Far Pavilions (47 page)

Becoming aware of his regard and embarrassed by it, she half turned from him and drew the peak of her sari forward again so that her face was once more in shadow; and Ash suddenly realized that he had been staring – and also that Jhoti had just asked him a question and that he had no idea what it was. He turned quickly towards the boy, and for the next ten minutes became involved in a discussion on falconry; and only when Jhoti and Shushila began to tease their uncle to let them go hawking on the far side of the river was he able to turn back again to Anjuli.

The two elderly waiting-women were already beginning to yawn and nod, for it was getting late. But though he knew that it was time he took his leave, there was something he meant to do before he left. He put his hand in his pocket, and a moment or two later reached out and made believe to pick something off the carpet.

‘Your Highness has dropped something,’ said Ash, holding it out to Anjuli. ‘This is yours, I think?’

He had expected her to look surprised or puzzled – probably the latter, for he thought it unlikely that after all these years she would remember either the luck-piece or the boy she had given it to. But she did neither. She turned her head when he spoke, and seeing the sliver of mother-of-pearl on his palm, took it with a smile and a brief murmur of thanks.

‘
Shukr-guzari
, Sahib. Yes, it is mine. I do not know how it can have -’

She stopped on a gasp, for she had put a hand to her breast; and Ash knew in that moment that he had been wrong. Juli not only remembered, but she still wore her half of the luck-piece where she had always worn it, hanging from a strand of silk about her neck. And she had just realized that it was still there.

Ash was suddenly aware of a disturbing mixture of emotions that he did not wish to analyse, and turning to Shushila-Bai, he begged her forgiveness for keeping her up so late and asked for leave to withdraw. Yes, yes, agreed Kaka-ji, rising with alacrity, it was quite time they all retired to bed; the hour was late and though young people might be able to do without sleep, he himself could not. ‘It has been a very pleasant evening. We must have other parties,’ said Kaka-ji Rao.

Anjuli said nothing. Nor did she move. She sat quite still, holding the missing half of her luck-piece clenched in her hand and staring at Ash with wide, startled eyes. But Ash was already regretting the impulse that had made him give it to her, and as he said his farewells he avoided her gaze, and leaving the tent walked back through the camp feeling angry with himself and wishing that he had thrown away the piece of pearl shell – or at least had the sense to leave well alone. He had an uneasy feeling that he had started something, the end of which he could not see, like a man who carelessly flicks a pebble at an over-hanging ledge of snow, and thereby sets in motion an avalanche that may overwhelm some hamlet in a valley far below.

What if Juli were to talk of the strange return of the missing half of her luck-piece? He had no way of knowing how many people were in her confidence these days, or how much she had changed. Nor had he any idea where her loyalties now lay, for the sad little Kairi-Bai of his Gulkote days appeared to have nothing in common with this bejewelled princess of Karidkote who was being conveyed to her wedding with such pomp and splendour, and it was clear that her circumstances had altered surprisingly and everything turned out well for her. As for himself, he had no desire to be identified in any way with the boy who had been her brother's servant. Janoo-Rani might be dead, but Biju Ram was still very much alive; and, in all probability, just as dangerous. He at least would not have forgotten Ashok, and were he to hear the tale of Juli's luck-piece he might well take fright and decide to deal with this Sahib as he and Janoo-Rani had plotted to do all those years ago with Ashok. And for the same reason – for fear of what he might know or guess; and, now that Lalji was dead, of the ghosts that he might raise…

Thinking of all this, Ash was uneasily conscious of a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach and a compulsive urge to look over his shoulder as he walked back through the camp. He had been a fool and once again, as so often in the past, acted on impulse and without giving due thought to the possible consequences of the action; which was something he had sworn to himself that he would never do again.

That night he slept with the tent-flap laced shut and a revolver under his pillow, having made a mental note to pay more attention to the siting of his tent, which at present could be too easily approached from three sides without disturbing either Mahdoo or Gul Baz, or any of his personal servants. From now on he would have their tents pitched in a half-moon behind his own, with their guy-ropes interlocking, while the horses should be tethered to the right and left instead of bunched together in the rear. ‘I'll see to it in the morning,’ decided Ash.

But the morning was still several hours away when he was awakened from sleep by the sound of a hand trying the fastening of the tent-flap.

Ash had always been a light sleeper and the stealthy sound woke him instantly. He lay still, listening, and presently heard it repeated. Someone was trying to enter the tent, and it was not one of his own men; they would have coughed or spoken to attract his attention. Nor could it be a prowling dog or a jackal, for the sound did not come from ground level but from higher up. Ash slid a hand under his pillow and drew out his revolver, and was easing back the safety catch when someone again scratched softly but imperatively on the canvas and a whispering voice called: ‘Sahib, Sahib.’

‘
Kaun hai
?’ (who is it?). ‘What do you want?’

‘No harm, Sahib. Indeed no harm. A word only -’ The speaker's teeth chattered from cold, or possibly from fear or nervousness.

Ash said curtly: ‘Speak then. I am listening.’

‘The Rajkumari… my mistress, Anjuli-Bai, says…’

‘Wait.’

Ash felt for the knot and unlacing the flap threw it back and saw that his visitor was a woman, a veiled and shrouded figure bundled in shawls, who was presumably one of the royal serving-women. He himself was more scantily clad, for his sole garment was a pair of loose cotton trousers, and the woman drew back with a startled gasp, disconcerted at being faced with a half-naked Sahib who clutched a revolver in one hand.

‘Well, what is it?’ demanded Ash impatiently. He did not relish being woken at such an hour and was ashamed of the fear that had stabbed through him in the moment of waking. ‘What is it that your mistress wishes to know?’

‘She wishes – she prays that you will tell her from whom you received a certain piece of pearl-shell, and asks if you can give her news of him… and of his mother also; and tell her where they may be found. That is all.’

And quite enough, thought Ash grimly. Was it only Juli who wanted this information, or had the return of the missing half of the luck-piece already been talked of in the camp, and could Biju Ram have sent this woman to question him?

He said brusquely: ‘I cannot help the Rajkumari. Tell her that I am sorry, but I know nothing.’

He made as though to close the tent-flap, but the woman reached out and catching his arm said breathlessly: ‘That is not true. You must surely know who gave it to you, and if so… Sahib, I beg of you! Of your charity, tell me only if they are alive and well.’

Ash looked down at the hand on his arm. The newly risen moon was in its last quarter, but its light was still bright enough to show him the shape of that hand, and he caught it about the wrist and holding it in a hard grasp, reached out and jerked aside the
chuddah
that hid the woman's face. She made one frantic attempt to free herself, and finding that she could not, stood quite still, staring at him and breathing a little quickly.

Ash laughed and made her a half bow. ‘I am greatly honoured, Your Highness. But is this wise? As you see I am not dressed to receive visitors; and were you to be found here at such an hour it would cause great trouble for us both. Besides, you should not go unattended through the camp. It is too dangerous. You would have done better to send me one of your women. Let me advise you to return quickly before they awake and rouse the guard when they find you gone.’

‘If it is for yourself that you are afraid,’ said Anjuli sweetly, ‘you have no cause to be, for I sleep alone and therefore no one will miss me. And if I feared for myself, I would not be here.’

Her voice was still barely more than a whisper, but there was so much scorn in it that the blood came up into Ash's face and for a fraction of a second his fingers tightened cruelly about her wrist.

‘Why, you little bitch,’ said Ash softly and in English. He laughed, and releasing her, stepped back and said: ‘Yes, I am afraid. And if Your Highness is not, I can only say that you should be. Myself, I cannot believe that your brothers or your uncle would treat such an escapade lightly; or your bridegroom, either. They might consider that it in some way touches your honour, and as I confess I have no wish to get a knife between my ribs one of these nights, I would urge you again, with all respect, to go quickly.’

‘Not until you tell me what I wish to know,’ said Anjuli stubbornly. ‘I will stay here until you do, though as you well know, if I am found here it will go hard with me. Even my worst enemy could not wish me so much ill, and you have already saved my life. Only tell me what I ask and I will trouble you no more. I swear it.’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Because the thing you gave me tonight is the half of a luck-charm that once, very long ago, I myself gave to a friend; and when I saw it I –’ A movement behind her made her spin round: a patter and a rustle in the stillness. ‘There is someone there –!’

‘It is only a
lakar bagha
(hyena)’, said Ash.

The grotesque, shadowy creature that had been scavenging in the camp scuttled past and loped away across the plain, and the girl drew a deep, shuddering breath of relief and said haltingly: ‘I thought it was… I thought I had – been followed.’

‘So you
are
afraid after all,’ said Ash unkindly. ‘Well, if you wish to talk you had better come inside. It cannot be more dangerous than standing out here where anyone might see us.’

He stood back to let her enter the tent, and after a moment's hesitation she went in past him, and Ash closed the tent-flap and said: ‘Don't move. I'll light a lamp.’

She heard him groping in the darkness and then a match flared, and when the wick of the hurricane lamp was burning steadily, he pulled up a canvas chair for her and, without waiting to see if she took it, turned away to put on his dressing gown and slippers. ‘If we are going to be caught talking together at this hour of night,’ observed Ash, tying the cord about his waist, ‘it will look better if I am wearing a few more clothes. Won't you sit down? No? Then you won't mind if I do.’ He seated himself on the end of the camp bed and looked up at her, waiting.

The carriage-clock on the table behind him ticked audibly in a silence that he made no attempt to break, and a moth that had found its way in from the night began to flutter around and around the lamp, throwing whirling, wavering shadows across the walls of the tent.

‘I…’ began Anjuli, and paused, biting her lip in a way that was suddenly and sharply familiar to Ash. It was a trick she had as a child and his mother used to scold her for it, saying that it would spoil the shape of her mouth.

‘Go on,’ said Ash unhelpfully.

‘But I have already told you: I gave that charm to a friend many years ago, and I wish to know how you came by it because because I would like to know what became of my friend and his mother, and where they are now. Is that so hard to understand?’

‘No. But it is not enough. There must be more than that, or you would never have risked coming here. I want to know the whole. Also, before I answer your questions, I want to know whom you would tell.’

‘Whom I would tell? I do not understand.’

‘Don't you? Think – are there no others besides yourself who might also wish to know where this friend of yours is?’

Anjuli shook her head. ‘Not now. Once, perhaps; for there was an evil woman who wished him ill and would have killed him if she could. But she is dead now and cannot harm him; and I think she had forgotten about him long ago. As for his friends, except for myself they left Gulkote, and I do not know where they are, or if they know where he is or what became of him. It may be that they too are dead. Or that they have forgotten him as everyone else has.’

‘Except yourself,’ said Ash slowly.

‘Except myself. But then, you see… he was a brother to me – a true brother, as my own were not – and I do not remember my mother. She fell into disfavour before she died, and afterwards my father's new wife saw to it that I was kept out of his sight, so that he became a stranger to me. Even the servants knew that they need not treat me well, and only two were kind to me: one of my serving-women, and her son Ashok, a boy some few years older than myself who was in the service of my half-brother, the Yuveraj. Had it not been for Ashok and his mother I should have been friendless indeed, and you cannot know what their kindness meant to the child that I was…’

Her voice wavered uncertainly and Ash looked away from her, for there were tears in her eyes and once again he was ashamed because he had allowed himself to forget a little girl who had loved his mother and looked up to him as a friend and a hero, and whom he had left behind, friendless, in Gulkote and never thought of again…

‘You see,’ explained Anjuli, ‘I had no one else to love, and when they went away I thought that I should die of grief and loneliness. They had no choice but to go… But I will not tell you that tale, for it is one I think you must know, or how else would you have known who had the other half of the luck-piece? I will only say that when we parted I gave the charm to Ashok for a keepsake, and he broke it in two and gave half back to me, promising that he would surely return one day and then – then we would join the two pieces together again. But I never learned what had become of him or even if he and his mother had escaped to safety, and there were times when I feared that they were both dead, for I could not believe that they would send me no word, or that Ashok would not come back. You see – had promised. And then… and then tonight, when I saw that what you had given me was not my own half of the charm, but his, I knew that he was alive and that he must have asked you to give it to me. So I waited until all the camp was asleep, and came here to ask for news of him.’