—68—
A servant came to my chambers in the late afternoon.
The day had cooled considerably, with heavy clouds moving in, promising thunderstorms and monsoon rains before dark.
I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders as I did the only thing I could do, which was paint.
I could not paint what I wished to paint, which was Tanveer’s beautiful hands, or his freshly washed hair and his bare shoulders that morning on the balcony, a memory I had put out of my mind until now.
I could not paint those things for, as it was, I could barely hold the emotion surging through my body, pouring through veins and joints.
I could see it, heat and light just below my skin.
A door had been flung open in my mind, and from the dark room where I’d stuffed all my feelings came an outpouring of memory and longing and wishes, hope and fear.
So much fear, rooted in our history. Leaving him now, even our renewed friendship, would be wrenching.
If we walked through the door Channan had flung open, what then?
When I answered the knock on my door, Sughra, Channan’s maid, stood there. In Hindustani, she said, “Maharaja Sahib asks that you dress English for dinner. The sahib will stay overnight because of the rains.”
“Will maharani-ji join us as well?”
“No, memsahib. Two meals in one day would be many for her.”
“I understand.”
“Do you wish help dressing?”
I looked at my hands, spattered with paint, and my apron. “I’ll need to wash first. Return in a half hour. The buttons are impossible without help.”
She gave a short bow.
If Tanveer wanted me in English dress, I should have to bring my Lady Turner self to table.
It had been weeks, but I dutifully bathed, and scrubbed the paint from my fingers, brushed my hair into a short bun, and applied makeup, what little I had—powder and lipstick and the small cake of kohl I’d purchased in Cairo.
When I stood in my shift, waiting for Sughra, I stepped back to check my look in the mirror.
And I couldn’t believe the difference in myself in just a couple of months. The sharp angles of shoulder and elbow had been enveloped in a layer of soft flesh, and my cheeks no longer looked so haggard. My eyes held a spark I had not seen in a long, long time.
I have never known this Tanveer, Channan said.
I had not seen this me. Not in years and years, not since the day he’d left England with Topaz in a basket. Whatever other thing was in Channan’s mind, what mattered to me was being able to stay, to grow and live here in Talwarpur, where I felt loved and accepted.
Where I felt at home.
Sughra knocked and I let her in. The dress I’d chosen was pale green, beaded with tiny silver flutes that shimmered over breast and hip.
The back was low and met just above my waist, and fastened with buttons all the way down.
I’d had it for years and worn it countless times to various functions and dinners and balls, and tonight, I was glad to own it as it fell down over my body.
A thin chain hung with small square emeralds and diamonds draped down my spine.
Sughra exclaimed, “So beautiful!”
I swayed to make the beads dance on the hem. “Thank you. It’s long been my favorite.”
As she headed toward the door, my painting caught her eye, a tiger with stars overhead.
Not quite a real tiger, but the one from my childhood imagination, the version of a tiger who would have befriended me and ridden off into the night with me and Tanveer on her back.
I had not yet painted the children, but they were sketched in thin lines.
On the sidelines Gurdaya stood, arms crossed and worried.
“You should paint the tigers here,” Sughra said.
“Yes. I shall.”
As I walked toward the small dining room where we would eat, I heard the colonel’s voice. “You’ve got to root them out, man. These cells are going to rot the empire.”
I slowed, listening.
“They are harmless,” Tanveer said, and I knew he did not believe that.
He had warned me several times about straying too far from the palace without escort.
British citizens had been killed across the Punjab, including women, some of whom had been targeted directly.
“If you spend too much of your enforcement upon them, the problem will only grow worse.”
“The crown has noticed your complicity, Singh. It is well known that you have hosted radicals in your own home.”
“Those radicals would be my old school chums, Colonel, who come to share stories of their lives, not their politics.”
“Look around you, man. This palace is falling down. How will you keep it up if you lose the support of the British?”
Smoothly, I entered the room, as if fresh out of the bath. “Good evening, gentlemen. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
The colonel, dressed in black tie, bowed. “Good evening, Lady Turner.”
Tanveer greeted me with prayer hands, one raised brow acknowledging my timing. “You look splendid tonight.”
I gave a slight curtsy, setting the beads on my hem alive.
“As do you, Maharaja-ji.” He had donned his high court turban and coat.
Emeralds and rubies the size of lozenges shone on his long fingers, and the turban was draped and crusted with more jewels than I’d ever seen him wear—strings of pearls and an enormous diamond brooch and lesser colored stones pinned in the folds.
An impressive display.
“Lady Turner is staying with us to paint a portrait,” Tanveer said. “My wife asked for her specifically. She’s known for her work around the world.”
“Is that right?” The colonel’s nose was red with drink. “Anything I would know?”
“Oh no. I’ve only shown in a few galleries.”
“She is too modest,” Tanveer said. “She has shown in London and Cairo and will show in Bombay, too, if my sister has her way.”
The mention of Cairo made me nervous. Would the tale of my flight from my husband have circulated this far? I doubted it, but still. “You mentioned my mother earlier, Colonel. Did you ever meet her?”
“Only once,” he said with some regret. “We danced at New Year in . . . must have been ’08 or ’09.” He raised his glass. “You resemble her.”
“As a puddle reflects the sky,” I said. We all laughed. So jovial.
The rain held off until the middle of dinner, and came crashing through as it was wont to do, noise and drama and pyrotechnics that lit up the room. “I have missed these storms! It never crashes like this in England.” I breathed it in. “That smell!”
“I did try to live in England myself,” the colonel said. “My wife was desperate to go back, but I’d never lived there, you see.”
“It was the same for me,” I exclaimed, leaning forward. “I was in Nainital until I was fifteen.”
He coughed. “I never went back for school. My parents were working people, you know. But my wife came out in the nineties to find a husband and found me.” He laughed a little.
I was warming to him as he grew more inebriated.
“But she never loved India. It was too hot, too dry, no bluebells. All the complaints. We went back after our sons were born, but I did not care for the damp and the cold.” He shuddered.
“What brought you back, then?”
“Oh, my wife died, I’m afraid, just before the war. I wanted to get out of England before they conscripted me.”
Tanveer, at the head of the table, went quite still. “You did not serve?”
“No, I came here. That was service enough, ha!”
“I spent the war in France,” Tanveer said. His hand with its jewels rested motionless on the table. “Are you aware that Sikhs made up twenty percent of the British forces?”
“Is that right? Impressive.”
“Indeed. Especially when one considers that Sikhs only make up two percent of the Indian population.” His eyes held a dangerous glitter, and I found myself sitting up straighter.
“In fact, a good many of those ‘cells’ you are so concerned with are made up of veterans of the war, men who were promised an independent India if they would serve. And yet, here we are, these eight years later and not only has that promise been rescinded, but martial law has been invoked, and punishments are humiliating and extreme.” His eyes burned.
“And I need not mention the massacre at Amritsar.”
“An unfortunate incident, indeed. No one was happy about that, Singh.”
“Someone was.”
“Look, man, I know. I know.” He slammed his hands on the table. “But you’ll shoot yourself in your own foot if you don’t calm the locals. They’ll come after you next.” He pointed at me. “Her.”
Tanveer stood. “This conversation is over. Shafi will see you to your chambers.” He held out a hand toward me. “Lady Turner?”
Blinking at the sudden turn of events, I stood. “Of course. Good night, Colonel.”