cousin Anthony, and an important person in New South Wales. He is coming to England at the request of the Colonial Office. He would like to meet me, and you, as his closest relations. For all I know he may already be in England. I left a message for him at the Colonial Office telling him that I had come to see you. I think he really wants to meet you since he has heard about your...”

“Mistresses?” I prompted.

“Household was the word he used in his letter but I think you are right. I confess to a certain curiosity myself, Cousin.”

“You’ll meet everyone this evening at dinner, the whole brood, mistresses and their c***dren who are old enough to appear in company. Some are still babes in arms. But my main companions?”

I picked up a hand bell and rang it. Within half a minute Sumitra entered the room. James stood up as she entered. He bowed to her. She curtseyed to him.

“Mrs Andrews, this is my young cousin, James,” I said. “James, this is my wife, Sumitra.”

James bowed again. Sumitra curtseyed again. I cut their acknowledgements short.

“Sumitra, please could you arrange for tea to be served in the drawing room for us, and could the four be present if convenient?”

“I’m sure it will be, husband. They would like to meet your cousin.”

“And I would be delighted to meet them, Mrs Andrews,” James said.

Sumitra curtseyed and left. James remained standing after bowing to her. He waited to speak until the door had been shut.

“You use a hand bell to summon your wife?” James queried.

I laughed.

“Not normally, James. There are bell pulls in every room to summon servants. The hand bell is a recent innovation since I was laid low with a fever. If it had been rung by any one of my principal ladies, the rest of them would have responded quickly. Now I am much better but still weaker than I’d like to be, I ring it for social matters unlike the bell pulls for domestic affairs. To arrange tea? I could have used the bell pull. To arrange for my four principal ladies to meet you over tea? The hand bell seemed appropriate. My wife will summon a servant to produce the tea.”

I stood up.

“I think we will go to the drawing room now. It is some distance away and I’m slower on my feet than I was a few weeks ago.”

We walked along the lower corridor and up the principal staircase before turning into the long gallery. At the end, in the South West corner of the house was the drawing room. It had fine views over the estate. As I had expected the four women were already there. James bowed, and they curtseyed, as I introduced them to each other. I sat down while they went through the formal motions.

James enjoyed meeting them and they were pleased with his company, flirting with him within the bounds of polite convention. I told them that he would like to meet the whole household. Sumitra suggested that instead of at dinner which could be an ordeal, that the others should assemble in the long gallery in an hour’s time. I agreed. Gita went off for a few minutes to arrange that.

Asha suggested that James might like to see the estate. We arranged that she and Meena would take James for a walk tomorrow morning. I suggested that James could stay until next weekend. He was dubious at first but Sumitra persuaded him. As my and now her only English relation she wanted him to stay as a guest for a few days.

“Wednesday is the christening,” Meena said. “We’d like you to be there, James.”

“The christening?” James queried.

“The christening,” I said. “I have arranged with the vicar to christen all my c***dren on Wednesday morning. He is also christening a number of the village c***dren as well after their parents’ marriages on Tuesday. Both will be major occasions for the village. You might enjoy attending one or both. I’ll have to go. I’m paying for all of it.”

“How many?” James blurted out, I think unintentionally.

“You’ll meet Anthony’s c***dren shortly,” Sumitra said. “At present there are twenty-five but there are several more on the way.”

“I’m impressed, Sir,” James said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m sure Robert would be too.”

+++

The long gallery was almost pandemonium until I shouted for quiet. My c***dren recognise me and do take notice. I introduced James to the other eleven ‘wives’ all dressed in their best sarees, and the twenty-five c***dren. The younger c***dren were unimpressed. They wanted to be on the floor playing with their siblings.

James was a hit. He knelt down on the floor to meet some of the younger c***dren, two or three of whom wanted to ride him. I lost sight of him for a while as he was surrounded by crinolined skirts and swirling sarees. Sumitra stood beside me, her hand tucked into my crooked arm, as we watched James play with the c***dren.

“James is nice, isn’t he?” Sumitra whispered in my ear. I nodded. I was too stiff and old, long beyond playing on the floor. I liked my c***dren but in small regulated doses and only a few at a time. Fifteen women and twenty five c***dren make a lot of noise when gathered together. I led Sumitra to the side of the long gallery. We sat down on a settee and watched.

I felt a twitch in my calf.

“Sumitra,” I whispered, “My calf is twitching. I think I need to lie down and be massaged by Meena. Can you entertain James for me?”

“Of course, Anthony,” Sumitra replied. “But I think he is being well entertained already. He seems to enjoy the c***dren and he’s very popular with their mothers.”

“So he should be,” I answered. “He’s a very personable young gentleman. Please ensure the women don’t go too far. They can kiss and hug him. He might be surprised by that much. He won’t exceed the bounds of respectability. They shouldn’t – please?”

“Very well, husband. I’ll get Meena. While you’re gone James will be entertained – and kissed.”

Sumitra whispered in Meena’s ear. Meena came to me and helped me to my feet. Sumitra got down beside James and spoke a few words to him. He replied. Sumitra put an arm around his shoulder and kissed James on the cheek. He stood up. As Meena and I walked out of the long gallery Sumitra was taking James to each wife in turn. They were all kissing him on the cheek, sometimes two of them at once. At the end of the gallery I turned back and waved at James. Only his head was visible above a crowd of women. He had to extricate himself from the latest kiss before he could return the wave.

Meena’s massage was effective. I dozed for a while cradled in her arms. I woke up as Sumitra came into the bedroom.

“Anthony, if you are awake we want to discuss cricket. Mt Green and the others have inspected the meadow and would like to report to you.”

“Thank you, Sumitra. I’ll come to the study. Can you ask Cousin James, Gita and Asha to join me there. You’ll arrange tea and cakes?”

“Of course, husband. Meena will help you to the study.”

Sumitra left before I could protest I didn’t need Meena’s help. She was right. I was wrong. My legs were still stiff and weak. Meena massaged my calves and helped me to stand. She straightened my clothing. I helped to remove the creases in her skirt. I went to the study with my arm around Meena’s waist. I was relieved that only Gita and Asha had arrived. Meena helped me to sit behind my desk before she left. Gita and Asha arranged chairs for the men. They remained standing until the men arrived within a few minutes.

My steward Mr Harris introduced Tom Anchor whom I knew by sight, Mr Green the cricket club’s grounds man, and Mr Lal, the grounds man’s assistant. The head gardener wasn’t with them. Mr Harris explained that the gardener felt he couldn’t add to the discussion about a cricket pitch. It was beyond his expertise.

I introduced Gita and Asha. The four men bowed to them as they curtseyed. We all sat down around my large desk. We were about to start the discussion when two maids brought in the tea and cakes. Gita and Asha poured the tea and handed around the cakes. I could sense that the men were relaxing perhaps because the women were acting as they would expect English women to behave in company.

I asked Gita to explain what she wanted for the cricket club. The men seemed to agree with her ideas. Asha added her thoughts on upstream dams to control the flow of the stream and reduce flooding on the meadow. They seemed less convinced by Asha’s ideas.

Mr Green started the discussion.

“Mr Andrews, Gita’s idea is sound but we are not convinced that the meadow is the best place. It isn’t flat enough for cricket, and if we made it flat either we would have to raise it substantially with massive ground works, or it would flood more than it does now, despite the idea of the dams. If we raised it? The village would flood more often. Mr Anchor agrees with me.”

“We set up a makeshift wicket and bowled a few balls,” Tom Anchor said, “The grass isn’t short enough for a proper pitch but that didn’t matter. If I hit the ball towards the road or the church it slowed because of the slope. If I hit it towards the stream it kept rolling until it was stopped by the bushes on the stream’s bank. The meadow looks flat but the drop from the road to close to the stream across the size of a full cricket oval is ten feet or more.”

“That’s far too much for proper cricket,” Mr Green said. “It might just be feasible for village cricket with absolute beginners but as soon as they improved they’d find it a nuisance.”

“We looked further around the estate,” Mr Harris said. “Obviously we wanted the pitch as close to the village as possible. The meadow would have been the closest but is unsuitable.”

“You have a field with some woodland the other side of the road from the meadow,” Tom Anchor said. “We looked at it. The woodland is beside the road. That would prevent cricket balls reaching the road. In the meadow a strong batsman might hit balls onto the road, into the river, or even through the Church’s windows. On the other field any stray balls would either go into another field or get stopped by the trees.”

“A pavilion could be built close to the trees,” Mr Green said. “The field is almost flat enough as it is. If it were to be ploughed, raked and sowed with good quality grass it would make an excellent pitch, as good as our county ground.”

“All it needs, Sir,” Mr Lal said, “Is a new access for carriages from the road close to the village. That would be simple.”

“I think we ought to look at the field,” Gita said.

“Why not?” I said. “Asha? Could you ask for a couple of carriages to be got ready? In about twenty minutes from now?”

“Of course, Anthony,” Asha replied.

She left and returned within a few minutes. We were discussing what would need to be done to make a cricket pitch. Apparently a pavilion can be bought as a kit of parts to be erected on site by the suppliers. All I would need to decide is how large a one I should buy. Mr Lal produced a catalogue of cricket pavilions. We crowded around the table to look at it. They also provided village halls and ‘tin chapels’ – corrugated iron churches for small non-conformist groups.

“They don’t do churches for me,” Mr Lal joked. “They’re all Christian and I’m Hindu.”

Asha looked carefully at him but didn’t say a word.

Shortly afterwards all of us climbed into the carriages and drove towards the village. We had to leave the carriages in the meadow before crossing the road. Gita and Asha walked beside me, their arms tucked into mine. They were prepared to support me if I needed it. Mr Harris had brought a folding chair for me. Asha stood beside me as I sat on it while the others walked around the field pacing it out and checking for the level. Gita was very animated and involved in the discussion. I watched with some amusement.

“Anthony,” Asha said, “I don’t think those temporary buildings would do for a village hall. They need something that will last for a century or more. Cricket? If it becomes popular then a larger pavilion could be built. If it isn’t successful a cheap pavilion would last long enough.”

“So where would you put a village hall, Asha?” I asked.

“On the higher part of the meadow, close to the road. That part never floods. I’d still like the dams upstream even if the cricket pitch is here. The village needs flood protection even more than cricket.”

“So, Asha, we need an engineer for the dams, and an architect for the village hall?”

Asha leant over and kissed my cheek.

“If you can afford them, yes.”

“WE can afford them, Asha. Shall I make you responsible for dams and a village hall? And Gita for the cricket pitch and pavilion?”

“Don’t tease me, Anthony,” Asha said.

“I’m not teasing. I’m serious. YOU will find the engineer. You will find the architect. You will work with them, Mr Harris and the villagers to get the work done. Gita will do the same for the cricket pitch and pavilion, and organise the opening match.”

“But...”

“But what, Asha? I know you are women and not English, but all of you have intelligence and education.”

“Thanks to you, Anthony. You employed tutors in India for all of us.”

“And I’ll need tutors soon for the c***dren here. Perhaps I’ll get Meena to arrange their education.”

“The village has a school, Anthony.”

“But it’s not very good, Asha.”

“Then make it good. Pay for competent teachers, Anthony. But...”

Asha looked around to make sure that the others were out of earshot.

“Anthony? Why are we creating a cricket pitch?”

“You know why, Asha. To prove that I am sane and was sane when I married Sumitra and wrote my will.”

“Then you are in danger of making all that useless, Anthony. If you ask women, particularly women from India, to manage the projects... You’ll prove you are insane. People won’t understand. I know why you want to do it. You trust us. You think we have brains and intelligence. But you’re forgetting that this is England. Women are supposed to be in the home raising c***dren and running the household. If Gita and I are commissioning builders, architects and engineers? People will think, no, KNOW, that Anthony is mad. We can’t do it. YOU have to be in charge, or at least appear to be in charge. We can help but you have to be seen to be doing it all.”

Asha’s words shocked me. I sat back in my chair, thinking. She was right. I have to be seen to be running the projects, even if actually I’m not. I can’t delegate it to women at least not overtly.

I picked up Asha’s hand and kissed it.

“Thank you. You are right. I have to be in charge. Or at least be seen to be in charge. Even if you are actually doing the work my name and person has to be obvious. The reality will have to be secret.”

“You underestimate yourself, Anthony. We might be doing the routine work but we’ll be asking your advice all the time. We know you. We appreciate your trust in us but we need your direction. We know you are sane even if you startle us from time to time, like marrying Sumitra. That was a shock, a welcome one but a complete surprise. The vicar is still recovering from that list of your c***dren to be christened. He knew you had c***dren by several women. Now he knows that you have twenty-five c***dren by fifteen women. While he might appreciate his fees, he is worried that you are the worst sinner in his parish.”

“He may be right, Asha, but I enjoy sinning...”

“We know you do, Anthony. We would like you to have more wives than just Sumitra. It wouldn’t be sinning if you married all of us but that isn’t possible in England.”

“It would be dubious even in India, Asha. It was possible for Christians when we left India but laws were being suggested against it. Hindus are allowed more than one wife, but fifteen would be exceptional.”

“I wish... But it is impossible here. We can’t all marry you. We are already seen as exotic by the locals. Although we dress as English women whenever we leave your estate, the locals know we wear sarees at home. Even you are seen as unusual, not just for your collection of mistresses. We all need to be accepted as useful to the village. Cricket and the dams will help that as well as establish your sanity.”

Asha suddenly looked beyond me.

“Talking about exotic, there’s a very unusual gentleman approaching from the road.”

I turned around. A large heavy set man dressed in a brown suit with a broad brimmed hat was walking towards us. Underneath the hat I could see he was very tanned.

“I think this might be my nephew Robert. Help me to stand up, discreetly if you can.”

Asha stood behind me. Her hand pushing me up was concealed by my body.

The man raised his hat to us.

“Sir? Can you help me? I’m looking for Mr Anthony Andrews.”

His accent was certainly not English.

“I am Anthony Andrews, sir. I think you must be my nephew Robert.”

“How did you... Yes. I’m Robert Andrews.”

“I am pleased to meet you Anthony. This is one of my ladies, Asha.”

Anthony executed a creditable bow to Asha. She bobbed a curtsey to him.

“Do you know anything about cricket, Mr Andrews?” Asha asked directly.

“Cricket? What? Why?”

“Asha was far too blunt, Anthony. We are here to try to find a suitable site for a cricket pitch. We don’t know enough about cricket so we have invited some people who do know more to help.”

“We do play cricket in New South Wales. I don’t. I haven’t got time, or I hadn’t. Sorry, I’m not much help about cricket, Anthony and Asha.”

“Never mind, Robert. We’ve nearly finished here and were going back to the house shortly. Do you have any luggage?”

“Yes. The chaise is waiting on the road. It brought me from the station but the driver told me you were here, not at home.”

“Then we’ll join you. The others can come back in our carriage. Asha? Could you tell them and come to join us?”

“Of course, Anthony.”

“She runs your errands?”

“They all do. I’m not as mobile as I used to be. You’ll meet them all tonight, Robert, including my new wife Sumitra.”

“I will be delighted, Anthony.”

I could see the trace of a grin on his face.

“I’m sure you will be, as they will be to see you. My household is well known.”

“So well known that I even knew about it in New South Wales, Anthony.”

“That did surprise me when James told me.”

“James? He’s here?”

“Yes, Robert. He’s the young man at the far end of the field talking to the gentleman in the turban. He’ll join us at the house.”

“With respect, Anthony, I have come to see James. He’s my closest living relation except you. I wanted to see what he’s like.”

“Your closest? You have no c***dren, Robert?”

“Unlike you, Anthony, no. The driver Alfred was very willing to impart all he knew about the Andrews household. Twenty-five c***dren and fifteen wives? I’m impressed.” Robert laughed. “Even if officially you have only one wife, the locals seem to think you have fifteen. They’re proud of you as a local celebrity. They also seem to like and respect you. Whether that’s for your wealth or your household? I think it is both.”

“Wealth? I think you are richer than I am, Robert. Is that a gold nugget on your fob chain?”

“Yes. I’m probably richer. I don’t know. I have a much larger estate than you and unusually for New South Wales I own it outright including the mineral rights. My father was a very astute businessman as long as you didn’t enquire too closely about his dealings. Apart from the land I own the three gold mines on it. Last year we produced more gold than ever.”

“Gold as well as land? Land I can understand, but gold? That seems like a licence to coin your own money.”

“It is. I can’t spend it all. I have no c***dren to leave it to, not even...”

“Bastards?”

“No bastards. Unlike you, I can’t father bastards. That’s one unfortunate inheritance from my father. I didn’t know but he passed on an infection that means I can’t have c***dren. Hence my interest in James, my closest young relation.”

“You’re not?”

“I am. If I find him at all acceptable I want to take him to Australia and make him my heir. What do you think of him?”

“A pleasant young man. My household are very impressed with him. He seems a sensible young gentleman. I think he wants my financial help with something but we haven’t discussed it yet. A couple of my women have given me hints. I suspect he might want to purchase an Army commission.”

“The Army? That would be a waste. The Empire could be at war with Russia soon and he could die in action. Then he couldn’t inherit from you or from me.”

“He won’t inherit from me anyway. My will sets up a trust for my wife/wives and c***dren. They’ll need support once I’ve gone.”

“That sounds sensible, more sensible than cricket.”

“We hope the cricket pitch will benefit the villagers. Asha also wants dams on the river to reduce winter flooding.”

“Dams? I have many dams on my property. Any rain we get is welcome but can be too much in a few short hours. I try to keep as much as I can.”

“So did I in India. The monsoon was generally predictable but the dams helped keep water from flooding, and provided a supply the whole year around.”

“I can’t help with cricket but you and I might be able to sort out dams, Anthony.”

“That would be useful. You’ll stay with us for a few days? We’ve got a big local event this week.”

“An event?”

“All my bastards are being christened, as are many of the villagers’ c***dren. You’d be welcome to