by Louise Allen
Nick lifted his hands from the drum and she stopped, poised like a temple carving, only the rise and fall of her breast, the sheen of perspiration on her forehead, the swinging folds of her lehenga, betraying that she was a living woman.
His hands shook as he put down the drum and broke the spell. Anusha moved, pushed back her heavy plait, sending the bangles clattering down her arm, and smiled at him. ‘That is something I have never done before,’ she said. ‘I do not expect I ever will dance for a man again, so it is my thanks to you. The thanks you will not take in words.’
Speechless, he watched her pass him and did not turn as he heard the sound of her footsteps change when she walked up the gangplank and on to the deck. She had taken his breath away and he wondered if he would ever get it back.
*
‘We are here.’ It was not a question. Old memories were coming back, although not of landmarks exactly, for it was dark now and all she could see were the myriad
of lights both on land and on the boats that seemed to swarm over the surface of the Garden Reach, the great pool of water that was Calcutta’s harbour. Anusha leaned on the rail, recollection helped by the mingling smells of the city: human and animal waste, cooking fires, spices, flowers.
‘I remember this, I think—all the great ships.’ And they were still there, the merchantmen, anchored under the protection of Fort William. ‘My father took us up on to the battlements of the fort to see the view once.’
‘We will go to the fort now,’ Nick said. ‘I do not want to take you through the streets without an escort, and besides, Sir George may not be at the house.’
‘Is it still the same one?’
‘Yes.’
Dancing for Nick had unlocked something inside her, lifted her spirits with the release of movement, the joy of doing an outrageous thing because she chose to. Freedom. Now the old apprehension slithered back to fill her stomach with cold apprehension and the sour burn of old betrayal. What if she could not hide how she felt well enough for her father to do what she wanted?
‘I had not thought it would be the same house, somehow.’ Full of memories of Mata that no doubt the other woman would have tried to brush away.
‘You will find it changed, perhaps,’ Nick said in an echo of her thoughts as a small skiff bumped alongside to take them ashore.
Yes, it would be changed and perhaps that was not a bad thing. The present was hard enough to manage without the ghosts of the past lying in wait around every corner. Anusha climbed down into the skiff and stood with Nick to catch their meagre bundles as they were tossed down. The crew was already chattering and happy at the prospect of a night in the city with wages fattening their purses.
Anusha watched them as the skiff was poled towards the shore. They were poor, they worked hard, their lives were uncertain—was she foolish to envy them their laughter and their careless joy for one night?
‘Courage.’ Nick was looking at her. ‘You are Rajput, remember?’
‘I do not know what I am now,’ she countered. ‘But I will find out.’ His mouth tightened. ‘What is it? Does your shoulder still pain you?’
‘No.’ He shook his head and smiled. Knowing him as she did, it looked a little forced. ‘My conscience poking at me, I suppose.’
They were speaking English, but she lowered her voice even so. ‘Because you kissed me? Because you came to my cabin?’
‘That must be it,’ he agreed.
‘There was no harm. You were very strong and said no.’ She tucked her hand companionably into the crook of his arm and leaned against his shoulder, wanting to give comfort. ‘You see? We are just friends now.’
Friends? A tremor ran through her as though he had touched her intimately instead of it being she who had offered this harmless gesture.
Her nostrils flared, absorbing the scent of the soap Nick had used and of the day’s sweat. Under her hand there was the solidity of muscle and the beat of his heart under his ribs where the backs of her fingers touched. She was as aware of him as she had been when she had danced for him, aware at a far deeper level than the physical attraction that had flashed between them in her cabin, when he had kissed her. This was like that second when his gaze had found her in the village when, veiled and in shadow, he could not have known her by any rational means.
Shaken, Anusha looked up at the still profile, black against the lights of the Princip ghat, the nearest landing steps to the fort. There was nothing to read, only strength and a strong masculinity of line and something of tension in the way his jaw was set. ‘Friends,’ she prompted, needing reassurance, although against what, she was not sure.
‘Remember that,’ Nick said. She thought he would add something, but all he said was, ‘Keep hold of me when we land, it is crowded tonight.’
There was a festival for some minor deity. Crowds were jostling on the wide, wet steps of the ghat, dropping chains of marigolds into the water, setting little earthenware saucers with lighted candles on the surface to bob away on the current. There was music and sweetmeat sellers and children shrieking with excitement.
Anusha let Nick swing her ashore, then stood, feet braced on the slippery granite while he paid the ferryman. ‘Calcutta at last,’ he said, slinging one bag over his uninjured shoulder and taking the other from her. ‘Now all I have to do is get you another half-mile and my mission is accomplished.’
He sounded pleased about it and she supposed she could not blame him, Anusha thought as she clutched his sleeve and followed him towards the river gate of Fort William. With the memory of Kalatwah so fresh, she found the low walls and star-shaped fortifications unimpressive, but there was nothing slack about the response of the guards on the gate or the efficiency with which they were brought inside and a palanquin was fetched. Either Nick’s name or her father’s worked like a magic charm, it seemed.
Anusha climbed into the palanquin, let the curtain drop and held tight to the sides as the bearers lifted the long curved pole on to their shoulders. Then they were off. ‘Nick!’
‘I am here. Are you all right?’ It sounded as though he was walking beside her.
‘Yes. It was…just very dark and very closed. I have become used to riding and to the river. The open air.’ Now she felt like a prisoner. But it would not be for long, she reassured herself. Their destination, Old Court House Street, was only behind the great government buildings and houses of the Esplanade, just north of the maidan, the wide expanse of grass that surrounded the fort. And she would never be a prisoner again, confined behind screens and guarded doors, forbidden to go out, veiled and hidden.
‘Nick.’ It was a whisper. She did not know what she wanted, but a hand pushed aside the curtain and curled over the edge of the window opening. Reassured, Anusha
put her own over it and felt the panic subside as she was moved, blind, through the streets.
*
‘We are here.’ His hand was withdrawn, the palanquin stopped and hung, swaying, there was the sound of excited, raised voices, the clang of a gate opening. ‘Call Laurens sahib, tell him the daughter of the house has returned.’
The palanquin was set down, the curtain drawn back. Anusha emerged blinking into a courtyard surrounded by high, white-washed walls, a wide veranda and the low bulk of the house.
‘That was where I saw you laid out like the dead,’ she said as Nick came to her side. It was all so familiar and yet different. The yard seemed smaller, the house larger. Trees loomed unexpectedly and all the servants who were hurrying towards her were strangers.
‘Anusha! Anusha, my dear child.’ The man on the veranda was her father and yet not her father. The strong voice was the same, the height and the width of shoulder, but his hair was grey now, no longer dark gold as she remembered, there were lines on his face and what was once a flat belly now had a little paunch.
Ten years. Did I expect him to look the same, not to have changed while I have grown up? She took a step forward. ‘Pa—’ No, Papa and his little girl have gone now. T
he hands that had lifted instinctively to him folded neatly together as she bowed her head and willed her wildly-beating pulse to calm. ‘Namaste, Father.’
He came down the steps beaming, took her by the shoulders and for one moment she thought he would lift her, swing her up for his kiss as he always had when he came home to her. But he had no need to lift her now. Her father stooped and kissed her on the brow.
‘You are so beautiful, my child. Just like your mother.’ She stiffened as she stood passive between his hands and he added, his voice tight with emotion, ‘It was a tragedy that she should have died so young—you must miss her very much.’
‘Every day,’ she said, meeting the grey eyes that were so like her own. What emotion do you feel, Father? Guilt?
His brows, still dark although his hair had greyed, drew together at her tone. Anger, puzzlement or both? He released her and pulled Nick into a rapid embrace. ‘Nicholas, my boy, thank you for bringing her back safe to me. I have been getting coded messages from Delhi, so I knew you were travelling alone. And we have been hearing news from Kalatwah—the maharaja has given up the siege and retreated. There has been no bloodshed.’
The relief was an almost physical thing and not until it hit her did she realise just how that worry had been filling the back of her mind, ever present like a large black vulture, patiently waiting for tragedy to strike.
‘That is good to know,’ Nick said and smiled at her. ‘You can stop worrying now.’
‘Worrying?’ Her father turned at the top of the steps. ‘There was never any need to worry, not with that fortress so impregnable and help on the way. Nick, you must have explained it to her. The danger was always from one or two men getting inside and snatching you, Anusha, and the furore that would cause.’
‘He explained very clearly, but they are my family,’ Anusha said with a glance at Nick. He smiled back, an ally. ‘Of course I worry.’
Again, that frown. ‘You must be tired, both of you. Come inside where we can talk. You’ll be hungry, I have no doubt, and will want to wash and change before dinner. I have had the best room refurnished for you, Anusha. Do you remember it? The one at the back overlooking the garden. I hope you will like it.’
She heard the emotion under his question and steeled her heart against it. ‘Thank you, I recall it.’ Not the room he had prepared for his wife, then. That was a relief—she would have refused to sleep in it and somehow she did not have the strength this evening for active confrontation, only for resistance.
The wide hallway was swarming with servants, all male of course, except for one woman, patiently waiting at the rear, her dupatta pulled forwards to shield her face. ‘This is Nadia, your maid. Nadia, take Miss Anusha to her room, we dine in an hour.’
‘Namaste, Nadia,’ Anusha said as the maidservant came forwards.
‘Good evening, Miss Anusha,’ the woman responded and Anusha realised that she was quite young. ‘Laurens sahib says that I must speak English to you all the time. The room is this way. My English is good, yes? I have been having lessons from the maid of Lady Hoskins in how to be a proper lady’s maid.’ They passed a punkah wallah sitting with his back against the wall, endlessly moving his foot so the cord tied to his big toe pulled the wide cloth fans to and fro in the rooms on either side of the corridor.
The maid opened the door at the end of the passage and waited for her to go through. Anusha had forgotten the furniture would be like this: the high bed, draped in fine muslin netting, the chairs, upright and stiff and lower ones too, padded. There were no cushions on the matting-covered floor. She would have to sit upright on these chairs, something her mother had always refused to do.
A—what was it called?—dressing table covered in little boxes and bottles, hair brushes, a mirror at the back. A clothes press. The door to what must be the bathing room. It was all so plain—the only bright colours were the maid’s clothing and a dark red throw across the bed.
The long windows were open, with slatted shutters secured across them to let in the breeze, but give privacy and security, for the whole house was only one storey high. Overhead the punkah creaked to and fro, stirring the air, and a faint hum of chatter from the hallway reached her through the grillework over the door.
‘This is a nice room, I think,’ Nadia said with an anxious glance at Anusha. ‘The water boys will have filled the bath if it pleases you to take it now, Miss Anusha, and I will lay out your clothes.’
‘I have no clothes,’ Anusha said, and went to peer into the bathing room. The bath was large and already full of water.
‘That must have been very difficult! But Laurens sahib asked Lady Hoskins and she has sent everything that you need. See.’ Nadia threw open the clothes press and pulled out drawers. ‘Gowns and petticoats and corsets and stockings and—’
‘Enough. I will bathe and then I will put on these clothes again with clean linen beneath. Not my turban, though.’ The maid opened her mouth to protest then, with one look from Anusha, shut it again.
‘Yes, Miss Anusha.’
*
She remembered the way to the dining room as well, although everything within the familiar lay-out of the house looked different. The walls had been painted with pale, plain washes, the furniture was new, more European in style, she supposed. Certainly foreign and uncomfortable to someone used to soft cushions, billowing silks, quilted cottons.
By dint of sending Nadia on an errand Anusha had managed to retrieve the jewels from her turban and hide them in a loose panel beneath the window seat. Most of the seats had panels that could be prised out, she had discovered as a child—probably there were still her little caches of toys and treasures all over the house.
Now, her hair in its plait down her back, her severe men’s clothing unrelieved by jewels, she was conscious of the sideways glances of the male servants in the hall. They must be used to unveiled women, but she supposed that her strange mixture of European and Indian looks, her male attire, must seem odd and shocking to them.
‘She is tired, that is all. It has been a trying journey for me, let alone for a sheltered young woman.’ Nick’s voice came clear through the ventilation grille above the door of her father’s study. Anusha slowed to listen.
‘…reserved.’ Her father’s voice, a low rumble from further into the room. ‘Cold.’
‘It is a long time since she saw you,’ Nick replied. ‘And she has been in the zanana. You would expect some uncertainty, surely?’
He is making peace for me. What would she have done without Nick? He had spirited her away, kept her safe, restrained those powerful male instincts for her and taught her some of what she needed for this strange new life she must live before she could snatch her freedom. My friend, she thought as she walked on, unable to linger and eavesdrop with the servants hovering attentively.
He would stay, surely, for a few weeks before he went off on another mission? He must rest, allow his wound to heal, and she would have him to stand between her and this strange, half-familiar world. Nick.
Chapter Fourteen
There had to be a word for Nick and the place he occupied in her heart, Anusha thought as she curled up uncomfortably on one of the big rattan chairs in the drawing room. Friend was not enough, not for the trust she felt, nor, she feared, for that tingling sense of physical attraction that she felt when he was near. She was still wrestling with words in both Hindi and English when the men came in.
‘Ah, there you are, my dear. Is your room to your liking?’ Her father stopped on the threshold and stared at her. ‘Why are you still dressed like that? Did your maid not show you your new clothes? Never tell me they do not fit? I was sent the measurements.’
By whom? ‘I am more comfortable in these tonight, Father.’ Best not to start an argument now. Tomorrow she must cope with the corsets and the stockings and all the other horrors of European dress.
‘Very well.’ His smile was kindly, but there was a tinge of uncertainty. He does not know how to handle me, Anusha thought
. He is nervous. Good!
Her preoccupation with that little triumph distracted her and she missed what he added. ‘…hunting.’ It seemed to be a joke, although Nick was not laughing. In fact, he looked as he had when they were in tiger country: alert and very, very wary. As it had then, that look sent a trickle of cold down her spine.
‘I am sorry, Father I did not hear—’
‘George, did I tell you that the situation—’
Why was Nick attempting to distract her father? The older man looked confused too. ‘I only said that male attire is not suitable for husband hunting, however useful it might be for escaping across country,’ he said.
‘Husband hunting?’
‘But of course. That is what we must apply ourselves to, is it not? We must find you a suitable husband.’
‘I am here because Nick told me I must leave Kalatwah for the good of the state and to avoid embarrassing the East India Company.’ Anusha found she was on her feet. ‘I am not here to marry anyone. I do not want a husband!’ She turned on Nick, whose face was blank now, although his eyes were wary. ‘You told me I would not have to. You told me I would be free.’
‘Nicholas?’ Her father’s tone was ominous. ‘What is this?’
‘If I had told her you intended to arrange a marriage she would have run away,’ Nick said as though the words were being pried out of him at knifepoint.
‘You lied to me.’ She could not believe it. How could he have deceived her like his? ‘I thought you were my friend, I trusted you and you lied to me. What honour is there in untruths, you fine English officer and gentleman? None.’
‘It was that or tie you up in the cabin,’ he retorted. ‘I knew you would run if you heard the truth.’
‘You promised me!’
‘No. You asked me to promise, I never gave you my word.’
‘No, because you—’ You kissed me instead. It did not take the warning jerk of his head towards her father to make her swallow the words. That was why you made love to me, to distract me. Not because you wanted me, not because you felt anything. ‘You told me I would have money, my freedom. I will not have money—is that what you are telling me also?’ she demanded.