Winters in Delhi are very pleasant. By December it is cold enough to have a log fire. There is frost on the ground in the mornings; the days are bright and warm. I made my place real comfy and kept an open house for Europeans. Captain Douglas and his young subalterns became regular visitors. I served them hot rum punch with cloves and nutmeg which they loved. On Christmas eve, we went to the carol service at St James Church. Next morning, our verandah was full of baskets of fruit and flowers sent by my husbard’s native subordinates for the bara din. In the afternoon, Mr Metcalfe was at home to the European community. We toasted her Majesty the Queen on the lawns of his mansion beyond Kashmiri Gate. That evening we had a few bachelors join us round our Christmas tree. Everyone got very drunk: Alec was quite blotto and had to be put to bed. The men flirted with me—mind you nothing very serious! Just a lot of Christmassy kissin’ and cuddlin’.

On Boxing Day Alec went out with Captain Douglas for shikar. They brought back two blackbucks, four geese and almost fifty partridges. We sent legs of venison and a brace of partridges to our friends.

We organized a grand feast on New year’s eve. Mr Metcalfe again did us the honour of a short visit. Once more he took me aside and reminded me of my promise to find out what the native women were saying. He sounded very eager about it. I assured him I would get down to the job.

The real fun began after Mr Metcalfe had left. Alec passed out and had to be put to bed. One of the subalterns almost raped me within a yard of where Alec was lying drunk. That stupid, besotted husband of mine kept egging him on, ‘Take the bloody bitch .. go on . . .’ Such was life in Delhi.

After the season’s festivities were over I sent letters of thanks to the wives of the natives who had sent us gifts on Georgina’s birth and the bara din. Some begums came to call and protested that letters were not necessary between members of the same family. (‘I a member of a native family! Really!’) Natives are given to this kind of exaggeration. I was ‘sister’ to everyone. Their children called me mausi. Fawning and flattering you to your face but always ready with a dagger to plunge in your back!