Cinders & Sapphires (9 page)

“If I must,” Georgiana sighed.

“I’ll help you.”

“No need, Papa. You should stay with the guests. Rose will help, won’t you Rose?”

“Of course, my lady.”

Lord Westlake stood back as Rose and Ada helped Georgiana to her feet. They made their way slowly to the house.

“She can lie on a sofa for a while, rather than walk up to her room.” Ada directed them into the yellow drawing room, and helped Georgiana onto a chaise longue.

“Really, I feel like such a fraud. I’m much better already—let me sit up.” Georgiana struggled.

“Georgie, will you do as you’re told for once? Lie down and stay quiet. Rose will fetch you more water.”

“Yes, my lady—and if I could have a word with you? It’s about that little matter….”

Ada’s heart thumped.

“Of course,” she said calmly. She walked to the door with Rose. Rose glanced up and down the corridor and, seeing they were alone, reached into her apron and drew out an envelope. She handed it to Ada.

“It arrived this morning,” she whispered.

Ada’s breath came fast.

“Thank you, Rose. Thank you so much,” she replied in the same tone. She glanced back. Georgiana was lying down, breathing quietly on the sofa.

“Lady Georgiana seems better, but could you please bring another glass of water? I will sit with her.”

Rose hesitated, as if she wanted to say something else, then nodded and went away down the passage.

As soon as she was gone, Ada ripped the envelope open. The words danced in front of her eyes and finally steadied:

My dear Ada,

I cannot tell you how happy I was to receive your reply. To tell you the truth, I have not been able to stop thinking about our last meeting. There was so much more I wanted to say to you, so much more I wanted to hear you say. I understand why you say we can only be friends, and believe me, I shall not betray your trust, but…

Here some words had been scribbled out harshly, and Ada could not make them out.

…I hope friendship will be enough.

Instead I shall talk about Oxford, as you ask me to. It is a beautiful city, serene and eternal. It is exhilarating to be surrounded by the past and the greatest minds of the present. I wish that everyone here appreciated it. Perhaps I appreciate it too strongly. I gather that it is a matter of style in some of the aristocratic students to look down on the university and do as little work as possible in order to scrape through. I do not think they appreciate their privileges, but I expect they would consider that a very middle-class and Indian attitude.

The women students, on the other hand, have impressed me very much with their dedication. I certainly think that you would do well to come here,
and I think you would certainly pass the exams. Your article has convinced me, as if there were any doubt, that you have ability and intelligence. It is excellently written.

But I wonder—and here I hope I shall not hurt you—if you really know the true India? The picture you paint is a beautiful one, but I feel there is much else that could be said about the condition of the poor, in particular, and there are many questions to be asked about British rule in my country. And I feel an intelligent woman should ask those questions.

Forgive me if that is overstepping the bounds of our friendship. But you asked me for an honest opinion, and I respect you too much not to give it to you.

Ada’s face was pink. For an instant she felt a strong urge to rip up the paper. How could he imply she did not understand India? After she had lived there, and loved it, for years! But after a moment’s thought, she realized he was right to question her. She had asked him for his opinion and he had given it. She swallowed down her hurt pride, and read on.

I promised myself I would not speak of this next matter, but I cannot hold back. I am glad you have refused Douglas Varley, but please, think hard before
you accept any proposal. I cannot see you sacrificed
on the altar of society. I understand that we cannot be together—at least, I am trying to understand it, with all the reason at my command, which is not much when I think of you—but if I cannot be with you, I want to know that you are with a man who will allow you to live your dreams. If you could be persuaded that you and I—but I had better not write anymore, or my feelings will give me away.

Only believe me, ever yours

Ravi

Ada drew in her breath. Her first feeling was one of joy and triumph. So she was not wrong. He did still feel for her. Whatever was between them was not over.

But it had to be over. She pressed her lips together tightly, folded the letter into a tiny square, and slipped it into her jewel case.

By the time she reached Lady Ada’s door, Rose had almost lost courage. I should never have started this, she thought. She’ll be angry, and I’ll lose my place, and then whatever shall I do? But there was no help for it. She knew what she was doing was dishonest. The knowledge had sat in her mind like a cold toad, refusing to move until she did something about it. She took a deep breath and knocked at the door.

“Come in!” Lady Ada sounded startled. Rose pushed the door open. Lady Ada was sitting by the window, and she had just pushed a book under the cushion. Rose could see the corner of it poking out.

“Oh Rose, it’s only you.” She sounded relieved, and pulled her book back from under the cushion; it was a Latin grammar. “These declensions get more perplexing by the day. What is it? You should have free time now, dressing for dinner isn’t till later.”

“Yes, my lady…but I wanted to talk to you.” Rose swallowed. “It’s about the letters.”

Ada looked up quickly.

“Has someone found out? Is it Papa?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I don’t think anyone suspects. But I don’t feel comfortable, my lady, that’s what I wanted to say to you. I mean…Lord Westlake pays my wages. It doesn’t seem quite right, to be going behind his back this way, receiving letters from Mr. Sundaresan in my name that are meant for you. I know how upset he would be if he found out. He thinks the world of you. I have a bad conscience, miss. I don’t think I should do this anymore.” She ran out of breath and words. Lady Ada had turned pale.

“Are you going to tell him?” she burst out in terror. She must have seen the expression on Rose’s face, because she caught herself at once. “No, no, Rose, I’m sorry. Forget I said that. I know you would never betray me.”

“I wouldn’t, my lady.” Rose stepped forward, her voice pleading. “I never would. But I don’t feel right about my part in it all. If Lord Westlake knew you were receiving love letters, maybe planning, I don’t know, my lady, but perhaps planning something foolish…”

“But it’s not like that at all.” Ada’s voice was pleading too. “We aren’t planning to elope or anything like that. We are just friends.” She blushed and looked away from Rose’s gaze.

“It’s true,” she protested, though Rose had said nothing. “Our relationship is quite platonic. He is going to help me get into Oxford, that’s all.” She jumped up, pacing back and forth, an anguished expression on her face. “Oh, Rose, can’t you see? I know it’s improper, and scandalous, and every person I know and respect would turn away from me in horror if they knew what I was doing…but I feel as if this is the first friendship I’ve ever had that belonged to me, just me.” She paced to the window, looking out through the rain-dappled glass. “Sometimes it feels as if every thought, every feeling, is laid out for me the night before by other people, just as my clothes are. But this…it feels real. More real than anything in the world ever has before. I am so tempted to find out, don’t you see? I want to know what will happen if I follow my heart.”

“I do see, my lady,” said Rose, softly.

“But if you won’t help me…then who will? I can’t trust anyone else here.” Ada turned back to her. “Rose, I don’t want you to go against your conscience. But please won’t you think again? I need your help, and I’m willing to help you in return. Oh—don’t look that way. I don’t mean money, I know you better than that, I think. But isn’t there anything you want? Anything you’ve dreamed of? Anything I could help you achieve?”

Rose stood silent. A moment ago she had been feeling trapped, now she could think of nothing that she wanted. Nothing that Lady Ada could give, anyway. Visions of bright feathers and the sounds of the jungle flashed in her head. Then, she heard, distantly, the sounds of someone practicing scales on the piano.

She smiled. “Well…there is one thing, my lady. If you think you could make it happen…”

“And you’re sure this is all you want?” Ada looked around the music room. “Time to practice the piano?”

“That’s all, my lady. I know it’s presumptuous of me. I wouldn’t like you to think I was giving myself airs….”

“No, no, Rose, of course not. I’m just surprised. My sister adores the piano but I could never wait for the lessons to end.” She laughed and Rose joined in. “But we will have to handle this carefully. If I allow you to practice, people will want to know why, and that will lead to awkward questions.” She pressed a finger to her lips, thinking. “I know! It’s simple, of course. In the afternoons, I will pretend to be practicing, and I will say I have you in here for company, while you do some mending. But I won’t be practicing. It will be you. And I will…”

“Do the mending, my lady?” Rose grinned.

“I don’t think so!” Ada grinned back. “No, I shall be studying.”

Rose looked at her half in admiration, half in—surprise. “You really mean it then, my lady? To go to university?”

“I mean to take the exams, at least. As for going there…we’ll have to wait and see.” She sighed. “It depends on Papa.”

“Sometimes I think I am lucky not to have one, myself,” Rose said. “A father, I mean.”

Ada smiled rather sadly, but did not reply. It hurt her conscience, to deceive her father. He and Georgie were the only people that she loved in the world, without complication or fear or deceit. But now it seemed that she wanted things of which he would never approve.

Rose sat at the piano, and played a few notes, then broke into a melody, a folk tune that Ada vaguely recognized.

“You have never had a lesson?” Ada said wonderingly after a few moments. “But who taught you to play chords?”

“No one, my lady. I worked it out myself—and I took a correspondence course to learn to read music. My mother has Irish blood and there was always music when I was little.” She sighed and stopped playing.

“You must miss your childhood village,” Ada said gently.

Rose shrugged. “It seems so long ago, my lady. Like a different country.”

Ada opened her mouth to say,
That’s just how I feel too
. But before she could speak, there was a huge smash, and the window seemed to explode. Rose shrieked and jumped up from the piano. Ada ducked. When she looked up, there was a huge hole in the window, and stars of broken glass spattered the piano. In the center of the piano lid lay a cricket ball.

“What happened?” Rose was looking around wildly. “What on earth—?”

“It must be the boys,” Ada picked her way across the broken glass and looked out of the hole in the window. Rose joined her. Three horrified-looking figures stared back up at her: Philip, Michael, and… “Georgiana!” Ada exclaimed.

Georgiana covered her mouth with the hand that was not holding the cricket bat.

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry!” she moaned.

“Georgiana,” said Ada, putting her head around the door of the drawing room, “may I speak to you for a moment?”

Georgiana put down the book she had been reading. “Is this about the window? Because Papa has given me a lecture already. He said that I should be grateful he didn’t swish me because if he did I would get it as well as the boys for being such a hoyden.” Her voice trembled miserably.

“No, you goose. I don’t care about the window, although I think you should stick to what you’re good at.” Ada laughed as she closed the door behind her. “Cricket! What on earth possessed you?” Georgiana opened her mouth and Ada added, “Don’t answer that. I know the answer begins with an M. Just look at this, please, and tell me what you think of it.”

She walked over and handed Georgiana a sheet of foolscap covered with penciled staves and marks. Georgiana looked at it, puzzled, then began humming along under her breath, reading it by sight. “It’s delightful!” she exclaimed at the end of it. “Did you write this yourself? I knew you were practicing seriously, but I had no idea you were composing—”

“I’m not!” Ada glanced around to check they were alone, then lowered her voice. “Will you keep this secret if I tell you? Even from Michael?”

Georgiana, eyes wide, nodded.

“It’s not me playing the piano. It’s Rose.”

“Rose?…Rose, the maid?”

“Yes. We have an…arrangement.” She had thought long and hard about how to say this. “You know how much I want to go to Oxford, don’t you?”

“Ye-es…”

“You see, Rose wants to play the piano. She’s had no lessons, only a correspondence course, and of course she has no chance to practice.” She quickly explained their arrangement, leaving out all mention of Ravi. “And she makes up her own tunes, and this is one she wrote down,” she finished. “I wanted to know what you thought, because you’re so much more musical than I am.”

“I think it’s marvelous!” Georgiana jumped to her feet. “Ada, this is so exciting, we have a real genius downstairs!” She walked about the room, humming the tune again under her breath. “May I play this? Would she mind, do you think?”

“I hoped you would say that,” Ada answered. “She isn’t strong enough on the piano yet to play her own inventions, I think, but if you could play it, she could hear what it sounds like, and that would be so useful for her.”

“I’ll do it now.” Georgiana hurried to the door. Ada followed her. They went up the great flights of stairs, past the Reynolds and Turners, to the music room. Georgiana sat down at the piano, her long, pale fingers ready, and after a moment’s thought, began to play.

Upstairs, Rose was in Ada’s room, picking through stockings for mending. Her head was full of music, full of tunes. It was as if, as soon as she had been allowed to touch the piano, they had been born, like seeds drifting from a shaken dandelion clock. The old scraps of melodies she had known in her childhood came back to her, and as she stitched she sang under her breath. Music painted itself across her mind. It was as if she could really hear it.…

She grew still, gazing into the air, her eyes startled and wide. Was she imagining things? A moment of fear caught her. She stood up, a pair of stockings slipping unheeded to the floor, and opened the door.

The notes of the piano, her music made real, came up the stairs like a beloved friend running to meet her.

“Oh…” Rose whispered, a smile spreading over her face. “Oh…thank you.”