A Proper Education for Girls (39 page)

Lilian sat before a yellow flower twined around a broken trunk and began to paint. How well the limpid blue and lilac of the morning sky set off the glowing, sunny luster of the flower's petals. The painting would be a good one, she could tell. Already she had a number of sketches and a painting rolled up behind her saddle. How was she going to get them and herself to England—to Alice—now that her carefully laid plans had come to nothing?

Poor Alice, thought Lilian with a sigh; she must be wondering what had happened. No doubt the telegraph had alerted London to the horrors of the recent uprisings and everyone at home would be sure to know about it by now. Alice would be desperate for information. Unless the news had yet to cross her father's threshold. It was quite possible that their father was so engrossed in his Collection that he had no idea what was happening in the world beyond his own front door. Certainly, this had happened before, and Lilian
recalled that it was with a grunt of surprise that Mr. Talbot had raised his head from his tempest prognosticator to hear the news that there had been fighting in the Crimea …

So absorbed in her own thoughts was Lilian that she didn't hear anything until the man was right behind her. Afterward, she wondered how he had managed to creep up on her so quietly—until she came to realize that he walked everywhere in his golden slippers as though gliding over thick, luxuriant carpets. It was with a gasp of surprise, therefore, that Lilian greeted the voice at her shoulder.

“Delightful!” he cried. “That color is a special favorite of mine. It reminds me most forcefully of Oxford and the buttercups that grew beside the river in Magdalen's meadows. Only it is brighter. Much brighter, of course.”

“Y
OUR COMPANION SEEMS UNWELL,” HE ADDED.

Lilian nodded. She was staring into a man's chubby face. His brown eyes were set above sparsely whiskered cheeks; his top lip garnished with gleaming ebony moustaches. His head was wrapped in a turban of such brilliant whiteness that Lilian's eyes ached to look at it; his rotund body swathed in brocade of such richness that she could not help but stare. She blushed, suddenly conscious of her own filthy clothing and her unkempt hair. So dirty was her own turban that she had been unable to bring herself to put it on that morning, and she had donned her battered and sun-bleached
topi
instead. Lilian swallowed nervously.

The man smiled cheerily, awaiting her reply in respectful silence. Two bearers in spotless white
dhotis
stood behind him, their eyes lowered. One held a large, silk canopy over his master; the other sported a long-handled fan made up of peacock feathers, which he wafted discreetly back and forth.

“You are silent,” continued the man, when no answer was forthcoming. “But of course, as my old tutor, Dr. Rogerson of Oxford, liked to say, ‘It is a wise head that keeps a still tongue.’ Perhaps I have surprised you?”

“Indeed, sir,” Lilian managed to say at last.

“Quite so. You did not expect to see me.”

“I didn't expect to see anyone,” said Lilian. “I didn't hear you
coming.” She frowned. “Do you always creep up on people in that way?”

“May I not walk as I please in my own kingdom?”

“But of course. I only meant—I only meant that you startled me.”

“For that, I must apologize. Come, Dr. Rogerson was most particular. We must shake hands and declare ourselves. My name is Ravindra Yashodhar Bhagirath Rana. I am the
maharaja
of Bhandarahpur. But please, you may call me Ravi. And you are?”

“I am Miss Talbot.” Lilian shook the plump be-ringed hand that was held out toward her.

“And your companion?” Ravi pointed into the trees, where Lilian assumed Mr. Hunter to be still asleep.

“That is Tom Hunter.”

“He wears the coat of the sepoy. The man is an Indian fellow?”

“No,” said Lilian after a moment's hesitation. “He is English too.”

“Your husband?”

Lilian shook her head.

Ravi's brow beneath his turban creased in perplexity. “Explain this to me, please. You travel alone with a man who is not your husband? Dr. Rogerson, he was most particular on that matter also. A lady, an English lady, is never alone with a man who is not her husband, her father, or her brother. It is considered most improper.”

Lilian could think of nothing to say. She swallowed.

Suddenly Ravi's face cleared. “Ah, Mr. Tom Hunter, perhaps he is your servant?” The bearer with the peacock feather fan twitched a fly whisk above his master's shoulder, as though to indicate that the duties of a real servant did not involve sleeping in the jungle while his mistress looked after herself.

“No,” whispered Lilian. “He is … my traveling companion.”

“But of course.” Ravi cleared his throat, and lowered his eyes discreetly. Then, after a moment contemplating this information, he shrugged. “And yet, Dr. Rogerson was an old man. Times change and ‘there is more than one way to skin a cat,’ is there not? Excellent!”
Apparently satisfied with his own reasoning he smiled and repeated brightly, “I see he is not well.”

“No,” agreed Lilian. “But he might be a little better when he wakes.”

“Ah yes, ‘sleep is the best medicine,’ as your esteemed English saying goes.” Ravi clapped his hands. A troop of bearers dressed in gleaming white
dhotis
stepped into the clearing. “You will come to my home. As my guest,” he said to Lilian. “It is not far off, and we have elephants and horses to convey us there. We may also have medicines to suit your companion. Will you do me the honor, Miss Talbot, of riding in my
howdah?
My bearers will carry your Mr. Hunter. He will be quite safe. Ah, but you are worried. I am a stranger to you. And yet, is it not true, as your English wisdom tells us, that ‘strangers are simply the friends one has yet to meet’? And now that we have met, why, we are friends, I am sure.”

“That's most generous of you, sir,” said Lilian. “We were heading north and east. Until Mr. Hunter fell ill, of course. Do you know that road? Perhaps you could help us.”

“Most certainly. As the English say, ‘To know the road ahead, ask those coming back.’ You may ask me and I shall be honored to furnish you with answers.” Ravi broke off, a wistful smiled playing about his lips. “Yes, yes, dear Dr. Rogerson. He was a most assiduous tutor. ‘When the student is ready the master will appear.’ You English have always the proverb for the occasion. Just so.” He sighed. “Dear Oxford. Miss Talbot, join me, please. We may reminisce together. It would be a great pleasure. And to speak in English is, to me, also the most joyful of pastimes.” He eyed Lilian's half-finished painting almost greedily. “I would most particularly like to speak to you on the subject of your painting. You are a lover of plants? I myself am most dedicated in this capacity. I have a vegetable garden of great beauty. Indeed, it is the English vegetables that interest me most. Dr. Rogerson himself grew marrows of quite fearful bigness. Perhaps we may speak of these matters also.” He lowered his voice and eyed her costume with the distaste he clearly felt but had been politely concealing. “Of course, when we reach
our destination you may also wish to exchange your goatherd attire for something more comfortable. My bearers will provide you with all you require.”

D
ESPITE THE AMOUNT
of time she had spent in India, Lilian had not traveled on an elephant before. There had been a
howdah
draped with colored silks outside the door of her bedroom in her father's house—as children she and Alice had played in it, pretending to punt down the hallway on their way to exotic lands and faraway places. Now that Lilian was actually in an exotic land and faraway place, she felt a thrill of excitement as she climbed the elephant to sit amongst the
howdah's
crimson and gold cushions. Ravi mounted the beast beside her.

“This
howdah
I use for hunting,” he panted. “Most comfortable. Very large and spacious.” He blinked reproachfully at her muddied boots and handed her a pair of silver slippers. “Much more comfortable, please.”

Looking down, Lilian observed a flurry of activity taking place far below about the legs of the elephant. She saw Mr. Hunter's still-unconscious body being placed in a palanquin. Her easel, her barely started painting, and all her possessions, she noticed being carried off by a team of bearers. Their ponies were led out of sight. And then all at once a trumpet sounded; a voice cried out, the bearers disappeared (though where they went, Lilian could not tell); and then her elephant began to move forward.

It was like sitting atop a moving house. Lilian made a grab for the side of the
howdah
to steady herself. How high they were! She found that she was looking out into the trees at birds and insects she had not seen before. Monkeys bounded off into the foliage and butterflies flitted among the branches, neither of which she had been able to see properly from her position on horseback. From his nest among a flurry of crimson and gold cushions Ravi watched his guest with interest. A faint smile sat upon his rosebud lips.

At length they were clear of the forest and Lilian was able to see
out across the valley. The river still winked and sparkled, though it appeared now to be on their right instead of their left. No doubt this was a different river, thought Lilian, as she had no recollection of crossing the other one. She looked about, pulling her
topi
down over her eyes and squinting into the distance. She had no idea where they were, no idea in which direction Kushpur might lie, and no idea where they were going. She looked behind, across the elephant's mighty brocade-clad rear to see whether she could spot Mr. Hunter's palanquin. But the line of bearers that followed in their wake appeared to be transporting a number of palanquins through the jungle, and which one might contain Mr. Hunter it was impossible to tell. The sun was now warm upon her shoulders through the silken gauze of the
howdah's
colored drapery. Lilian judged that they were indeed traveling in a northeasterly direction. Not that it mattered. Now that she thought about it, she realized that she was enjoying herself too much to care.

The
howdah
swayed gently from side to side, undulating with the elephant's giant, sedate strides. All at once the beast trumpeted—raising its trunk as though in salutation and swinging its great head from side to side so that the colored beads on its headdress rattled and glinted in the sunlight. Lilian laughed and clapped her hands. Ravi grinned, delighted that his mode of transport was being so well received.

“I have known this elephant for many years,” he said proudly. “Her dung I use to spread about my vegetables.”

“Indeed,” said Lilian.

“And yet still they do not grow well. Marrows, yes. But leeks? These I cannot succeed with. Sprouts also. Turnip?” He shook his head sadly. “No. Dr. Rogerson would be most disappointed. Perhaps I have not the necessary understanding. As my old tutor would say, ‘Zeal without knowledge is the sister of folly’” He looked at Lilian, his face despondent. “You, like myself, are fond of the kingdom of plants?”

“Yes. And you have such an abundance of the most beautiful species here. I shall run out of materials before I run out of subjects.”

“Perhaps you might agree to paint my marrows?” said Ravi eagerly.

“I would be delighted. And, of course, the flower of the marrow is particularly beautiful.”

“Yes, yes it is. A most exquisite plant. And the turnip and Brussels sprout, these also are most excellent. Delicacies such as these I had often at Oxford, cooked by Dr. Rogerson's housekeeper, Mrs. Heggarty Sprouts, these I loved especially. Mrs. Heggarty would prepare them for me as often as I required.” He sighed. “But now it is the Brussels sprout that troubles me the most. It seems that this most delectable English vegetable is not to be grown in India. I have tried everything, but with no success.” Then he clapped his hands and flashed her a sudden smile of brilliant whiteness. “And yet, has our lord Shiva not sent me two English gardeners to help me in my desire to grow these most exquisite vegetables?” He settled himself on his cushions and looked at Lilian eagerly. “Advise me, please. Is my soil too hard? Too soft? Too poor? Too black? Is there too much water? Not enough water? Too much sun or shade?”

“Really, I know little about vegetable cultivation—” began Lilian.

“But you are familiar with the vegetables of which I speak?

“Yes, but I know little about what particular conditions they enjoy.”

Ravi frowned. “This is not what I was wanting to hear.” After a moment spent digesting this unwelcome news, however, he appeared to have a change of heart. He smiled. “Miss Talbot. Please understand me. You know, of course, that you are a long, long way from your friends now? You might wish to consider this fact. I'm sure it will help to refresh the memories you have of your own dear English vegetables.”

M
R.
H
UNTER REMEMBERED
nothing about his journey. So drugged was he with opium and brandy that he had no idea where he was or what was happening to him. He had a distant awareness
of movement, a dream of being lifted by native hands and of resting on scented cushions, an impression of time passing and a journey made, but these sensations were vague and formless and he could not have said who had moved him from his blanket on the jungle floor, nor could he have said when or why they had done so. Later, as he shivered and sweated and cried out in his delirium, he discovered to his astonishment that he was no longer in the jungle but was on a
charpoy
surrounded by soft white drapery, with cooling breezes wafting across his sweating, twitching body. Perhaps this was a mirage, he murmured to himself in a moment of lucidity, and his mind had wandered to such a degree that even his sense of sight and certainty had deserted him. But then he felt cool fingers on his brow, and he knew that Lilian was with him. He relaxed. He sipped the bitter-tasting liquid that was on his lips, and when he tried to turn his head away (for it really was a most unpleasant mixture) those same fingers turned his head back again and pressed the vessel to his lips once more. Gentle hands changed his sodden sheets, lifting him and lowering him onto a cool, crisp bed of newly laid linen. Mr. Hunter sighed. He murmured her name before slipping into a grateful, but prolonged and restful sleep.