But, pregnant as she was, she insisted on taking over the running of the household. Vijay, who had naturally stepped into the position of Batraj’s chamberlain, was astounded and concerned. He complained to Batraj, but Batraj was amused and, Laura soon realised, pleased that she was at last taking her proper place instead of waiting to be driven or dragged.
Thereafter she and Vijay became good friends, as they discussed the various renovations which the house needed. It had belonged to one of the followers of the rightful Amir, Shah Shuja, who had fled with his master, and thus it had remained empty for some years. Laura became entirely involved in her new life, and from time to time had to stop and remind herself that she had no right to be happy.
Yet happiness was difficult to resist. Sivitraj was growing up into a delightful little companion, and Batraj was invariably in a good humour. Early in 1829 Laura gave birth to a daughter. She gazed at Batraj with anxious eyes as he held the babe and peered into its face. He had been so determined she would give him a son that she feared an outburst of anger.
But he merely remarked, ‘She has your blue eyes. She will be a beautiful woman. What will you name her?’
‘I, name her?’ Laura asked.
‘I will name our son,’ Batraj told her. ‘You may name the girl.’
She wished the girl to be as English as possible. She named her Mary.
*
With the birth of Mary, life in Kabul assumed a contented pattern. Laura fed the baby for three months, as she had Sivitraj, then Miljah found her a wet nurse, because Batraj wanted her back in his bed. His passion for her was all the victory she required over his concubines, who were banished to their harem while he rediscovered the delights of his beautiful Englishwoman.
He still, more than anything, wanted a son. But although Laura twice became pregnant during the following two years, she miscarried both times, and it seemed clear that he was going to be disappointed. Nevertheless, that did not lessen his ardour for her.
Laura’s thoughts often drifted back to her life in Bombay, and to her parents in England, who no doubt joined the rest of the world in condemning her as a debauched murderess. Since it now appeared that Kabul was going to be her home at least until Sivitraj was grown up, she worked hard at learning Persian until she was fluent. She ran her household with the closest attention to detail, and accompanied Vijay to the market, suitably veiled, to oversee the weekly shopping.
She made a friend of Nanja, and the two women often gossiped and reminisced about the past while their four children played at their feet. They also indulged in excursions together, exploring the magnificent mausoleum of Babur the Mughal, and sometimes picnicking with their children in the hills surrounding the city.
Why, Laura thought, I am living a civilised existence. Even had she lived in England, she could still have found herself bound to a man she hated and feared, without even the promise of ecstasy every time she was summoned to Batraj’s bed.
Gradually Laura noticed certain changes in Kabul, white faces and European clothes began to appear. From the cut of their uniforms and their round fur hats, she understood the newcomers to be Russian. As she never left her house except heavily veiled she did not suppose they ever knew her to be European herself, although they were not above glancing at the statuesque woman walking the streets with her attendants behind her, and undoubtedly she was pointed out to them as the Dowager Rani of Sittapore.
Then, in the summer of 1832, as she left the market, she noticed several men, who were unmistakeably British, issuing from the Amir’s Palace and appearing somewhat hot and bothered.
Laura hastily returned home, where she awaited Batraj with some anxiety.
‘There are Company officials here,’ she said as he entered her bedchamber.
‘They have been here for some days now,’ he said.
‘And you did not tell me?’
‘I did not consider it any concern of yours.’
‘Not my concern? Have they not tracked us down, to demand our return to Bombay?’
Batraj smiled. ‘We are not that important to the Company, my sweet. No, no, these people are here in an endeavour to dissuade the Amir from becoming too friendly with Russia. He will ignore their representations, of course. Now does not that conjure up a promising spectacle? Britain and Russia locked in combat over Afghanistan?’
‘My God!’ Laura gasped. ‘You can hope for something like that?’
‘It is out of such conflicts that a man like myself might pluck a kingdom,’ Batraj said seriously. ‘Unfortunately the Company will never send an army this far north; it would mean opposing the Sikhs, at the least, if not the Rajputs as well. However...’ he sat beside her. ‘Your first fear is a very true one. The Company people did not come to Kabul looking for us, but now there are here they will most certainly learn of our presence. And who knows what Dost Mohammed may do. He is the most treacherous of men. If he granted us asylum, it is because it suited him to do so. If he felt he could buy off the Company...’ he sighed. ‘He wishes to entertain you.’
‘What?’ Laura cried.
‘He has coveted you from the moment he set eyes upon you, especially when I told him of your true beauty, which he then could not see. But he looked upon you, from a hidden position, when you were in his harem, and coveted you even more.’
‘I am a married woman,’ Laura said, trying to keep from screaming. ‘Is not adultery the most heinous of all crimes to the Muslim?’
‘It is a serious crime, to be sure,’ Batraj agreed. ‘But Dost Mohammed is not a serious Muslim. He is an Afghan robber chieftain who happens to have made himself Amir, and has found it convenient to join his people in paying lip service to the Koran.’
‘Batraj!’ Laura seized his hands. ‘You cannot be serious.’
Batraj sighed again. ‘Do you think I wish you to do this? I have resisted his importunities for two years, by claiming you have been pregnant. Alas, you are not pregnant now, and the Englishmen are here. And the Amir repeated his invitation to you to attend a banquet at the palace only yesterday. I told him I would have to investigate your condition, but now, we must accept.’
‘Batraj...’
‘He does not wish you to be veiled. As he points out, you are an infidel, and infidels do not wear the veil.’
‘Are you coming to the banquet?’
‘Of course. But I may leave early.’
‘Abandoning me there? Batraj, you cannot do this to me. You are asking me to prostitute myself’
‘Listen to me, Laura. In the eyes of the Company you are a Thug and a murderess. If they manage to take you back to Bombay they will hang you by the neck until you are dead. In public. Do you wish that to happen?’
Laura found she was clasping her throat.
‘I do not wish to give you to Dost Mohammed,’ Batraj went on. ‘I know him for what he is. But for the present time he is our only hope of survival. As for your moral scruples, you did not hesitate to prostitute yourself to the Begum Sombre when you thought she might help you escape me.’
Laura bit her lip. She had no defence.
Batraj smiled at her, and stroked her hand. ‘You must forget that you were once the daughter of a clerk. You are now a great lady, and great ladies play for high stakes with every weapon that God has given them. He has given you a very powerful weapon, Laura. You must use it.’
*
Nanja and Miljah both assisted Laura to dress. She wore a white sari, to remind everyone that she was a widow, and her emerald necklace and all her gold bangles. Her nails were hennaed and her eyes outlined with kohl. Her complexion had quite recovered from its ordeal during the flight from Sittapore.
Her hair was brushed and combed and then dressed in the typical Indian chignon. As she inspected herself in the brass mirrors, she felt more of a sacrificial victim than she had when she was laid on the funeral pyre beside Sitraj.
Laura and Batraj walked to the palace, attended by their servants. Over her sari she was dressed as a
Muslim woman, and she kept her veil in place as they were ushered into the reception chamber, her back as straight as ever.
She was astounded to realise that she was not, after all, the only woman present; there were two others, wearing European evening dresses and revealing a good deal of decolletage. They turned out to be the wives of the Russian diplomats who had recently taken up permanent residence in Kabul.
They and their husbands gazed in amazement at the Dowager Rani as, on Batraj’s muttered instructions, Laura unveiled herself to bow before the Amir.
She was duly introduced to the Russians; the men kissed her hand, and the woman actually curtsied — she was, after all, a queen. Then she was presented to the English party.
She had been terrified it would include someone she knew, but all the faces were strange to her. Their leader was surprisingly young, only a few years older than herself, short and plump and with a good-humoured face. He bent over her hand, his lips just brushing her flesh. ‘Alexander Burnes, at your service, your Highness,’ he said with a delightful Scottish burr. ‘Dare I say how much I have looked forward to this meeting?’
His aides, who were mostly older, were not quite so pleasant. Definitely, they knew all about her.
Laura was seated on Dost Mohammed’s right, with Burnes on her right. The meal was served at a single long table set against one end of the room, so she was effectively separated from Batraj, who was some distance away, between the two Russians. She could see that he was uneasy about her closeness to the company envoy, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Dost Mohammed was kindness itself, and himself filled her wine glass, proving even more that he was a man first and a Muslim second.
‘You are the most beautiful woman who has ever adorned this palace, Highness,’ he remarked.
‘I find that impossible to believe, Your Excellency,’ she protested, surprised that she could speak at all, so dry was her throat. She drank some of the wine, the first she had tasted in some time, and found it astonishingly good.
She turned to Burnes.
‘Does Bombay still prosper?’ she inquired, in English.
‘It grows every day,’ the Scot said.
‘I should love to see it again,’ she ventured.
And I wish you could,’ he agreed.
She turned her head to gaze directly at him.
He smiled, a trifle sadly. ‘But it would be difficult. Your name is still much discussed, and...there remains an unserved warrant for your arrest on a charge of murder.’
‘Of which I am entirely innocent.’
He sighed. ‘It is the proving of it, Your Highness, the proving of it...But is Kabul not now your home?’
‘My...husband finds the climate congenial,’ she replied.
‘I am sure he does. There are many people in Bombay who would like him to revisit them. And no doubt in Sittapore, as well.’
‘Perhaps one of these days we shall gratify their wish,’ Laura said. ‘When my son is old enough to take his rightful place as Rajah.’
‘Ah. Your son is with you, here in Kabul?’
‘Should a son not be with his mother, sir? Will you tell me who is currently acting as regent in Sittapore?’
‘Why, the Dowager Rani Bilkis. For her grandson, the Rajah Partaj.’
Bibi’s son, Laura thought.
‘Prince Partaj is an usurper, sir. Whatever crimes I may be accused of, my son is innocent, and he is the rightful heir.’
‘Then the sooner you bring him back the better, I would say,’ Burnes remarked.
‘Would you assist me to regain my son’s inheritance?’ she asked boldly.
‘Why, Highness, it would be a great honour. But...I cannot guarantee success, and the risk would be enormous.’
‘If something is worth having, is it not worth risking all for?’ Laura enquired, with her most dazzling smile. She felt a great glow of warmth. Had she found a friend?
‘Of what do you speak with that man?’ Dost Mohammed inquired.
‘Of my son’s jaghir, Your Excellency,’ Laura replied.
‘It is sad, to lose one’s inheritance,’ Dost Mohammed said, enigmatically.
*
During dinner sitars played in the background, but as it came to an end, the music increased in volume and the nautch dancers came in. Clearly the Russian women had never before been subjected to such a display of unbridled sexuality, and they hid their embarrassment behind their fans. Laura watched the girls, but her thoughts were on other things; the sympathetic conversation with Burnes was full of promise for the future, but the immediate problem was Dost Mohammed. She had finished her third glass of wine and would have drunk more had she been given it, but when she raised the glass again to her lips she found it had been filled with water.
Dost Mohammed smiled at her. ‘I was concerned lest you become too sleepy to enjoy the evening, Highness,’ he said. Laura felt like putting out her tongue at him.
The girls having completed their dance, the guests rose. Laura realised she was absolutely sober. And now people were starting to leave. Laura discovered that Batraj had already gone. The Company contingent followed him, bowing over her head as before.
‘It has been a great pleasure, Highness,’ Burnes said. ‘I hope we shall meet again. And if I can ever be of any assistance to you, be sure of my support.’
She wondered if the cheery little Scotsman understood that she had been abandoned for the night by her husband?
The Russian ladies certainly did so, and cast glances from her to Dost Mohammed, who stood close by, smiling his evil smile.
At last the hall was empty, save for the servants who waited to clear away when the Amir had left.
‘I am glad you have remained behind, Highness,’ Dost Mohammed remarked. ‘I have long wished for an opportunity to hold a private conversation with you.’ He walked to the rear of the room, where a majordomo held the door open for him. ‘Come, let us seek some fresh air.’
Laura forced her legs to move, to go forward. You are a great lady, Batraj had told her, and must act the part. She went through the doorway, and was escorted along various corridors into the heart of the labyrinthine palace. Soon they encountered eunuchs, and she knew they were near the harem, but instead of entering there Dost Mohammed took her through another set of doors and into yet another reception chamber. Inner arches gave on to one of the secluded gardens so beloved of Muslim architects, with the inevitable pool and fountain, the whole lit by flaming torches to give a very dramatic effect.
‘Sit with me.’ Dost Mohammed threw himself on to one of the several divans, and Laura understood she was to do the same. As she sat down, eunuchs appeared with trays of iced sherbet.
‘They cool the blood,’ Dost Mohammed told her. ‘But nothing will cool my blood tonight. Nor yours, I hope, Highness.’
Laura ate her water ice as the eunuchs bowed and withdrew, closing the doors behind them. She attempted to decide how to handle the approaching ordeal. She could just close her eyes and let it happen. But that would hardly please the Amir, which was what she was here to do. Or she could pretend to enjoy it.
She felt his hand on her shoulder, sliding down her arm, and then up again, beneath the folds of her sari.
‘Tell me of yourself,’ Dost Mohammed said.
Laura swallowed her water ice, and obeyed. Perhaps if she could keep him listening to her, he would fall asleep. So she began with her childhood, and told him of Bombay and how she lived before Sitraj came into her life. But as she spoke, his hands wandered over her, gradually removing the sari and then unfastening the blouse beneath. His touch was gentle enough, but the very thought of him, of what she was being made to do, made her unable to suppress a shudder.
‘You fear me,’ Dost Mohammed said.
‘I fear the crime you commit, my lord,’ she said.
‘Adultery is only a crime when committed by Muslim with Muslim,’ he pointed out. ‘I have established this point with the mufti. You are an infidel,
so there can be no crime, especially as your infidel husband is agreeable to what we do.’ He had uncovered her breasts, and now stroked them very knowledgeably, so that she felt her nipples hardening. ‘And your body accepts me,’ he went on, pleased at her reaction. ‘Therefore your mind must, as well. Do you suppose I would ever harm such a magnificent creature as you?’ Gently he pulled her back so that she lay on the divan; the half emptied sherbet glass fell from her fingers and shattered on the marble floor, but he was not distracted. ‘Your countrymen, now, they seek to harm you. They asked me why I do not send you back to Bombay. I asked them, what will you do with her there? And they said...’ he smiled, his teeth white in the black of his beard, ‘oh, we shall undoubtedly hang her for murder.’
Laura could not believe Burnes had said that. But the others...oh, she could believe it of them.
‘I am innocent,’ she said. ‘I was forced to become a Thug by my husband.’
‘I believe you,’ Dost Mohammed said. Suddenly Laura realised that she was almost completely naked. Now he rose to his knees the better to look at her. She wanted to draw up her own knees, but made herself lie still. The sooner it was done, the better.
‘Such hair,’ the Amir said. ‘My women do not have such hair.’ He touched it, and she shivered again.
‘If you do not accept me,’ he said, ‘then I may hurt you. I should not like to do that.’
‘I will accept you,’ Laura said.
‘Then disrobe for me.’
There was not much left to do. Laura stood up and let the disordered sari settle about her ankles, stepped out of it and then out of her undergarments, kicked off her sandals.
Dost Mohammed gazed at her. ‘Truly are you a gift from Allah,’ he said. ‘Now, undress me.’
Laura gasped. She was apparently going to be spared nothing. Tentatively she removed his belt and unfastened his tunic. Then she took off his shoes, returned to his tunic, removed it, and lifted the silk shirt beneath. He had a splendid torso, broad and deep and covered in a mat of thick black hair.
He lay down, and waited for her to remove his breeches. She drew a long breath, and did so, and the oddly-shaped drawers he wore beneath. His size made even Batraj seem like a boy, and here too there were masses of hair.
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