The Midnight Rose

by Lucinda Riley

  Due to the incessant English rain, everything smelt of damp. At night, no incense hung in the air as it had in the palace at Cooch Behar; all that shone above us was the harsh light of a naked electric bulb.

  By the time the first two weeks were over, it was me who wanted to run away.

  And then the history teacher, who had apparently been on leave of absence due to a stint abroad, arrived one morning in our freezing classroom to teach us. He was younger than the other teachers we’d had so far, and his skin was tanned a deep nut-brown.

  ‘Good morning, girls,’ he said as he entered the classroom. Dutifully we all stood up and chanted, ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Well now, I hope you all had a good summer break. I certainly did. I went out to visit my parents in India.’

  The rest of the girls looked bored, but both Indira and I were immediately alert.

  ‘And, it seems, we have two new pupils from that country. I believe that one of you is a princess. Now –’ his gaze fell on Indira and me – ‘which one of you two would that be?’

  There was sudden animated whispering in the classroom, as all the girls turned to stare at us, trying to second-guess which one of us it was. Indira raised her hand slowly. ‘I am, sir.’

  ‘Her Highness, Princess Indira of Cooch Behar.’ The teacher smiled knowingly. ‘I visited Cooch Behar whilst I was in India two years ago and saw the wonderful palace your family lives in.’

  This prompted another round of excited muttering and much staring from the girls.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Indira lowered her eyes.

  ‘Perhaps, Indira, you would at some point like to tell us the history of your family and how you live. I think all the girls here would learn a lot from your account.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And you?’ he asked, his gaze falling upon me. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘I live at the palace too, sir.’

  ‘I see. And yet you are not a princess?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m not.’

  ‘Anni’s my best friend,’ said Indira gallantly. ‘And my companion.’

  ‘Jolly good, jolly good. Well now, girls, I hope you’re helping Princess Indira and Miss Chavan feel at home. I’m going to tell you what I saw during my travels through British India.’

  Once the lesson was finished, we were sent out to collect our yellowing bottle of milk for ‘elevenses’, as the girls called it, and for a blast of invigorating sea air, which the British seemed to think was so essential. Normally, Indira and I would stand in a corner of the courtyard, surreptitiously pouring our milk away into the bushes. Today it was different. The girls followed us.

  ‘Are you really a princess?’

  ‘Do you live in a palace?’

  ‘Do you have lots of servants?’

  ‘Have you ever ridden on an elephant?’

  ‘Do you wear a crown when you’re at home?’

  The excited girls clustered around Indira as I stood on the sidelines and watched her as she smiled graciously and answered as many questions as she could. Later, when the lunchtime bell rang and we filed into the dining room, a girl named Celestria, who was the person everyone else in our class wanted to know, came over to Indira and me.

  ‘Will you come and sit with us for luncheon, Princess Indira?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I watched as Indira moved away from me, talking to Celestria. Then she turned around and beckoned to me. ‘Anni must come too.’

  Celestria nodded, but when we reached the long trestle table, the girls bunched up on the benches to make room in the centre for Indira and Celestria. I was left at the end hanging off the edge.

  In that hour, I watched Indira blossom with the attention and admiration she received. I couldn’t blame her for it. She’d spent her entire life surrounded by other people showing their subservience and acquiescing to her every whim. She had been born ‘special’. And I, Anahita, had not.

  I will remember that first, harsh English winter as one of the most desolate periods of my life. As Indira grew in confidence, her exuberant personality began to assert itself and all the girls vied for her attention. She rose swiftly through the ranks to take her rightful place as queen bee as naturally as the sun rises in the sky every morning. Even though she did her best to include me, the other girls made it obvious that they weren’t interested in a mere companion, who didn’t exude the kind of sparkling charm that came naturally in spades to Indira. I became increasingly isolated, and spent many lunchtimes in the library reading by myself, not wishing to embarrass Indira with my uncomfortable, hovering presence.

  To make matters worse, as Indira’s body grew more swanlike, with all the bits that attached themselves at puberty fitting her height in just the right proportions and only adding to her elegance, hormones and the stodgy English diet merely made me sprout even further sideways. I had also noticed that when I was reading in dim light, I could hardly make out the words. I was sent to the school doctor, who prescribed a pair of ugly, thick-lensed glasses for reading.

  Occasionally, Indira would still crawl into my bed at night and hug me.

  ‘Are you all right, Anni?’ she’d whisper softly in my ear.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I’d lie.

  She rarely noticed me in the daylight hours, when she spent time with her new aristocratic English friends. I felt keenly that I had somehow become a burden and an embarrassment to her. So I shut myself off into my world of books, and longed for the moment in June when we’d return to the palace and all would be as it had been with Indira and me.

  My heart lightened as spring came to England and we returned to the house in London for the Easter break. But even there I saw less of Indira than I did at school, for she was invited endlessly to stay at her new friends’ houses and for tea at smart hotels.

  One afternoon, she returned from such an event and found me reading on the bed in our room.

  ‘Anni, I wonder if I could ask you an awfully big favour,’ she began in her newly acquired English accent.

  I removed my glasses and looked at her. ‘Yes, Indy, what is it?’

  ‘Well, the thing is, Celestria’s parents are off to France and she was saying how terribly boring it would be staying at their house in the country with simply her governess for company. She’s asked me if she could come and stay here at Pont Street with us. And Ma has said yes.’

  ‘How nice,’ I managed to say.

  ‘Well,’ she sighed, exaggeratedly, ‘the problem is, the only spare room we have is the old box room along the corridor. I can hardly put Celestria in there – she is the daughter of a lord, after all. So I was wondering, if you don’t mind awfully, whether just for the week she’s here, you’d consider moving in there?’

  ‘Of course,’ I answered.

  In essence, I didn’t mind – I wasn’t concerned by moving to a servant’s room. But that moment compounded the growing sense of fear and dread I’d had in my heart all winter. I couldn’t blame Indira; it was natural she would grow away from me. She was destined to join the ranks of the highest in society and one day become the wife of a maharaja, whereas I . . .

  I didn’t know.

  To make matters worse, as Celestria took her place in my old bed next to Indira, the rumblings of impending war grew louder. Everyone in London was assuring everyone else that of course the Kaiser would not be stupid enough to launch an unprovoked attack on a neighbouring country. All I could think was that if war did break out, we would surely be unable to travel back to India when the summer holidays began in two months’ time.

  Indira’s parents sailed home a few days after Easter. Her father had state business to attend to in Cooch Behar. On the journey back to school at the end of the holidays when I finally had Indira to myself, I broached the subject with her.

  ‘Everyone says there won’t be a war,’ she said, brushing my comment aside airily, ‘and besides, I’m sure we could stay at the house in Pont Street if needs be. The Season is meant to be fun in Lon
don, so I hear.’

  I was shocked at her nonchalance. Could this really be the same girl who, only a few months ago, had cried over the fact that she’d miss her pet elephant? The air of faux sophistication, which Indira, being the great mimic she was, insisted on copying from her English friends, made me want to shake her hard in frustration.

  Later, when we arrived back at school, and Indira asked if it was all right if she moved into a dorm with Celestria and her other friends, I agreed without protest. I had to accept that Indira had changed irrevocably.

  The summer term passed much faster than the previous two, partly due to the fact that I had realised that Indira, at least for now, was lost to me. Charlotte, the girl who now occupied Indira’s former bed next to me, was sweet and friendly. Her father was an army vicar in the Christian church, serving abroad. Although I could never have another friendship like the one I’d shared with Indira, I felt that at least Charlotte and I had things in common. As her fees were paid for by the army, she took her education seriously, unlike many of our English classmates, who saw school as a place to pass the time until they were launched into society and a grand marriage. Charlotte had decided to become a governess when she left school.

  ‘Father earns a pittance from the church, which he saves to use as a pension for when he and Mother retire. But there’s nothing over to keep me, so I must stay at home with them, or work for a living,’ she’d confided to me one night.

  This led me to think that perhaps I too could have a future as a governess. By the end of my time at school, I would certainly be educated well enough to teach small children. But then, I thought, sighing, who on earth would want me? In India, it was seen as a sign of status to employ an English gentlewoman, but no family on either continent would want an Indian to teach their children, no matter how qualified she was.

  As each day passed, I realised that I was stranded in no-man’s-land. I’d been brought up in a palace, yet I was poor; I was being educated in England, but I was the wrong colour to use my skills. I was not of the working class, but I wasn’t aristocratic enough to warrant a good marriage. I thought of the little hessian sack hidden beneath the pavilion in the grounds of Cooch Behar Palace and prayed to all the gods and goddesses I knew of that it was still buried there, its contents safe and undisturbed.

  13

  Further rumours of war abounded at the beginning of June. There was no question of us returning home to India. Nor was there the possibility of Indira and I spending the summer in the house in Pont Street – it had been shut up and many of the staff had already joined the services. Besides, Indira’s mother was frightened of the very real possibility of bombs dropping on London, so it was arranged that Indira and I would spend the summer as far away as the Maharani could get us. We were to journey down to a county called Devon in southern England. The widow of the ex-Resident of Cooch Behar – the most senior British official present in every princely state – had offered to accommodate the two of us over the holidays.

  ‘I can’t believe Ma is making us go there! War hasn’t even been declared yet,’ grumbled Indira as she threw clothes haphazardly into her trunk. ‘I begged her to let me go and stay with Celestria, but she said no. What on earth am I going to do with myself for a whole summer, stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no friends?’

  I wanted to say – wanted to, but of course didn’t – that I’d be there to keep her company. But as we set off on our journey down to Devon, she sat as far from me on the black leather seat as she could, her face turned away from me. As usual with Indira, her body language said everything that her words did not. I only wished that I’d been able to stay at school, as some of the other girls whose parents were abroad had done. Including my friend Charlotte. But how could I have explained to the Maharani that her daughter no longer wanted me as her companion?

  These were thoughts I could not voice to a woman who had taken me in and then paid willingly for my expensive education, because she believed her daughter loved and needed me.

  I looked at Indira sulking and knew she needed me no longer.

  When we drove into the park that surrounded Astbury Hall it took a good few minutes before the house came into view. I gazed at it with fascination, for it strongly resembled Cooch Behar Palace in its shape and form. It was as though they were twin souls: one fashioned from heat, the other from ice. I was later to discover that the architect had modelled the palace partially on Astbury Hall, so it wasn’t surprising that the cold monolith of a building in front of me, with its domed cupola forming the centrepiece, felt familiar.

  When we came to a halt in front of the enormous stone steps that led up to the front door, I saw it swing open and members of the household staff started to stream out. They lined up along the steps as we both climbed out of the car. Princess Indira was certainly getting a royal welcome. She walked up the steps past the servants towards a woman, stern and wide-hipped, who was wearing an old-fashioned Edwardian dress.

  ‘I’m Maud Astbury. Welcome to Astbury Hall, Princess Indira.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Astbury,’ Indira replied politely.

  I followed in their wake as she led Indira inside.

  ‘I hope your room will be suitable for you, my dear. We’re so short-staffed here, what with all the young men going off to join up.’

  Indira, gracious to a fault when she was treated royally, nodded in agreement. ‘Of course, I understand. It’s awfully kind of you to have me.’

  ‘My son, Donald, is coming home in a few days for the holidays too. At least he may be able to keep you amused.’

  As usual, I was standing behind Indira, feeling uncomfortable. Eventually, Lady Astbury’s eyes fell upon me. ‘I see you’ve brought your own maid with you?’

  ‘No,’ said Indira quickly. ‘Anahita is my friend and companion.’

  ‘I see.’ There was some consternation on Lady Astbury’s face as she led Indira away from me to the bottom of the grand staircase. She bent her head towards Indira and the two of them whispered together.

  ‘Of course, I’ll see that it’s arranged. Now, Princess Indira, the maid will show you and your . . . companion upstairs to your rooms. Please do tell me if there is anything that you will need during your stay. I will see you at dinner tonight.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Anni,’ Indira said yet again as she looked around the dim little attic space where I’d been billeted. ‘Obviously Ma was in such a state she forgot to mention that you’d be coming here too. Lady Astbury promised that she would prepare a room on the main floor for you tomorrow. Do you mind awfully staying in here for tonight?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, gratified by what I felt was Indira’s genuine concern. ‘The view is lovely from here.’

  Indira peered out of the small pane of glass, set between the eaves of the great house. ‘Yes, you’re right, it is. Anyway, if you can’t bear it in here, my bed is big enough for at least another four people.’ She grinned at me.

  ‘I’ll be fine up here.’

  ‘Well, then, I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Anni,’ she said, taking my hands in hers, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve abandoned you at school. I haven’t meant to, really.’

  And then, Indira threw her arms around me, like she used to in the old days when it was just the two of us against the world.

  ‘Come down when you’re unpacked,’ she said, giving me a tiny wave as she left.

  A week after we’d arrived at the house, Lady Astbury seemed to have conveniently forgotten about my impending move to the lower floor and I was still lodged in my tiny attic bedroom. I found it impossible to sleep beyond six o’clock, as the sun rose through my uncurtained window and bathed the room in blinding light. I peered outside and saw it was another beautiful day. Restless, I washed my face in the basin provided for me and took the back stairs down through the kitchen to enjoy the sunrise outside.

  As I walked along the enormous terrace, which didn’t need a veranda to shade it from the weak English sun, I could smell
the sweet scent of newly mown grass. I trod lightly down the steps into the gardens beyond and wandered around, admiring bed after bed of magnificent roses. As I luxuriated in the stillness and calm of the early morning, my mind flashed to a typical summer dawn in India. Here in temperate and steady England, the weather did not dominate and destroy. The thermometer dropped in the winter, making life less pleasant, but as far as I was aware, there had never been a monsoon, earthquake or, in fact, any particularly dramatic natural disaster on the British Isles.

  India, I thought, was the polar opposite. Everything about it was vibrant, colourful, with drama aplenty. The temperatures soared, the wind blew, the rivers broke their banks; all was violent and unpredictable.

  I was beginning to understand, too, that, unlike my countrymen’s fiery natures, as a rule the British were an unemotional people. Sitting down on a bench, I thought back to when my friend Charlotte had learned of her mother’s death just before the end of term. She took the news stoically, with acceptance and few tears. Then I thought of myself two years before, weeping and wailing for the loss of my mother that terrible day in the temple.

  I also knew that, even though the British were always at war in some far-flung foreign part of the world, the solid English ground on which I stood had not been invaded for more than two hundred years.

  But all that might change in the next weeks or months. Would the Kaiser stamp his heavy leather boots across Europe and shake his fist at this tiny nation, which had somehow managed to conquer so much of the world and build an empire on which, as the English loved to remind each other, the sun never set?