Kate and Julia: Slave Girls of the Raj (20 page)

The memory of their meeting, during which he had expressed his admiration for a beautiful, blonde-haired young woman who had been drinking cocktails in the hotel bar, was what had given Penny the idea of writing to him with her offer after Tom’s death. At the time it had seemed so straightforward.

“Yes indeed, Your Highness,” she replied. “I apologise for my late arrival. I would have been here days ago but some unforeseen difficulties delayed me.”

“So I understand. Jefferson Sahib has been explaining them to me.

And now you wish me to act as arbitrator, I understand?”

“Jefferson Sahib is the one responsible for them, Your Highness,”

Penny said with a venomous look at the Englishman. “It was he who….”

“Before we go further, Your Highness,” Jefferson interrupted, “may I point out that it is necessary for us to wait until your brother arrives before we begin.”

“My brother? Has he some part in this too?” the Prince asked, looking only slightly less confused than Penny was suddenly feeling.

“But the Grand Reception doesn’t begin until noon. He isn’t due ’til then.”

“He’ll be here long before, Your Highness,” Jefferson assured him, and glanced at his wristwatch. “He was due at ten, so he’s a little late, but you may be sure he’ll arrive shortly.”

“Very well, we’ll wait,” the Prince declared.

Penny opened her mouth to protest, and realized that Julia was not there either. She could hardly insist they proceed without the girl being present. Outmanoeuvred, she cursed George silently, cast a worried glance in Subaidah’s direction and forced a smile to her face as the Prince asked if her journey from Jargahal to Dhokat had been a pleasant one.

*

“You look beautiful,” Afia said as she added two gold combs encrusted with pearls and sapphires to the blonde hair she had just pinned up so artfully on Julia’s head. The English girl stared at the mirror, indifferent to her reflection, and uncaring. Eyes bleak and shiny with unshed tears stared back at her. The girls’ best efforts with the make-up had not managed to completely disguise the fact that they were red and puffy from all the weeping she had done during the night. Her heart ached.

Afia dabbed the corners of Julia’s eyes with a handkerchief.

“Come now, no more crying. You’ll have your cheeks all stained again.

You must be beautiful and perfect when you are presented.” She clasped her hands to the blonde’s upper arms and spoke more softly. “Be brave, my dear. You have shown us your courage before. You must do it again now. You have every right to be proud. Let your new master see that it is so. Show
him
your strength as well as your beauty, as you did Jahngir Khan.”

Julia felt a stab of pain. Unable to stop herself, she glanced towards the balcony of the
zenana
where the steady tap of the Pathan’s boot-heels told her he was still pacing back and forth, as he had been since the moment he had arrived. He wore a white shirt and trousers and a magnificently embroidered silk
chapaan
and matching turban. He looked every inch a prince. Another stab increased her heartache. But he was not. The Prince was the man to whom she was being given.

She had barely seen Jahngir at all in the four days since her whipping. For the first two Julia had barely been able to get out of bed to answer the calls of nature. The
zenana
girls had taken turns to bathe her ravaged bottom and try to soothe it with salves and ointments while she had lain virtually helpless, face down on her sleeping platform. Once, through a haze of pain she had heard the Pathan’s voice speaking quietly and Afia replying, and she sensed he was looking down at her. She had not turned her head. What was the point?

On the third day she had recovered enough to thank Afia and the girls for intervening and sparing her more pain, and to learn that so far they had not been punished for their actions. Julia had also discovered that, though bruised and ridged with welts, her buttocks had not been shredded as she had imagined and that though her skin was split in several places she had not shed much blood. She had not felt relieved.

She had not felt anything except the regular throb of her backside and the awful, hollow ache that filled her. However, Julia had not been so sunk in her misery that she could not sense the changed atmosphere in the
zenana
. The cheerful and light-hearted tone she had grown used to had been replaced by one of gloom and brooding tension.

Jahngir too, Afia had told her, remained short-tempered and sullen.

His mood seemed even worse since the flogging. He had barely visited the
zenana
and had not indulged in any of the usual pleasures with any of the girls.

“The whole business of the Prince’s anniversary has done him no good,” she had said. “The delays with the water channel, racking his brains to think of another gift, and then chasing around after Jefferson Sahib to find him one just upset him all the more. After he brought you here I thought he was getting back to his usual self, but then everything suddenly went wrong again. Perhaps when you….”

She had stopped herself at that point but Julia had known what she had been about to say. Perhaps when she left, the
zenana
would get back to normal. She could not find it in herself to blame the girl. Afia and the others had to live with Jahngir after she was gone.

She watched him pacing the balcony, his chin on his chest and a deep frown on his face. Julia sighed. Why should she care if he was troubled? Very soon it would no longer be any concern of hers. She had made her gesture, for all the good it had done. Now there was nothing left but to face her fate as best she could. A little of the pride Afia had mentioned and the determination Julia had discovered for herself stirred in her breast. The girls had told her she had taken nearly thirty strokes of the whip before Afia had placed her own buttocks in the way and suffered the blow that had persuaded Jahngir to end the flogging. By then, Julia may have been on the verge of surrendering, but first she had squarely faced her fear and overcome it. Whatever happened to her from now on, she would never have to endure it with the blind, terror-stricken panic she had known when Jefferson had threatened her with the cane.

Afia’s hands on her shoulders faced her towards the balcony.

“My lord, she is ready.” She had to repeat the words more loudly before he stopped and looked up. He seemed more morose than impatient as he ran his eye briefly over Julia and looked away. She wore fine, baggy trousers of pale-blue silk, patterned with gold thread and gathered at the ankle above dark-blue, high-heeled slippers. Her white skin and a small rectangle of dark-blue silk hanging from the gold chain encircling her hips to cover her intimate place were plainly visible through the opaque trousers. A sleeveless jacket of the same blue silk, edged with gold, was held by a single golden button just beneath her bare breasts.

Bracelets and armlets, earrings and a necklace of the precious metal, all set with pearls and sapphires to match the combs in her hair, completed her outfit. If Jahngir was impressed, it did not show.

“She looks very fine, my lord. What a pity we could do nothing to disguise her bruises,” Afia said pointedly.

His gaze flickered in their direction. Afia produced a full-length cloak of white silk with a pale-blue collar, draped it around Julia’s shoulders and fastened it at her neck and across her jutting breasts. She put her arms around the blonde and hugged her tightly, though careful not to smudge her make-up or disarrange her hair.

“Goodbye, little golden hair,” she said. “I will see you again. We are allowed to visit the girls in the Prince’s
zenana
. Good luck, and remember: one day you will be happy again. And no more tears, or all the work the girls and I did will be undone.”

Julia sniffed hard and did her best to fight the prickle in her eyes as Afia gave her a hopeful smile and the other girls crowded around calling their good wishes and farewells. Jahngir Khan stepped into their midst and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Come, we’re late.”

When she looked back, his body blocked her view of the faces she was leaving behind. His horse was waiting in the courtyard. He mounted and pulled her up in front of him to sit sideways across the saddle. Julia bit back a cry. She had stood the whole time she was being made ready for a good reason. Though her pain had diminished in the days since the whipping, her bottom was far from healed. Any pressure on its welts and bruises caused her intense discomfort.

Jahngir cradled her shoulders and slid his other arm between the backs of her thighs and his leg, taking much of the weight off her hurts.

Guiding the horse one-handed, he rode through the gate and onto the track, which quickly steepened.

Julia kept her head turned from him and looked down into the valley. She could see the town beside the river: white and brown and yellow buildings, and the tall minarets of two mosques. It was of no interest. She had been attracted to him, she thought, she had admired him, obeyed him, done her best to please him and finally fallen in love with him. And from the very beginning he had never intended anything except to turn her into a toy for another man. The moments of intimacy she had imagined they had shared, when it seemed as if their minds as well as their bodies had met, had never meant anything to Jahngir. The hopes and fears and ambitions she had revealed, her sacrifice and her love had left him unmoved. It felt as if the emptiness inside her was about to swallow her up.

“That is the city of Dhokat,” Jahngir said. “Above it, across the valley, is the palace of my brother, Bahram Khan, the Prince. That is where you will live. It is a fine palace, much grander than my home.

You will have every luxury for your comfort.”

Dhokat, Julia thought dully. That was where she and Kate had been travelling with Mrs. Winter. She felt the briefest flicker of irony.

She had been living in the place that had been her destination from the start and never even known it. Now she was about to meet the man they had all come so far to see but certainly not in the fashion Mrs. Winter had intended. Would it make any difference to what happened to her, she wondered, and found that she did not care. It would not give her the one thing she truly wanted.

“I owe a duty to my brother,” the Pathan continued. “While the revolt is still fresh in everyone’s minds I cannot oppose him about anything. Though I would never betray him, I cannot allow myself to be seen or used as a focus for the ambitious or disaffected. There can be no discord between us, either on an official or a personal level. There have been times he has made decisions I disagreed with, but I did not tell him so. To ensure the people’s loyalty is not divided, both publicly and privately I must demonstrate my own. You understand what I’m saying, little
murgah
?”

When Julia did not reply, his arm tightened around her shoulders, jerking the hand that held the reins. The horse gave a surprised snort and tossed its head. Julia groaned as her bottom slipped on the saddlebow.

Jahngir lifted her, taking her weight on his arm again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Damn it, I’m sorry I beat you! Afia was right. It was nothing but cruelty, but you were driving me to distraction with your stubbornness. It seemed like such a good idea when I thought it up. My brother always admired white girls when we were in Britain, so why not buy him some? Now I wish….”

Sunk in her discomfort and despondency, Julia barely noticed when he fell silent. She had only half heard his words. Now that she knew she had never had any chance, there was nothing he or she could say that mattered.

He let the horse pick its own way across the ford at the river and rode parallel to the ancient town walls, paying no heed to the noise of the crowds and the gunfire on the other side. Soon they were climbing the slope towards the palace less than a mile above the town. Moments later, it seemed to Julia, they were at its gates and Jahngir lowered her to the ground and passed the reins to a servant. It had ended, she thought.

Everything felt as if it had ended.

Another servant led them through a big room where tables were being laid with white cloths and piled with cups and dishes. The steady pressure of the Pathan’s hand in the small of her back guided Julia through them. Her heart felt as if it was tearing itself apart as he opened a door and ushered her through it.

Too despairing to be surprised, she saw Mrs. Winter standing beside a tall, lean, older man she did not know. Julia recognised Jefferson along with his two henchmen, one holding Kate and the other Mrs. Winter’s servant, Subaidah, who she had not realized had also been kidnapped.

“Jahngir, what a pleasant surprise. I’ve just learned you were on your way. I wasn’t expecting you until later.” The man who spoke was tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired – a slightly older version of Jahngir.

His gaze rested on Julia, curious and appraising at the same time. Her aching heart beat faster. She felt a sudden upsurge of strength that straightened her limbs and stiffened her back. Her head lifted and her jaw tilted up in renewed determination. She was not going to meekly submit.

Let them beat her if they wished, but first they would know that it was Jahngir Khan she loved and him alone she wanted. And they would learn that she was not too timid to say it, but proud of the fact. Then let them do their worst.

“Congratulations on the anniversary of your accession, my Prince,”

Julia heard Jahngir say. He stood close behind her, his big hands resting on her shoulders. “In honour of the occasion I have brought two gifts that I hope will give you much pleasure. One stands there with Captain Jefferson’s man, trained to perfection, I was guaranteed, to serve you in any way you desire. The other stands here with me, as rare and wondrous a woman as any man could ever wish, as I learned for myself when I trained her with my own hand.” He freed the hooks holding the cloak around Julia and pulled the garment away, exposing her bare breasts and her body in its brief, revealing costume.