The Midnight Rose (50 page)

“Yes, and I promise I’ll be fine for tomorrow’s shoot.”

“Well, we’ll see. We’ve only scheduled in one scene for you late tomorrow afternoon. Keep your chin up, sweetheart,” he called as he left the room.

Half an hour later, there was another knock on the sitting room door and Anthony came in. He stared at her for a moment, gave a sudden sigh of exasperation, then forced a smile.

“Just checking in,” he said gruffly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think,” Rebecca said. “Thank you so much for letting me use this beautiful suite.”

“Well, I can think of no one more fitting to occupy it,” he said stiffly. “I hear your young man has left?”

“Yes, and he won’t be back.”

“I see.” He stood staring at her. “I’m having dinner again tonight with our young Indian friend,” he commented eventually.

“Oh?” Rebecca replied, at a loss.

“Well, I hope you feel more chipper tomorrow.”

“I hope I will too. Thanks for checking on me.”

“Good-bye,” Anthony said, and left the room.

When Anthony had gone, Rebecca luxuriated in the big bathtub. Having slept so late, she now felt wide awake. When Mrs. Trevathan appeared with tea and scones, she ate them hungrily.

“I really think I’m improving,” she told her.

“That’s what I like to hear, dear.”

“Is Mr. Malik around?” she asked.

“He went out earlier, but I believe he’s somewhere about, yes. He’s having dinner with his lordship later.”

“If you see him, do you think you could ask him if he’d mind coming up to see me?”

“When I see him, I’ll let him know,” Mrs. Trevathan said as she left.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Rebecca called.

“Hello, Rebecca, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Ari, come in. How did it go at the local church?” she asked him.

“Well, I walked around the graveyard, but I couldn’t find any sign of a headstone naming Moh. Then I drove to Exeter to look him up on the main births-and-deaths register, but again, nothing. So, I’m afraid, it’s another dead end.”

“Isn’t that odd?” Rebecca asked. “Any death certificate that was issued would surely be on record?”

“I would have thought so, yes.”

“Ari, I found something yesterday in this suite and it’s absolute proof that Anahita was here at Astbury.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Donald Astbury’s diary. You probably already know quite a lot of what’s in it, but it confirms that he loved your great-grandmother and that they did have a child together.”

“Rebecca, that’s incredible! I’d love to read it,” Ari said eagerly.

“I think you might be shocked when you see the diary itself. I’ll go and get it.” Rebecca went through to Donald’s dressing room and took it from the bookshelf. “There,” she said, handing it to him.

Ari studied the name on the spine and the insignia on the front. He opened it, saw the inscription and then the poem. “Oh my God,” he breathed, “it’s the poem I told you about only a couple of days ago.”

“I know, that’s the reason I took it down from the shelf in the first place. It’s like something was leading us to it.”

“Yes. You know, Rebecca, I’ve never given credence to my great-grandmother’s hocus-pocus, as I once called it, but now”—he studied the volume in his hands—“one way or another, I’m beginning to change my mind. Do you think Anthony’s read this?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” said Rebecca. “It’s been masquerading as just another book on the shelf for all these years.”

“Can I borrow it tonight?”

“Well, it’s not mine to say whether you can, is it?”

“No, but I don’t think I’ll run the risk of asking Anthony first.” Ari raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Rebecca.”

“And I need a favor in return, Ari.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Well, I know this sounds ridiculous,” she began slowly, “but I’m really beginning to feel that there is some kind of link between me and Violet. It’s messing with my head a bit.”

“I can certainly understand that,” Ari said sympathetically.

“So . . . I want to know how Violet died.”

“I see. Well”—Ari looked at his watch—“I’m meant to be down at dinner with Anthony in twenty minutes. The best thing for me to do is to give you Anahita’s story. She explains it all far better than I can.”

“Then would you go and get it now?” Rebecca asked him. “I can get started immediately.”

“Yes.” Ari stood up and left the room, the diary tucked under his arm. He was back a few minutes later holding the plastic file.

“I’m warning you, Rebecca, it doesn’t make pretty reading, but I think you’re right. You should know what happened to Violet.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said.

Once Ari had left, Rebecca curled up on the sofa, removed the pile of papers from the wallet and sifted through them to find where she had left off before . . .

W
hen Donald told me where he intended us to live, I was shocked and disconcerted. The first question I asked him was what his mother would have to say about it.

“She’ll have absolutely nothing to say, Anni,” said Donald firmly. “She’s created this situation through her own selfish actions. If it wasn’t for her, you and I would now be married and raising our child together, and Astbury would have been sold.”

Although Donald tried to comfort me, a distinct feeling of unease remained. Maud Astbury had always disliked me, and I instinctively felt it was born of more than racial prejudice. She knew I saw through her outer shell to the core of her selfish soul.

“But what if the servants talk?” I asked Donald. “After all, they know who I am.”

“Yes, they do,” Donald answered, “but I’ve thought of that. We simply say that you were married while you were away in India, but sadly, your husband died and that you are now a widow. Perhaps it might be sensible to invent a new surname for the two of you?” He put his hand on mine. “Will you come with me to Astbury, Anni? I wish you and our child to be near me. It may not be perfect, but it’s the best I can do.”

I asked him if he would give me some time to think about his suggestion. There was much about it I didn’t like. Living close to Donald and having to watch him with his new wife was not in any sense palatable to me.

Looking back now I know I was extremely vulnerable. Yes, I’d survived,
but only just. Back in Keighley, I’d simply sought to keep myself and you, dearest Moh, alive, having given up any thoughts for the future. I’d used all of the money from the rubies to pay my hospital bills, and to pay rent and buy food for us. Even though I wanted very much to reject Donald’s support, the very moment he found me, I was facing destitution. I could no longer afford to refuse help.

I may have been happy to go to an early grave rather than betray my precious pride, but I could not cast you to that fate too. Providence had decreed that Donald found us just in time, and despite the bile that rose to my throat every time I thought of us being hidden away by him, I knew that I simply had no choice but to accept Donald’s solution, whatever it might be.

In the past week, as I’d sat in the pretty bedroom Selina had so generously provided me, I could feel my strength returning. Good food and rest were beginning to restore me and my mind was clearing. At the very least, if I found the situation intolerable, I could see Donald’s offer as providing a breathing space. And perhaps, once I was stronger, I’d be able to resume my nursing and gain our independence through that.

But could I bear the thought of Donald returning to his wife after he’d been with us? It was on this I pondered most of all. Our love had always been so complete; I struggled to imagine how it could survive with a third party in it.

Then, through Selina, who’d told her friend Minty I’d been found, I received a letter from Indira, telling me that she was pregnant. She complained in her usual vociferous way about the morning sickness, and also about the unfriendliness of Varun’s first wife, who held superiority over her in the palace, if not in her husband’s heart.

That letter made me think about my own situation and wonder whether it was any different from Indira’s. Both of the men we loved had wives who took technical precedence over us, even if, as Indira said, we had their hearts. If I’d married a prince of India, I would have had to share him with at least one wife. And although there was no ring on my finger from Donald, we were truly wedded in all the ways that mattered.

Once I began to look at it this way, I struggled with it less. The fact that Donald had married Violet because she was deemed socially suitable
and
brought a dowry that had secured the Astbury estate was an arrangement identical to that of the marriage of any royal prince in my home country. If I thought of myself as Donald’s second wife, rather than his mistress, the situation felt far more acceptable to me.

Besides, any lingering doubts were undermined by the simple fact that I loved your father.

“We will come to Devon with you,” I said to him finally.

“Oh, darling! I’m so glad you’ve agreed. I know it’s not perfect, Anni, and I only wish I was taking you home to Astbury Hall. I have a cottage in mind which isn’t inside the estate itself or in the village, but on the moors. It’s isolated too, which, if I’m to come and visit you regularly, is going to be important.”

“I’m very happy to live in peace and solitude, especially as I have Moh to keep me company,” I agreed.

“Well, it’s been empty for many years, so it will be a few weeks before I can make it fit for human habitation. Are you content to stay here in Kensington while I do so?”

“If Selina is happy to accommodate us.”

“You know she adores you, and with her baby due soon and Henri still in France, I think it’s good for her to have company. So, is that settled?”

“Yes, I believe it is,” I said.

•  •  •

Donald stayed with us for two more days, then said he must return for the weekend to Astbury Hall. His wife was giving a house party to show off her new interiors, and he said he must be there. I did my best not to mind—this was only the first of many occasions I would have to endure if I was to be part of his life in the future. I waved him off with a pleasant smile, thinking of Indira and how she must grit her teeth and bow to her husband’s first wife.

I remember the weeks while we waited for our new home to be renovated as being tranquil. You, thanks to the plentiful supply of wholesome food, a clean and warm nursery and a pair of less exhausted mother’s arms around you, began to thrive. You put on pounds within a month and began to crawl, your now-sturdy frame carrying you quickly across the nursery floor.

Selina’s baby arrived without complication in October and I enjoyed being able to repay some of her kindness by caring for her and the child, whom Henri and she had named Fleur. Then, in early December, Donald drove us down to Devon. I could see he was excited at the prospect of my viewing our new home for the first time.

A rough track across the moors led us into a dip in which a cottage
nestled cozily. Built of local stone, it was double-fronted and very pretty, reminding me a little of Charlotte’s rectory in Oxenhope. The brook where Donald and I had talked together that summer long ago ran past in front of it.

Donald parked his Crossley at the back of the cottage, then shut the gate that sat in a high wooden fence behind us just in case there were prying eyes. Taking me by the hand, he led us to the back door and opened it. We stepped inside a low-ceilinged kitchen, then along a narrow hallway into a snug, freshly painted sitting room with a fireplace.

Upstairs, in the tiny second bedroom that Donald had thoughtfully fashioned as a nursery, I laid you down in the cot for a rest. I then stepped into the larger bedroom, noticing the bright flower-sprigged curtains and the big brass double bed covered by a cheerful patchwork quilt.

“So, Anni, what do you think?” he asked eagerly.

“I think it’s beautiful, Donald,” I replied, genuinely overwhelmed. After the claustrophobic squalor of Keighley, this was tantamount to heaven.

“I’ve had the window frames replaced and installed electric light and added a bathroom next to the scullery downstairs.
And
 . . . this is for you.” He took a sheaf of papers out of his coat pocket and handed them to me.

I looked through them briefly, gleaning their meaning.

“What it says, my darling, is that I, Lord Donald Astbury, grant you a lifetime tenancy of this cottage. That means that no one can ever throw you out of here, no matter what happens to me. For as long as you need it, this is your home.”

Tears spontaneously filled my eyes. Ever since my father had died and Mother and I had moved to the zenana, I’d never had a real home of my own.

“Thank you, Donald.”

“Darling Anni, it’s nothing really. You deserve so much more.”

He took me into his arms and hugged me, then began to kiss me. Maybe it was because of the relief of finally being in a safe place, of being cared for so thoughtfully, that I felt my body yielding to him. We fell as one onto the big, comfortable bed. Perhaps it was the length of time, or the many weeks of nearness to each other without physical contact, but our lovemaking felt even more passionate than it had before. We lay together afterward, our arms wrapped tightly around each other, our son sleeping peacefully next door. I did my best to
block from my mind the thought of him doing the same with his wife.