The Midnight Rose (57 page)

I spent the next day numbly packing our clothes and few precious objects into a suitcase. I had decided we would travel to London and I would take rooms at a boardinghouse while I took my pearls to Hatton Garden and organized our passage back to India from Southampton.

The following morning, there was a harsh rap on my front door. I opened it and two policemen stood on my doorstep.

“Are you Mrs. Anahita Prasad?”

“I am,” I answered cordially. “Can I help you?”

“You are under arrest for causing the death of Lady Violet Astbury. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence, do you understand? We’d now like you to accompany us to the police station.”

I
stared at the officers as if they’d taken leave of their senses. I was so shocked that I couldn’t find the words to use, so I stood dumbly, unable to reply.

“Come on, Mrs. Prasad.” One of the officers reached out a hand to grab my arm and pull me out of the front door. “Let’s not make any trouble.”

His aggressive manner finally made me find my voice. “My baby’s upstairs sleeping in his cot. I must go and get him.”

“No need to worry about that. Someone will be along to collect him later.”

“No!” I shouted, struggling out of his grasp. “I can’t leave him here alone. I have to get him now!”

The grip on my arm tightened as I fought to free myself. The second officer immediately took hold of my other arm and forced me out through the front door. Then they bundled me into the back of the car and drove me away from you.

My memories from then on are vague. Perhaps, like anybody would, I’ve blocked much of it from my mind. But on that dreadful journey from the moors, I believe I saw Donald on Glory just before we passed through Astbury village. I turned back toward him and with all my might, I screamed out your name to him, before a rough male hand was placed across my mouth.

I do remember vividly, though, that the singing continued loud and strong in my ears, but I put it down to my own, terrible distress.

•  •  •

Once I’d been formally charged, I was eventually driven to Holloway Prison in London, the kind of place one can only imagine in a nightmare. Mostly I remember the cold and the wet of the rainwater that poured in through the iron grill in the wall of my cell, and the perpetual sounds of souls in mental and physical torment all around me. In the first few days, all I could think of was you and where you were,
and I too, joined the cacophony and screamed your name over and over. I entreated anyone who entered my cell to find out where you were. The thought of you alone and abandoned in the cottage on the moors haunted every second of my existence.

I don’t know how long it was before I received my first visitor; perhaps, in reality, only a few days had passed, but it seemed an eternity to a mother who’d been wrenched from her child and had no idea of his whereabouts.

When Selina entered the dark visitors’ room looking like an angel of mercy, I fell to my knees and wept, my arms encircling her ankles.

“Thank the gods, thank the gods you’re here! My son, Selina, I don’t know what they’ve done with Moh!”

I was forcefully restrained from her by a warder and placed back on the chair with a warning that if I moved to touch her physically again, my arms would be bound behind it.

“Oh, Anni . . . I . . .”

I could see that Selina was crying too.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said.

“Please, don’t worry about me, I just need you to find my son,” I said as my voice broke in despair.

“Anni, oh dear, oh dear . . .”

I remember feeling hysteria rise within me, and I knew I must try to control myself to make her understand. “Selina, please, do you know where he is? He might still be there at the cottage by the brook. I think I saw Donald when they were driving me away in the car, but he may not have heard me shouting to him. Please, Selina, go and make sure Moh’s still not there. He’ll be so hungry, and frightened . . .” I broke down again and sobbed, my head in my hands.

“Forgive me, Anni, Henri and I were traveling in Europe. We only arrived back at the château in France a few days ago, and I received both telegrams. Of course, I left to come to England immediately. I’m still in shock. What a tragedy. Such a terrible tragedy . . . I can hardly believe it.”

“Please believe me, Selina, I didn’t murder Violet. Nothing could have saved her. Dr. Trefusis was there and he knew it too. I didn’t give her anything that could possibly have harmed her.”

“I’m sure that you did all that you could, Anni,” said Selina.

“I did, I swear, I did. And Donald? How is he?”

“Oh, Anni, they really haven’t told you anything, have they?”

“Told me what? I haven’t seen a soul since I arrived in this terrible place.”

Selina put her fingers to her temple. “Then I must. Anni, I’m so very sorry, but Donald must have ridden back to the cottage to get Moh. And I . . . good God, how can I begin to tell you this?”

“Selina, please,” I entreated her, “whatever it is, just say it.”

“Anni, no one knows what happened, but Donald and Moh were found together by the brook. We can only believe Glory stumbled and threw them off. When they were eventually discovered, Donald was already . . . gone. He’d hit his head on a jagged rock and they believe he died instantly. And Moh—” Selina tried to compose herself to say the words. “They think that when he was thrown off Glory, he tumbled down into the brook. And . . . drowned.”

I stared at her as if she was insane. “You’re telling me that my son is dead? And Donald too? Tell me you are lying, Selina, for God’s sake, tell me . . . tell me . . .”

“No, Anni. I’m so terribly, terribly sorry. I—”

A deep guttural wail echoed around the walls as I toppled off the chair to the floor. I saw Selina’s horrified face, as one of the warders picked me up and dragged me from the room and half-carried me stumbling along the passage, then down the steps, before throwing me into my cell.

“You can come out when you’ve calmed down,” he said as he slammed the door. The sound of wailing continued endlessly in my ears, and it took me some time before I realized that I was the source of it.

After that, time passed as the hysteria eventually left me, and instead, I became catatonic. I remember that occasionally I was taken to the visitors’ room, where strange shadowy figures would try to talk to me and explain what was happening, but I could not be reached. I disappeared deep inside myself into a void of nothingness. I simply did not exist, for if I did, I knew the pain I’d feel would overwhelm me. The strangers talked about the charges I was facing and how I must begin to defend myself, or it was likely I would hang. That if I didn’t start to respond, they’d have to send me to an asylum until the trial.

My son, perhaps you might think your mother terribly weak for not speaking up for herself. But the news of your own and your father’s death broke me completely. I lay there, in my cell, only praying for death to come soon so that I could join you both.

•  •  •

“Get up! There’s someone here to see you.”

I recall one of the warders looking down at me, curled up on my bunk. I shook my head listlessly.

He sat me upright, then dipped a filthy rag, which was all I had to wash with, into a bowl of water and wiped my face. “Can’t have anyone saying we don’t take care of our prisoners here,” he said as he lifted me to a standing position and then dragged me like a puppet out of the room.

“Now, none of that screaming caper in front of your visitor this time,” he ordered me.

He dumped me on the chair in the visitors’ room and I hung my head to my chest, too weak to hold it upright and not in the least bit interested in who my visitor might be. When this new ordeal was over, I could return to the solitude of my void.

I heard someone entering the room and a familiar scent pervaded my nose, although I couldn’t place where I knew it from.

“Anni? Anni, look at me.”

The voice too, I recognized, but I supposed it was a dream and still I didn’t raise my head.

“It’s me, Anni, Indira. Please tell me you know who I am.”

A voice inside my head was chuckling at the ridiculous thought of Indira being here in this dreadful place. I knew it was my mind playing cruel tricks on me yet again, for everything about my dearest friend brought back memories of warmth, safety and happiness.

“Anni,” the voice entreated me for a third time, “please look at me.”

“It’s not really you,” I whispered to myself as I pulled at the thin cotton covering my knees with my fingers, “just a trick, just a trick . . .”

I heard the sound of footsteps walking toward me and then a pair of warm hands taking mine.

“Anni, open your eyes now! You’re not dreaming, I swear, I really am here. And please hurry up, or I’ll really start to believe you’re as mad as they’ve told me you are.”

Finally, I screwed up my courage to do as the voice had asked and steeled myself for the fact that when I did, she wouldn’t be there.

“Hello, Anni. See? I really am here.”

Indira was crouching in front of me, her eyes full of concern.

“Yes, it’s me! Please tell me you know who I am, Anni.”

I nodded, still unable to speak.

“Well, thank goodness for that.”

And, as her arms reached around me to hug me, I finally began to believe that she was real.

“Oh, Anni, what a state you have been brought to,” Indira whispered as she drew back and looked at me, tears in her eyes. “But I’m here now and you don’t need to worry about anything any longer.”

“Who told you?” I whispered as I managed to find my voice.

“Selina. We saw each other in France just before she received the terrible news. She then telephoned me there in desperation a week or so ago to beg me and my family for help. Jolly good job she caught me, as we were just about to sail home to India. So, here I am.”

“How long—” I licked my dry lips to form the words. “How long have I been here?”

“About three weeks, I think. Anyway, we can talk about everything once we’ve got you out of here.”

“No, Indy.” I shook my head sadly. “They won’t let me out. I’ve been accused of the murder of Violet Astbury. I think they will hang me soon, but I don’t mind. Moh . . . my son, is dead. Donald too. I really don’t want to live.”

She stared at me sternly. “Anahita Chavan, do you not remember me saying those very words to you a few years ago when you traveled back to India to help me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m here to do the same for you, my dearest friend.”

“No, Indy. It’s different. Moh has gone, and Donald. I wish to die, really. Leave me be.”

“Yes, I agree it’s all the most dreadful mess. But, Anni, I’ve known you since you were a little girl. I’ve seen how you’ve given strength to others, including me, and now you have to find that for
yourself
. You can do it, I know you can.”

“Indy, thank you,” I replied, weary now, “but you can’t do anything. I’ll receive a death sentence at the trial, I’m sure.”

“Anni, there’s not going to be a trial. The charges have been dropped. I’m here to take you home.”

I stared at her, not understanding. “But I can’t go back to the cottage by the brook, surely they won’t let me?”

“No, Anni, I’m taking you home. To your real home. We’re going back to India.”

•  •  •

Again, my memories of my release from Holloway and my arrival at Indira’s family home in Knightsbridge where I’d stayed as a child are vague. More than anything, I remember the sudden wonderful softness that surrounded me—gentle hands, feather pillows and voices talking to me in whispers. There were no more screams of agony, just silence. I think I must have slept constantly—nature’s way of healing the body and mind.

I do remember that every time I awoke, Indira would be there next to me, sitting in a chair beside the bed. Tenderly, she would insist that I open my mouth so she could spoon-feed me broth, and it was her own hands that washed and tended to the dreadful sores, caused by weeks of filth, that covered my frail body. Often, as she cared for me, she would reminisce on funny incidents from our past, asking if I remembered when she’d slept with Pretty in the elephant enclosure before we left for boarding school in England, or the night we’d deceived Miss Reid on the ship and she’d changed into the peach chiffon dress and won her prince’s heart.

I didn’t respond, but I did listen.

Looking back, I know for certain that it was Indira and the love she showed me then that saved me. And finally, I knew I couldn’t hide any longer in my veil of sleep and that I must find the strength to return to the living.

“Anni, I think you’re getting better,” Indira said to me one morning as I took the soup spoon from her, having announced that I could manage to feed myself.

“Yes, I think I am,” I agreed.

“Thank goodness for that. To be truthful, there have been moments when I truly wondered whether you would. I was beginning to doubt my skills as a nurse.” She grinned. “Caring for others has never been my strong point.”

“Indy”—my eyes misted over—“you’ve been wonderful. If it hadn’t been for you . . .” I left the words hanging in the air.

“Never mind all that. I know you’re still weak, Anni, but I’d like to book our passage back to India as soon as possible. I don’t trust that evil Astbury woman not to try something else.”

“What do you mean?” I asked as terror clutched at my heart. I hadn’t asked, nor had I yet been told, the details of my release.

“Oh, don’t worry about her.” Indira waved away the problem airily. “The point is that I just want to get you home. When you’re up to it, I’ll tell you the whole story.”

“Yes,” I answered, knowing that at present I was not. “Does your mother know I’m here with you?” I asked.

“Of course she does! She’s the one who managed to gain your freedom.”

“So she’s forgiven me?”

“Oh, Anni, of course she has. And me too, which is rather important. The minute she had a grandchild, she couldn’t resist coming to see him. She writes every day, sends her love and says she’ll see you soon. Now, Anni, let’s see if you can stand and perhaps take a little walk to the bathroom.”