“So you must be…” Thornfield’s eyes seemed to be following numbers in his head while he continued to appraise his daughter, making it more and more difficult for her to stay still. “Seventeen? Eighteen on the fourth of August, unless I misremember.”
Kali stepped back, surprised that he recalled her birth at all, much less the date. “Yes, my lord.”
He tipped her chin up to take in her face, clearing his throat, smiling with a certain softness in the corners of his lips.
“You needn’t call me ‘Lord’ while we are meeting privately, my dear; you are my daughter, after all. Of course, you mustn’t ever call me Papa, and should we meet publicly, you must treat me as a gentleman of the nobility whom you’ve not met, but I doubt we shall see each other outside this room. Vikanta will do, I think. Not strictly true, as I am an earl now, but you will call me Vikanta, as your mother did.”
She swallowed her confusion as Mayuri looked on, smiling like a leopard sighting fatted prey. Kali agreed, voice squeaking yet again, “As you wish, Vikanta.”
“Lovely,” he murmured to himself, then addressed her. “You are very beautiful, Kali—perhaps even more so than Rohana. Your skin is much lighter, of course; you could almost pass for Spanish. And your English is quite good. Virtually no accent at all.” He motioned Kali and Mayuri to a seat as he settled into a tambour-worked armchair, as though he owned the room.
Kali hadn’t looked away when he stepped back, and when he frowned just slightly at her boldness, she dropped her eyes, only glancing at him through her dark lashes as she took a seat in a tapestry-covered shepherdess chair. He nodded to acknowledge her submission to male displeasure, but Kali couldn’t determine if he were actually displeased or only testing her decorous behavior.
“I have studied English and French, my—Vikanta.”
“Hindi and Persian?” She nodded as he added, “And the usual education for a tawaif?”
“Yes, Vikanta. I sing and dance and play tabla drums and the yaal harp and sarangi. I write poetry as well, but have little talent with chalk or brushes.”
“We cannot all be talented in everything, my dear.” He turned to Mayuri. “She is fully trained?”
“Yes, my lord. In Western arts as well as Eastern. Rohana insisted, knowing she would seek an English protector.”
Kali spoke up then, making a concerted effort to regain the throaty, sultry voice Rohana had taught her before she was ten. “I have been told I am a very good dancer.”
Mayuri nodded, “This is true, my lord. I have never known a girl so graceful. She sets a fine example for the younger girls.”
“And she has not yet known a man? You are still a virgin, Kali?”
Kali blushed, though she couldn’t remember the last time she had been embarrassed by discussion of the erotic arts. “Yes, my lord, she is pure,” Mayuri answered before Kali had to. “Naturally, she understands the ways of men.”
“If she understands the ways of men half as well as Rohana, she will never want for anything.” Kali and Mayuri both stared at each other’s skirts and made no response to what might be considered a vulgar observation in a different setting, but the earl seemed to lose himself for a moment, his eyes foggy, his breath hitched. He stood and turned away, hands held tightly behind his back, and gazed into the fireplace, eyes following the dancing flames.
“I suppose, Mayuri,” he began, “you hope for my assistance in placing her appropriately? Or do you seek only financial support?”
Now Kali really did stare at the floor. Mayuri had impressed on her there was no way to know if her father would honor a promise he had made to Rohana two decades ago, nor how he might remember or interpret it, but regardless, if an earl chose to help her, it could only be to her benefit. Kali was not to ask for anything specific, but only let him set the terms.
Mayuri answered slowly, “I know you provided very well for Rohana and the girls when you left India.” He turned to her with a hard demand in his eyes, seeking the reason his largesse was known at all.
Mayuri rushed to reassure him, “It is not common knowledge, my lord. Rohana confided in me, her oldest friend, only when it became clear she would not survive her illness, and all of our correspondence has been destroyed. She sent funds for the girls’ education, and an additional balance she asked me to administer until such time as you might manage it to their advantage. It is not insignificant, my lord. Enough for both girls to establish themselves, should you choose to absent yourself.”
He reached for the coal shovel and added slack to the fire, a motion with which he was surprisingly at ease for a man of his rank.
“Of course, I will be happy to assist and will add the equivalent of a dowry, a thousand pounds or so for each of them.” Before either Kali or Mayuri could force words through their dropped open mouths, he continued, “I cannot keep anything in their names specifically, you understand, only hold the monies in my accounts, but will keep a record.”
“I am sure you will treat your daughters fairly in any such transactions, my lord.”
He looked around the room, not exactly dissatisfied with the décor, but obviously finding fault. Kali wasn’t sure what could be wrong. Mayuri’s servants kept everything spotlessly clean, the furniture was the very latest, updated twice since Kali had arrived in England, all upholstered with fabrics more expensive than the courtesans’ gowns. She assumed he might never have been invited into Mayuri’s parlor; the rest of the house was much less British in design. Probably, he had only ever considered the furnishings in the kotha, finding it pleasing as it reminded him of India. It suddenly occurred to Kali that the time he spent there might be to indulge his memories of Rohana. Until now, she had never considered her mother might not have been deceiving herself about their love for each other.
“You are living here, Kali?” he asked.
“Yes, Vikanta.”
“That will not do.” He turned to Mayuri, “It may be difficult to place her if she is living in a brothel; there will be questions of her purity that cannot be adequately answered by a procuress.”
“Of course, my lord. I understand completely.”
“I must consider the matter. There may be ways I can provide her a better living than taking on the first gentleman who offers a house and carriage. No one must ever know she is my daughter—I cannot stress that enough—but I can make inquiries you cannot.”
Mayuri’s smile seemed to stretch across the room. “I am pleased you take such an interest, my lord.”
“We shall come to an understanding, my daughter and I,” he smiled at Kali and chucked her under the chin. “As I have said, Rohana was…” He choked a bit on his words, “I was the one who taught you to walk, Kali. Of course I will now help you make your way. Will you accept my assistance, my dear? My guidance?”
Kali repeated the words Rohana, then Mayuri, had taught her, with more gratitude behind them than she had expected.
“I am grateful for the Vikanta’s sponsorship. It will be my fondest desire to be worthy of your benevolence.”
Her father was tender and kind to her, in contrast to the men she had seen and heard about from the tawaif girls who worked for Mayuri in the kotha and the rooms upstairs, the women who hadn’t been able to find protectors of their own. Most customers of the Masala Rajah, she was assured, were no better than jackals, had no respect for anyone with skin darker than milk.
“I’m sure my benevolence will be rewarded, if not in this life, the next. And I shall do my best to ensure your well-being.
“To begin,” he said to Mayuri, “I will provide you funds to acquire a house or apartments in a reasonable neighborhood. A carriage, discreet staff, wardrobe, and accounts at any shops appropriate for a woman of her… complexion. The bills must be sent to my agent, not to my home or banker, but they will be settled without question. Arrange things as though I were taking her on as a mistress.” He waved Mayuri’s stunned look away carelessly with his hand, “Of course I am not suggesting I defile my ow
n child. I merely want her outfitted appropriately to her station. Or rather, the station I intend for her.”
“You are too kind, Vikanta,” Kali said, staring at her fingers twisted in the folds of her skirt. “I have no expectation of such munificence.”
“Nonsense. You are my daughter. I’ll not have you working as a common bunter, throwing up your skirts for a tuppence.”
“Kali is quite right, my lord. You are the soul of generosity.”
“Just see she wants for nothing until I have considered the options for her future. I will provide similarly for her sister, but of course, Kamala must stay here, under your protection, until she has finished her training.” His smile was indulgent. “Though I expect my younger daughter is old enough to enjoy a trip to the dressmaker with her older sister?”
Kali’s gratitude almost spilled over into tears when she said, “She will be elated.”
His eyes closed briefly, and his face tightened just slightly before he asked, “Might I be introduced to Kamala now, Mayuri?”
Read the rest of Kali’s story in
La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess,
available in the spring of 2015.
Royal Regard Page 41
