Flowers in the Blood (47 page)

I was too shocked by her vitriolic tongue to respond.

“I suppose this humble house had nothing to offer after the grand way your family lives in Calcutta. Even the pretty cottage Edwin bought with the meager amount his uncle owed him for his third of the business doesn't please the likes of a Sassoon.”

“The house is perfect,” I said slowly.

“You are only saying that because you are planning to take off for Travancore.” She paused and baited me. “Aren't you?”

“I told Edwin I thought we should remain in Cochin. I did not know he had sold his stake in his uncle's business to buy the house.”

“That represented the sum total of the money his father was able to leave him, a loan from his brother,
and
his earnings in Singapore.”

“I did not know,” I repeated, swallowing any mention that my dowry had to be worth fifty times that amount.

“Where is Edwin?” she demanded.

“He has gone out.”

“Where? To see Amar?”

“The prince left this morning.”

“You liked the prince, didn't you?”

I had not, but I did not want her to know this. “Any friend of Edwin's is a friend of mine.”

“Someday you might reconsider that statement. I have never approved of that alliance.” She rearranged the pillows behind her head. “What can Amar do for Edwin? He is a frivolous man who uses Edwin to amuse himself. Any time Edwin has spent in Travancore has been a waste. Keep your husband here. Mind my words, or you also will lose him. You cannot imagine the tales I have heard. The women of Trivandrum are the most immodest in the subcontinent. Of course, Amar can have any woman he likes, but also, there are many who offer themselves to friends of the prince as a way of gaining proximity to power.”

I had been about to tell my mother-in-law we were on the same side and that I would do anything to dissuade Edwin from taking the prince up on his offer, when her last words were like a slap across the face. I clenched my fists behind my back and willed myself not to respond.

Esther Salem closed her eyes. “I thought I could trust you, Dinah. I thought we could be friends. Now I am not so certain. Already you have driven my son from me. Any other time he would have rushed to my side. Because of you, he hurried out the door. That pretty little sister of yours—what was her name?—she would have listened to me without question.”

I fought to control the fury that boiled within. “What do you want?”

“Only what you want, my daughter. Edwin is a complex boy. I have known him far longer than you. Let me guide you as to how to make him happy. He was miserable in Singapore. He does not like to be off on his own like many men. He needs a guiding hand. Together we can care for him.”

I don't require any assistance taking care of him, I said to myself as my spine stiffened in resistance. My only weapon was silence.

She opened her eyes and gave me a look so penetrating I was certain she could read my mind. “You never have told Edwin of our time together in your bedroom in Calcutta, have you?” I willed myself to remain motionless, as she continued. “Neither have I. We each had our reasons. But remember this: just because I gave my permission for the marriage does not mean that I was entirely convinced by your . . . condition.”

Confident that Edwin would be more upset to hear what she had done to me than about question of my purity, I curled my lips in a half-smile.

My refusal to subjugate myself melted her accusing stare. She turned away and closed her eyes. “I think I can sleep now,” she muttered.

I left without another word.

 

If Edwin's mother had not really been ill the day after the wedding, she managed—if only by sheer force of will—to develop a fever later that week. Although I did not say so aloud, I thought she had poisoned herself with her selfish thoughts. Even kindly Aunt Reema was at the end of her patience.

“Do you think your Yali might come back, if only for a few hours a day?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, relieved I could send someone as my substitute, for other than a short dutiful visit accompanied by Edwin, I had refused to be alone again with my mother-in-law in that festering room.

His sister and brother also took turns, and together we weathered the episode. Even after the fever passed, though, she rejected any nourishment except bread and broths. By my third week in Cochin, Esther Salem had begun a routine of spending the morning in bed, coming downstairs for tea with relatives, and retiring again before dinner. Yali reluctantly attended her at night, and we hired an additional servant to assist during the day. Unfortunately, her moods did not modulate, and her tongue was as brittle as ever.

One afternoon Yali greeted me in tears. “What is the matter?” I asked.

She shook her head and would not speak.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” I asked. Mother Esther was always calling for Yali to bring her special drinks and treats in the middle of the night.

“A little,” she said, wiping her eyes with the corner of her blue sari.

“Yali, if you are tired, or are ill, or—”

“No, no, missy-baba,” she said, using my baby name as she sometimes did at intimate moments between us.

“You can tell me, Yali. Please.” I put my arm around her and felt the boniness of her bent shoulders. “Go home now and rest. I will tell the memsahib you cannot work for her any longer.”

“No!” Yali clasped my hand. “Not today, maybe later, but not today.”

Hearing a note of fear in her voice, I exclaimed, “Yali, what are you afraid of?”

She kept her eyes downcast. “If I leave today, she will think I have told you what she said, and she will—”

“What did she say? You must tell me.”

“Last night . . . she was not well . . .”

“All right, I will take that into account. What did she say?”

“She . . . she . . .”

“Yes, Yali . . . ?”

“She said that it was a pity her son had not taken her advice and married missy-Ruby. She said your sister would have made the sahib a better wife and her a better daughter . . . that she should have listened to what they said about you and forbidden the marriage, and that. . .” She choked on her tears.

“What else?” I urged, and then was both sorry and grateful that I did.

“She accused me of aiding you in the deception.”

“What deception?” I asked before I realized what she meant. “About what happened when I lived with Mr. Luddy?” I answered for myself.

Yali nodded sadly.

“She thought that I did something to help you the time she came to check you. She told me I must tell her what tricks I used. When I swore I had done nothing, she became very cross and she . . .”

“What?”

“She struck me.” Yali turned her head so that I could see a faint purple bruise at the edge of her chin.

Seething, I insisted that she gather her things and follow me home. Once there, I told Hanif that nobody was to disturb Yali for three days. “A holiday,” I explained.

“What holiday, missy?” he asked, hoping he might enjoy one too.

I looked on the calendar. There were only two more days to the year—the same year I had lived in Darjeeling, divorced Silas, learned about my father's opium business, met and married Edwin, and moved to this godforsaken stretch of earth. “The new year, Hanif. She shall have the three days off before the holiday and you shall have the three after.”

“Oh, yes, missy-sahib,” he said with delight.

 

Edwin took Yali's reappearance as a sign that his mother had recuperated. A veil of normalcy fell over our lives for the first time. For about a week we rose together, had a leisurely chota hazri in bed, followed by a walk along the waterfront, and then Edwin would take a boat to his uncle's warehouse, returning in time for tea. While he was away, my own day was a pleasant mix of organizing my little household, light reading, and reverie. How enchanting it was to know that Edwin would return to me in a few hours, the next day, the next week, and for all imaginable time after that.

On New Year's Day, 1892, a cabin boat flying the royal elephant flag of Travancore pulled up at the wharf nearest our dwelling. A minister dressed in a blue turban with silver lace entwined into the folds, followed by a retinue of six courtiers, arrived at our doorstep. Edwin welcomed them respectfully.

The minister stepped forward and read from an official document: “Hail and Prosperity. Greetings of the New Year are sent by His Highness Sir Padmanabha Dasa Bala Rama Vanji Kulashekara Kiritapati Munne; Suhan Maharaj; Maharajah Rama, Rajah Bahadur Sir Shamshar Jang; Knight Grand Commander of the most exalted order of the Empress, Maharajah of Travancore, on behalf of his nephew and heir, Amar Rama. Your gracious presence is requested in the capital city of Trivandrum. A humble vessel is placed at your disposal to transport you at your convenience.” He stepped back and saluted. One of the escorts marched forward carrying a polished ebony box. Another aide opened the box and lifted out a rolled letter and handed it to Edwin, who broke the seal and read it, chuckling.

“What is this about?” I asked.

“Amar sounds lonely. He sends you his compliments and promises you will have every comfort, including 'the company and consort of your husband.' “

“What does he mean by that?”

“The prince is quite astute. He probably sensed your reluctance to share my attentions. He wants to assure you that you will be as welcome as I at his palace, his table, and so on. He reminds us this is the most delightful time to travel south. The weather is mild and the monsoon is months off. What do you say?”

Loath to discuss the matter in front of the daunting line of royal retainers, I turned back into the house while Edwin dismissed the visitors.

“This will impress Mother,” he said, waving the document the minister had read. “It’s from the maharajah himself.”

“What sort of a man is he?”

“I've seen him a few times, but I've never spoken with him. The maharajahs of Travancore are educated men with progressive ideas. This is another result of the matrilineal system. You see, when a man picks a wife, he is often stirred by a vacant beauty or the desire to consolidate his power. On the other hand, women tend to select men for their intelligence and kindness. Which do you think will thrive better over centuries: a state ruled by the vain and proud or one managed with grace and thoughtfulness? Amar's father was a talented man, if a commoner, which explains his son's intellectual gifts.”

Suddenly court life did not seem so daunting. “I suppose we cannot refuse without insulting Amar.”

Edwin was elated. “We need stay only a short while. Besides, you will like his mother, the first princess.” He rushed on without taking a breath. “Wait until you see the benefits of having the inheritance pass through the women. Of course, the present ruler is an older man, but when Amar takes over, the state will have a monarch with the energy of male youth tempered by the ripe mind and good sense of a mature woman.”

On the other hand, I thought to myself, the throne could be held by a good man like Edwin with a selfish woman like his mother in the background, but I held my tongue and only nodded as Edwin raved on about a system he admired. Noticing an unsympathetic expression on my face, he blinked at me. “What's bothering you now? You still do not want to go, is that it?”

“On the contrary,” I said as I realized this petty business with his mother had made me more than ready to get away from Cochin. I smiled at my husband. “Of course we shall go. I can be ready as soon as you wish.”

32

 

T
wo days later we departed Cochin at dawn in a boat propelled by ten stout men whose well-oiled mahogany skin seemed impervious to sun or rain. The slim craft cut through the water with the sinuousness of a snake, but seemed more suited for speed than sturdiness.

“How shall we fare if the seas swell?” I asked Edwin as I reclined on a rose silk cushion.

“We will never face the ocean.”

“We are traveling down the coast, aren't we?”

“Yes.” He gave me an enigmatic smile, then explained, “We will remain on a maze of inland backwaters called the captive sea.”

“The whole way? It must be a hundred miles.”

“More.” On a map he showed me how this mysterious weave of waters ran parallel to the ocean all the way to Travancore. “Isn't it curious that the state is shaped like a conch, as if echoing its link with the sea?” He went on to describe the area as walled in on the eastern side by the Great Western Ghats, which rise to eight thousand feet, and bounded on the west by the ocean. “Thus Travancore is coddled in an embrace between the hills and water,” he concluded lyrically.

“You make it seem like a magical world.”

“In a way it is.”

I stared up at the dappled light spilling through the emerald fronds and listened to the intermittent splash of the oars, which sounded like a huge fish pulling us forward like some tonga pony of the waves. Just before nightfall of the next day, we arrived at Quilon. Except for brief stops to relieve ourselves, we had eaten and slept on the boat for two days and nights, so it surprised me when we pulled up to a quay.

“We'll stay here tonight,” Edwin announced.

Almost hidden behind draperies of palms and cashew trees on the bank of Lake Ashtamudi, the town was a primitive waterfront trading post.

“But where?” I asked, surveying the shabby wooden houses along the winding canals.

“We are to be guests of the British resident. He lives up on that hill.”

I followed his hand movement and saw some more substantial dwellings and then the residency. In the setting sun its crenellated red roof glowed like a torch. Intricately carved balconies glinted like white birds.

Word that the maharajah's launch was at Quilon reached the British resident before Edwin and I could climb the hill. We rejected the offer of a palanquin, wanting to stretch our stiff legs. The resident and his wife met us at the gate and introduced themselves.

“Hello. I am Dennis Clifford, the resident of Quilon. It is my pleasure to welcome you to our little outpost,” said the tall man, whose clothes hung on him as though they were tailored for someone with more flesh. At first I thought the climate might have disagreed with him, but then after studying his bright eyes and florid cheeks, I decided he preferred loose garments, a practical solution in this humid land. “May I introduce my wife? This is Jemima Clifford.”

I shook hands with a winsome lady whose voluptuous chest dominated her slender frame. She wore her auburn hair in ringlets that framed her heart-shaped face.

“Delighted to have you with us,” Dennis Clifford said with an aristocratic accent. “Not often do we have the opportunity to have a guest so recently out of Calcutta,” he said to me, surprising me with what he already knew.

“I am certain you will be wanting a proper tea,” his wife said, steering us to a table on the veranda overlooking the town.

I warmed instantly to our hosts. They had the gift of making a visitor feel like the most important person in the world.

After making sure my plate was filled and my cup of tea mixed to my preference, Dennis Clifford pointed out the sights of his domain. “In the distant clearing is the temple, and over to the right is the fruit-and-vegetable market. I am afraid that except for our central location in the state and the ruins of the Portuguese fort at Tangasseri, Quilon has little to offer.” He grinned conspiratorially. “Why have I accepted a post in this backwater? Is that what you are wondering? A low mark on the ICS examination? A political disgrace?” His high forehead crinkled.

“Well . . .”I shrugged slightly, hoping that that minor acknowledgment did not give offense.

“Quilon may seem sleepy, but it is a strategic location—the sole location south of Cochin suitable for a port.”

“That sounds promising.”

“Indeed. However, the maharajah is a provincial fellow who cannot see beyond his own navel. He is well-matched by the British resident to Trivandrum, a kindly old codger, but one whose fondness for the past has clouded his vision for the future.”

“How frustrating for someone with progressive ideas.”

Mr. Clifford's eyes widened. “You are very perceptive, Mrs. Salem. What do you think would be the way to relieve the difficulty?”

“I suppose the solution would be to move from the sidelines into the center of power.”

“You think I belong in Trivandrum.”

“Forgive me if I spoke out of turn.”

“Not at all. I asked for your opinion. I was only wondering how you knew so much about politics. Is your father involved in Calcutta's raj?”

“No, he is a man of commerce.”

“Then what would you know about sitting on the sidelines?”

“Why, Mr. Clifford, that knowledge is every woman's birthright.”

His lips twitched with amusement, but he did not laugh at me. “Then, from one bench-sitter to another, let me just say that at the moment, life in Trivandrum is an exceedingly tedious round of pompous rituals. Distasteful moments of intrigue punctuate the doldrums while a few delicious bites from the apple of privilege sweeten the pot.”

I looked confused.

“The maharajah is old, sickly, and set in his ways—some of which are difficult for anyone with European sensibilities to appreciate,” he said with a touch of disdain. “Sir Mortimer Trevelyan is old, but in perfect health and as wily as they come. He is an old crony of the former governor of Madras, and he will remain in place until the maharajah's successor takes over. After that—”

“Now, Dennis, after two days on the water these young people would probably prefer lighter conversation,” his wife said. “Mrs. Salem, forgive me, but I am hungry for news from the outside world. I hear you are recently out from Calcutta.”

“You know more about me than I do you,” I said good-naturedly.

“When the young prince passed this way a few weeks ago, he told us about you both.”

“Of course,” I said with relief, and settled back on the settee. As the tropical darkness enveloped us, I found it surprisingly easy to tell Mrs. Clifford about how Edwin and I had met, and our two weddings. “There is no way out,” I concluded. “Two ceremonies in less than a month have sealed my fate.”

“Poor darling, is that a complaint or a boast?” Edwin interjected in a husky voice that caused my pulse to leap.

“Sounded like a boast to me.” Dennis Clifford chuckled. “Now we had better adjourn inside, or instead of dining as guests of the residency of Quilon, you will be the feast for the carnivorous winged beasts who crave visiting delicacies.”

As he spoke the words, I became aware that some of my romantic sensations might have been the result of an insect attack. Swatting my arms, I followed the Cliffords' lead.

“After the journey, I thought you might like to bathe,” Mrs. Clifford suggested.

“Oh, yes.”

“Baths have been prepared in the room adjacent the nursery.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Seven at last count,” she replied. “And one more on the way. Tomorrow you might allow me the honor of introducing you to them. They do so like to see a fresh face now and then.”

“I'd like very much to meet them.”

“That's good, because the house is too small to hide them from you.”

Side by side Edwin and I bathed in a room with two large metal tubs in the center. On the pegs lining one wall hung sacks embroidered with the children's initials and containing their toiletries. Slippers, from the smallest on the left to the largest on the right, were placed underneath the sacks.

“Isn't that adorable?” I said. As I lathered myself, children's calls filtered through the wooden walls. “I am beginning to admire Mrs. Clifford.”

“Would you like a house filled with so many children?”

“I wouldn't mind. I've always lived in a large family. There were three of us, then came Ruby, then Zilpah's boys, and finally Seti.”

“What do you think of the resident?”

“Awfully nice. Do you know anything about him?”

“I seem to recall Amar saying that he is the nephew of the former viceroy, the Marquis of Ripon, and I believe his wife is the daughter of an earl. Makes one wonder why they are stuck in this corner of the empire.”

“He thinks Quilon is about to boom.”

“That hardly seems likely,” Edwin said with a laugh. He stood up and poured a pitcher of water over his head, then shook himself off like a dog, spraying me.

“Edwin!”

With a fluid gesture he stepped out of his tub and into mine.

“Edwin!”

“Hush.” He bent over and kissed me, and soon his intentions were clear. He knelt over me.

“Edwin . . .” I whispered. “The walls are too thin. There are children running about.” He paid me no mind and proceeded to lick my nipples. Sloshing water over the side of my tub, I propped myself up slightly as he maneuvered above me. Just then we heard a creak.

He started and leapt out of the tub, banging his ankle. “Ow!” He rubbed the spot and looked at me dolefully.

I shook my head. “Bad boys get punished.”

He pouted as he wrapped himself with a towel.

“Later,” I promised.

 

The table gleamed with silver. Jemima appeared in a yellow gown edged with coral silk ribbons around the bodice, waist, and hem. Her husband wore a white dinner jacket with a frayed cuff.

“What a joy to have you with us,” Jemima said, clasping my hand as she led me to my place.

“Indeed, indeed,” the resident added, smiling broadly in my direction.

The servants placed bowls of a clear broth in front of us. “I must warn you, the soup is not only hot, but quite spicy. I am a firm believer that chilies protect against tropical disease. Most of the cooking here is my alteration of home recipes with local condiments.”

I took a tentative sip. At first I tasted only a chicken stock. Then an assault fired the roof of my mouth. Another sip seemed smoother to the tongue, but then I was accosted with a second volley that caused boiling tears to form. I blinked, but not before Dennis noticed.

“My dear, I do think Cook has overdone it this time.”

“No, it’s delicious, really,” I protested.

Jemima passed me a plate of rolls. “Try one of these with it.”

The bread was superb, soft and yeasty, with a touch of sweetness that was the perfect foil to the broth. “You must tell me how to bake these,” I said.

“Do you have a cook?”

“No, not yet. Yali and Hanif do almost everything for us.”

“I counsel many new girls just out from England. They expect to have everything as they did at home, so that is the hardest adjustment. For you, the most important step will be reconciling to the peculiarities of the Malabar climate. Would you mind some counsel from a veteran?”

“I'd welcome it.”

With my encouragement, Jemima launched into advice covering everything from molds to fevers to training servants. “I have never had any difficulty. Just remember that an untidy mistress has untidy servants; a weak mistress has idle servants. I know some may think me cruel, but I keep back a portion of my servants' pay, partly to prevent them from running away at the least difficulty, and partly so I may dock small amounts in fines for various transgressions. At the end of a year, my good servants thank me, for they have a nice sum set aside.”

The serving of a large fish distracted her attention. With an astute eye she watched her bearer remove the bones. I turned my attention to the discussion the men were having.

“Since the opening of the Suez Canal, there has been a veritable explosion of interest in the resources here,” Dennis said as he brushed back the tufts of hair that bristled above his ears. “Quilon is exceptionally well-situated to be a transit point for Ceylonese goods to be shipped to Europe.”

“Do you think more ships will be calling here?” Edwin asked earnestly.

“Absolutely. Mostly the ships come into Bombay, or, as a second port of call, Cochin. Nevertheless, the harbor of Quilon has splendid possibilities.”

Edwin leaned toward our host. “Really, sir, that is quite interesting.”

The resident had noticed that I was no longer occupied by his wife, so he turned to a new topic with me. “I understand this will be your first trip to Travancore, Mrs. Salem.”

“Yes.”

“When Prince Amar passed through here a few weeks ago, he mentioned you would be coming this way soon. And, of course, when he sent the royal launch, his men alerted us when to expect you. May I say how pleased I am you have offered the prince your friendship at this time.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“Then you do not know,” he said slowly. “I thought that might be the case. I should have guessed Prince Amar would not want you to feel obliged to accept his hospitality.”