Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
It was in the dead of night when Gowramma beckoned me into the basement wine cellar. There she’d found a small box of letters
tucked behind a shelf of merlot. I kicked away the piles of hay and searched through each one with her.
It was Gowramma who found the letter.
The Queen’s letter.
October 22, 1855
Your accusations wound me deeply, Duleep. And it is not one that should be made by such a young boy of 17. I’ve invited you
into my royal home. I let you play with my children in Osborne. Oh, how Bertie loved playing with you. How he lit up with
mirth while photographing you in your regalia. Oh, how much fun it was to draw your likeness with my own hands—a sketch, you
told me, you loved.
It is my understanding that you are staying in Perthshire. Remember that it is because of me that you’ve been given your annual
pension—more than most men and women in Britain will ever see in their lives—so to speak so ill of me is as distressing as
it is shocking.
Do not speak of the past. I’ve spoken many words to my captains as they search the far-flung regions of the world for treasures to bring back to me. What Sir John Login told you was only half the story. The “Wards of the Empire.” I say these words because a line must be drawn. There are children who possess the potential to lead the empire into a new stage of enlightenment. On the other hand, there are those who would only validate the closed-minded fools in the world who believed that the Indian and the African and the Native can only remain savages. Look at yourself. Since you’ve converted to Christianity your world has expanded. You’ve toured the European continent. You’ve become a member of societies and organizations of the most upright nature. You are an example of Britain’s civilizing mission. Proof of my and Albert’s grand cause during such a time when the evil tentacles of slavery still runs amok, choking out our civilization’s future.
And what would have happened if that boy Aarush would have arrived in England with you? If he would have been presented to
me in court alongside you? With his reportedly boorish ways and uncivil manners, he would have only proven those right who
insist that the savage is but a brute that cannot change. That the Black cannot be assimilated. At such a delicate moment,
such a mistake cannot be made. The East India Company has been given its orders to find the proper children. Those that are
discarded are but a sacrifice for the future.
Your presence in Europe, your fame among my people, stands as a beacon of hope for all of your kind around the world. Your
existence is the path towards civilization. And I support you wholeheartedly as much as I love you. Never forget that.
The continuance of your pension is also dependent upon your enduring obedience to the British Government. Please do not forget
that either.
I write this letter in person as your Queen and friend because I trust in your loyalty. Nothing written here needs ever be spoken to anyone else. You are, as always, my precious Duleep.
Victoria
“It’s the genuine item,” Gowramma said. “It’s signed by the Queen.... It has her seal.”
Because she truly believed in it. In her power. In Duleep’s fear. In her propaganda. In his obedience. Without a word, I took
the letter from Gowramma, and folded and tucked it into my dress.
“I never knew... I never thought...” Gowramma was, for the first time since I’d known her, without words. Silence hung
in the air before she could speak again. “My father had capitulated to the British. As a child, to me, it had always seemed
so... un -coerced. But what if I was wrong?” She pressed her trembling hand against her chest. “What if my father knew this fear too?
What if he understood just how horrible it is?”
I closed the box, stood from the pile of hay, brushed my knees, and began to leave.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Gowramma whispered. “I’m here now. I have Edith to think about. I can’t make a fuss. If I
do...”
I heard echoes of Ade’s fear in her weak admission: I’m scared , he’d told me. Because he knew. He’d warned me before. Their love was conditional.
It was clear, from her fidgeting, and the droop of her expression, that the revelations had left her disturbed. How did one
find the words to respond to such cruelty?
Gowramma shook her head. “I want Edith,” she whispered suddenly. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Sally, I’m going home.
Tonight.”
“You do what you need to,” I told her.
She recoiled. My words had stung her, but she didn’t respond.
As for what she needed—that was something she had to find out for herself. Only deep searching within her soul would tell her the answer. I gave her the firmest hug I could manage. I clung to her almost as if I’d lose her if I’d let her go.
“Just don’t lose yourself in all this,” Gowramma said before scurrying out of the cellar.
I stood alone with rage in my heart. The kind of rage that made one want to laugh and cry all at once. I laughed first. The
hair on my arms stood on end as my cackling echoed off the walls. My body shook as I thought of how frightened Ade must have
been, up against two adults carrying him like a log of wood. How sharply cold the water of the Atlantic would have been that
night or any night. How I would never see him again.
“It isn’t right,” I whispered.
I crumpled to the ground and cried.
Island of Gorée – 1850
I didn’t know why Captain Forbes had us stop here. I’d heard such terrible things about this island listening to the men on
the ship. All the people who’d been brought here in chains over the many long, torturous centuries. The human feces built
up in the horrid slave quarters while their traders from Europe dined in mansions. So much misery. It made me want to cry
thinking about it. Why did we stop here? We were on our way to England, weren’t we?
“They won’t even let us off the ship,” Ade said as he lay on the flea-ridden blanket that had been placed on the floor for
both of us to sleep. “Or out of this room. I heard the crew say we were near Senegal. There must be something they want here.”
The candle on the floor had long gone out and there was no one to help us light it again. We were alone in the dark.
We spent most of the days at sea in this tiny room on the HMS Bonetta . We were only let out for lessons—sometimes the Forbeses would let us stretch our legs, but we weren’t to run on deck and
bother the crew.
During our lessons, I would dazzle them by reading parts of English books. I read a page from a new book called Jane Eyre and it made Frederick Forbes applaud and clap his brother’s shoulders. It was just one dense paragraph. Frederick had pointed
it out to me and, though slowly, I formed the words perfectly with my little full lips. I read it exactly as it was written:
“It is far better to endure patiently a smart which nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evil consequences
will extend to all connected with you—and besides, the Bible bids us return good for evil.”
“You see,” Frederick had said once I was finished. “Look how smoothly she read the words. She’d be perfect for Her Majesty,
wouldn’t she, George?”
Uncle George laughed and nodded, and they patted each other on the back for a job well done. They’d found a very good girl.
A “great girl” indeed, like Helen Burns, who took her “smarts” with the grace and piety expected of a proper woman-in-training.
But Ade. Ade wasn’t so good at English. When he was given the same paragraph to read, he stumbled and quit before the second
clause. He sneered at the language as if it were his enemy and he looked at me and said in ours, “What is this rubbish? It
sounds so stupid.”
I wasn’t sure if Frederick Forbes could understand what he’d said, but the sneer he gave Ade made him look like a demon that
day. I saw the blood drain from Ade’s face right that moment, leaving a dull, ashy color. It was the color I saw now that
he was lying on his blanket, curled up in the fetal position, his little head balanced upon his arms.
“I’m scared, Ina,” he told me, dragging his knees closer to his chest. “I overheard that man George say something terrible about me. That I could never ‘make a good name for myself’ in England. What do you think he meant?”
“I’m sure they just want us to live good lives in this new land.” I sat next to him, my arms wrapped around my dry, scratchy
knees. “Since we have no one now but each other, we have to work together to make sure we live well once we arrive.”
“But will we arrive?”
My large eyes widened in confusion as I looked back at the boy. He was shaking. I hadn’t noticed it until now, but my friend
Ade was trembling on the blanket beside me.
“My father came to me in a dream, Ina,” Ade whispered. “He was in a wooden boat about to leave the shore. I’d seen this dream
many times after he was killed in the raid. Every time, before leaving across the ocean, he’d stretch his hand out to me and
I’d say, ‘No, Father, not yet.’ He’d nod and leave without me.” Ade erupted in a series of coughs. This wasn’t anything out
of the ordinary. He was a sickly boy. Had been even before we were taken by the Forbeses. “Every time he’d leave without me
and I’d watch him sail off into the white skies. But not this time. This time, when he stretched out his hand to me...
I took it. And I went with him.”
My tiny body seized up in fear. I knew what it could mean, but I didn’t want to admit it. Our parents, grandparents, our family
and ancestors, even our enemies. Living or not, they often made guest appearances in our dreams, so it wasn’t odd to see them.
But one had to be very careful about the messages from the dead. One had to be very careful what you did when near those who’d
already crossed over into the realm of spirits.
I felt suddenly cold. “Ade... ,” I said, my bottom lip curling. The sheet I wore as a dress to cover myself scratched against my skin. I grabbed the fabric around my chest, bending over. “Why did you take his hand?”
He didn’t answer. A heavy sense of foreboding weighed over us children. The silence of the ship pierced through my very spirit.
“I’m scared, Ina,” he whispered again, suddenly in the dark. “I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”
But he did. Days, maybe weeks after we’d left the island, he went to see his father. Yes. That’s what I told myself to cope
in the days following his death, when my mind was broken and my eyes sore from crying. I told myself that sweet lie until
I let the terrible truth dawn on me.
He was murdered.
Ade was a reminder of what it meant to be cruelly cast into the shadows. And the people in this country would never know him.
To the Crown and its henchmen, his was a life without meaning. A lump of flesh that had breathed for only a moment. And few
would never question why so many of my people had met the same fate.
No more did the screams of Mrs. Wilkes bother me. In fact, I laughed at her. My cackling echoed off the walls, my heartbeat
raging in my chest as I ascended the steps with unearthly, ethereal grace. With the letter in my dress, I wandered like a
ghost into Bertie’s chambers. The Prince of Wales was downing another bottle of wine, stopping only when he saw me enter.
I closed the door behind me without a word.
His reaction to the sight of me in silk was immediate—the tightening of his pants. I let the letter drop from my hands onto
the floor as he wiped his mouth and struggled to strip himself. I didn’t let him get too far before I climbed upon the bed,
pushed him onto his back, and straddled him.
My touch was light at first. A caress up and down his Adam’s apple, his stubble prickling my fingers. But as the rage and despair of memories began to boil over, my fingers clenched, my grip stronger until his windpipe was at the mercy of it.
And then I began to strangle him.
Death couldn’t be undone. Ade knew this. That’s why he was so scared. And he never had a chance. Her child shouldn’t have
a chance either.
“Sally—” Bertie coughed. “Sally, what are you—?”
I shushed him and continued to squeeze, tears building in the corners of my eyes, Ade’s death replaying again and again as
if I were frozen in time, watching a cruel play. Bertie’s hand gripped my wrists. Still, I didn’t let go.
They’d broken the world, these monarchs of a ruined nation. I would end their line here.
Bertie’s hands found my hips and dug into my skin. The tickle made me start just enough for him to free himself from my grip.
For one confusing moment, terror paralyzed me. I’d just tried to murder the heir to the throne.
I’d failed.
My heart raced in my chest. Surely this was it. I’d be executed.
But then Prince Bertie was laughing. I watched him, baffled, my mind spinning, unable to form a coherent thought. He wasn’t
angry with me. Of course he wasn’t. The bottle of booze on the table next to the bed was empty.
He flipped me over onto the bed and kissed me ravenously. I tried to resist, but his herculean grip kept me in place. He was
too drunk to notice my grimace. Too cruel to care.
“Is that the sort of thing you like, Sally?” he asked with a lecherous grin. “Good. Good. I’ve done all kinds of naughty things
too. I can teach you a few other tricks in the trade of pleasure.”
He was slurring his words. And when I felt his tongue on my cheek, my body quivered in disgust. I wanted to knee him in the groin, but a terrifying thought paralyzed me: If I fought back, would he realize my hands squeezing his neck wasn’t foreplay but attempted murder?
“What shall we start with?” He grinned, his eyes unfocused. “How about—”
A swift metal bang crackled through the air. I gasped for air as Bertie slid off me, his body bouncing off the white sheets.
I sat up, my fingers twitching. Bertie was unconscious. Rui stood over him at the side of the bed with a frying pan.
“R-Rui...!” I squirmed as slid off the bed, tears sliding down my cheeks as I ran to his side and hugged him.
“He must have liked my food a little too much.” With one arm around my waist and another hand wrapped around the frying pan
he’d used to cook our dinner, Rui looked down at the sleeping prince. “Hurry and strip his clothes.”
I frowned up at him. “What?”
“Do it, quickly. Toss them around the floor. When he wakes up, he’ll have a bump on his head to be sure, but he’ll chalk it
up to a rather kinky night.”
Rui handled his britches. The tears fell freely as I took off his shirt. It was all I could stand to do before turning around
and wiping my face dry.
I gathered up the letter I’d left on the floor. Someone had to be made to pay.
Even if I’d managed to kill the prince, it wouldn’t be enough. His mother, his wicked mother, needed to suffer. But even that
wouldn’t fix this broken world.
Could anything?
With a soothing, gentle hand, Rui led me out of the prince’s room. Harriet had left. Gowramma had retired to her room. Rui
and I walked across Mulgrave Castle to an empty room where no one would disturb us.
“When my men learned you’d be coming here, I figured I should get here first to make sure everything went smoothly with the prince,” Rui said, shutting the door behind us. “Who knew my instincts would be quite so astute?”
With his arms folded, he walked to the mauve-papered wall next to the window. The white drapes were closed. The candle flickering
upon the desk illuminated the hardcovers of first editions stashed in the nearby bookcase.
Books.
I remembered one in particular as Rui leaned against the wall.
“If people were always kind and obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own
way.” I sat on the green velvet sitting chair next to the cupboard cabinet. “They would never feel afraid, and so they would never alter, but grow worse and worse.”
“ Jane Eyre .”
“So you’ve read it too?”
“I’ve read a few works by the Bront?s. I wouldn’t say any of it was impressive enough to memorize, but I’m sure you have your
reasons.”
I did have a reason: lack of choice, a constant in my miserable life. I turned the letter in my hands again and again.
“None of it is fair, Rui.” I shook my head. “This world is so wicked.”
“I learned that long ago.” With delicate fingers, he nudged open the left drape. Starlight streamed through the window. “And
when I learned that, I made a decision. If this world was wicked, then I’d get what I wanted out of it. So?” He dropped his
hand, letting the drape flutter shut. “What do you want, Sally?”
I thought of Mama Schoen, completely oblivious to my suffering. Harriet, who finally showed her true face. I thought of Ade,
whose bones must have been at the bottom of the ocean by now. I shuddered.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I whispered, shaking my head.
“That, you aren’t.”
Rui approached me step by gentle step, unhurried. And when he reached me, he took me by the hand, lifted me out of my seat,
and wrapped his arms around me. There, he let me cry.
I didn’t only cry for Ade. I cried for all the lost children—and all the children who would soon be lost because despite my
play at revenge, I had no power of my own.
I lifted my chin just enough for Rui to catch my lips with his. It was a somber kiss. A tender one. So unlike our embrace
in Bambridge’s secret studio. It was the kiss of another lost child who understood.
But it wasn’t enough for Rui. He pulled me away, taking in the sight of me.
“Are you finished, Sally?” he asked. “Is this how your tale of revenge ends?”
His question caught me by surprise. My fingers curled against his shoulder, the fabric of his white shirt caught in my nails.
Over. Was it really over?
I turned and stared at my own reflection in the mirror tucked away in the corner of the room. My red eyes. Face puffy from
crying. Was this how it would all end?
My blood began to boil as I thought of Queen Victoria enjoying herself at Balmoral. My fingers dug into Rui’s flesh.
No. I’d said it before. Somebody had to be made to pay.
I’d said it before and I meant it.
Rui seemed to notice the change in me. “I told you, didn’t I? If this world is wicked, then you simply have to get what you
want out of it.” He hungrily drank in the sight of me. “So what is it that you want, Sally?” The corner of his lips twitched
into a deliciously malicious grin. “What have you decided?”
I stopped picturing Ade’s corpse. I pictured him instead, standing by the window, a little wicked smile playing on his face.
My mind finally cleared. I pressed my hands against his chest. Rubbing my cheek against his, I let my lips touch his ears
as I whispered another line from that silly book. “When we are struck at without a reason, we should strike back again very hard—so hard as to teach the person who struck us
never to do it again.”
I breathed, in and out, trying to catch my breath as if I’d run here. But I had been running. My whole life I’d been running
from their foolish rules of morality, their hypocrisy. The cruel lessons they taught me to keep me bound and obedient.
I would never be obedient again. To anyone.
I would take what I wanted.
I grabbed Rui by the back of his hair and yanked his head so he could feel the pain. And then I leaned in and whispered, “Let’s
make them pay.”
Rui grabbed me by the behind and carried me over to the bed. We fell deep into the soft red blankets. His hands wasted no
time. Lifting me up by the small of my back, he kissed my neck from one ear to the next. His tongue found my chest, and then
I felt his hands hot between my legs. I groaned as my sensitive flesh burned from the friction of his relentless touch.
“We will, Sally,” he promised as he began to take off my dress. “We will make them all pay.”