by Charles Todd
I swallowed hard. “It won’t be that far from the truth. But I won’t leave, Richard. No matter what, I won’t leave.”
As the sun went down, casting long rays of light reflecting off the dust motes in the air, we turned back to the guesthouse.
We had just reached the main door when someone called out to Richard.
“Colonel Crawford? Sir—?”
We turned, and saw that it was the clerk from the telegraph office.
“I was just at the guesthouse, looking for you. This came in a quarter of an hour ago.”
He handed Richard an envelope, touched his cap, and was gone down the street on an aged bicycle.
Richard was about to tear it open.
“Not here,” I said quickly, and we hurried up the stairs to our room. There, the door closed behind Richard, he opened the telegram and pulled out the sheet.
His face fell as I watched.
“He refused?” I whispered, knowing it was our last hope.
Richard held out the telegram. “It’s not from Minto. It’s from Bess.”
I took it and read it.
Mother, something about the ayah’s brother. Find out.
It took me a moment to remember that I’d asked Bess to speak to Parvati, if she could.
Was this all that she had managed to learn?
I felt ill.
Still, I said to Richard, “I’m going back to the zenana.”
“They won’t receive you.”
“They will, if I have to break down the door. At least I won’t be sitting here watching the hands on that clock.” I pointed to the mantel where a French ormolu clock, bracketed by even more ornate candlesticks, the base held up by the trunks of gold elephants, ticked away the time.
We hurried to the Palace. The gates had closed at dusk, and Richard had to demand to see the officer of the guard.
“It’s an urgent matter,” I said as he came to see what the fuss was all about.
“I’ve just received a telegram regarding the Maharani, the Princess’s mother. I must speak to the Rajmata at once.”
“What is this urgent matter?” the officer demanded.
“It is zenana business.”
He dithered for a moment, then ordered the smaller gate to be opened, and I was admitted. Richard was asked to wait outside.
I shot him a glance full of hope, then followed the guard to another antechamber, and then the same escort came to take me to the zenana.
Once more I was told that they were not receiving guests.
I said, “Please tell the Rajmata that this is an urgent message regarding the ayah who accompanied the Princess to her mother’s house.”
The young woman who had sent me away before left me standing there, and a few minutes later she was back.
“The Rajmata is not receiving visitors.”
I argued for nearly ten minutes, and then was told in no uncertain terms that I must leave.
I turned to my escort. “If they refuse to speak to me, I wish to speak to the Prince.”
“He is at his dinner and has guests.”
“I don’t wish to disturb his guests, but it is imperative that I see him.”
But it was clear that orders had been given.
I followed my escort, desperately trying to find another approach. I was just about to lie and tell anyone who would listen that the Governor-General had responded to our telegram when a door opened down the passage, and a woman said, “Leave her. I will see that she is taken to the door.”
I stepped into the antechamber—the Palace appeared to have dozens of them—and found myself face-to-face with one of the late Prince’s junior wives. I remembered her from my earlier visit.
Finding my tongue, I said, “I am grateful for your seeing me—”
But she politely cut me short. “What is it about the ayah to the Princess’s daughter?”
“I understand she has a brother—” I began.
“Had,” the woman told me. She had on the most beautiful sari, I thought in one part of my mind. The color of apricots with a gold fringe . . .
“What do you mean, had?”
“He was killed when he was twelve.”
“I’m sorry—” This was going nowhere. But I changed my disappointment to polite concern, “I am sorry to hear it.”
“A bullock cart was passing. She was sixteen—she saw it all. A heavy load came loose from the cart and fell on him. He died in great pain hours later. I brought her with me when I was married to the Prince’s father. To take her away from her memories. I was young myself, and had a tender heart. It was allowed because she was a known healer.”
I was suddenly alert. “What happened? It was an accident, surely.”
“The man with the cart ran away. He was never found. She has been searching for him all her life. She was told that someone hadn’t secured the load well enough. Still, she blamed him.”
My throat was dry. “Do—do you think she found him? Among the bullock cart drivers taking the Princess to her mother’s house?” I hadn’t seen the dead man’s body. I couldn’t know how old he was.
The late Prince’s junior wife was silent for a moment. I thought she was weighing just how much to tell me. Then she said, “I recognized the knife, you see. It was her brother’s. She had kept it, to kill the man who had killed him.”
She had done just that—and to protect herself, she had lied about Simon.
It was bad manners, but I had to sit down in the nearest chair. My legs didn’t seem to want to hold me. Finally I said, “There is a man who is going to die in a matter of hours for a crime he didn’t commit. Will you let that happen?”
“I cannot stop it.”
“But you must!” I stood up again, facing her. Fighting for this last chance. “There has to be a way. Otherwise, why did you tell me?”
“It is the truth. But there are other issues here. She is in the Princess’s retinue. It will not look well to have her arrested for this crime.”
“She lied. Don’t you see? She lied to everyone. To the Prince’s minister—to the Maharani. And she did this knowing she would be believed. She is sending a man to the gallows who had nothing to do with her brother’s death. She had seen him speak to the Princess. And she twisted his words on purpose.” When she said nothing, I went on. “He will die in a very few hours. I have been given permission to watch this man die, because he deserves to know that we believe in him, the people who know him best. That we have fought until the very end to save him. And you have that power.”
“There is nothing I can do.”
Well, there was.
I said, “If your prisoner dies in spite of all you have told me, I will stop in Delhi on my way back to the Regiment. And I shall tell anyone who will listen what you have done here. The newspapers, the Governor-General. I will see that that woman is taken from the Princess’s retinue and made to stand trial. And I will be a witness at that trial. By the time I have finished, she will be sentenced for murder, and the good name of this Princely state will be ruined forever.”
“You cannot do this. The Prince now believes that it is because of this man that the Princess has left him. Not the education of his son.”
“Oh, dear God,” I said, exasperated. “This isn’t the Middle Ages. This may be a 19-gun salute state, but when I am finished, the British Government will depose the Prince and take over Rulumpur permanently. I too have friends in high places, in London, and this will be done. I promise you.”
If Melinda couldn’t do it, I’d appeal to the King. The new King. He was said to be a serious family man, unlike his father. He might well listen. The newspapers surely would. Simon would be dead, but I would see that his name was cleared.
“I suggest you return to the zenana, and discuss this with the Rajmata. If that young man is hanged at dawn, you will find yourselves paying dearly for his death.” I gestured to the elegant decorations of this little room. “I understand the Taj Hotel in Bombay is very fine. Perhaps n
one of you will miss the Palace too much.”
And I turned, opened the door, and walked out.
As soon as I did, I realized my anguish had got the better of me, and I might just have finished any real hope Simon had.
But it was too late. I’d wagered his life against their future. And I’d meant every word.
The escort was still there. I was led back to where Richard was waiting. And I said in the hearing of the escort, “I have delivered an ultimatum. I intend to sit here until there is an answer.”
And I sat down.
It was three in the morning when we walked back to the guesthouse. There had been no word from the Rajmata or the Prince.
There were no telegrams at the guesthouse, and none that was waiting to be delivered. We walked on to the prison. My stomach was in knots.
Richard said, “You did all you could.”
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper and threatened them. But that’s what they fear most—being deposed by the Government and their estates absorbed. I’ve heard the Maharani speak about this. It’s very real. Even now, when a Prince dies, his heir must be reported to the Governor-General, and his approval given.” I looked up at Richard. His face was haggard. “It was the only weapon I possessed.”
We had reached the prison. Richard identified us and we were allowed to enter, and then we were left in the warder’s office until it was time.
“If you shoot Simon, they will hang you,” I said into the heavy silence.
“I know.”
“Let me do it. I have a better chance of surviving.”
“No.”
I couldn’t speak for the tightness in my throat.
The door opened, and the head warder stood there. “You will come with me.”
I won’t cry, I told myself fiercely. Whatever happens, I won’t cry. Not here . . .
We followed him into the corridor, and he turned back toward the gates.
“No—” Richard said.
“The matter is finished.”
Beside me, Richard swore in despair.
“The Prince—we were promised,” I said. Was this how the Prince intended to punish us? By taking away our last chance to see Simon? To do what had to be done?
He opened the last door. “Go,” he said.
There was nothing more to be done. We stumbled blindly across the threshold in a state of shock, and the door was shut behind us.
“This way,” Richard said, his voice unrecognizable, and we walked down the last corridor, and the guards at the gate opened it to usher us out. Dawn was just breaking and the heat was like a wall. “It isn’t the end, Clarissa, I swear to you—”
A tall figure stepped out of the shadows beside the gate.
“How soon can we leave?” Simon asked. “I don’t know why they let me go, but I’d prefer to put as much distance as I can between us and this place.”
He was wearing his uniform, filthy now, and he looked on the brink of exhaustion. I thought it was willpower alone that kept him on his feet.
Turning to me, he said, “I don’t know how you managed it. But I owe you—I can never repay—” He stopped, unable to go on.
I wanted to reach out, touch him, be certain he was really there.
But the English have a thing about strong emotion.
“It will take us five minutes to pack.” Richard’s voice was husky. “Quickly—this way.”
Bess
I never knew, really, what happened in Rulumpur.
There was no gossip about it. And even when Dr. Broughton, the adjutant, and Lieutenant Hayes came riding in, they just shook their heads.
“You know how it is, half the Prince’s entourage doesn’t speak English, and we can’t speak their language all that well,” Dr. Broughton told me when I asked. “Your father straightened it out.”
“What sort of problem was it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something to do with a child’s toy the Princess’s little daughter dropped along the road. The soldier who found and returned it tried to explain what he was doing, but the Prince’s people accused him of stealing it.” He smiled. “Could have caused no end of trouble.”
Lieutenant Hayes said, when I encountered him later on the parade ground, “Bess, you know how sensitive of their dignity these Princes are. The Colonel smoothed it over. Turned out just fine—that’s all that matters.”
My parents had stayed in Delhi for several days, and Simon was with them. Arrangements were being made to mark the passing of the King, and I wasn’t surprised that the Colonel Sahib would wish to pay his respects.
Still, when they did come home, they looked very tired. As did Simon.
My mother laughed, and said, “Well, you know cities. No one seems to sleep. But we were expecting there would be a Book of Condolences to sign for the King’s death. Still, I’m glad to be home again. Trains are all well and good, but they are also dusty and tiring.” After a kiss for me, she added, “Your father took the opportunity to order new uniforms, and Simon decided to do the same. Meanwhile, I found a lovely dress for you. I’ll show you after dinner.”
I didn’t see Simon for several days. He was kept busy writing reports, according to my father.
“Well, he was away for some days. Best to catch up before there’s more trouble on the Frontier,” he said. “When the Princess decides to go back to Rulumpur, it will all be to do over again, the caravan. I’m not looking forward to it.”
“She’s not going up to the hill country? I thought the Prince had taken a house up there during May and June.”
“I expect she’ll go when she’s ready.” And then he asked, “Did you spend much time with her?”
“I only saw her twice. Her mother was keeping her close. But she was upset about something. I couldn’t help but wonder—do you think she and the Prince were having problems? I heard her quarreling with her mother the last afternoon. And Parvati was shouting. I could have sworn she said something about Simon. But then she was going on about her son and something about England. So, I must have been wrong.”
We’d just finished breakfast, and Mother had gone up. He paused at the dining room door. “How did you come across that bit of information about the ayah’s brother?”
“Was it useful?”
“As a matter of fact, it was. We learned that the poor man had died in an accident when he was a child.”
“Oh—I’m sorry. I told you I was waiting for Parvati to come into the gardens, but she and her mother were still quarreling, so I walked a little way toward the summerhouse. I found the woman by herself, crying. I had no idea who she was, until she told me she couldn’t bear to leave the little girl, that she had been there when she was born. Then I gathered she was upset about her brother, but she was talking so fast I couldn’t make all of it out. And the Princess was very angry with her. When she heard Parvati calling for me, she got up and ran away. But when I said something to Parvati about it, she told me the woman had upset the Maharani. I asked if it was because of the woman’s brother, and she was surprised. She hadn’t heard anything about a brother. But she made it clear she didn’t want to talk about it any longer, and I could tell she was still cross with her mother. We didn’t have a very pleasant afternoon, I’m afraid. When I got home, I asked Major Dudley to send a telegram for me. I hadn’t learned very much, but when I mentioned the ayah, he agreed at once to send a mounted runner. I asked if she was important, and he told me that when it came to the Princes, better to be safe than sorry.”
The Colonel Sahib shook his head. “Major Dudley was right. I try to stay out of anything that doesn’t threaten the Regiment.”
“I was rather sad I couldn’t have spent a little time with her, while she was here. I never saw the baby. And I could tell that whatever was wrong, they preferred to keep it to themselves. As I was leaving the last time, I saw the Maharani at a distance, and she didn’t look any happier than Parvati.” I took a deep breath. “I’d have liked to help make it right.”
> “I’m sorry, love. Who knows, before Parvati leaves, she may send for you.”
But I knew she wouldn’t. We no longer had much in common. And the little boy I’d played with when he was a baby had a tutor now, and was learning to be a Prince.
When Simon was finally free of reports and came late one afternoon to play tennis with me, I asked him what had been happening. “You were with the caravan, then went to Rulumpur. Did you think that Parvati has changed?”
He smiled. “We barely spoke. She outranks both of us now. A husband, two children, a Princely kingdom all her own? I expect she’s too polite to say so. She was always well-mannered.”
Changing the subject, I asked, “How was Delhi?”
“Quiet. Everyone was in mourning after the King’s death. Your mother went shopping one afternoon, and your father and I ordered new uniforms.”
Parvati didn’t leave for the hill country. Instead she finally decided to go back to Rulumpur before the monsoon rains turned the roads into bogs. In spite of everything, I went back to the Maharani’s hoping to say goodbye to her. She was polite but distracted. One of the baby’s nurses had been sent for by the Rajamata, and the little girl was crying for her. I asked if this was the same ayah whose brother had died, but Parvati didn’t seem to know.
My father accompanied the caravan this time, with several of the junior officers. I don’t know whether he spoke to Parvati or not, but it was efficiently managed this time and he was home again as soon as the train departed.
The rainy season came with its downpours. No one held dinner parties then. It was enough to survive the heat and the danger of malaria. But when it had ended and the dry season made the roads passable again, we only saw the Maharani once more.
“Did you and the Maharani have a falling-out?” I asked my mother. “You haven’t been to the Palace, and she hasn’t come here to call.”
“Darling, no. I expect we’ve both been busy.” She was arranging flowers for the dinner table.
“There’s been no news of Parvati either. Do you think the Prince put her away? To marry again? I wouldn’t care to see her unhappy.” I began to set the table as we talked.
