Danger at Dahlkari (19 page)

I was fond of him. I thought I might be in love with him. I couldn't be sure. I knew so little about love, but from those books I had secretly devoured I understood it was supposed to be a shattering, exhilarating sensation, a highly charged emotion that left one shaken, unable to eat, unable to sleep. The heroines had all been ready to throw aside everything—wealth, position, respectability—to elope with their rakish gypsy lovers, their brooding, mercurial highwaymen. They would have gone through fire to be with their men, and there had been nothing mild, nothing pleasant about the emotions they experienced. When you fell in love you were supposed to know immediately. It was supposed to be as though a bolt of lightning had struck you. There was never any doubt, any indecision. That was the way it was in the books. Was it that way in real life?

Perhaps if I had let him kiss me as he had planned to do in the clearing by the stream, I would have experienced some of those wildly passionate emotions. Perhaps it was all my fault. I was bookish. I was scholarly. I was cool and dignified. Perhaps I was incapable of feeling such heady emotions. Somehow I doubted that. Somehow I suspected that deep down inside, beneath the cool exterior, I had a nature as passionate and responsive as any of those volatile heroines.

A native servant approached with a tray of champagne. I shook my head and gave him my empty glass. Grim and silent, he walked toward a cluster of guests. I didn't see Michael anywhere about. I wondered where he could be. He was everything a women could ever hope for, I was certain of that. I enjoyed being with him. He made me feel wonderfully alive. When we were apart, I missed him, and I felt a fresh burst of joy each time I saw him anew. I must love him. It was pure folly to expect a bolt of lightning. If that suspected passionate nature had not been awakened, it was because I hadn't given him the opportunity. I sighed, wishing I were older, wishing it all weren't so complex and confusing.

“You don't enjoy the party?”

The husky, honeyed voice startled me. Lost in thought, I hadn't heard the rajah approach, and now he stood before me in all his splendor, rubies blazing like drops of blood against the white silk. The dark eyes, expressionless before, were filled with polite concern. I was embarrassed, at a loss for words. The rajah smiled, and when his full mouth curved up at the corners like that his face didn't seem nearly so malevolent. He made a gesture with a beringed hand, indicating his other guests.

“They all eat the food and talk and listen to the English music my men play in their honor. But you do not. I watch. I walk among my guests and speak to them and wish them enjoyment, and you stand here under this tree all the time, looking sad. I notice.”

“I—I was thinking, Your Highness.”

“I say to myself, I shall have a conversation with the young Englishwoman my friend Lieutenant Stephens is so fortunate to have met. She looks sad, I say. Perhaps she is feeling neglected because the handsome lieutenant must greet the guests and then must go inside the palace to confer with my chamberlain on a matter of business.”

“I—wondered where he was,” I said haltingly.

“I confess, the matter of business is not an important one. It could wait until another day, but, I tell myself, with the handsome lieutenant on hand, the young Englishwoman will not wish to have a conversation with me. So I send him into the palace to keep him away for a while. It is devious, no?”

The rajah smiled again. Hard, arrogant, undoubtedly ruthless, he nevertheless exuded a great charm, a warmth of personality I couldn't help but respond to. He wished to be friendly, and I knew full well that he was ordinarily aloof with all the English. I smiled back, embarrassment melting away.

“I am flattered you would go to such lengths, Your Highness.”

“I ask myself, what would amuse the beautiful Miss Gray during the absence of her lieutenant. She does not chatter with the other women and she does not eat the food or enjoy the music. How can I amuse her? I ask myself if she would perhaps like to see the palace rooms.”

“That would be a marvelous treat,” I said, genuinely pleased.

“My palace is not as grand as some, but there is much fine furniture, many fine chambers. It shall please me to show them to you. I will add that not many of the English have been so honored, merely to show you how much I am impressed with Lieutenant Stephens' lovely young friend.”

“I am indeed honored, Your Highness.”

The rajah nodded, very formal now, and crooked his arm. I placed my hand on the brocaded sleeve, and we slowly made our progress toward the palace steps. It caused something of a sensation. People stared quite openly. Conversations halted in midstream. The music seemed louder than ever, a faltering
om-pah-pah
accompanying our steps. I knew it was extremely unusual for the rajah to show such open favoritism, and I must admit it gave me a thrill to be walking up the steps with my hand on his arm, moving into the cool, sumptuous interior.

The hall was exquisite, the floor blue and white marble tile arranged in floral patterns, the walls ivory and gold, archways leading off into adjoining chambers. The rajah led me into one of the large, open rooms, and I marveled at the lattice work, the screens of beaten gold. We strolled into another room even more impressive, the white walls traced with gold in intricate patterns, and we passed into yet another, then another, and I saw delicate silver and gold filigree work and inlaid ivory, blue tiles and amazingly beautiful carpets, draperies of the finest, purest silk like spun air tinted with color.

It was amazing, each room a marvel, each containing jewel-encrusted artifacts, sumptuous chests, furniture of gold and silver and ivory, and there were mosaic murals of semiprecious stones, but the rajah passed by these without comment. Amidst all this staggering splendor there was, incongruously enough, an abundance of dark, heavy, heavily carved English furniture, all of it hideous, all of it second-rate, the sort of pieces one might find in a gloomy suburban mansion. The rajah was inordinately pleased with it, pointing with pride at the ponderous sideboards, the abominable wardrobes, the stiff-backed chairs with their red plush cushions and tarnished gold fringe.

“I am up to date, you see,” he remarked. “I do not live in the past like a number of my fellow princes. I attended the college at Oxford, you know. I am proud to speak English and appreciate the English things.”

“I can see that you do,” I remarked.

“When I am at Oxford, many look down on me because my skin is dark, but still I admire the English. Does my dark skin bother you, Miss Gray?”

I found the question rather disturbing. “Of course not.”

“At Oxford, I had a friend. She had golden hair. She serves the ale in one of the pubs, and she is most friendly. I take her from the pub and give her many fine gifts. She does not mind that my skin is dark. When I leave England she is very sad.”

I examined a small silver box encrusted with emeralds that sat on one of the ebony tables, slightly uncomfortable. The rajah apparently saw nothing wrong in telling me about his white mistress. I felt sure he hadn't meant to embarrass me.

“You admire the box?” he inquired.

“It's quite lovely.”

“It is yours,” he said.

I looked up at him, startled. He was watching me very closely, those dark eyes inscrutable. There was an animal quality about him, and I sensed the savagery lurking behind that polite, formal façade. I remembered what Reggie had said, and I grew more uncomfortable. Surely I had misinterpreted his gesture. He had mentioned the barmaid and his gifts to her, and then he had offered me the emerald box, and … and there was no connection. Surely not.

“I—I couldn't accept it, Your Highness.”

“No?”

“It wouldn't be—proper. The box is very valuable.”

“I see. You are, then, very proper?”

I nodded and attempted a polite smile. The rajah stared at me for a moment, his face a mahogany mask, impossible to read, and I wished I had not been so eager to come with him on the tour. I wished, too, that I was wearing something a little less fashionable and more modest. Could he possibly think that because I was wearing a low-cut gown, because I had told him his dark skin did not bother me.… No, no, I was imagining things. I must be. There were vast differences in our cultures, true, but the rajah surely couldn't think that meant I would welcome anything improper.

“You must see the pool,” he said.

He led me into another chamber, one thankfully free of Victorian furniture. The walls were a gleaming white, sunlight streaming through the arched windows covered with pearl latticework, and steps led down into an enormous pool of glistening silvery water so clear I could see the blue and gold mosaic designs at the bottom. Watery reflections danced on the walls like silver shadows, and the long yellow silk draperies hanging over the ivory-columned archways stirred in the soft breezes like thin, translucent yellow wings, the rich color shimmering in the sunlight. The rajah pointed to one of the archways.

“My women live in that section,” he said. “My beloved wife died many years ago, but I have several concubines, all of them plump, all of them fond of jewels. It amuses me to toss handfuls of precious stones into the water and watch the women dive for them. They usually fight, alas, and I must be very stern with them.”

I made no reply, and he looked at me with those dark, glowing eyes. His manner was as polite, as formal as ever, but I had the impression that he knew very well that it wasn't fitting to speak of concubines in front of an English girl, that he had done so deliberately. The faintest suggestion of a smile curled on his full lips, and I was uncomfortably aware of the silence and the fact that during the tour we had not as yet encountered another person. Maintaining my composure at considerable expense, I stepped over to one of the archways and fingered one of the draperies.

“I've never seen silk so fine,” I remarked, “and the color is beautiful, such a rich yellow.”

“It is my own yellow,” he informed me. “The dye is specially made for me. They also make a royal blue and a crimson that you will find nowhere else in India.”

He had padded silently across the floor until he was standing directly behind me. I turned, alarmed by his nearness. It must have shown on my face, for he frowned.

“You are uncomfortable, Miss Gray?”

“We've been gone for quite some time, Your Highness. I think perhaps we should rejoin the guests now.”

“But there is much you have not seen. You have not seen the Throne Room nor the official reception chambers. Nor have you seen my private quarters. They are the most elaborate in the palace, as is fitting. There are many rich items to behold.”

“Perhaps I shall be able to see the rest of the palace another time,” I said, gracious, I hoped, but firm.

The rajah hesitated a moment, studying me intently, and then he nodded.

“It shall be my privilege, Miss Gray.” His voice was smooth and formal. “Perhaps the lieutenant will bring you back to the palace soon.”

“I shall look forward to returning.”

He crooked his arm again, and I placed my hand on it. He was silent as we moved down a long hallway, the white walls adorned with blue, black and gold mosaics depicting a tiger hunt. Moments later we were moving down the front steps again in splashes of bright sunlight, and I felt a wave of nervous relief. We joined the other guests. I thanked the rajah politely for the honor he had done me. He nodded and moved toward a group of guests in long, lordly strides, and I stepped over to one of the tables to fetch a much-needed glass of champagne.

I was shaken, much more so than I cared to admit to myself. I drank the champagne quickly, and then I took a second glass and turned to look at the crowd. Couples were strolling all over the grounds, some of them far away, looking like dolls in the distance. I saw Reggie across the way, deep in conversation with three officers, and Dollie was sitting with a group of women in a circle of white wicker lawn chairs under one of the shade trees, all of them with plates in their laps, gossiping avidly as they ate. Michael was nowhere in sight. He must still be in conference with the chamberlain, I thought, and I was relieved, for I didn't want to talk to anyone just yet, afraid I would betray myself.

I knew I mustn't let anyone know what had happened. Reggie was already adamantly set against the rajah, and if he were to think that Sahji Bandi had even hinted at anything improper it could, I knew, lead to serious diplomatic problems. I had thought Reggie amusingly stuffy when he criticized my gown and told me to be wary of the rajah, and like a fool I had let the man take me into the palace, away from the other guests. I had been calm enough when the rajah had made his subtle proposition—for I knew now that that was exactly what it had been—but as I thought about it now, as I remembered the look in his eyes, I could feel a delayed reaction setting in. I finished the second glass of champagne, shuddering inside, trying to maintain my composure.

The sunlight was too bright. The music was too loud. Everyone else was enjoying the party, much less dignified and formal than they had been earlier on. The champagne and plentiful hard liquor were responsible for that. Colored parasols twirled. Voices were shrill. Dishes clattered. The music played and played, and I thought my head would split. I moved through the crowd, smiling, pretending to enjoy myself, and then I circled around one of the striped tents and passed a splashing fountain and walked over richly green grass toward the four teak trees growing on a small slope in the distance. Several deer were grazing on the grass. They lifted their heads as I moved quickly past, my full skirts swaying back and forth like a white silk bell. Finally I was beneath the trees and the dreadful music wasn't so loud and I was alone at last, away from the others, free to relax.

Or so I had thought. I had been standing there only a few moments when I smelled the burning tobacco and saw a plume of blue-gray smoke writhing around one of the trees and floating off into the air. A man was standing on the other side of the trees, smoking one of those evil-smelling black cheroots. I could sense his presence now. He couldn't have helped hearing my approach nor the sigh of relief I had uttered upon reaching this sanctuary. Why hadn't he shown himself?