Cinders & Sapphires (At Somerton)

by Rasheed, Leila

  I know it is hard for a patriot to see the actions of their country as criminal, but if, let us say, France invaded England and took over its administration, managing and directing it and diverting its economic wealth to the glory of the French Empire, would you feel that they had a right to do so? India is an ancient nation, a great nation—as great as Great Britain. We were promised equality by Queen Victoria herself. Yet under British rule wealth is being drained from the country, leaving Indians impoverished and starving. Curzon made things all the worse with his partition of Bengal.

  Oxford has also opened my eyes to some unpleasant facts. This is where the sons of those who will inherit the rule and administration of India study. Some are dedicated, but many others are not. Many are interested only in pleasure and decadence. They are able to be here only because of their birth and wealth, not because of their merit. Yet they will have much political power and determine the fate of my people, just because of who their fathers are. This is unjust. I cannot respect them. What right do they have to rule us?

  Things are beginning to change, however. The Indian National Congress has finally brought together both Hindus and Muslims against the British. Even from his cell in Burma, Tilak is making sure that its voice is heard. This gives me hope. The meetings I have attended have been inspiring, and I feel now that I am a part of a great force for change. We shall rid India of the British by one means or another.

  I know that your own sense of justice is so strong that you will come around to my point of view. For now, though, I must close this letter in order to catch the post. I wish I were able to see you and speak to you face to face. But perhaps I had better say no more.

  Ever and faithfully yours,

  Ravi

  Ada jumped as she heard footsteps at the end of the corridor. William was heading toward her. He looked more sullen than ever as he strode past without a greeting. She hastily tucked the letter into her sleeve and followed him toward the dining hall. She was shocked by Ravi’s letter, she couldn’t deny it. It was almost sedition, to speak like that about the Empire. And he had as good as called her father a criminal! The argument about France was persuasive…and yet India was so different. It was not a well-ordered, peaceful country like Britain. Surely it needed good administrators, people who could think rationally and stop the Hindus and Muslims from killing each other. What he had said scared her.

  She hurried in and took her seat at the table, between Michael and Edith. As she did so, she noticed a satisfied glance pass between Charlotte and Fiona.

  Now what’s that about? she thought as the footman handed around the lobster. It worried her. She wished Sebastian had not gone back to Oxford; he would have had some explanation. But his place was empty, as was Georgiana’s, who was confined to bed following her fall. She glanced toward her father. Perhaps she could ask him what the Indian National Congress was. But his attention was entirely on Fiona, who was flirting and laughing with him.

  Suddenly she felt someone’s breath on her cheek. “Ada—I’m sorry.” It was Michael, whispering urgently in her ear. She looked at him, startled. He had been quite meek and silent since Georgiana’s accident, and Ada suddenly understood why.

  She turned to face him. “If I thought it was you urging her on to take that jump…” She left the sentence unfinished. “But I know Georgiana is headstrong. I expect it was her own fault—and no lasting harm done, the doctor says,” she added in a gentler voice. He really did look anguished.

  “I know how much you care about her though,” he said. “You must be angry with me.”

  “A little,” Ada admitted. “Georgie and I, we only have each other, you see.”

  “I wish I cared about my brother and sister the way you care about yours,” Michael said. He looked down the table, to where Charlotte, devoid of anyone to flirt with, was chatting to her mother about the latest Fortuny gowns. “Sebastian’s a decent chap but we don’t have anything in common. And Charlotte…well, I just wish Georgie was my sister instead of her, that’s all.”

  Ada hesitated. Her first impulse was to agree heartily, but she felt that would be unkind. After all, what could she really say against Charlotte? That she had a cold manner, that she was more interested in dresses and flirting than in reading and art?

  “But Georgie is your sister now,” she said finally. “And so am I, Michael—and we’re both very glad of it.”

  She smiled at him, and was touched and startled to see the look of gratitude and warmth he gave her. Poor boy, she thought, he’s simply lonely. She wished she hadn’t been so quick to judge him. Georgiana had seen further than she had—Ada had been wrapped up in thoughts of Ravi. But he was in London now, even farther away than Oxford.

  “Papa,” she said, taking advantage of a gap in the conversation. “Do you know anything about a man imprisoned in India named Tilak?”

  Her father frowned. “Where did you hear about Tilak?”

  She realized the whole table was looking at her.

  “Oh…in a newspaper. It said he had something to do with the Indian National Congress.” She tried to sound casual.

  “Hmmph!” her father said. “Well, I advise you not to read anything more about him. Tilak leads what they call the INC’s hot faction, and they won’t stop at violence against us.”

  “Oh,” Ada whispered.

  “I quite like the idea of Indians taking some small role in their government, but Tilak is a dangerous man,” her father continued.

  “Ada’s gone quite pale,” remarked Charlotte. “This is why I never read the newspapers, they are dreadful for the complexion.”

  “Yes, you really have only yourself to blame if you find out such unpleasant things,” said Fiona sternly.

  Her father looked at Ada with concern. “Don’t let it trouble you. He and his rabble are a very long way away, and I have no doubt that they will lose support very soon, as people see how unworkable Indian independence is.” He added, smiling. “Besides, I have an announcement that will certainly take your mind off the matter.” He exchanged a glance with Fiona, who smiled too.

  “What’s that, Uncle?” William asked.

  “As soon as Christmas is over, we shall take the girls down to London. Fiona has persuaded me.”

  “London!” Ada exclaimed. That was close to Oxford—closer than Somerton, at least. Close to Ravi.

  “Excellent. I was just about ready for a jaunt myself,” William said, sitting up.

  “Not you, William.” Lord Westlake’s voice was stern. William looked taken aback. “I think you have spent more than enough time in London lately. As the heir to Somerton, you should be learning more about the estates you will manage. You can look after Georgiana as well. I couldn’t think of her traveling right now.”

  William scowled, and looked about to reply, but then seemed to think better of it.

  “It’s absolutely essential to prepare for the coming season,” Fiona went on. “We need to make sure the girls are recognized by the leading hostesses in time. We will stay at my residence—Milborough House.”

  “And I must see Fortuny, and Madame Lucille, and get a new fan case made,” Charlotte said. “One can’t have these things planned too soon.”

  “I have some people to see too,” Lord Westlake said. “So what do you think, Ada? Is it a good idea?”

  Ada found the eyes of the whole table looking at her. She knew none of them could guess she was thinking of Ravi and that made her smile.

  “I think it’s a very good idea indeed,” she said.

  After breakfast, Ada tapped on Georgiana’s door and pushed it open. Georgiana was lying in bed, her head bandaged. She looked pale and tired. The nursemaid was with her, a bottle of medicine in her hand.

  “Shall I come back later?”

  “Oh—no. Priya has just finished giving me my medicine. Thank you.” Georgiana smiled weakly as Priya put the bottle down. She went soundlessly to the door. Ada gazed after her, fascinated for a moment by her thick, dark hair and t
he soft expression of her dark eyes.

  “She’s quite remarkable, isn’t she?” Georgiana said with a small laugh. “I think every gentleman visitor we’ve had has turned back to look at her when she went past.”

  “If only her beauty can tame Augustus, we shall all be grateful.” Ada went over and sat on the edge of the bed and took her sister’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little better.” Georgiana struggled to sit up, and Ada helped her. “So tell me, what have I missed? It is such a bore being stuck up here in bed.” Some color had returned to her face.

  Ada hesitated, but Georgiana would have to find out soon.

  “Well, for one, I’ve just learned we’re going to London,” she said. “Papa has people to see, and Fiona and Charlotte want to pay social calls and see their dressmaker in preparation for the season.”

  “London!” Georgiana exclaimed. “Oh, how exciting!”

  Ada realized how she’d misled her sister and felt badly. “But you’re not going, Georgie. I’m sorry.”

  “Not going?” Georgiana stared at her in shock. “But why not?”

  “Papa doesn’t think you’re well enough to travel.” She hurried on, as Georgiana’s face fell. “We won’t be away long.”

  “And Michael?”

  “He’s to stay behind as well. He and Papa are not seeing eye to eye right now.” She pressed her sister’s hand. “I am really sorry. I know how you were looking forward to it, but I agree with Papa—you’re not well enough. Try to sleep now.”

  She left Georgiana and went straight to her room. Rose was not yet there to undress her. She walked to her writing case and took out her pen and scented paper. After a moment’s thought, the note she wrote to Ravi was short and simple. It said only that his letter had frightened her, that she was going to London, that she hoped they would be able to meet so that she could persuade him he was wrong in his support for the INC’s hot faction, and gave her address at Milborough House. As she sealed the envelope, she hoped that she would be able to keep him out of danger.

  There was nothing more soothing, Fiona thought, than having a maid brush your hair at the end of the day. It would have been better, of course, if the day could have been perfectly satisfying, with a comfortable lunch at Henri’s, salted with plenty of scandalous gossip, some leisurely shopping at Garrard, a delicious evening in a box at the opera accompanied by plenty of amenable young men to say exactly the right thing while her rival looked on, and then perhaps a late supper somewhere with royalty in the vicinity. But there were sacrifices to be made for being Lady Westlake, and one of them was having to pretend to like the countryside. So her day had involved inspecting the most depressing little cottages and an absolutely horrid amount of mud. Hardly the Strand.

  Still, the day had not been entirely lost. She had finally managed to get Edward to give her a date for going to London. When she had expressed her concern about Ada not being properly prepared for the season, he had capitulated at once. It was about time Ada made herself useful.

  As if reading her thoughts, Stella said, “I must congratulate your ladyship on persuading Lord Westlake to take us to London again.” Her fingers worked soothingly in Fiona’s hair.

  “Thank you, Stella. I couldn’t have borne another month of this.” Fiona smiled in the mirror, her head quite still.

  “Nor could I, your ladyship.” She paused. “To be quite honest with you, some of the servants here are not quite the type I like to work with, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

  “Oh?” Fiona raised an eyebrow.

  “That Rose Cliffe, for example. It’s plain to see she’s been spoiled by her mother. Do you know that Lady Ada has her sit in the music room with her when she practices? As for me, I like to do my mending without seeking to put myself on a level with the family.” She tugged at a hairpin and Fiona winced. “I beg pardon, my lady.”

  “Do you think she gives herself airs?” Fiona slid the diamond bracelet from her wrist and laid it thoughtfully in its case. “I must say she’s rather pretty.”

  “She may have looks, but can she do her work? It could make me cry sometimes, seeing what a dog’s dinner she makes of the young ladies’ dresses. She’s never been a lady’s maid in her life, whereas my sister, who lost her position through no fault of her own—”

  “I don’t see that as a problem,” said Fiona, who had heard the story of Stella’s sister before, and suspected there was more to it than Stella let on. “Rose may be too pretty for a housemaid, but Ada is certainly too pretty for a stepdaughter. I won’t mind if Rose fails to make the best of her.”

  Stella was still trying to backpedal and adjust her approach when there was a quick rap at the door and Charlotte came in. Her cheeks were pink.

  “Mama, I must have a word,” she began. “Is it your intention to drag Ada around with us to all the best hostesses?”

  “My dear, we can hardly leave her at home. She is the only reason your stepfather is so keen for us to go to London.”

  “Well, I think it’s a wretched shame! She poaches.”

  “Darling, you will have to explain the slang to me.”

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t see her artfully flirting with Lord Fintan at the shooting party. Oh, she’s very clever, I’ll certainly give her that. Wandering in front of his gun on purpose.” Charlotte stamped her foot.

  “Really?” Fiona looked around in concern. “Well, we can’t have that.”

  Stella saw a chance and pounced on it. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised, miss, if her maid hadn’t put her up to it. Those two are thick as thieves.”

  “Oh, the maid is almost as unbearable as the mistress,” Charlotte said scornfully. “She has such a high and mighty way about her. It’s clear as day she thinks we aren’t as good as her Averleys. These county servants are as snobbish as their employers.”

  “Exactly what I say, miss,” Stella said in relief. “And in Rose Cliffe’s case, I can tell you that though she does look as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, I have it on good authority that she receives an awful lot of letters that do seem to be addressed in a gentleman’s hand, if you see what I mean. So she certainly has no call to go acting as if she’s better than anyone else.”

  “Hmm.” Fiona turned back to her mirror and began gently dabbing cold cream onto her face and neck. In the mirror she saw the reflection of her daughter, frowning. It was such a pity that her beauty had been wasted on Sebastian, who as an eldest son hardly needed it. Charlotte’s charm came from her vivacity and mannerisms, and those never survived a fit of temper. Unfortunately she had many fits of temper. It was certainly not a good idea to allow Lord Fintan to compare the two at close quarters. On the various occasions when she had had to pawn her diamonds she had learned from a sympathetic dealer never to hang the false stone next to the real.

  “Well, we’ll just have to be clever when it comes to Lord Fintan,” she said calmly. “And in the meantime, though we may be stuck with Ada, we are certainly not stuck with her maid. Stella, I’m sure you can think of something?”

  Stella smiled as she slowly brushed her mistress’s hair. “I’m sure I can, my lady.”

  The streets of London seethed and hummed with human bodies, and the number of rattling cabs and motorcars seemed to multiply every day. The windows of Selfridges and Fortnum & Mason shone with the latest fashions straight from Paris. Ladies and gentlemen of fashion eddied and swirled, bright colors among the drab crush of the common people, sweeping from club to grand hotel to couturier and out again to the theaters and opera and gambling houses.

  A select part of this elegant flotsam ended up at the doors of Paul Poiret, the couturier whose scintillating dresses in the latest colors and flowing, Eastern-inspired cuts were worn on every slim, pale shoulder this season. Out of those doors came Fiona, Charlotte, and Ada. The footman followed them, laden down with parcels and bandboxes.

  “There really is absolutely no one in London out of season,” Charlotte sighed as she took h
er place in the cab.

  “No one?” Ada looked out of the window at the crowded streets. There seemed to be more motorcars every time she looked. The noise was immense, and her heart seemed to beat along with it.

  Since they had arrived in London, life had been a nonstop whirl of visiting, dancing, theater, and shopping for clothes. She barely had time to catch her breath, and her head had hardly touched the pillow when she was being woken by Rose with tea and the plans for the day. She could not say she disliked this life, much as she wanted to. The dress she had walked out with today was called La Vague, the Wave. It was straight and sheer from the chest to the floor, a delicate but strong shape that made her look and feel beautiful. London was like being carried on a dizzying tide, swept far out to sea. All that was needed to make it perfect was just a few minutes with Ravi. For him to see her in this dress. But she had had no reply to her last letter.

  “No one at all. I haven’t even seen the Sassoons, and not a single one of the Set. It’s really like being in a desert.” She glanced out of the window and yawned.

  “Pleased with your new dress, Ada?” Fiona asked.

  “Oh, yes. It’s beautiful,” Ada answered.

  “I just hope that housemaid won’t ruin it the first time she dresses you,” Fiona went on.

  Ada’s smile faded. “Rose always makes me look my best.”

  “You only say that because you haven’t known what it is to have the attentions of a real French-trained maid,” Charlotte said.

  “My sister and I are quite fond of Rose,” Ada said firmly. She was tired of this constant refrain. She didn’t understand why her stepmother and stepsister were so set against Rose. Somehow she suspected it was Stella who was behind it.

  She turned to the window, hoping to signal that the conversation was over. Great white-faced mansions passed on one side, the park on the other.