“My dear, I will not allow your mother to ruin your life. If you marry the man she has chosen,
you will be very unhappy.”
“In just a few weeks I will be forced to leave with her;” Lola said resignedly. “I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do. Let’s go away together without letting anyone know. We can get married in
Ireland.”
“But we hardly know each other, and what’s more, my mother would never agree to it.”
“Do not be afraid of your mother,” Thomas said, taking her hands in his. “I know her well, and
she does not want a scandal. She will acquiesce in the end.”
Lola had not expected such a proposition from Thomas, whom she had come to see as a sort of
father figure. He seemed sincere in his sentiment and willing to help her change her fate. She was not in
love with him, but this exciting adventure was a perfect plan to annoy her mother. Eliza, who was so
certain and firm in her convictions, still treated Lola like a little girl, completely disregarding her opinions
and emotions.
Before leaving, the young woman wrote her mother a brief note, which she left on her bedside
table:

Mother,

I know you will never forgive me, but I cannot remain by your side.
I am leaving with Thomas, who loves me and will look after me. I cannot bear
the way you treat me or our vile plotting. I refuse to throw my life away. I am
still very young and must think of my own happiness.

Your daughter

As she stealthily packed her bags the next day, Lola was oblivious to the damage the elopement
would cause to her reputation. She was a sixteen-year-old romantic who, until recently, had been
sheltered in a boarding school. After night had fallen, Lieutenant James’s carriage pulled up in front of
Mrs. Craigie’s residence at the appointed time. Lola crept out to meet him, carrying a suitcase with her
few belongings, and they headed down the steep road to Bristol.
“Don’t look back, you have me now. Soon I will be your husband,” Thomas murmured as he held
her in his arms. “I love and desire you so much, sweetheart.”
Lola allowed herself to be carried away by passion, but she was distraught deep inside,
imagining her mother’s reaction. There was no turning back now. She would soon discover that she’s
made a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life.
One hot July day, Lola and Lieutenant Thomas James were wed in the little stone church of Rathbeggan,
on the outskirts of Dublin. The bridegroom’s older brother, the Reverend John James, officiated the
ceremony, which was attended by only the vicar’s wife and nephew and a few onlookers. The young
woman, expecting a festive wedding with music and a flower-bedecked altar, was disappointed. She
missed her stepfather, and for a moment she thought how unhappy he would be to hear of her escape
and her hasty marriage.
News of Lola’s scandalous elopement soon reached Sir Jasper Nicolls’s ears in England. He wrote
in his diary, “I am not a bad prophet as to the figure which young people will make in life. I always pre-
dicted the `vanity and lies’ of EG would bring her to shame. She has started very badly, if not worse, for,
leaving school in June, she married a Company Officer without a penny . . . Her mother, I fear, cannot be
blameless”.
In fact, when Eliza read the note her daughter had left, she flew into a rage. She left Bath at
once and took an apartment in London to reflect on events. On such a delicate matter, she asked the
advice of Sir Jasper’s wife.
“How could she do this to me!” Eliza cried, trying to hold back tears. “Ungrateful child!”

“My dear,” Lady Nicolls said in an effort to console her, “your daughter is very impulsive, but she
will soon regret what she has done and write to you.”
“What am I going to do? At all costs, I must keep my husband, Captain Craigie, from being
harmed by the scandal. He has only ever wanted what is best for my daughter.

“Take a deep breath. You’ll see, you will hear from her soon and she’ll beg you for forgiveness.
She’s not a bad girl at heart.”
Sir Jasper, too, advised Eliza to focus on her health, since she had a long trip back to Calcutta. He
expressed dismay at the unpleasant situation and the hurt the news would cause his good friend,
Captain Craigie. Though he’d always criticized Eliza harshly for her neglect, he felt somewhat sorry for
her now.
“The ungrateful brat has thrown her life away with the first man she met and deeply upset her
mother,” he thought as they parted.
After the ceremony, the couple spent their honeymoon in Dublin, where they rented a room
downtown. A few days later, the newlyweds pulled up in a carriage in front of her husband’s family
home in Wexford, Ballycrystal, an ancient, rambling stone house on a gentle slope of Mount Leinster,
surrounded by fields and small farms. Lola’s father-in-law, a widower also named Thomas James, was a
powerful landholder and member of the local Protestant elite. The news of Lola’s presence swept
through the nearby villages, and several family members arrived to meet the bride. The young woman
soon discovered that she had traded a return to India for the tedious Irish countryside her mother had
fled. It rained nonstop, and the only creature comforts the old house offered were two enormous
fireplaces in the drawing room that were always lit. She was suffocated by the routine, an endless
succession of hunts, lavish family feasts, and tea with elderly women from the area. Though she rode
from time to time and would gallop through the fields until she was exhausted, Lola was not happy. Her
marriage was loveless, she had hardly any privacy, and the town offered few amusements. Shut away in
that cold, damp house, she felt herself dying.
“I can’t bear to live like this, Thomas,” Lola finally declared. It’s always the same: hunt, eat,
hunt, eat. And those ridiculous tea parties, always at the same time, in the same room, surrounded by
gloomy faces, drive me to distraction.”
“I’m sorry you’re not comfortable here,” her husband replied, irritated by her attitude. “My
family has welcomed you with open arms. You shouldn’t say such things.”
“But I scarcely exist to them. They look askance at me as if I were a stranger-not a friendly word,
not a smile . . . I want to leave here as soon as possible.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you have nowhere to go. This is my house, and we are staying here
whether you like it or not.” He stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
Thomas had become sullen and gruff; he argued with his wife often and sometimes even hit her
when he was drunk. The age difference caused problems from the start. Lola was an obstinate,
impulsive teen-ager, and he was unwilling to humor her whims. He longed for his old life as an officer
and escaped into alcohol to drown his sorrows. He’d first arrived in India when he was very young and
had soon been sent with his company to a remote post that had no telegraphs or roads. Those had been
difficult years of deprivation, with death ever lurking nearby. Several of his comrades had died of
terrible illnesses, and he missed his loyal sepoys, the Indian soldiers recruited to join the ranks of the
British army.
In those dark days, Lola couldn’t help thinking about her mother. At a distance, she felt some
regret about the hurt she’d caused her. In late November, Eliza had returned to Calcutta, alone and
humiliated.
Months later, the Jameses went back to Dublin and rented a modest house on Westmoreland
Street, in the city center. At long last they were alone and Lola had her own space.

The change of scenery improved their relationship for a time. At night they would go out to dinner,

attend the theater, and host friends in their home. Lola had changed a lot. She was coquettish; she liked dressing up and
knew how to make the most of her figure. Her exotic beauty drew men’s eyes, and she loved being the
center of attention. One night they attended a fancy ball in Dublin Castle, and the dapper Lord
Normanby, viceroy of Ireland, immediately started flirting with her. When the couple returned home,
Thomas flew into a jealous rage.
“You’ve made me look like a fool in front of everyone,” he berated her, pouring himself a drink.
“You seem to have forgotten you are my wife and must behave decently.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Lola retorted. “He was the host, so I could hardly refuse to dance
with him. He struck me as a polite and gallant man, unlike yourself, since you’re always grumping about
and taking it out on me.”
“It was clearly a mistake to marry you,” Thomas said, considering the argument over.
Lola pretended not to have heard this comment. When he insulted her or got angry, she
preferred to ignore him. She had married impulsively when she was still just a girl, convinced that this
handsome older man was a Prince Charming who would take care of her for the rest of her days. Now,
pretending was no longer possible: her marriage had been a mistake, one that couldn’t be set right.
One spring day, Lieutenant Thomas James received a letter informing him that he needed to
return to his post in India. It had been nearly two years since he’d left, and if he didn’t go back, he would
be jeopardizing his military career.
Lola was delighted to hear of their imminent departure. Now more than ever, she longed to
leave Ireland. She could not bear the hermetic, provincial world she’d been living in since their wedding.
“I am so happy, Thomas,” she sighed in relief. “I am counting the days till we set sail.”
“Don’t get your hopes up” Thomas said. “The life I can offer you in India is not what you are
imagining. We will live without luxuries in some remote location far from Calcutta.”
“I don’t care,” she responded joyfully. “I’m certain my stepfather will help us. I wrote him a
letter months ago telling him I’d married a brave lieutenant with the Company; I’m sure he will be happy
to see me.”
On September 18, 1838, Lola and her husband left the port of Liverpool aboard the Bland, a
steamer bound for Calcutta. The young woman had brought several trunks and a couple of hatboxes.
One popular travel account of the era, by Miss Emma Roberts, listed the belongings that a lady would
find essential on a trip to India. The author, a veteran globe-trotter and successful writer, advised
bringing seventy-two shirts, seventy handkerchiefs, thirty pairs of panties, fifteen slips, sixty pairs of
stockings, forty-five pairs of gloves, at least twenty different dresses, twenty shawls, two parasols, three
hats, fifteen dressing gowns, cookies and jam, and a dozen boxes of laxative pills. She also
recommended bringing six French corsets, which were of a higher quality and more suitable for the
tropical climate. There was an explanation for this seemingly exaggerated quantity of clothing: there
were few opportunities to do laundry on board a ship, as fresh water was scarce. Lola did not have such
an extensive wardrobe, but in Bath her mother had bought her a complete trousseau to dazzle old
General Lumley, Lola’s supposed betrothed.
The voyage lasted four months, with a single stopover on the island of Santiago, in Cape Verde.
Lola found it interminable, and her relationship with her husband deteriorated further. “The sea makes
women sick and men extraordinarily unpleasant,” she later recalled. “In the marital cabin you are
constantly bumping into one another. You can’t turn around without unwillingly embracing one
another.” They quarreled constantly, and though they shared a cabin, they led separate lives during the
day. Thomas avoided Lola, unable to endure her demands and childish tantrums. He enjoyed getting
together with other officers returning from leave, playing cards, drinking dark beer, and taking long naps
on the upper deck. Lola amused herself by chatting with other passengers, listening to their fabulous
tales about the eccentricities of maharajahs, and attending the balls held every evening. The trip

provided plenty of time to reflect on her circumstances. She had felt compelled to run away with

Thomas, but now she feared her mother’s reaction. Eliza would never forgive that affront, and Lola was
certain she would be punished for it. As they approached the mouth of the Ganges, the warm, damp air
transported her back into the past. Her heart leaped with nervous excitement.
After more than eleven years in Great Britain, memories of her childhood in Calcutta had grown
hazy. But she had not forgotten the sweet lullabies that Denali used to sing to her as she fell asleep and
how carefully she used to braid Lola’s long hair with aromatic oils every morning. Would she see Denali
again? Would she recognize her? Surely not. As the wife of a Company officer, she could no longer enjoy
the native woman’s friendship and would not have the same freedom as before. It was unthinkable for a
white woman to wander through the bazaars or enter the black city where the natives lived. The English
considered themselves a superior race and lived segregated from the local population.
Instead, Lola would have to get used to the tiresome company of haughty British ladies who
spent their days calling on one another, reading European fashion magazines, and gossiping. She would
come to detest bland English food – turkey loaf, five o’clock tea, and the dreary formal dinners. She would
learn to run a household, hire servants, and, above all, keep up appearances in a society where scandals
were the order of the day. And she would not have an easy time, since, unlike her mother, she had
never worried about what others thought of her.
In late January 1839, the Bland docked in Diamond Harbour at the mouth of the Hooghly River.
The wharf where Lola had said a tearful goodbye to her stepfather twelve years earlier was now buzzing
with energy. The arrival of any ship was an event and drew a crowd. Caught off guard by the commotion
and suffocated by the heat and dust, the young woman made her way through a swirl of people of every
race and religion. There were women in brightly colored saris, Englishmen in immaculate white linen
suits, ragged & “untouchables,” and proud Punjabi men with their scarlet turbans and long beards. Sweaty
porters, dressed only in loincloths, carried the passengers’ heavy trunks and suitcases, shouting,
“Memsahib! Luggage! Luggage!” The strong smells, the sweat clinging to her skin, and that blinding light
evoked nearly forgotten memories.
“Nobody has come to meet us,” Lola noted with disappointment as she scanned the crowd. “I’m
afraid my mother wants nothing to do with me.”
“Sooner or later she will have to see us. It’s just a matter of time,” Thomas replied, taking his
wife’s arm and leading her down the gangway.
When Lieutenant James met with his superior officers, they ordered him to immediately join his
regiment in Karnal, north of Delhi and more than a thousand miles away. Lola was crushed. She had
hoped to take up residence for a while in Calcutta’s tranquil European neighborhood, in a pretty house
with wide verandas and river views; to attend banquets and balls till dawn; and to enjoy the city’s
beautiful public buildings, squares, and gardens. But it was not to be. Soon Lola would board a ship once
more and head upriver, traveling the same fateful route she had as a little girl. She began to fear that
she, like her father, might end her days in a place like Dinapore. She had dreamed of this return for so
long, but now she felt lost, forced to follow a man she did not love. Lola feared she could do nothing to
change her fate. “It is my punishment,” she told herself. “I am doomed to suffer just like my mother, to
never find happiness, to be an aimless wanderer.”
After a few days visiting old friends and making preparations in Calcutta, the Jameses left at
dawn in a fleet of boats loaded with food and munitions. They were accompanied by several officers
from their garrison, along with the officers’ families, who were returning from a few days’ leave in the
city. Of that difficult journey, Lola remembered only the sweat that soaked her garments and constant
squabbles with her husband. Thomas had started writing down everything she did wrong in a little
notebook and then scolding her in public about her failings.
At the mercy of the winds, they sailed very slowly during the daylight hours. Their course took
them toward Patna, and when they reached Dinapore, tears welled up in Lola’s eyes. There, the grave of

her father, whom she barely remembered, was in the small English cemetery. As the rainy season
approached, the heat became stifling and the mosquitoes ravenous. Only the magical sight of the holy
city of Benares, with its stone steps descending to the banks of the sacred river, pulled her out of her
stupor. Men, women, the elderly, and the ailing-they were all performing their morning prayers and
ablutions. It was a vivid, deeply spiritual picture. Farther along, the Ganges was unnavigable and the
roads were not fit for horses; the passengers had to continue in sedan chairs carried on the shoulders of
four native men.
For the next few days, Lola enjoyed a bit of privacy behind the curtain of her litter, letting
herself drift off on the porters’ monotone, rhythmic chanting. Several ox-drawn carts accompanied them
over the rocky trails, transporting furniture and trunks. The landscape was green and leafy. They crossed
rushing rivers, fields of sugarcane, and deserted villages. At night they would sleep in military tents
around bonfires lit to scare off the tigers prowling nearby. The damp, the jungle sounds, and the
monkeys’ shrill cries kept the travelers awake.
Excerpted from Divine Lola by Cristina Morató with permission from the publisher, Amazon Crossing. Text
copyright © 2017 by Cristina Morató. Translation copyright © 2021 by Andrea Rosenberg. All rights reserved.

About the author:

Born in Barcelona in 1961, Cristina Morató is a journalist, reporter, and author dedicated to writing about the lives of great women innovators and explorers that history has overlooked. Her research, tracing the footsteps of these remarkable women, has led her to travel to more than forty countries and has resulted in eight biographies: Viajeras intrépidas y aventureras(Intrepid and Adventurous Women Travelers); Las Reinas de África (African Queens); Las Damas de Oriente (Ladies of the East); Cautiva en Arabia (Arabian Captive); Divas rebeldes (Rebel Divas); Reinas malditas (Tragic Queens); Diosas de Hollywood (Hollywood Goddesses); and Divina Lola (Divine Lola), Cristina’s first to be translated into English. She is a founding member and the current vice president of the Spanish Geographical Society and belongs to the Royal Geographic Society of London. For more information visit www.cristinamorato.com/home-2.