The Midnight Rose (18 page)

I asked her if she had ever used a potion to harm a person.

She stared at me, considering her answer. “I am a healer, Anahita. The gods alone tell me which potion I should use.”

There was very little I kept back from Indira, but I did not mention my lessons with Zeena. Or the buried rubies. These were secrets my intuition told me to keep to myself.

One year later

Indira ran into our bedroom, threw herself upon the mattress and beat the pillow with her fists. “I won’t go! I cannot! I will not!” Then I watched in dismay as my thirteen-year-old friend howled and screamed like a toddler. “They can’t make me! I’ll run away! I’ll refuse!”

In the past two years, I’d often seen these shows of temper when Indira didn’t get her way. I sat quietly, watching her until she calmed down. Then I asked gently, “What is it, Indy? What has happened?”

“My parents wish me to follow my brothers and sister to boarding school in England. I
hate
England! It’s dull and miserable and I always get a cold.”

I sat there looking at Indira in abject horror. If they were to send her away to school, I thought selfishly, what would become of me? “They can’t make you go, surely?”

“It’s my father who wishes me to go. And as he is ‘God,’ his wish is everyone else’s command. Including mine. I swear, I will die!” she added dramatically.

Of course for me, the thought of visiting England—the famous homeland of those who ruled us in India—was an adventure I had always longed for. I imagined seeing Wordsworth’s daffodils, visiting the bleak moors of Yorkshire where the Brontës had written their beautiful stories, and, of course, London, the Capital of the World. But I knew these were inappropriate thoughts with which to comfort my distraught friend.

“When would you have to leave?”

“I sail in August, and arrive for the start of term in September. I’ve told Ma that I’ll never be any good at lessons, that I wasn’t born to sit still—and besides, I know I will wilt like a frozen marigold in that cold, dark place.”

“Oh, Indy, I’ll miss you terribly.”

“Oh no, Anni, it’s not just me they want to send, it’s you too.”

“Me?”

“Of course! Even they wouldn’t be so cruel as to send me alone. You’ll be coming with me, unless I can think of a way I can persuade them to let us stay here. But Ma loves England and the season there, so she’s not on our side at all. What about Pretty?” cried Indira. “She’ll pine away without me, I know she will!”

I tried to keep my face looking as concerned and as miserable as it had been before Indira had told me that I too was included on this voyage across the sea. “Is it really that bad?” I asked her. “Your mother and father seem to love it, and your brothers and sister. They said London is a beautiful city where the streets are lit up with electricity and the women can wander freely, even showing their ankles!”

“We wouldn’t be anywhere near London.” Indira hung her head in despair. “They’re sending us off to where my sister went—some horrid school by the cold English sea. Oh, Anni, what on earth are we to do?”

“At least we’ll have each other,” I said gently, standing up and going to sit on the bed next to her. I took her hands in mine. “Please don’t cry anymore, Indy. As long as we’re together, nothing else matters, does it?”

Indira shrugged silently, her eyes downcast. Underneath her bluster, she knew this time she was beaten.

“I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

During our last three months in India, Indira sulked continuously and I grew more excited by the day. During the hot season, we moved again up to the royal family’s summer residence in Darjeeling.

“This cooler climate is preparing you for when you travel across the sea,” her father, the Maharaja, said to her one balmy evening, when the family were sitting out on the veranda after dinner.

“Pa,
nothing
will prepare me for England,” Indira growled moodily. “You know I hate it.”

“Just as I hate having to deal with endless affairs of state and never having a day to myself,” her father chastised her. “Really, Indira, you must learn that life is not simply about pleasure.”

•  •  •

We returned to Cooch Behar Palace from Darjeeling earlier than usual to make ready for the voyage. The entire family was traveling to England together by ship, which required enormous trunks and crates to be packed up—the Maharani insisted on transporting a little bit of home with her wherever she went. Indira entered a slough of despondency
which even I couldn’t rouse her from. She insisted on spending the nights sleeping with Pretty the elephant in the
pilkhana
and no amount of cajoling from me would bring her back inside.

“I can’t even say I’ll be home for the Christmas holidays,” she said as she stood surveying the trunks on our bedroom floor, tears flooding down her cheeks. “There isn’t enough time to sail back. I won’t see Pretty for almost a year!”

I packed the few possessions I owned: my mother’s herb book, her s
hil noda
and a small selection of dried herbs in case illness beset me in England. After careful thought, I decided to leave my rubies buried beneath the pavilion, believing they were safer there than in my trunk or traveling case.

Four days later, I stood on the deck of the largest and most magnificent ship I’d ever seen as it steamed away from the docks of Calcutta. Little did I know that we would be away for far longer than either of us could ever have imagined.

The royal party was installed in a row of luxurious, above-deck suites on the ship. Indira and I had our own room along the corridor which had been commandeered for the family and the aides-de-camp, butlers, maids and general staff that made up their party. Used to counting in single rupees, I thought that to maintain the lifestyle they did their wealth must have been enough to buy the entire world twice over.

Even Indira managed to raise a smile as we investigated the various modern gadgets in our room. We were also being allowed, now that we were both approaching fourteen, to join the rest of the family for the onboard cocktail parties Indira’s parents were holding in their grand salon. Like Indira, I had been fitted out with a suitable Western-style wardrobe—strange-shaped tunics made of muslin and itchy woolen sweaters that I was told I would need once I arrived on England’s chilly shores.

As I struggled to fasten the tiny seed-pearl buttons on an uncomfortably tight blouse, I noticed my burgeoning body in the mirror. It had been horribly embarrassing when Miss Reid had suggested to me that it might be time to wear a brassiere. She had also given me some rag-cloths for what she called my “monthlies.” One had appeared recently, much to my alarm, but thankfully it hadn’t happened again since. My new, fuller shape was made even more noticeable by the fact that Indira’s body didn’t seem to have changed a jot. She had simply
grown upward, not outward, and was now a good three inches taller than I was. I felt like a fat pomegranate beside a banana.

“Are you ready, girls?” asked Miss Reid as the maid finished combing Indira’s lustrous ebony hair.

“Yes, Miss Reid,” I answered for both of us.

“I just know this will be dull,” Indira said, raising her eyebrows as we left our cabin to walk down the corridor toward the salon
.
We could hear the band playing and a crooner singing Western music as we entered the enormous, ornately decorated room. The glittering jewels adorning the female guests caught the reflection from the chandeliers. All of them were in Western dress, including the Maharani, who was wearing an exquisite sapphire-blue evening gown. I’ve never been able to decide whether I preferred her in a sari or a cocktail dress—Ayesha, like the chameleon she was, could adjust to either with perfection.

“Stick by me, won’t you?” said Indira, pulling me through the crowds toward a waiter holding a silver tray.

“Drink, madam?” A flunky in a smart white uniform proffered a tray.

Indira winked at me as she chose two glasses of champagne from the assortment on the tray. The waiter glanced at her quizically, but before he could say anything, Indira had disappeared into the crowd, with me scurrying behind her.

“Go on, try it,” she said, handing me one. “I quite like it. The bubbles go up your nose.” She lifted the glass to her lips.

“Do you really think we should?” I looked around nervously. “It has alcohol in it, Indy. I’m sure we’ll get into terrible trouble if anyone sees us.”

“Who’s to care, Anni? And besides, we’re almost grown-up. Come on,” she urged me.

So I put the champagne glass to my mouth and took a sip. As the bubbles rose into my nose, I choked and spluttered while Indira looked on, laughing.

“Dear me, not on the champagne already are we, girls? And at your age!”

I could have curled up in embarrassment as Raj, Indira’s eldest brother, looked down at me in amusement as my eyes streamed. “Here, Anahita, have my handkerchief.”

“Thank you,” I said as I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, cursing myself for the bad timing. Over the past year, I had developed a crush
on Raj; he had arrived in Darjeeling for the summer, having just left Harrow, a school in England which catered to the sons of British and foreign aristocracy. He seemed impossibly grown-up and sophisticated in his Western clothes and was the most handsome young man I’d ever seen.

“May I introduce my friend Prince Varun of Patna? He and I are going up to Oxford together this term. We’ll show them a thing or two about cricket, won’t we?” Raj made the gesture of bowling a ball.

“Absolutely,” Prince Varun agreed. “So, are you two girls enjoying the voyage so far?”

I turned to Indira, who normally answered for both of us in these situations. But instead, Indira was staring up into the eyes of Prince Varun, seemingly struck dumb.

“Yes,” I replied hastily, “it’s my first time out of India.”

“Then get ready to be amazed by England, and horrified by the weather,” joked Raj. “I hope you’ve packed lots of woolens and Epsom salts. And be prepared for the mustard baths should you catch a cold at school. They’re something else.”

Indira was still standing silently, gazing at Varun, so I said, “Yes, I think we’re fully prepared.”

“Good, good. Well, we’ll leave you girls to it.” Raj bowed to me, then threw a glance at his sister. “You’re very quiet, Indira. Are you feeling quite well?”

“Yes.” Indira dragged her eyes dreamily away from Prince Varun. “I’m very well indeed.”

Contrary to Indira’s earlier indication that she would wish to leave the “dull” party as soon as possible, she insisted that we sit in the corner and watch the guests. Eventually, even I was starting to yawn and long for my bed. Finally, I stood up. “Come on, Indy, I’m tired.”

“Just another five minutes,” Indira said, and I followed her glance to where Raj and Varun were talking animatedly to a couple of young Englishwomen.

I finally managed to drag her out of the salon and along the corridor to our room. We undressed and climbed into bed.

“Indy, you were very quiet tonight. What’s the matter?”

Indira’s eyes were closed, but she gave a small sigh. “Yes. I’m absolutely fine. I’ve just met the man I’m going to marry, that’s all.”

“What?!”

“Yes, I saw him, and I just knew.”

“You mean Varun?”

“Of course I do.”

“But, Indy, he’s a prince! That will mean it’s already been decided by his parents whom he will marry.”

“Just as it’s been decided by mine whom I will marry.” Her eyes popped open suddenly, and she cast one of her deep, knowing glances my way. “I promise you, Anni, one day he will be my husband.”

•  •  •

For the next few weeks, life aboard the ship became a game of cat and mouse as Indira insisted we stalk Raj and Varun, just so that she could catch further glimpses of her “future husband.” This entailed hanging about surreptitiously outside their cabins when they left to take breakfast or lunch, or indulge in a game of billiards, or play croquet on one of the decks. We would then have to appear as nonchalant as possible, as if it was a coincidence we had found them there, and sit watching whatever game it was they were playing.

Suddenly, the girl who’d never cared a fig for her appearance began to sweat over what she should wear to dinner in the evenings, stealing perfume from her mother’s dressing table and lipstick from her sister.

I’m afraid to say that I found the whole thing ridiculous and rather irritating. Indira was simply experiencing her first crush and I knew it would pass soon enough. However, Indy being Indy, she was embracing her new passion as wholeheartedly as she did everything else.

On the last night before we were due to dock in Southampton, the royal party had been invited to have dinner at the captain’s table. Indira’s emotions swam ceaselessly between which dress she was going to wear and the fact that this would be the last time she saw Prince Varun. I’d diplomatically refrained from pointing out during Indira’s infatuation that she almost certainly could have worn nothing at all, and still Varun would merely have seen her for what she still was: a little girl.

“Look, Minty has lent me one of her old dresses!” Indira burst through the door with a peach chiffon evening dress over her arm. “And it fits me perfectly.”

“Surely you won’t dare to wear it?” I cautioned, thinking of the prim muslin and calico dresses buttoned up to the neck which befitted our still-childish status.

“Yes! Anni, don’t you understand? I have to do something dramatic for Varun to notice me!”

“You’ll never get away with it. Miss Reid wouldn’t let you appear in
that
in public in a million years! And besides, what would your mother say?”

“I’ll be fourteen in four months’ time. Goodness, many girls in India are married by then,” Indira pouted. “Anni, you have to help me; I’ll get dressed as normal with you, then once Miss Reid has taken us up to the dining room, I’ll say I’ve forgotten something and I’ll scurry downstairs and change into the dress. How’s that for a plan?”

My horror showed on my face. “Please, Indy, what about your father? Do you want to disgrace him?”