She felt mortified at both his words and the fact that she had forced herself to hold the lamp too long. “It’s not a serious burn.”
“You will also be burned if you ask too many questions. That’s what I was told the last time I was with the royals.” His voice was low and almost ominous.
Was he threatening her? “Lawyers must ask questions. That is why the Kolhapur Agency requested my help.”
The doctor reached into his horse’s saddlebag and withdrew from it a small, unlit lantern with a leather-wrapped handle. Opening the lantern’s front panel, he produced the candle from within and held its wick against that of the hot lantern sitting on the ground. Once it was lit, he muttered, “I strongly doubt you’ll learn more from the Satapur palace than I did.”
So he had probably asked questions after the death and been rebuffed. That was why he was on the defensive. Laying aside her growing skepticism, she said, “It was very kind of you to speak with me. Good night, Dr. Andrews.”
“Good night, Miss Mistry.” He mounted the horse with surprising ease and gestured for her to hand him his own lantern. “In any case, I wish you Godspeed.”
8
Between the Lines
After the doctor’s departure, the night closed around her like a black silk hood. Her old fear of being trapped in a dark, small place arose within her, taking her breath away. She was imagining what it would have been like for Prince Pratap Rao to catch up with the leopard he’d planned to kill only to find himself the prey. Had the animal cradled him for a moment before sinking its teeth into him? She had heard the big cats did something like that to calm their quarry into submission.
The tapping of heels and Vandana’s voice pulled Perveen away from the imagined horrors. “Perveen, call out if you’re there!” From a distance, a bobbing light came toward her. “We were looking all over for you!”
“Present!” As she called out, she realized she sounded like a schoolchild.
“So the doctor’s gone already?” Vandana said. Yazad was at her side, and Perveen saw that he held the same kind of metal lantern but in a gloved hand.
“Yes.” She was glad they hadn’t arrived in the middle of the tense conversation.
“Very good. Tomorrow morning is our breakfast. Come whenever you wish—just don’t forget!”
“I will be there.” Perveen resolved to organize her questions in advance. “It’s so dark. Will you be able to ride home safely?”
“We know the way quite well, and the circuit house groom can walk in front with a lantern. Unless he’s gone off with the doctor?”
“No. Dr. Andrews left alone.”
Mohit, the young boy who’d helped her in the morning, stepped out of the shadows and spoke in polite Marathi. “Sahib and memsahib, shall I bring your horses?”
Perveen hadn’t known anyone else was in the vicinity. She looked Mohit over, wondering how much he’d understood from her conversation with Dr. Andrews. Hopefully not enough to carry tales to the village.
“The question is if you can find your way back through the garden to the veranda,” Yazad said to Perveen. “Now that we have found you, we must return you to Colin. He was eager for you not to miss pudding and to choose those children’s books.”
“I can see the veranda from here,” she scoffed. She didn’t like being babied. “And look. There’s a light coming our way.”
She was disappointed to see Roderick Ames rather than Colin in the glow of another approaching lantern.
“See you early tomorrow!” Yazad said.
“Good night.” Perveen gave the lamp that had burned her hand to Mohit to put away.
“What were you talking to the doctor about?” Ames’s voice was authoritarian, as if he had caught her breaking the rules.
Even though the stable boy might know the topic of her conversation with the doctor, she’d no intention of telling Ames. Walking briskly up the path to the veranda, she said, “I told the doctor good night, just as I did to the Mehtas. I suppose I shall say good night to you as well.”
“Yes, you should go to bed,” Roderick countered. “Tomorrow will be very tiring for you.”
As she glowered at Roderick, Colin appeared on the veranda. “Good, you’re back. Rama will take offense if you don’t try the pudding. Roddy, how about you? Would you like another cup of coffee, or perhaps something stronger?”
“No. I’m heading off at six tomorrow.” Roderick bowed slightly to the two of them and then headed along the veranda to a door that presumably led to his room. She noticed he had a cloth napkin between his hand and the lamp’s handle. Everyone seemed to know how to handle the lamps except for her.
“Tea or coffee?” Colin asked as he ushered Perveen into the dining room. “Rama prepared both.”
“Tea, please. And I’ll try that caramel custard. It looks very creamy,” Perveen said, settling down at the table. At her place alone, there was a small glass bowl containing a golden pudding.
Smiling at her, he said, “I hope you found the meeting with the doctor valuable.”
She hadn’t learned much except that the doctor had little confidence in her. “It was a good strategy for you to invite him and the Mehtas—although I was rather surprised that you shared my travel plans with everyone.”
Colin raised his eyebrows. “Everyone knows that when the circuit house requests a palanquin, someone is going out on official business. I think it’s better for people to know the correct information than for rumors to spread.”
“I hope you’re right.” Through the window, Perveen saw a white flash: Desi loping across the lawn. “He’s a lovely dog. I’m sorry that he’s caged all day.”
Colin looked taken aback. “Desi’s on night shift, roaming the property and keeping us safe. He’s a South Indian breed called a Rajapalayam; they are known as the king of dogs. He is very strong and energetic and is a born hunter. Without his cage—I prefer to call it a garden house—he wouldn’t take time to sleep. It’s set in the shade, it has water, and if he barks, Rama or I take him out.” Clearing his throat, he said, “What do you think of the custard?”
“It’s very good. The taste is a little different.”
“Rama uses goat’s milk, which is supposedly very good for the digestion. It’s in our tea and coffee as well. I’ve become used to it and probably wouldn’t like cow’s milk anymore.”
“We make do with what we can.”
“That reminds me of the gifts for the royal children. I’ve been looking through them.” He indicated a wooden crate that she had noticed earlier resting on a side table.
“Why do you have children’s books?” she asked.
“I had the London office send me English books, and a Bombay bookseller provided a small load in Hindi and Marathi for possible use in a village school.”
“But there is no school.” She was glad for a moment to talk about what she’d seen in the village. “Why is that, when the last maharaja wanted one?”
“Prince Swaroop, the prime minister, hasn’t moved forward with any plans, although the Agency would be willing to assist.” Colin’s voice was flat, and she sensed this was a matter he was displeased about.
“I see. And it’s eight years till Maharaja Jiva Rao can begin to make decisions, isn’t it?”
He nodded, looking somber. “I still wanted to have the books here. One never knows if a missionary might come through and see fit to start something. There’s plenty of room here at the circuit house to have a schoolroom.”
“But if the school were on these premises, you’d run into the problem of behaving as if the British are running Satapur.” Perveen paused, because an idea was taking shape. “Do you think that if the maharaja went to this hypothetical school at the circuit house, it might be close enough to satisfy the dowager maharani, and English enough for his mother?”
His eyes widened. “I
doubt the maharanis would accept the idea of the prince’s mixing with peasants. As far as schools go in India, there are already a few colleges designed entirely for sons of the nobility.”
Perveen was disappointed at his rejection of the idea, but she understood what he was saying. In Bombay, parents cared tremendously about sending their children to schools with the most affluent members of their own community. This was ultimately even more important than the religion of the school’s teachers. “I’d like to know the names of those schools for royalty.”
“They are mentioned by Mr. McLaughlin in letters in the file. Before you dig into the letters, can we look at the books together?”
Her pudding finished, Perveen joined Colin at the crate. He had pulled out a book with a turquoise cover and an intriguing gold design depicting an animal she couldn’t identify. “The Wind in the Willows. I read hundreds of English books growing up, but I don’t know this one.”
“It’s a story about animals. Before I came to India, my nephew always asked me to read it to him.” Colin smiled wistfully. “I don’t miss England much, but I miss him.”
Paging through the book, she was careful not to let anything brush the sections of her fingers that had been scorched by the hot lantern. “It looks like a very whimsical novel set in a forest—that’s perfect, isn’t it? If there’s enough time, I can translate some of the story into Marathi for Maharaja Jiva Rao, and his tutor can teach the rest during his English language lessons. Now we need a book for Princess Padmabai.”
“I was working on that idea when you were outside,” he said, picking up a small book with a colorful cover from a stack on the table. “What do you think of The Story of Little Black Mingo?”
Perveen turned the pages, and her misgivings grew. “I don’t think this is the right choice.”
He looked puzzled. “Why? I specifically ordered it because it’s set in India.”
Perveen pointed to the cover, which had a crude drawing of a barefoot brown peasant girl with a thatch of curls dressed in a fragment of a blouse and a ragged skirt. “Look at that figure on the cover—it’s like a cartoon, the very opposite of the lovely animals in The Wind in the Willows. When the little princess realizes this is supposed to be an Indian child, she might feel embarrassed to know this is how outsiders see the country.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Color stamped Colin’s high cheekbones. “As I mentioned, I’d heard of the book, but I hadn’t ever seen it until now. I agree with what you’re saying.”
She had rejected his choice—and instead of objecting, he had agreed. This was most gratifying, and she wanted to reassure him that some of his books were good choices. Lifting up a book of rhymes written and illustrated by Kate Greenaway, Perveen said, “Marigold Garden might be a good choice. Every Indian child is familiar with marigolds, and the illustrations show girls wearing variations of traditional English dress. This is good preparation in case she’s ever sent to school in England.”
Colin took the book in his hands. As he paged through, he said, “There are no plans that I know about for the princess’s education.”
“Why not? In a few years, the maharani might wish for her daughter to be close to Jiva Rao. She could attend a nearby girls’ school in England.”
He seemed to stiffen. “Are you predisposed to both children being educated away from the palace?”
Perveen considered her words carefully. “Not at all. As you know, I haven’t met the prince yet, so I have no idea yet what’s right for him. But in my experiences visiting secluded women, it’s seemed that home education has not served them as well as schools have. And the lack of socialization isn’t beneficial for the development of a kind and cooperative personality.”
“That sounds logical.” Colin looked at her intently. “But promise me you won’t go into the palace saying these things straightaway. I don’t want you to be tossed out.”
“I won’t force my ideas on anyone.” Perveen felt as defensive now as when the doctor had spoken to her. “Now that the books are sorted, I’ll turn in for some rest. I only hope to wake up to some good news tomorrow about the palanquin.”
“Very well!” Colin began piling the discarded books back into the crate. “When he went to the village to pick up things for dinner, Rama heard the men have returned with the repaired palanquin. They will be here for you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”
She felt relief wash over her. “Thank you. And ten o’clock allows loads of time for my breakfast with Vandana!”
“One last thing. I’ve got something else for you to bring to the palace.” He walked across the room and rummaged in a cupboard, then came back holding a tin instrument. He clicked something and a huge golden beam shot out.
She was surprised. “Is that a battery torch?”
“An Eveready from America,” he said with pride. “Although I brought it from London. It’s a companion to the lantern I use for walking at night. I thought you might like to have it.”
Perveen was hesitant to take his prize possession. “I’ve heard about such torches but never had one. If the trek tomorrow will be during daylight, I don’t know that I need it.”
“It’s for nighttime emergencies: perhaps you will find reason to find something in the dark. Let me show you the glove catch,” Colin said, putting it in her hands. “If you hook the pin in the catch like this, the light will stay on.”
His hands brushed hers as he showed her how to operate the battery torch. She felt every sense go on alert at his touch. She was so consternated that the flashlight slipped, and she barely caught it before it hit the floor.
“Sorry!” she said. “I’ll be careful with it.”
“Is your hand all right? It looks red.”
“I touched something hot a little while ago. But it’s fine.”
“Sorry we don’t have an icebox.” He paused. “Don’t keep the light on if you don’t need it. There are three batteries inside, and they will expire within a few hours’ use.”
“I understand.” She unhooked the catch so the light went out. That brief charge had not entirely faded from her hand, and she knew it had nothing to do with the burn.
She had given her hand to the railway conductor when she got out at Khandala the day before. She had put coins into the weathered hand of the candy seller in the Satapur village. Those were the kind of touches that many women wouldn’t have engaged in, but they hadn’t flustered her.
This was different. She’d experienced the same physical surge at Colin’s touch as when she’d watched him stretch into a yoga exercise. It was a dangerous feeling.
9
A Princess’s Eye
Perveen slept deeply, waking only once, when Desi went into a loud barking spasm. Was something happening outside? She felt too comfortable to worry much, and the soft sound of bare feet walking along the veranda reassured her. Rama must have gone out to look after things.
She didn’t stir until the cock crowed. Five o’clock again. Marveling at his consistency, she draped a robe over her nightdress and padded barefoot into her adjacent bathroom to begin her toilette. She was surprised to find her bath was already half-filled with warm water.
“You’re early!” she said as a slender boy stepped through the half-open bathroom door meant for servant use that opened to the garden.
“Sorry, memsahib.” He put down the pail of hot water he was carrying and turned away from her. He must have felt chagrined about her state of dress, because he moved almost out of the door.
“Are you Hari?” she asked, realizing he must be Mohit’s contemporary.
The boy nodded, still looking anxious.
“Don’t worry, Hari. I’m delighted to take a bath early,” she said with a yawn. “Did Rama tell you that I am leaving early today?”
“No. I didn’t see him. Because the garden door was open, I thought it was all right to come.�
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“This door was open?” Perveen looked at the small door from the bathroom to the garden, which she was sure had been latched the night before. To think anyone could have come inside and gone through the bathroom into the place where she was sleeping! Perveen turned and walked back into the bedroom. Her trunk rested on the low wooden stand halfway across the room from her bed. She’d begun laying clothes inside it the night before. Alarmed, she approached it with a feeling of dread. The clothes seemed jumbled. She was almost certain that someone had dug their hands deep into the case. But maybe she was wrong. As she picked through the clothing and the folders of papers, it didn’t seem as if anything was missing. The books for the children were there, and Colin’s heavy torch. But then she realized what she didn’t have.
The Kodak Brownie.
She scanned the whole room in case she’d made a mistake about where she’d left it. After all, she’d had a glass of wine. Her thinking could have been off.
Still—no camera.
“Bath is ready!” Hari called from the bathroom.
She thought of asking whether Hari had taken the camera, but she found the idea that he’d stolen it too unbelievable. Hari’s face had shone with innocence and eagerness to please. Yes, a camera was probably worth more than he was paid in a year—but why would he or Mohit or Rama, for that matter, risk losing good jobs? Serving the circuit house was a long-term, secure future.
After Hari departed, she latched all the bathroom’s doors. But she felt reluctant to undress and get into the water. She did so, feeling exposed, as if the thief were still there.
When had this happened? It could have been when she was in the garden with the doctor. That was easier to accept than the thought that an intruder had stepped into the room where she was sleeping. She’d been lying in bed in a locked room—he could have done anything. If her parents knew such a thing had happened, they would demand she return home immediately.
The Satapur Moonstone Page 9
