Daisy's Long Road Home

by Merryn Allingham

  He poured the precious fuel into the tank, then carefully stowed the empty cans back in their secret compartment. ‘This should get us to Sikaner, leak or no leak. By my reckoning we’ve only another twenty miles or so to travel.’

  ‘Did you have the jeep specially adapted?’ She sounded intrigued and he imagined this was the kind of thing she expected special intelligence to excel at.

  ‘Heath Robinson,’ he replied enigmatically. ‘I did it myself—needs must.’

  ‘What other conjuring tricks are you hiding?’

  ‘Only the trick of getting there as swiftly as we can.’

  CHAPTER 16

  Within an hour and before the sun had had time to burn the world to a crisp, they’d arrived at the outskirts of the town. A signpost, buckled at the edges from contact with a passing truck, announced they’d reached Sikaner.

  Daisy craned her head, scanning first right, then left. ‘The town is bigger than I expected.’

  ‘That’s because it makes up most of the state of Sikaner—the map shows precious little beyond its boundaries.’

  They drove slowly down the wide main street, avoiding small children, stray dogs and several donkey carts. On one side of the road, an odd cluster of shops was set two feet above the ground.

  ‘Just look over there.’ She nodded in their direction. ‘They look for all the world like cages on stilts.’

  ‘I imagine that’s to protect the goods from sudden flooding. This place is surrounded by mountains. During the monsoon, the streets must be deluged.’

  ‘The town looks reasonably prosperous though.’

  At first sight, it did. A number of jewellers’ shops lined the main thoroughfare, their trays of gold bangles flashing in the bright sun; a flower seller sat behind a mountain of roses and garlands of jasmine, piled high and strung like beads on a string; several merchants displayed a range of teas from jet black to olive green. But if you looked closely, he thought, that sense of settled prosperity proved deceptive. A stallholder here, one there, wore an apathetic face. Most sat huddled over their wares in garments that appeared poorly made. Many of the buildings, when you studied them, were undermined by walls that were deeply cracked and roofs that sported a scattering of holes. One or two of the shutters hung lopsided from a broken hinge. It could have been a theatre set, bright and convincing on the surface, but with an emptiness beyond.

  He’d been aware for some time of eyes swivelling in their direction and hoped that Daisy hadn’t noticed. But she had.

  ‘We’re being watched.’ She sounded apprehensive.

  Small knots of women and children in the maze of mean alleys that radiated left and right from the main street had stopped their work or play to gape at them.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve never seen a European before’ he suggested, making light of the situation. ‘Or maybe they’ve never seen a jeep.’

  ‘I don’t know, but whatever the reason, it’s making me feel uncomfortable.’ She slunk back into her seat, seeking what cover she could find.

  ‘We may have to put up with being the local freak show. Sikaner seems a pretty enclosed community.’

  That was one way of putting it. The town had certainly been difficult enough to reach and, now they were here, he felt as much as Daisy the wall of blank indifference that rose to meet them. It was the same passivity they’d encountered in Kamghar, but more aggressive if that were possible, and so more worrying.

  ‘I can understand why Karan Rana had to escape.’ Daisy’s voice sounded a trifle hollow. ‘This place seems completely cut off—not just from the rest of India but from the rest of Rajasthan. It must have been so isolating to grow up here.’

  ‘It wasn’t much of a getaway though. He escaped, but to what? To fight and then die.’

  ‘At least for a while he could feel part of a wider world. This town is creepy.’

  The long main road had come to an end at last and, when they turned the corner, it was to be met by an immensity of stone wall rearing up in front of them, broken only by a pair of equally immense iron gates. The wall appeared to spread for miles on either side and the gates were guarded by two uniformed soldiers, weapons at their waist.

  Grayson brought the car to a halt. ‘The Rajah’s palace, I presume. We’d better go and introduce ourselves.’

  He sprang out of the jeep and spoke a few words into the nearest guard’s ear. As if by magic, the gates were flung open and they were able to drive forward into a large courtyard. Here, a group of armed men were loitering in what shade there was. One of their number hastened to a second set of gates that barred the way. His face red with effort, he cranked the handle of an enormous wooden wheel and the twenty-foot high barrier creaked opened. Ahead, they could see a ribbon of road winding its way far into the distance.

  ‘What did you say to him? The man on the gate.’ Daisy jerked her head back towards the way they had come.

  ‘I gave my name. It seems that we’re expected.’

  ‘Should we be?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ he said carefully, ‘but perhaps the Rajah will enlighten us when we meet him.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.’ She waved her hand at the vast expanse of land sliding past the vehicle on either side. ‘This must all belong to him.’

  Grayson grimaced. ‘He goes for the impressive, doesn’t he? The palace is just coming into view.’

  A forbidding oblong blotted the horizon. The palace was built on top of a large rock formation; indeed it appeared to have risen unstoppably from the rock itself. The walls were dark grey, hard granite, and rose steeply from a base three or four storeys high. The surface of the walls was flat and uncompromising: no curved dome, no delicate tracery, no ornamented arch. Instead, an unyielding, almost blind face, interrupted only by rows of small windows. The sun beamed an invitation for them to open, but their closed panes flashed back a warning. A crenellated roof completed the image; beauty wasn’t this building’s speech but fortification, as though the palace itself might be preparing for war.

  ‘We keep calling him a rajah, but is he? The ruler, I mean.’

  ‘He is. I made a point of checking before we left. Always a good idea to get the title right. Princes can be touchy about these things. His first name is Talin, which doesn’t inspire confidence.’

  ‘How is that?’

  ‘It’s one of many names that mean Lord Shiva—the destroyer of the world.’

  ‘Let’s hope he’s not true to his name then.’ She’d said it lightly but he knew they were both thinking otherwise.

  He slowed the jeep as they neared what he hoped was the final barrier. There were no guards here, but their progress must have been watched because, as they approached, the gates swung wide. Through the gates, across another bare, open space and through another thick granite archway. They had reached the inner courtyard at last and it was grander than anything they’d seen before. In an instant, the forbidding exterior of the palace was forgotten. Here the walls were no longer rough hewn but cloaked in a shining marble which had been meticulously carved into the most intricate of designs. Lush green trees lined every wall and large containers of floating flowers filled the corners, each with a brigade of green parrots perched on their rim. A fountain splashed somewhere to their right.

  ‘We seem to have arrived.’ He switched off the ignition.

  Immediately, a servant, dressed head to toe in purple and gold livery, emerged from some concealed enclave and began to unload their few pieces of luggage before either of them had climbed from the jeep. The man stood to one side politely waiting, his eyes downcast, then marched towards the palace entrance, a bag in each hand. Obediently, they followed him up the stone staircase, past the line of traditional metal pots, one for each step, to the wood-panelled door. At their approach, it swung effortlessly open. He might have felt pampered, Grayson thought, if it hadn’t all been so pat.

  Daisy felt the merciless sun beat down on her bare neck as she climbed the stairs
to the palace entrance, but once she’d stepped across its threshold, the building was cool. So cool, she thought, that you could bathe in the air and feel refreshed. A second liveried servant was waiting a few feet inside the door and gestured for them to follow him. They walked in single file along a wide corridor. Its walls were hung with damask and its floor covered in a rich carpet of thickly woven red silk. The Rajah evidently possessed riches beyond counting. But though she might gasp at such opulence, her spirit was tempered by the poverty of an East End childhood, and any admiration was tinged with a splinter of contempt. She hadn’t forgotten what lay outside this magnificence.

  Their bags had vanished and she wondered if they would ever see them again. The building appeared labyrinthine. Anish’s description of Indian palaces came back to her: They are built around endless courtyards with arch after arch of carved stone and each small piece of decoration inlaid with coloured gems. Then there are huge audience halls, every wall mirrored, with silk carpets on the floor and tons of crystal hanging above. And outside, broad terraces where you can walk and view the sweep of the mountains or the curve of the Ganga itself.

  They had been riding, she remembered, riding to the river and had stopped for a rest by its waters. It had been a wonderful day, a day when Anish had talked to her as a true friend. Or so she’d thought. But it was also the day that she’d come close to tragedy because someone had deliberately tampered with her saddle. She hadn’t known then, couldn’t have guessed, that it was Anish himself. He’d wanted her away from the bungalow and staged increasingly desperate accidents to ensure that she left. But she’d refused and instead had discovered the building’s darkest secret. Accidents were no longer enough. She had to die. Not that Anish would have killed her himself—she still believed that in some twisted way he’d cared for her—but he had left her to perish at the hands of his henchmen. And that amounted to the same thing.

  She pushed the terrible memory away, as she had so often in the past. She didn’t think she would be seeing the Ganges today, but this building was certainly as large and as ornate as Anish had predicted. It seemed that they walked for miles, along corridors that stretched for ever. Corridors that were dotted with shuttered doors, hushed and secret spaces lying behind their closed grilles. On and on, until finally they were ushered through a pair of massive wooden doors and found themselves in a huge and empty space. It had to be an audience chamber, she thought, and again the contrast with what they had seen of Sikaner town was remarkable. Red and gold divans lined the walls. Rustling silk curtains hung from floor-length windows and, in the centre of the room, a carved and gilded chair imposed its presence on everything around it. The servant indicated that they should take a seat on one of the divans. They had hardly done so when another retainer appeared noiselessly at their side, bowing low and offering them the familiar tray of cold drinks.

  Daisy gulped hers down. ‘It would be good if there was something to eat,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ingrate. When I gave you the last of my biscuits.’

  She smiled at him and their glances met. They hadn’t spoken of the previous night, hadn’t felt each other’s touch since then, yet all day she had sensed his soul walking with hers. She hoped she wasn’t being fanciful, but whatever the outcome of this journey together, she had new and happier memories to hold fast to.

  Grayson took a second glass from the tray and spoke directly to the manservant. ‘I imagine you’re kept busy in this weather.’ The young man smiled vacantly.

  ‘You must have a fair number of visitors,’ he pursued. ‘And every one of them desperate for a cold drink.’

  The smile grew more vacant still. Grayson switched to Hindi but, as far as Daisy could tell, it made little difference. There was a long pause and he seemed to be getting ready to throw out yet another question when the servant found his tongue at last. ‘Excuse, please,’ he said in a reedy voice, and backed hastily out of the room.

  ‘That went well,’ Grayson said laconically.

  ‘Do you think he understood you?’

  ‘He understood all right. There’s nothing much wrong with my Hindi. He didn’t want to understand, that’s the truth.’

  Before they could say more, there was a bustle outside and a noise came barrelling down the corridor towards them. They stopped talking and looked expectantly at the doorway. A small, round man sprang into the room and bounced towards them. He wore European dress, his feet in shoes so highly polished they reflected in faithful detail the chandeliers above. He had thin hair slicked back from an unlined face and the slightest hint of a moustache on his upper lip, as though it hadn’t quite had the courage of its convictions.

  ‘Miss Driscoll, Mr Harte, how good to see you safely arrived,’ he oozed. His English was only slightly accented, Daisy noticed. ‘I am Mr Acharya, secretary to His Royal Highness. Allow me to welcome you to Sikaner on my ruler’s behalf. The Rajah is most anxious that you are comfortable. He is delighted to be entertaining such honoured guests.’ Mr Acharya snatched up the gold pocket watch that dangled from his shiny waistcoat and shook it energetically. The action did nothing to stem his flow of words. ‘In a very few minutes, dear guests, you will be shown to your quarters. A most delightful suite. I am sure you will be happy there. But first, of course, you must meet His Royal Highness. This is most important. His Highness begs your indulgence. A few minutes only. He will be with you presently—’

  ‘Thank you, you are most kind.’ Grayson waded across the river of eloquence. ‘We must apologise for arriving out of the blue. I’m sorry we weren’t able to give you warning. I take it you had no warning?’

  The man gave an uneasy smirk, then rushed once more into speech. ‘But of course you must know that once you reached our town, the news travelled fast. You know Indian ways, Mr Harte,’ and he wagged a stubby finger at Grayson. ‘One cannot keep a secret here.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ Grayson interrupted. ‘And I imagine you must often provide for travellers. From what I’ve seen of the town, there seems little accommodation. So we must thank you again for your hospitality.’

  ‘We do our best,’ the secretary said guardedly. ‘But Sikaner is a long way from anywhere and we have very few visitors.’

  ‘Are we your first this year then?’

  The smile faded very slightly. ‘I am almost sure you are, Mr Harte, but I am a busy man—as you are too, of course—and it is sometimes difficult to remember.’

  ‘Difficult to remember who has met His Highness? You’re his secretary, aren’t you?’

  ‘Indeed yes. But you have reminded me. I must be getting back to work. Please forgive.’

  And Mr Acharya began walking backwards at an astonishingly quick rate, his eyes never leaving theirs, before he whisked himself out into the corridor like a startled rabbit regaining its burrow.

  Daisy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘A comic turn,’ Grayson remarked. ‘But not one without use.’

  ‘You got nothing from him.’

  ‘And that told me everything I wanted to know. Quite clearly, he has entertained other visitors—maybe Javinder was among them. And just as clearly, he’s giving nothing away.’

  ‘Neither did the servant earlier.’

  ‘No, he didn’t, did he? It looks as though the entire household has taken a vow of omerta. I’ll have to look elsewhere, though I haven’t quite given up on the palace. Perhaps the Rajah himself will volunteer a nugget or two.’

  ‘I take it that’s a joke?’

  ‘You never know. Stranger things have happened.’ He shook himself free from the embrace of a mound of soft cushions. ‘The building is beautifully cool, but somehow I’ve still managed to stick to this divan. A shower is what I need. I wonder how long the old boy will be?’

  ‘You’d better sound more respectful than that.’

  Respectful or not, it was a long time before ‘the old boy’ made an appearance. The secretary had said his employer would be with them in a matter of minutes but th
e time dragged on and they’d almost given up the idea of seeing him or even being escorted to the promised suite, when they heard a soft, whispering sound travelling up the corridor and in through the door.

  ‘Listen.’ Daisy held up her hand. ‘Who’s speaking and what are they saying?’

  ‘The Rajah.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s what they’re saying, the servants. The Rajah, the Rajah, over and over again. I think our host may be about to grace us with his presence.’

  Grayson was right. Several minutes later, a man walked through the door into the audience chamber. Not walked, Daisy thought, but stalked. When she looked at his face she could see he was old, very old, but his carriage was still that of a young man and the white and gold robes he wore, almost stark in their simplicity, only reinforced that impression. The room was filled with a powerful authority and instinctively they rose to their feet. The Rajah moved unhurriedly towards them. He held his hand out first to her, and then to Grayson. His every action was performed with deliberation.

  While he was enquiring of Grayson how their journey had gone, she had time to study him. She was trying to see a resemblance with his grandson but at first could find none. This man’s complexion was weathered, his nose sharp and aquiline, his face one of stern strength. Anish had been a beautiful man, she remembered, yet when she brought his image into clearer focus, she recalled a handsome face that masked the same uncompromising force she saw in his grandfather. Anish had been prepared to sacrifice everything—his career, his life, her life—for the cause in which he believed. And this man would do the same, she was sure. His grandson would feel he’d died for independence, an independence that India now possessed. But there was an irony here perhaps. Was it the very same cause, turned upside down, for which his grandfather was willing to die?

  ‘So your journey went smoothly?’ he was saying.

  He could simply be making small talk or his question could mask something infinitely darker. If he’d been behind the trials they’d encountered, their arrival must have disconcerted him. At best, they were not meant to have reached the palace but instead returned to Jasirapur, their commission a failure. At worst, they were not meant to have survived at all. If what they suspected of this man were true, he must be wondering just how they had come through the dangers he’d instigated.