He was already dressed in his evening clothes, but very different ones from those he had worn on the journey,
Now with a stiff snowy-white shirt-front and wearing several glittering decorations on his long-tailed evening coat, he looked magnificent, and Chandra had to admit, even more awe-inspiring than usual.
She was surprised to see him in her bedroom and her eyes were questioning as she turned to face him.
He glanced around as if to see whether they were alone, before he said,
“I thought I ought to warn you before you go downstairs that Colonel Wylie questioned me as to when we were married.”
It was quite obvious from the way he spoke how much he disliked having to reply to the Resident’s questions and he went on,
“I told him that the ceremony took place just before I left England and, as I had not yet had time to inform all my relations or the Viceroy, I would be grateful if he would not mention it in his letters. He has promised not to do so.”
He waited as if for her answer and Chandra replied,
“I will – remember what you – said.”
Lord Frome turned as if he would leave, then, as he reached the door which joined their rooms together, he said,
“A party is being given for us tonight and, as the Nepalese are very colourful and bejewelled on such occasions, I suggest that you wear your best gown.”
He spoke casually as if it was of no interest to him and quite suddenly Chandra found her temper rising.
It was not only the manner in which he spoke, it was also because woman-like, she realised how she would look, not only beside the Nepalese but also beside the man who was supposed to be her husband.
“My best gown!” she repeated. “How do you expect, my Lord, the impoverished daughter of a man whose life’s work is to translate Sanskrit manuscripts to be able to afford a new gown of any sort?”
She spoke aggressively and, seeing the surprise in Lord Frome’s eyes, she continued, her voice rising a little,
“I suppose it has never struck you that my father, who you say is the greatest in his field, has difficulty in existing on the pittance he received from his work on the manuscripts on which you set so much store?”
Because she was tired, the self-control she had exercised ever since she had met Lord Frome in speaking humbly and concealing her resentment of his rudeness broke and Chandra threw caution to the winds.
“Perhaps now I have reached Nepal I should tell your Lordship the truth. I came on this journey because the only way I could save my father’s life was to keep the money you had given him and send him to the South of France for the winter.”
There was no doubting now that Lord Frome was completely astonished by her attack, but Chandra continued,
“He was so ill not only because his heart was affected, but because he did not have the right food to eat! No man could be well and live as we have these past six months on very little except eggs and vegetables we have grown in the garden.”
She drew a deep breath.
“We could barely afford bread, let alone meat, because we could not pay the tradespeople and the day you called to see my father I was wondering what was left in the house that we could sell, so that we could – purchase enough to keep us – alive.”
Her voice broke on the last word and she turned away to the window to add bitterly,
“I will come down to dinner wearing a gown that my mother made for herself eight years ago and which was altered to fit me after she died. I have worn it for three years, it is shabby and old and looks it!”
She paused to add defiantly,
“If you are ashamed of your ‘wife’s’ appearance, I am sure you can think up some plausible falsehood to explain why I do you no credit.”
She ceased speaking, her breath coming quickly from between her lips, her heart thumping with the intensity with which she had spoken.
Then, as she expected Lord Frome to reply, she heard the communicating door shut and knew that he had gone.
There were tears of anger in her eyes and, as they ran down her cheeks, Chandra wiped them away fiercely.
‘I told him the truth,’ she said to herself. ‘If he does not like it, there is nothing he can do about it. He is so self-centred I don’t suppose he realises there is anyone else in the world except himself.’
She sat down at the dressing table and started to arrange her hair.
A feminine instinct made her try to do her best to make it appear fashionable.
There was no point now in appearing studious as she had tried to do when she had first met Lord Frome.
Instead she piled her hair on top of her head and told herself that since the Nepalese would expect an Englishwoman to look strange in their eyes, the only person likely to be really critical of her appearance was Colonel Wylie.
She had just finished arranging her hair when the maid came back into the room with her gown.
It certainly looked better than it had when it had been taken from her trunk and Chandra put it on.
Although the white silk with which it had been made had turned ivory with age and the inexpensive lace which edged the low neck had not the crispness that it had when it was new, the tight bodice revealed her perfectly proportioned figure and her waist was fashionably tiny above the full skirt.
Woman-like, however, she looked at herself critically and could only see that the gown was nearly threadbare at the seams and was certainly not fashionable enough to be the complement to the magnificent Lord Frome, resplendent with his decorations.
There was a knock on the door and the maid went to answer it. When she came back, she carried on a silver salver two sprays of orchids and a glass of champagne.
Chandra stared at them in surprise and then she told herself that Lord Frome was apologising in quite a practical manner.
She did not feel elated as if she had scored off him, but, because she was tired, she felt strangely near to tears.
She took a sip of the champagne, then picking up one of the long sprays or orchids she held it up to her head.
The Nepalese maid gave an exclamation and took it from her.
Deftly she arranged the orchids not on the top of Chandra’s head but at the back, as the Indian women wore them and Chandra realised at once that this was exactly the right place.
They looked very pretty, seeming to fall from the crown of her head to the base of her neck and, when she picked up the second spray, she knew that she should pin it at her waist.
The flowers certainly made a difference and, when she had drunk the rest of the champagne, she told herself she could now go downstairs with confidence and not feel as shabby and insignificant as she had done before.
Even so, it was an ordeal to descend the wide staircase that might have come straight from some Scottish Baronial castle.
A servant in a white and red uniform led her across the marble hall.
There was the chatter of voices as he showed Chandra into a reception room and she felt almost as if she had stepped into the parrot house of some exotic zoo.
The spacious room with a carved ceiling and imposing portraits of previous Residents seemed to be filled with so much colour and glitter that for a moment Chandra felt bewildered.
Then she realised that the Resident’s guests were all arrayed in the most brilliant hues. There were not only the women with their sari-like gowns, but also the men’s uniforms were colourful while their decorations rivalled their wives’ jewels.
Never had Chandra seen so many huge emeralds, rubies, diamonds and every other sort of stone worn not only around the neck and wrists, but in the nose, the ears and on the dark, almost jet-black hair of the Nepalese ladies.
She could understand only too clearly why Lord Frome had advised her to wear her best gown and just for one moment she wanted to run away from these glittering, colourful people and hide herself upstairs.
Then the Resident was beside her and introduced her first to the Prime Minister and his wife,
then to the rest of his guests, all of whom had important titles and long almost unpronounceable names.
But that was the only stiff or difficult thing about them.
The dark eyes of the Nepalese glittered, their lips smiled and they chattered away excitedly, delighted to find that Chandra could understand their own language and reply in the same tongue.
There were only a few moments when someone more experienced in both languages was obliged to translate the exact meaning of a sentence.
By the time they sat down to dinner, which was served in what Chandra thought was semi-regal style with a khitmutgar behind every chair, she had forgotten all about her appearance and was enjoying herself because it was such a different party from any she had ever attended before.
She had not dared to look for Lord Frome when she came into the reception room and only when she was seated at the table, the Prime Minister on one side of her and a General of the Gurkhas on the other, did she steal a glance at him.
She saw that he was being unexpectedly genial to a Nepalese lady on his right.
He was laughing at something she had said and it made him look very much more handsome and much younger.
‘What a pity he cannot always be like that,’ Chandra thought to herself and wondered a little apprehensively if he was very angry at the way she had raged at him in her bedroom.
She told herself that she had behaved badly and however rude Lord Frome might have been on the journey that was no excuse for her to be rude too.
After all, she was beholden to him for six hundred pounds, the money that would make her father well and for that at least she should show her gratitude.
‘I must apologise,’ she determined.
It was impossible for Chandra ever to bear a grudge for long or really to dislike anyone however difficult they might be and having what her father might have called ‘let off steam’ her resentment and what at first had seemed to be a positive dislike of Lord Frome had vanished.
She found herself feeling ashamed of the way she had behaved and finding every excuse for his behaviour on the journey.
She could understand that, being so proud, he must be at this moment loathing the pretence that she was his wife and having to lie to the Resident.
Yet instead of being understanding and sympathetic she had merely vented her rage upon him simply, she told herself, because he had touched her on the raw.
No woman, young or old, however intelligent she might be, could fail to be depressed at never having a new gown, never being able to wear anything but what Ellen often referred to as ‘your old rags’.
Although Chandra had progressed from her own clothes which had grown too tight for her into her mother’s, she never wore anything she had chosen for herself.
Any money her mother had expended on clothes went on the riding habits she needed for travelling and for the other garments that were essential if she was to accompany her husband on his journeys which took him from the burning heat of the plains into the icy cold regions of the North.
The pretty gowns which she had when they settled down in the country she had made herself with the help of Ellen and although they were exquisitely stitched, the material had been cheap and many of the dresses had literally fallen to bits after Chandra had worn them for several years.
She had told herself that clothes were unimportant and that it was what was in the mind that counted. But, when she had gone to Church on Sundays and had seen the girls of her own age who were merely the daughters of the local farmers wearing far more fashionable and more attractive clothes than she could ever afford, it had been hard not to feel a little envious and she had longed for something new, even if it was only a rose to put on her hat.
But if it was a question between food and raiment, Ellen made quite certain that any money they had, was spent on food.
‘How can I expect somebody like Lord Frome to understand?’ Chandra asked herself. ‘He is rich. He has always had everything he ever wanted in life. How could he have any idea how difficult it is to make ends meet when there is simply not enough money coming into the house?’
However, Chandra did not want to let her guilty feelings over losing her temper spoil the evening and she forced herself to laugh and talk to the Nepalese gentlemen sitting on either side of her.
When the ladies retired to the drawing room, it was a joy to talk to the soft-voiced women and inevitably to admire their jewellery.
The emeralds which so many of them wore made her think of the emerald she was to carry from Nepal back to India and she felt a sudden pang of fear in case anyone should ever guess that such an important stone was in her possession.
She had longed during dinner to ask the Prime Minister if she could see Nana Sahib’s emerald, which the Lama had said was seven-and-a-half centimetres long and which was in the Official Regalia.
Then she told herself that even to admit that she had ever heard of Nana Sahib might be a mistake.
She began to feel as if she was part of a drama that might develop into terror and danger, simply because already she was inhibited from speaking about one man and apprehensive of something that might happen in the future.
The Nepalese ladies chattered away gaily, inviting Chandra to their Palaces and telling her proudly of the European pieces of furniture and other luxuries which had been brought to them over the same road by which she had entered Nepal.
Soon after the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room, the Prime Minister was ready to make his farewells and immediately, as if at a signal, all the other guests began leaving too.
It was still quite early in the evening, but the Resident explained that most Nepalese started their day at dawn, so they seldom stayed out late at night.
“That is a great relief to us,” Lord Frome said before Chandra could speak, “because my wife and I will have to start very early to reach the Monastery.”
The Resident gave him a quick glance as if he would question the wisdom of searching for manuscripts after his letter on the subject, but he said nothing and Lord Frome went on,
“We too will say goodnight and thank you for a most delightful party. I thought the Prime Minister a very charming man.”
“Bir Sham Shir is a moderate and progressive ruler,” Colonel Wylie replied, “and he has a capacity for enjoyment which exceeds those of his predecessors.”
“He was telling me tonight,” Lord Frome said, “that he is building a swimming bath in one of his Palaces. That certainly seems a strange innovation, especially in this part of the world.”
The Resident laughed.
“I think he is obsessed by water. In another Palace which is surrounded by a circular canal, he has leaping fountains that are illuminated with coloured lights in the evenings.”
Chandra gave an exclamation.
“Now I understand,” she said, “what the Prime Minister’s wife meant when she asked me if I would like to see the coloured lights! It must be very attractive!”
“We must certainly see that you accept that invitation, Lady Frome,” the Resident said, “and may I tell you what a success you were this evening? As my guests said their goodbyes they all paid you the most extravagant compliments.”
Chandra’s eyes widened and then she blushed.
“Thank – you,” she said in a low voice.
“I hope you will have the chance of meeting a great many more Nepalese while you are here,” the Resident went on. “I am sure you will be inundated with invitations when those who met you tonight sing your praises in Kathmandu.”
“You are making me feel – embarrassed,” Chandra murmured.
As she spoke, she looked at Lord Frome from under her eyelashes, wondering if he was pleased or indifferent to the fact that she had obviously been a success.
He was, however, moving towards the door and she knew that he was anxious to retire.
She would have liked to go on listening to more compliments about herself, for they were something she had very s
eldom heard, but knowing what was expected of her, she put out her hand.
“Goodnight, Your Excellency,” she said to the Resident, “and thank you very very much for the most wonderful party I have ever attended.”
She spoke with a sincerity that was unmistakable and the Resident was obviously delighted.
Then Chandra hurried after Lord Frome.
They walked up the wide staircase together. He opened the door of her room for her as he said,
“Goodnight, Chandra.”
“Goodnight, my Lord, and thank you very much for the orchids!”
“They became you,” he replied and closed the door.
It was another compliment, even if a very small one, from the man who was pretending to be her husband and Chandra felt that she should have taken the opportunity to apologise for her behaviour earlier in the evening.
But Lord Frome had shut the door on her as he spoke and she wondered if he had been afraid that she might continue to rage at him.
All men hated a scene, which was undoubtedly what she had caused and she should, as Ellen would have said, ‘feel thoroughly ashamed of herself’.
On an impulse, without really thinking, Chandra walked across the room and knocked on the communicating door that led into Lord Frome’s bedroom.
For a moment there was no answer, then with what was obviously a note of surprise in his voice, she heard him say,
“Come in!”
She went in to find him standing in front of a chest of drawers above which was a mirror.
She realised that he was taking his wallet out of the pocket of his tailcoat and he turned to face her with what she thought was a question in his eyes.
Quickly, because she felt shy, she said, hurrying over her words,
“I-I just wanted to say I am – sorry I was rude before dinner. Please – forgive me. I have no excuse for behaving as I did – except that I was – tired.”
Lord Frome walked towards her.
“I understand that, but I did not understand that your father was living in such difficult conditions.”
“There is no reason why you should – concern yourself with – us,” Chandra said humbly, “except that Papa is – useful to you.”
Love in the Clouds Page 11
