The Midnight Rose

by Lucinda Riley

  The second item is what your dear father always called our ‘insurance’. At the very least, the contents will offer you a little security. I should add that your father never told me about their existence until the night he died; I don’t know their worth or how he came by them. Perhaps he meant to offer them as a dowry for you one day. If you feel this is an appropriate use of them, then the power is in your hands.

  My darling daughter, do not let your grief and despair at your current fate prevent you from leading the life that both your father and I desired for you. You may feel that we have failed you by no longer being with you, but I can assure you that at the moment you read this, we are both together, looking down on you and loving you.

  As your father said, always try to be true to yourself.

  Be a good girl in everything you do.

  I love you,

  Your loving mother, xxx

  I read the letter many times over, as the first few times, I couldn’t see the words for the tears blurring my eyes. Then, with trembling fingers, I opened the small hessian bag.

  The string came away easily this time and I tipped its contents out onto the ground.

  Inside, were three stones. They looked like any clod of earth I might pull out of the ground anywhere in India. I took the largest in my hands, wondering why my father had called them ‘insurance’. Confused, I replaced them in the bag, stood up and walked back disconsolately to the palace.

  It was only some weeks later that I discovered their true value; the Maharani had received a delivery from the local gem supplier for her to choose the gift of a new necklace from her husband. The stones – identical pieces of mud to mine – were laid out on a plate, and the jeweller took a special instrument and began to chip away carefully at the dirt. When he finally revealed a twinkle of deep red lying beneath, I grasped what my father had left me: three rubies.

  I eventually decided to take the hessian bag back to the pavilion, and there I dug a small hole underneath its foundations with my bare fingers and buried it deep back in the earth. My mother had been right – even though I had little idea how much the stones were actually worth, at least I felt a little more secure that I had something I could call on in a moment of need. And I walked away from the pavilion with my heart slightly lighter.

  From that moment on, when Indira was busy being a princess at state functions or dinners, I snatched as many hours as I could in the herb garden with Zeena, determined to learn all I could from her. Even though I had little intention then of becoming a healer, or of putting the concoctions which were listed in my mother’s leather-bound notebook into practice, I felt duty-bound to learn what she had wanted me to know. After Zeena had read through my mother’s notebook, her gnarled fingers with their long, yellow nails tracing the potions on the page, it seemed to me that she looked at me with new respect.

  ‘You come from a powerful line of baidh. There are potions here that are known only to a few.’ She turned the pages, until she reached a particular section. ‘See, there are even ones listed that can kill a human being outright!’ she said, lowering her voice.

  I asked her if she had ever used a potion to harm a person.

  She stared at me, considering her answer. ‘I am a healer, Anahita. The gods alone tell me which potion I should use.’

  There was very little I kept back from Indira, but I did not mention my lessons with Zeena. Or the buried rubies. These were secrets my intuition told me to keep to myself.

  11

  One year later

  Indira ran into our bedroom, threw herself upon the mattress and beat the pillow with her fists. ‘I won’t go! I cannot! I will not!’ Then I watched in dismay as my thirteen-year-old friend howled and screamed like a toddler. ‘They can’t make me! I’ll run away! I’ll refuse!’

  In the past months, I’d often seen these shows of temper when Indira didn’t get her way. I sat quietly, watching her until she calmed down. Then I asked gently, ‘What is it, Indy? What has happened?’

  ‘My parents wish me to follow my brothers and sister to boarding school in England. I hate England! It’s dull and miserable and I always get a cold.’

  I sat there looking at Indira in abject horror. If they were to send her away to school, I thought selfishly, what would become of me? ‘They can’t make you go, surely?’

  ‘It’s my father who wishes me to go. And as he is “God”, his wish is everyone else’s command. Including mine. I swear, I will die!’ she added dramatically.

  Of course for me, the thought of visiting England – the famous homeland of those who ruled us in India – was an adventure I had always longed for. I imagined seeing Wordsworth’s daffodils, visiting the bleak moors of Yorkshire where the Brontës had written their captivating stories, and, of course, London, the Capital of the World. But I knew these were inappropriate thoughts with which to comfort my distraught friend.

  ‘When would you have to leave?’

  ‘I sail in August, and arrive for the start of term in September. I’ve told Ma that I’ll never be any good at lessons, that I wasn’t born to sit still – and besides, I know I will wilt like a frozen marigold in that cold, dark place.’

  ‘Oh, Indy, I’ll miss you terribly.’

  ‘No, Anni, it’s not just me they want to send, it’s you too.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Of course! Even they wouldn’t be so cruel as to send me alone. You’ll be coming with me, unless I can think of a way I can persuade them to let us stay here. But Ma loves England and the Season there, so she’s not on our side at all. What about Pretty?’ cried Indira. ‘She’ll pine away without me, I know she will!’

  I tried to keep my face looking as concerned and as miserable as it had been before Indira had told me that I too was included on this voyage across the sea. ‘Is it really that bad?’ I asked her. ‘Your mother and father seem to love it, and your brothers and sister. They said London is a beautiful city where the streets are lit up with electricity and the women can wander freely, even showing their ankles!’

  ‘We wouldn’t be anywhere near London.’ Indira hung her head. ‘They’re sending us off to where my sister went – some horrid school by the cold English sea. Oh, Anni, what on earth are we to do?’

  ‘At least we’ll have each other,’ I said gently, standing up and going to sit on the bed next to her. I took her hands in mine. ‘Please don’t cry any more, Indy. As long as we’re together, nothing else matters, does it?’

  Indira shrugged silently, her eyes downcast. Underneath her bluster, she knew this time she was beaten.

  ‘I’ll take care of you, I promise.’

  During our last three months in India, Indira sulked continuously and I grew more excited by the day. During the hot season, we moved again up to the royal family’s summer residence in Darjeeling.

  ‘This cooler climate is preparing you for when you travel across the sea,’ her father, the Maharaja, said to her one balmy evening, when the family were sitting out on the veranda after dinner.

  ‘Pa, nothing will prepare me for England,’ Indira growled moodily. ‘You know I hate it.’

  ‘Just as I hate having to deal with endless affairs of state and never having a day to myself,’ her father chastised her. ‘Really, Indira, you must learn that life is not simply about pleasure.’

  We returned to Cooch Behar Palace from Darjeeling earlier than usual to make ready for the voyage. The entire family was travelling to England together by ship, which required enormous trunks and crates to be packed up – the Maharani insisted on transporting a little bit of home with her wherever she went. Indira entered a slough of despond which even I couldn’t rouse her from. She insisted on spending the nights sleeping with Pretty the elephant in the pilkhana and no amount of cajoling from me would bring her back inside.

  ‘I can’t even say I’ll be home for the Christmas holidays,’ she said as she stood surveying the half-filled trunks on our bedroom floor, tears flooding down her cheeks. ‘There isn’t en
ough time to sail back. I won’t see Pretty for almost a year!’

  I packed the few possessions I owned: my mother’s book of remedies, her shil noda and a small selection of dried herbs in case illness beset me in England. After careful thought, I decided to leave my rubies buried beneath the pavilion, believing they were safer there than in my trunk or travelling case.

  Four days later, I stood on the deck of the largest and most magnificent ship I’d ever seen as it steamed away from the docks of Calcutta. Little did I know that we would be away for far longer than either of us could ever have imagined.

  The royal party was installed in a row of luxurious, above-deck suites on the ship. Indira and I had our own room along the corridor which had been commandeered for the family and the aides-de-camp, butlers, maids and general staff that made up their party. Used to counting in single rupees, I thought that to maintain the lifestyle they did their wealth must have been enough to buy the entire world twice over.

  Even Indira managed to raise a smile as we investigated the various modern gadgets in our room. We were also being allowed, now that we were both approaching fourteen, to join the rest of the family for the on-board cocktail parties Indira’s parents were holding in their grand suite. Like Indira, I had been fitted out with a suitable Western-style wardrobe – strange-shaped tunics made of muslin and itchy woollen jumpers that I was told I would need once I arrived on England’s chilly shores.

  As I struggled to fasten the tiny seed-pearl buttons on an uncomfortably tight blouse, I noticed my burgeoning body in the mirror. It had been horribly embarrassing when Miss Reid had suggested to me that it might be time to wear a brassiere. She had also given me some rag-cloths for what she called my ‘monthlies’. One had appeared recently, much to my alarm, but thankfully it hadn’t happened again since. My new, fuller shape was made even more noticeable by the fact that Indira’s body didn’t seem to have changed a jot. She had simply grown upwards, not outwards, and was now a good three inches taller than I was. I felt like a fat pomegranate beside a banana.

  ‘Are you ready, girls?’ asked Miss Reid as the maid finished combing Indira’s lustrous ebony hair.

  ‘Yes, Miss Reid,’ I answered for both of us.

  ‘I just know this will be dull,’ Indira said, raising her eyebrows as we left our cabin to walk down the corridor towards the salon. We could hear the band playing and a crooner singing Western music as we entered the enormous, ornately decorated room. The glittering jewels adorning the female guests caught the reflection from the chandeliers. All of them were in Western dress, including the Maharani, who was wearing a ravishing sapphire-blue evening gown. I’ve never been able to decide whether I preferred her in a sari or a cocktail dress – Ayesha, like the chameleon she was, could adjust to either with perfection.

  ‘Stick by me, won’t you?’ said Indira, pulling me through the crowds towards a waiter.

  ‘Drink, Madam?’ A flunkey in a smart white uniform proffered a tray.

  Indira winked at me as she chose two glasses of champagne from the assortment on the tray. The waiter glanced at her quizzically, but before he could say anything, Indira had disappeared into the crowd, with me scurrying behind her.

  ‘Go on, try it,’ she said, handing me one. ‘I quite like it. The bubbles go up your nose.’ She lifted the glass to her lips.

  ‘Do you really think we should?’ I glanced around nervously. ‘It has alcohol in it, Indy. I’m sure we’ll get into terrible trouble if anyone sees us.’

  ‘Who’s to care, Anni? And besides, we’re almost grown-up. Come on,’ she urged me.

  So I put the champagne glass to my mouth and took a sip. As the bubbles rose into my nose, I choked and spluttered while Indira looked on, laughing.

  ‘Dear me, not on the champagne already are we, girls? And at your age!’

  I could have curled up in embarrassment as Raj, Indira’s eldest brother, looked down at me in amusement as my eyes streamed. ‘Here, Anahita, have my handkerchief.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said as I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, cursing myself for the bad timing. Over the past year, I had developed a crush on Raj; he had arrived in Darjeeling for the summer, having just left Harrow, a school in England which catered to the sons of British and foreign aristocracy. He seemed impossibly grown-up and sophisticated in his Western clothes and was the most handsome young man I’d ever seen.

  ‘May I introduce my friend Prince Varun of Patna. He and I are going up to Oxford together this term. We’ll show them a thing or two about cricket, won’t we?’ Raj made the gesture of bowling a ball.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Prince Varun agreed. ‘So are you two girls enjoying the voyage so far?’

  I turned to Indira, who normally answered for both of us in these situations. But instead, Indira was staring up into the eyes of Prince Varun, seemingly struck dumb.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied hastily, ‘it’s my first time out of India.’

  ‘Then get ready to be amazed by England, and horrified by the weather,’ joked Raj. ‘I hope you’ve packed lots of woollens and Epsom salts. And be prepared for the mustard baths should you catch a cold at school. They’re like nothing you could ever imagine.’

  Indira was still standing silently, gazing at Varun, so I said, ‘Yes, I think we’re fully prepared.’

  ‘Good, good. Well, we’ll leave you girls to it.’ Raj bowed to me, then threw a glance at his sister. ‘You’re very quiet, Indira. Are you feeling quite well?’

  ‘Yes.’ Indira dragged her eyes dreamily away from Prince Varun. ‘I’m very well indeed.’

  Contrary to Indira’s earlier indication that she would wish to leave the ‘dull’ party as soon as possible, she insisted that we sit in the corner and watch the guests. Eventually, even I was starting to yawn and long for my bed. Finally, I stood up. ‘Come on, Indy, I’m tired.’

  ‘Just another five minutes,’ Indira said, and I followed her glance to where Raj and Varun were talking animatedly to a couple of young Englishwomen.

  At last I managed to drag her out of the salon and along the corridor to our room. We undressed and climbed into bed.

  ‘Indy, you were very quiet tonight. What’s the matter?’

  Indira’s eyes were closed, but she gave a small sigh. ‘Yes. I’m absolutely fine. I’ve just met the man I’m going to marry, that’s all.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Yes, I saw him, and I just knew.’

  ‘You mean Varun?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘But, Indy, he’s a prince! That will mean it’s already been decided by his parents whom he will marry.’

  ‘Just as it’s been decided by mine whom I will marry.’ Her eyes popped open suddenly, and she cast one of her deep, knowing glances my way. ‘I promise you, Anni, one day he will be my husband.’

  For the next few weeks, life aboard the ship became a game of cat and mouse as Indira insisted we stalk Raj and Varun, just so that she could catch further glimpses of her ‘future husband’. This entailed hanging about surreptitiously outside their cabins when they left to take breakfast or lunch, or indulge in a game of billiards, or play croquet on one of the decks. We would then have to appear as nonchalant as possible, as if it was a coincidence we had found them there, and sit watching whatever game it was they were playing.

  Suddenly, the girl who’d never cared a fig for her appearance began to sweat over what she should wear to dinner in the evenings, stealing perfume from her mother’s dressing table and lipstick from her sister.

  I’m afraid to say that I found the whole thing ridiculous and rather irritating. Indira was simply experiencing her first crush and I knew it would pass soon enough. However, Indy being Indy, she was embracing her new passion as wholeheartedly as she did everything else.

  On the last night before we were due to dock in Southampton, the royal party had been invited to have dinner at the Captain’s table. Indira’s emotions swam ceaselessly between which dress she was going to wear and the fac
t that this would be the last time she saw Prince Varun. I’d diplomatically refrained from pointing out during Indira’s infatuation that she almost certainly could have worn nothing at all, and still Varun would merely have seen her for what she still was: a little girl.

  ‘Look, Minty has lent me one of her old dresses!’ Indira burst through the door with a peach chiffon evening dress over her arm. ‘And it fits me perfectly.’

  ‘Surely you won’t dare to wear it?’ I cautioned, thinking of the prim muslin and calico dresses buttoned up to the neck which befitted our still-childish status.

  ‘Yes! Anni, don’t you understand? I have to do something dramatic for Varun to notice me!’

  ‘You’ll never get away with it. Miss Reid wouldn’t let you appear in that in public in a million years! And besides, what would your mother say?’

  ‘I’ll be fourteen in four months’ time. Goodness, many girls in India are married by then,’ Indira pouted. ‘Anni, you have to help me; I’ll get dressed as normal with you, then once Miss Reid has taken us up to the dining room, I’ll say I’ve forgotten something and I’ll rush downstairs and change into the dress. How’s that for a plan?’

  The horror showed on my face. ‘Please, Indy, what about your father? Do you want to disgrace him?’

  ‘Honestly, Anni!’ Indira put the dress up against her. ‘I’m hardly arriving in my vest and knickers. It’s simply a more grown-up version of what we normally wear.’

  And indeed, I could see that at least the dress was reasonably decorous, with its square-shaped neckline and the bodice cut just below the chest, flowing out beneath the Empire line in soft waves of chiffon to her feet.

  ‘Minty wore it for her sixteenth birthday. So it can’t be that bad, can it?’

  I sighed, realising that whatever I thought, it was a fait accompli.

  Later that evening, as Miss Reid led us up the grand main staircase of the ship and as we neared the dining-room entrance, Indira put her hand to her mouth.

  ‘Oh, Miss Reid! I said I’d lend Lady Alice Carruthers a book, and I promised to bring it up to the table tonight. There’s bound to be far too much commotion tomorrow when the ship docks.’