Star of the East: A Lady Emily Christmas Story

by Tasha Alexander

  “You do not understand. For me, there is nothing to do until I am married. Here, you go to parties and balls, but when I am at home, I am bored. I want my own house and my own family. Would you please speak with my mother and tell her that you do not think I am too young?”

  “Would you consider remaining in England for a while? I could invite you to stay with us. You might enjoy the season in London.”

  “I have been told it is like an unending party,” she said.

  “That is an apt description,” I said. “If you like balls—”

  “I am not sure that I would. That is to say, of course I would adore the dancing, but I have no acquaintances in London. Would I enjoy the company? And what if I found that an unending party comes to feel relentless rather than engaging?”

  This was the most intelligent question I had ever been posed about the season. “I admit that it does become exhausting and I much prefer afternoons in the British Museum to ones spent at garden parties, but it is not essential to attend every soiree and ball to which one is invited. You could choose the ones that sound enticing and spend the rest of your time with friends, whom I am certain you would make quickly. Whatever your interests, you would be able to find many like-minded young ladies in London.

  She seemed to perk up at this. The creases in her forehead smoothed and her sulky scowl disappeared, but almost as soon as I started to see the signs of potential happiness bubbling in her, she shook her head. “Your offer is extremely kind, and I do appreciate it greatly, but I cannot accept it. I want a home of my own.”

  * * *

  My mother had volunteered to host Maharaja Ala Kapur Singh’s family almost the moment that she had learned they would be traveling to Osborne for Christmas. My father, who had many connections to the subcontinent, had spent several happy months there before he married, and I always believed that his sentimental attachment to the country and its people stemmed, at least partially, from the freedom he enjoyed there during his last days as a bachelor. He took an active interest in the government of the Raj, and frequently sent pointed letters to the Viceroy, who rarely disagreed with the earl’s advice.

  This party marked one of the few—if not the only—occasions on which my parents took equal pleasure in playing host. My mother thrilled at the idea of hosting exotic foreign royalty, particularly as they were friends of the queen, and my father was eager to discuss all manner of things with the maharaja. Because it was so close to Christmas, only a handful of guests, all of whom lived nearby, were invited, but they had been chosen with great care. Invitations were issued to Lady Ackerman, her husband and their three daughters, all of whom would be appropriately impressed that my mother was hosting royalty, as well as to Mr. Lucius Benton, a single gentlemen who, as my mother described him, knew something about India. The latter was strictly to appease my father.

  When Sunita entered the drawing room where we had gathered for drinks before dinner, everyone turned to look at her. After much debate, she and I had decided she ought to dress in a sari rather than an evening gown, and the silks worn by the rest of the ladies paled in comparison, literally as well as figuratively. The bright emerald green fabric, heavily embroidered with gold thread and sparkling gems—rubies and diamonds—shimmered. Heavy gold bangles adorned her arms from wrist to elbow, and she wore rings on nearly all of her fingers. Large rubies dangled from her ears, set in gold to match her necklace. Suspended over her forehead, almost as if by magic—although I knew it must have been woven somehow into her hair—was a spectacular maang tika, featuring an enormous diamond surrounded by smaller stones.

  “The diamond is the Star of the East,” the maharini volunteered, seeing my mother’s reaction to the ensemble. “It is my most prized possession. It has been part of our family’s collection for centuries. This is the first time I have let Sunita wear it.”

  “It is exquisite,” I said, “and no one could better appreciate being allowed to wear it. Sunita told me it makes her feel like a bride.”

  “She ought not be so eager to marry,” the maharini said. “There are other things she must learn first. Running a household is not so easy as she thinks.”

  “You are fortunate, Parsan, to have a daughter so eager to fulfill her duties,” my mother said. “Not all mothers are so lucky.”

  “Catherine, you are too kind, and I know that Sunita has begged you to plead her case to me, but she is not ready to be married.”

  “The discussion of my sister’s nuptials, impending or not, is quite possibly even less interesting than a lecture I was forced to attend at the end of last term. We would all be more amused, Mother, if you would explain the very great difficulty that comes from wearing the Star of the East.” Ranjit, the maharaja’s eldest son and heir, a tall, slender man, stood next to me. Like his sister, he was dressed in traditional attire. His narrow coat, a sherwani, made of pale blue silk, fell below his knees, and was buttoned snugly from the waist to the collar. The matching churidar trousers were extremely narrow and bunched elegantly around his ankles. His turban, of the same silk, was decorated with a spectacular diamond sarpech that held in place several tall egret feathers. The sarpech, combined with the rest of his jewelry, a long triple-strand pearl necklace and a tight diamond-and-pearl choker that was fastened around his jacket collar, was just as stunning as the one worn by his sister. “The diamond is cursed, you know, so I should not bother to covet the stone, Emily.”

  “Oh, sir, my daughter would never covet—” The look on my mother’s face suggested that she did not believe her words, which I found rather unfair. Coveting other’s possessions had never been included in the catalogue of my many sins, even by her reckoning.

  “I did not mean to offend, Lady Bromley,” Ranjit said after his mother had excused herself to go to her husband’s side. “Emily would brighten the stone more than the reverse. It would look quite lovely with her eyes.”

  This comment left my mother speechless, but only for a moment. “Cursed, you say?”

  “Yes, a dreadful matter, really,” Ranjit said. “Apparently, the diamond was originally set into the tika for the wedding of a princess in the sixteenth century—someone who, according to legend, was nearly as beautiful as my own sister. It was part of her dowry. She resisted the marriage, having fallen in love with some unsuitable person, and tried to persuade her parents not to force the match.”

  “She sounds like a great deal of trouble,” my mother said.

  “Oh, she was, Lady Bromley, I assure you,” Ranjit continued, his eyes dancing. “Her parents would not cave to her pleas, and the wedding occurred as scheduled, at the appointed auspicious hour. The bride wept through the entire ceremony and the next morning, when her servants came to bring her breakfast, she was dead, clutching the diamond tika in her cold hand.”

  “Dear me,” my mother said.

  “No one could explain why she had died,” Ranjit said, the tone of his voice rich. We hung on his every word, and I realized I was leaning in to better hear him. “There was no sign of illness or poison or foul play of any sort. The prince, her husband, agreed soon thereafter to marry his dead wife’s sister.” My mother shifted uncomfortably and Ranjit nodded at her. “I agree, Lady Bromley, it was not a desirable course of action. The second wedding took place after a suitable period of mourning, but within a year, the poor prince had lost a second wife, again with no obvious explanation as to the cause of her death. Like her sister, she was found clutching the Star of the East.”

  My mother shuddered.

  “This time, the prince sought the advice of a wise man, who told him, after consulting or praying or whatever it is that wise men do, that his first wife had cursed the stone, and anyone who wore it would fall dead within a year.”

  “How terrible,” my mother said. “Yet your sister wears it.”

  “As did my mother before her,” Ranjit said. “The sage old man gave the prince a golden bangle. Engraved on it were the words of a spell of protection. If one were to wear the b
angle on her left arm at the same time as she wore the diamond, no harm would come to her.”

  “Would any bangle with the correct spell on it serve?” I asked.

  “No,” Ranjit said. “This particular bangle was fashioned from gold said to have been worked by the gods themselves. No other bangle could offer the slightest protection.”

  “And the prince believed this?” I asked. “Gullible man.”

  “Don’t be rude, Emily,” my mother said.

  “I would agree with your daughter if I did not know the rest of the story,” Ranjit said. “The wise man’s words proved true. When the prince’s daughter—born before the death of his second wife—grew up and was a bride, she wore the diamond with the bangle, and lived to see her grandchildren’s children. From that time on, our brides have always worn the combination when they are married, and sometimes, as you see tonight, before then.”

  “What a lovely story,” my mother said.

  “Lovely?” I asked.

  “Quite,” she said. “The end is perfectly agreeable.” She gave Ranjit a little pat on the arm. “You are good to keep us so well entertained. And I suppose your sister is wearing the bangle tonight?”

  “She is indeed, Lady Bromley. If you ask her, I am certain she will point it out to you.”

  “I would not want to ask her to—”

  “Nothing would give her greater pleasure than to show it off,” Ranjit said. Almost before the words were out of his mouth, she had crossed the room to where Sunita was standing with Colin, my father, Mr. Benton, and the maharaja. My mother gestured for Lady Ackerman to follow her. Lady Ackerman obeyed at once, leaving her husband to finish his conversation with the maharini. Two of the Ackerman girls, both just out in society, were giggling in a corner about something while their elder sister, the most elegant of the three, was standing just slightly away from the gentlemen surrounding Sunita, looking less than pleased. She seemed disappointed not to be able to distract them from the princess.

  “I hardly know what to say.” I smiled at Ranjit and looked him straight in the eyes. “Do you really believe the diamond is cursed?”

  “My family takes it most seriously, which I find vastly amusing. At the same time, however, I should be very concerned if I ever suspected my sister would wear the diamond without the bangle.”

  “So you do believe the story?” I asked.

  “Only one woman has dared wear the Star of the East without the bangle since the prince’s second wife died. It was more than a hundred and fifty years ago, and she met with the same fate as her predecessors. Much though I would like to consider myself above the sway of superstition, I am in fact paralyzed by it.”

  “Paralyzed?” I asked.

  “Perhaps I exaggerate. Just a bit,” he said.

  “Now that you’ve rid us of my mother, I should like to ask a question about your sister—” I stopped as a gentleman I did not recognize entered the room.

  Ranjit broke into a broad grin and shook hands enthusiastically with the newcomer. “Drayton, at last. Are you already acquainted with Lady Emily?” Without waiting for his friend to reply, he continued. “Ned Drayton is the best man I know at Oxford. He will tell you his late arrival this evening is due to the weather, an excuse no one shall have cause to question save myself. I know all too well that he is late because he is always late, and he makes a practice of missing at least two trains before boarding one to any destination.”

  “I swear I am not quite so bad as he claims,” Mr. Drayton said. “I never require missing more than a single train.” He was a nice-looking young man with easy manners and a ready laugh. He apologized profusely to my mother for his tardiness, charming her with little effort. Ned, as he insisted I call him, and Ranjit seemed to spend very little of their time at Oxford pursuing their studies, but they took great pleasure in university life, and the stories of their escapades kept me in an almost constant fit of laughter until the butler announced dinner. I hesitated before taking the arm Ranjit offered me, knowing that my mother would be paying close attention to the order of precedence.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Let’s see … your father, the maharaja, escorts my mother. My father, the earl, escorts your mother. You, a prince, escorts the earl’s daughter. I can’t remember Lord Ackerman’s title.”

  “Fear not, he’s only a baron. You take precedence over his wife. The real question is who will take her in? Lord Ackerman will be with my sister, of course, but the other gentlemen are not titled. I think she will—ah, yes—she has your husband’s arm. I should have made the same choice. He’s far better looking than the rest.”

  We dined in spectacular fashion that night. For each course, my mother had ordered two sets of dishes—one traditionally English, the other traditionally Indian. At least that was her intention. I am not certain that curried boar prepared in the bizarre manner in which it was presented to us could be described as traditionally anything, but the maharaja and his wife appreciated the effort as a nod to their culture, and were full of compliments for the turkey and roast beef that my mother explained were essential for an English Christmas. The meal, other than the size and range of the menu, was unremarkable. Lady Ackerman fawned appropriately over my mother and the maharini. Sunita, seated next to Colin, spoke quietly, giving off every appearance of being a demure, dutiful daughter. Ranjit and Ned regaled the table with stories that captivated the Ackerman girls while my father, Mr. Benton, and the maharaja discussed all manner of issues concerning the Raj. When we had finished our final course, I, in an effort to ensure that my mother would not suffer for my actions, retired to the drawing room with the other ladies, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars. By the time Colin and I went up to our room, the evening had been declared an unmitigated success.

  All seemed well until my mother appeared in our room the next morning, without so much as knocking and more irate than I had ever seen her. Fortunately, we had already risen from bed, as the boys had descended upon us nearly an hour earlier to say good morning—a bad habit that had started after it proved all but impossible to keep Henry away—and we were now sharing a pot of tea at the table by our window.

  “Colin, my dear man, I am desperate for your help,” she said. “Someone has broken into the house and stolen the jewels Sunita was wearing last night. The whole set is gone.”

  “The Star of the East?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course, what else did you think I meant? Please, Colin, you must come at once.”

  “Tell me exactly what you know, Lady Bromley,” Colin said, pulling his dressing gown more closely around himself. “Was Sunita disturbed during the robbery?”

  “No, she was unaware that anything had happened. Rose noticed the jewels were gone,” my mother said. “She is the maid I have assigned to serve the princess during her stay with us.”

  “I think you mean Sally, not Rose,” I said.

  My mother waved her hand as if to silence me. “Rose, Sally, call her what you will. The situation is utterly intolerable, and I am relying on you, Colin, to take on the matter as your own.”

  “I will, of course, do whatever I can,” Colin said, “but it would perhaps be sensible to inform the police without delay.”

  “Absolutely not. I forbid it. It is bad enough that the maharaja and his family have been violated in my home. I will not have them subjected to police interrogation as well. Surely you will be able to recover the jewels?”

  “I shall try, Lady Bromley. Emily—”

  “It will not be necessary for her to be involved,” my mother said. “It is obvious the culprit is one of the servants. Who else would have known what was in the girl’s room? If you would just quietly search their rooms …”

  “Have you spoken to the maharaja yet?” Colin asked. My mother glowered at the question, but was wringing her hands. I knew—and was certain my husband did as well—that she hoped he would find the jewelry and return it before the maharaja even realized it was gone. Th
ere was no point arguing with her now. “Right. I shall be happy to conduct a search of the house, but will not limit myself to the servants’ quarters if I find nothing there. Was the lock on the princess’s bedroom tampered with? Or the window?”

  “Heavens, no,” my mother said. “Do you think I would allow such a thing in my house?”

  I curbed my urge to ask her if she allowed the theft of priceless ancient stones in her house. “Are you quite certain nothing disturbed Sunita while she was sleeping?” I asked.

  “She heard nothing, and I implore you, Emily, not to trouble her with the matter. We need only recover the jewels—as quickly as possible—and move forward as if nothing has happened.”

  Colin shot out of the room almost immediately, going to dress and leaving me behind to pacify my mother, whose anger was now starting to fade as worry crept into its place. “Whatever will they think of us?” she asked. “What will they say to the queen? I wanted them to feel welcome here, and now—”

  I almost felt sorry for her. “Colin will find the jewels,” I said. “I am going to speak to Sunita. We have become friendly—she asked me to help convince her mother to allow her to marry, and—”

  My mother snorted. “You? What a silly girl. I should have expected better from her. What on earth will you be able to do? I have already spoken to the maharini—” She waved her handkerchief in front of her face as if it were a fan and sighed. “I can hardly bring myself to address her in more familiar fashion now that this awful event has occurred. What was I saying? Oh, yes, you, Emily, can be of no use to her daughter. You are hardly a shining example of wifely—”

  I left the room before she could annoy me further, pleased that she had freed me from the feelings of guilt that might have accompanied me had she spoken to me in a different manner. As soon as I had slipped into a tea gown, I went in search of Sunita, whom I found in the Blue Room, alone. She confirmed that she had not been disturbed during the night and that nothing other than the Star of the East tika and its accompanying gold bangle was missing from her extensive collection of jewelry.