The Midnight Rose

by Lucinda Riley

  And this was certainly the case when I arrived at Cooch Behar Palace. As my tonga came to a standstill and the door was opened for me to dismount, I realized I had not seen a single soul since we had entered the park.

  As the driver unloaded my small trunk, I heard a voice behind me.

  ‘Surprise!’

  Indira sprang like a monkey onto my back, hooking her slim, brown arms around my neck.

  ‘Ouch!’ I said, as she managed to catch my hair in her bracelet. She immediately jumped off and swung me round to face her.

  ‘You’re here! I told you I’d make it happen!’

  ‘Yes, I’m here,’ I agreed, feeling exhausted from the long journey, and suddenly shy and awkward after so many weeks away from her.

  I looked immediately for signs of the sickness that had been described so vividly in her mother’s letter. But her eyes sparkled, her thick, black hair shone blue as the sun touched it and her wiry frame seemed no thinner than the last time I had seen it.

  ‘I thought you were very ill,’ I chastised her. ‘I’ve hardly slept with worry for you since I heard.’

  She put her hands on her tiny hips and rolled her eyes at me. ‘Well, I was,’ she said. ‘In fact, I was so sick that I couldn’t eat for weeks. Ma sent for endless doctors to try and find out what was wrong with me. The doctors agreed that I must be pining for something. Or someone. And then, once Ma had agreed that you must come, I got out of my bed and suddenly felt hungry and well. Isn’t it a miracle?’ Indira waved her hands expressively to the heavens. ‘Since then, I’ve been eating like a horse.’ Her gaze fell on me and her eyes became serious. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Anni; I think I might well have died if you hadn’t come.’

  I was overwhelmed by the ruse she had employed to guarantee I would come to her. Naturally mistrustful, especially when it came to royal families and princesses, my feelings must have shown in my eyes.

  ‘Anni, you doubted me, didn’t you?’

  I bowed my head silently and then looked up at her, reaching my hands towards hers and clasping them. ‘Yes, I am sorry to say that I did. But, my dear friend, I will never doubt you again.’

  My first few weeks at Cooch Behar Palace with Indira were full of new and wonderful experiences. Palace life and my daily routine could not have been more different from what I’d been used to in Jaipur. I had been warned endlessly by the women of my old zenana that the Maharani of Cooch Behar did not run her female court in a seemly Hindu fashion. Not only did she not adhere to purdah inside the palace walls, but Ayesha had travelled across the water away from India with her family many times. This, in the strictest interpretation of Hindu religion, meant that the entire royal family had broken caste.

  The Jaipur ladies had also told me with a grave expression in their eyes that the Maharani seemed more Western than Indian. And that her palace was constantly filled with foreign guests, including European aristocrats and American actors. I had nodded equally gravely in return as I listened to their litany of criticisms. They couldn’t know that these descriptions filled me with unimaginable excitement.

  As I discovered subsequently, almost all of what they’d said seemed to be true. The Maharani ran her palace and her family in a truly modern way. Every morning, Indira and I would rise at dawn to head for the stables, where two perfectly groomed and saddled horses would be waiting for us. At first, I was playing catch-up with Indira, who proved to be a superb horsewoman. As I galloped at breakneck speed across the park, laughing and whooping as the wind brushed my cheeks, I remember feeling alive and free, and happier than I had ever been.

  It took many weeks for me to out-gallop her, but when eventually I did, Indira shouted with pleasure at my triumph.

  After breakfast, on weekdays, we would enter a large room where we took lessons with a private tutor. Indira had the attention span of a gnat and it took all my powers of persuasion to make her concentrate on her work. I’d watch her looking longingly outside, waiting for the moment when she would be released to visit her precious elephant, Pretty, to take a short ride on her back, or to play tennis on the beautifully laid-out court.

  As for me, I relished the opportunity to continue to expand my education. Our British tutor was a professor of English, who encouraged me in my long-standing love of books. In retrospect, I believe he was as glad to have me in his classroom as I was to be there. My English vocabulary improved enormously and I did my best, as I’d been asked to by the Maharani, to converse with her daughter in the language as much as I possibly could.

  The Maharani had also employed an English governess to care for her youngest daughter’s needs. Miss Reid was a sweet-natured woman who clearly despaired of ever turning her wild charge into a lady.

  On countless occasions, Indira would disobey her pleas not to be late for luncheon, or to sit quietly with a book in the schoolroom afterwards. The moment Miss Reid’s back was turned, Indira would wink at me, and we would be off on another adventure outside.

  One of my very favourite parts of the palace was the vast library, containing priceless first editions written by famous novelists from around the world. The glass cabinets in which the books stood remained locked at all times; they were simply an impressive ornament, another decoration, and I doubted any one of the titles had ever been taken down and read during all the years they’d been there. I had often glanced at the shelves, my fingers itching to take one out and hold it. I’d had to make do with the tattered copies of Wuthering Heights, Oliver Twist and Shakespeare’s Hamlet that my tutor had brought with him from England. During the long, peaceful afternoons I had read and reread them time and again.

  Many other afternoons were spent resting in the beautiful, airy bedroom I shared with Indira. I lay on my bed staring at the azure-blue walls, adorned with hand-painted Himalayan daisies, and thanked the gods profusely for bringing me here. Indira, probably because she expended so much nervous energy whilst she was awake, would fall asleep immediately, whereas I would mull over the happenings of the day so far.

  As dusk approached, the palace would come back to life. This was the moment of the day I loved more than any other; the sense of anticipation of the evening to come suffused us all. There were always numerous exotic guests from all over the world for dinner. Indira and I used to watch as the servants laid the table in the enormous dining room with solid-gold place settings, heavy knives and forks inlaid with gems, and huge vases full of magnificent flowers. The air was scented by incense which was wafted through the downstairs rooms in a silver dhuan by a servant.

  On my first night at the palace, after we’d eaten our supper, the next ritual had begun. When Indira had told me where we were going, I had been shocked.

  ‘We are to watch your mother dressing and preparing for the evening? Why?’ I had asked.

  ‘I don’t know, she just likes us all gathered there.’ Indira had shrugged.

  On the way across the vast, domed Durbar Hall, which formed the centrepiece of the palace and had an entrance high enough to allow a full-grown elephant to carry a maharaja in a howdah through it, I had thought about how much I would dislike having an audience as I dressed.

  When we had entered the Maharani’s private rooms, I had hardly been able to believe the gaggle of people gathered in her boudoir. Maids, relatives, visiting friends and us children filled the room. And there, in the centre of the hubbub, sitting at her delicately carved mother-of-pearl dressing table, was the Maharani herself.

  Indira had pulled me straight through the throng and over towards her mother.

  ‘Anni’s here, Ma, she’s here!’ she had exclaimed in delight.

  ‘I can see that.’ The Maharani had smiled fondly at us both. ‘And I hope now, my Indira, that your health and appetite will return fully to you.’ She had glanced at me, and we had shared a look of mutual understanding and amusement. ‘Welcome, Anni, I hope you’ll be very happy here at the palace with us.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I had replied, ‘I am sure that I will.’ />
  That first night, I confess I could hardly pay attention to what she said. I was transfixed by her face, her eyes rimmed in kohl, her lips turning red as she carefully painted them with a brush from a small tin of pigment. The scent of the Maharani’s favourite French perfume had filled the air as she managed to get ready at the same time as holding court with her entourage, expertly switching between Hindi, English and Bengali depending on whom she was speaking to.

  ‘Come on,’ Indira had said, ‘I’ll show you the rest of Ma’s rooms.’ She pulled me into the bathroom, which contained a Western-style tub – we girls sat on a rough wooden bench and had water poured unceremoniously from great silver urns all over us – and in her high-ceilinged white and gold bedroom sat an enormous marble bed. Along the entire length of her rooms stretched a shady veranda which opened onto a courtyard full of jacaranda trees, hibiscus and jasmine.

  My son, if there was ever a real-life fairytale queen, one who was young, beautiful and kind and who lived in a sumptuous palace, Ayesha, the Maharani of Cooch Behar, was that woman. And I fell completely under her spell, just like everyone else.

  Later, when the Maharani – breathtaking in an exquisitely embroidered emerald sari – was finally ready to greet her guests, Indira and I returned to our room, where Miss Reid chivvied us into our nightgowns and into bed.

  ‘Don’t you think Ma is the most beautiful woman in the world?’ Indira had asked me.

  ‘Yes, the most beautiful,’ I’d replied without hesitation.

  ‘And the best part of it all,’ she had said as she yawned sleepily, ‘is that my parents are so in love with each other. My father adores her. And he is the most handsome man in the world. I can’t wait for you to meet him.’

  A hand snaked out in the shadows towards me and I offered mine in return. ‘Goodnight, dearest Anni,’ she had said with a contented sigh. ‘I’m so glad you are here.’

  10

  I realised one morning when I received a letter from my mother that I’d been in Cooch Behar for nearly two months. Of course, initially, it had been agreed that I would stay with Indira only for a few weeks. I’m ashamed to say that I’d allowed myself to get completely swept up in my new life and had lost all sense of time. In her letter, my mother asked me when I was returning. The sudden realisation that my life here was only temporary struck me like a thunderbolt.

  Indira and I were virtually joined at the hip by this time, and she noticed my expression immediately.

  ‘What is it?’

  I looked up from the letter. ‘My mother is asking me when I’ll return.’

  ‘To where?’ Indira looked confused.

  ‘To Jaipur, of course.’

  ‘But of course you can’t leave,’ she replied. ‘You live here with me now. Perhaps we can arrange for your mother to come for a visit.’

  ‘I doubt she’d be happy to travel the distance.’

  ‘I will speak to Ma and see what she can suggest.’

  My heart was in my mouth as Indira dashed off to find her mother. What if the Maharani had been so busy that she simply hadn’t noticed I had not yet gone home? What if – I shuddered with terror – I had to return to the zenana at Jaipur forever?

  Indira returned half an hour later and nodded her head in satisfaction. ‘Don’t worry, Anni. Ma will find a solution. She always does.’

  That evening, when we gathered as usual in the Maharani’s boudoir, she beckoned me over to her mirror.

  ‘Indira says your mother is missing you and wishes to see you.’

  ‘Yes, that is what she writes in her letter,’ I replied nervously.

  ‘I understand completely. No mother wishes to be deprived of the sight and company of her child. So, we must arrange for her to visit you.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’ I bowed to her respectfully. In reality, I wanted to cover her exquisite face with kisses in gratitude.

  ‘I’ll send a letter to your mother immediately. I’ve been meaning to write anyway, as I have another matter I wish to discuss with her.’

  My heart leapt with relief. She wasn’t necessarily sending me back home.

  A few days later, the Maharani appeared in the bedroom Indira and I shared. It was not her daughter she wished to talk to, but me.

  ‘Come and join me, Anni,’ she said as she indicated the doors which led to the veranda.

  ‘Can I come too, Ma?’ asked Indira plaintively.

  ‘No,’ came the firm reply. ‘I wish to speak to Anni alone.’

  I followed the Maharani to a bench which sat outside in the cool shade of the courtyard. Even in her casual daywear of tunic and trousers, which she wore when there were no guests in attendance, the Maharani looked radiant.

  ‘Anni, there is a reason I wanted to speak to you without my daughter present.’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness?’

  ‘Are you enjoying your life here?’

  ‘Oh yes, Your Highness,’ I assured her enthusiastically.

  ‘Do you wish to stay with us for longer?’

  ‘Oh, yes please. I love it here!’ The eagerness with which I spoke could give her no cause for doubt.

  The Maharani turned her eyes away from me and stared into the distance. Eventually, she sighed. ‘I wanted to hear the words from your own lips. I’m fully aware that Indira is headstrong and has been spoilt by the life she was born into. I also know that, being the youngest and petted by her older siblings, she’s been allowed more freedom than she should have been. I accept responsibility for that fact. I know she misses her brothers and sister and was lonely here before you came. Still, she cannot simply expect her every demand will be granted, especially if her demand includes a person.’

  ‘I love her,’ I said. They were the simplest and truest words I knew.

  The Maharani turned back to me and smiled. ‘I know you do, Anni. I can see it on your face. And true friendship, which encompasses love, loyalty and trust, is a very rare and precious thing. I hope for both your own and my daughter’s sake that your friendship will accompany you into the future. However –’ the Maharani reached for my hands and encircled them in hers, her face suddenly serious – ‘you too have your own set of thoughts and wishes. And you must promise me that you’ll never be afraid to make them felt. Indira is a strong character.’ The Maharani paused and smiled again. ‘I’m sad to say that I see a lot of me in her. Don’t let yourself be ruled by her, will you? That would be bad for you, and bad for my daughter.’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ I answered, deeply touched by her considering me worthy of advice. At that moment I realised why Ayesha, the famous Maharani of Cooch Behar, was adored by almost everyone who had the good fortune to meet her.

  She understood human nature.

  ‘Now, your mother is coming here in around a week’s time. I’ll speak to her then.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’

  ‘I should thank you, Anni.’ As she released my hands, she patted them gently with her long, cool fingers before she stood up. ‘I think my daughter is most fortunate in having you for her friend.’

  A fortnight later, my mother arrived at Cooch Behar Palace.

  ‘Anni, how you have grown!’ she exclaimed as I greeted her and then took her on a tour of the palace. I could see she felt overwhelmed by the endless rooms, furnished with priceless treasures collected by the Maharani from all over the world. I had grown accustomed to the sumptuous setting I now lived in.

  ‘Where is the zenana?’ she asked me nervously.

  ‘Oh –’ I waved airily in its general direction – ‘somewhere over there.’

  ‘But surely the Maharani lives with the other women in the zenana?’

  ‘No, Maaji, she has her own separate set of rooms.’

  I could sense my mother’s feeling of discomfort as I walked with her through the communal areas of the palace. There were a number of aides-de-camp and male servants flitting around who took no notice of us. Even though, compared to many women of her age, my mother’s life
as a healer and my father’s belief that women had a right to education had prepared her better for the relaxed way things worked here, I could still tell that she was ill at ease. She had never before appeared unveiled in front of any male other than my father.

  ‘You and the Princess Indira are approaching the time when you will become women. Will you embrace purdah and live in the zenana then?’

  ‘I don’t know, Maaji,’ I answered honestly, as we sat taking a cup of tea in the small courtyard outside our bedroom. ‘I’d have to ask. Or maybe you could. I know both the Maharaja and the Maharani are great friends with Rabindranath Tagore, whom you know Father admired so much. He doesn’t approve of purdah,’ I said, trying to make it more palatable for her by reminding her of her beloved husband.

  I still remember the anxiety on my mother’s face as she struggled between old and new.

  ‘I’d like to take a rest now,’ she said eventually. ‘It was a long journey.’

  I knew that later on that evening my mother was to be taken into the Maharani’s boudoir to be presented to her. My heart somersaulted as I thought of what she would see there. It was a high altar to the modern ways, and the high priestess of it all, with her French perfume and Western accoutrements, would only increase my mother’s consternation.

  What if my mother believed that I was not being brought up in a true Hindu fashion? She would be within her rights to order me straight back with her to Jaipur.

  Of course, I needn’t have worried. When Indira and I entered the boudoir with my mother, Ayesha herself rose and cut a swathe through a group of women to greet my mother. She was already dressed in a sari of shimmering gold, diamonds adorning her neck and an enormous ruby nose clip catching the light from the Baccarat chandelier above her.

  ‘It’s my honour to meet you, Highness,’ said my mother, almost doubled over in awe. As I watched the two women, I realised they could not have been more in contrast to each other. One breathtakingly beautiful, rich and independent, the other bowed by the hardship of her life since my father had died.