Under the Jeweled Sky (18 page)

“And that's not Nehru?”

“As a national statesman? I can't fault him. The man's a genius. He has won the hearts of the people, no doubt about that at all, but as a leader?” Appleton gave a small puff. “He's weak as a kitten.” Lucien nodded quietly. “But who can blame him? There is only so much one man can do. There are four hundred million people in this country, and most of them are ignorant peasants. Think about that if you will. Four hundred million. Governing them is nigh on impossible while there is so much dissent in the ranks.”

“Dissent from whom?”

“You'll pick it up as you go along.” David Appleton chewed on his cigar for a while and regarded this new member, wondering if he really was as good as everyone said. Things were about to get complicated, particularly with the tour scheduled for the new year. He could have done with Smythson sticking around for another six months, with all his experience, but perhaps this one would work out well enough. “You'll like Nehru. And there are some good men around him too, but it's early days still. We just watch from the sidelines and lend friendly support without getting our hands dirty.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Kashmir remains a bone of contention.” David Appleton adjusted his seat, finding a point of greater comfort in the gilded chair. “The usual noises are being made, but there's no way we would agree to make any sort of military commitment if things continue to escalate, which they probably will, judging by the looks of things. They'll just have to sort it out for themselves, like everything else. After all, you can't ask a sovereign state to leave the party, then call them back to clear up the mess, can you? But do mind what you say if you find yourself cornered, Grainger. It's all rather precarious and needs delicate handling.”

“I see.”

“Apart from that, I think you'll enjoy it here. There's a lot of grand-scale socializing, and nobody seems to care much about doing any real work. The Indians are quite capable of messing things up on their own without any assistance from us.”

• • •

Sophie watched Rosamund Appleton's mouth moving and wished it would stop. It was unbearable, but bear it she must, together with the overwhelming urge to yawn. She felt the muscles in the back of her throat contracting, her nostrils beginning to flare. Take a deep breath, she thought sternly, and for heaven's sake try to keep up with what the woman is saying.

“…home for the incurables. In some ways it seems rather pointless, doesn't it? What good are a hundred beds when there are a thousand invalids? But one doesn't like to say anything. They're so terribly fond of their institutions. You'll find there's plenty to get involved in. The difficulty is trying to fit it all in!” She paused to take a sip of water. Perhaps she had finished, Sophie thought. Perhaps this purgatory had finally come to an end. “You'll need to get your bearings first. See all the usual things. I could take you off for the full tour, if you like. Our driver's done it about a thousand times and I could practically tell you everything about everything, I've seen it all so often. You must see the Qutb Minar, the famous thirteenth-century tower. One of the Maharaja of Kapurthala's wives threw herself off the top of it and committed suicide! It's a wonderful city by Indian standards, the new part anyway. The whole thing was designed by Edwin Lutyens, although I doubt the British would have bothered had they known they'd be giving it all away a few years later. And don't take any notice of the beggars. They're everywhere, and if you give one so much as a penny, you'll be swamped by a thousand more. You must learn to turn a blind eye to it. And there's no point in attempting to help people who aren't prepared to help themselves, don't you think?”

Sophie stared at her, her eyes so tired that she could feel them watering, stinging sorely at the corners. It was a few moments before she noticed that the woman's mouth had stopped. Rosamund Appleton looked at her curiously, and Sophie realized with horror that she was clearly waiting for an answer. What had she said? Her mind had wandered so far away that she might as well have been asleep. She dug her fingernails into her palms, blinking her eyes to attention.

“That's very interesting,” she said. It was all she could think of, except that she had to find a way to make the woman talk to somebody else. “I wonder what the General thinks?” she said quickly, turning to him. The glass eye stared back at her coldly, the other half-closed. “General Hurst?” Her voice carried rather further than she had intended, halting the conversation amid her immediate neighbors, who turned to look at her.

“What?” the General said, as though he'd been interrupted from something important.

“Nothing,” Sophie tried to apologize. “I was just—”

“You'll have to speak up,” he boomed at her. “Deaf in this ear.” He raised his finger slightly to his left. “Burst an eardrum in the South Pacific.”

“Oh,” she said. Then, a little louder, “Must be awful.”

“That's very kind of you, dear, but you need not concern yourself unduly. Deafness has its benefits.” The good eye roamed to an oblivious Rosamund Appleton, who had now started on the General's wife seated lucklessly to her left.

• • •

“I thought the evening would never end,” Sophie said, slipping out of her dress, weary through to her bones. “Tessa Wilde was right about that Appleton woman. I've never heard anyone talk so much.”

“Here.” Lucien offered up his cuffs. “Take these out for me, would you, darling?” Sophie turned to him and released the gold links from his shirtsleeves.

“She's asked me to call on her in the morning around eleven. I don't think I can bear the thought of it.”

“Comes with the territory, my dear, I'm afraid. I deal with the tacticians, you deal with the women and children. Just smile and think of England.”

Sophie pulled off her earrings. “I have an awful feeling she's planning on presenting me to the DWA, and we're not even properly unpacked.”

“You'll be fine.”

“So long as she doesn't try to press half a pint of gin on me before lunchtime.” She turned her back for him.

“Which reminds me,” Lucien said, unzipping her dress. “It was rather bad form for you to ask for tonic water at the reception this evening, darling. I don't think anyone noticed, thank goodness. To refuse a drink is tantamount to issuing the host a personal slight. It smacks of taking the moral high ground.”

“Oh!” Sophie said. “I didn't even think.”

“Of course you didn't.” He kissed the nape of her neck. “But nothing stirs suspicions in the service quite like a teetotaler. I don't want everyone thinking I've married a prude.” He smiled at her and went to the bathroom, closing the door.

Sophie felt like an exhibit in a goldfish bowl, all eyes upon her as she answered question after question. “It was all a bit of a whirlwind,” she said. “It came as a complete surprise when he asked me. I even said to him, are you quite sure?” The other women laughed.

“It's not like an ordinary marriage, of course,” said Melanie Hinchbrook. “We ought to be paid a king's ransom for the work that is expected of us.”

“I've adored all our Indian postings,” said Lucinda Bevan. “Calcutta was tremendous fun. There was no end of parties.”

“Oh, the parties.” Tessa effected a huge, bored sigh. “That's something you'll have to get used to.”

“Listening to the same old dreary conversations from the same old dreary people.”

“Watch out for Lance Corporal Fellowes. We call him the octopus.”

“And you're exactly his type.”

“How long did you work at the Foreign Office?”

“Two years,” Sophie said.

“Oh, to be in London,” said Melanie Hinchbrook. “Right now I'd give anything for a decent department store.”

“Any woman thinking of marrying into the service should be permitted to take her husband on a trial basis for the first year, and if it doesn't work out, she should be allowed to tear up the marriage certificate and have it annulled!”

“Delhi is a piece of cake in comparison to some postings. China is generally regarded as the shortest of straws, and I'd stay well clear of some of the African positions if you can. I couldn't wait to get out of Nairobi.”

“If your predecessor is anything to go by, you'll be very happy here.”

“June Smythson was quite beside herself when Charles was called back to Whitehall. I think she was hoping they'd stay on, even though he'd clearly had quite enough of the place. Anyone would have thought that she had taken leave of her senses, the way she behaved!”

“It doesn't do to stay on indefinitely,” said Tessa. “People have a habit of going native when all vestiges of home are erased. Poor June was in pieces when they left. How are you finding the house?”

“It's perfect,” Sophie said.

“No problems with the staff?” Melanie slid a sideways glance toward Ros Appleton.

“Well.” Sophie hesitated a moment. The bearer would definitely have to go, particularly after that business yesterday when Lucien had come home to find the house in darkness and her fast asleep. She had even wondered if he hadn't gone and done it on purpose, just to make her look bad. It was clear that he didn't like her, and she didn't like him either. There was something about his brooding manner that made her feel very uncomfortable. “A few wrinkles to be ironed out, perhaps. I'm not at all sure about our bearer, Santash.”

“I told you.” Tessa nodded sharply toward the other women before turning to Sophie. “June Smythson thought the man a saint, but I have to say I never warmed to him. Some of these people have a bad attitude. It's June's fault. She was far too familiar with her staff. Especially with him. I think it gave him ideas. You know, once…” She hesitated, and lowered her voice. “Once, I saw him out where the dhobi was hanging the washing, and you know what I saw him doing?” She leaned forward into the circle of women. “He was
touching
her undergarments. Can you imagine that? Yes,” Tessa said, returning her attention to Sophie. “There was even talk that she was—”

“Tessa.” Ros Appleton glared at her. “We'll have no more of that vicious gossip, if you please, particularly as the poor woman is no longer here to defend herself.”

“Like that business with Edwina Mountbatten,” Melanie Hinchbrook said, raising a thinly plucked eyebrow. “She was very fond of Nehru, you know. A little
too
fond, if you ask me. The man was quite smitten.”

“That's quite enough of that, Melanie,” said Ros Appleton.

“What? It was the worst-kept secret in Delhi!” Melanie gave a small sigh of amusement.

“But imagine the scandal if it turned out to be true,” said Lucinda. “Lady Mountbatten with a
Hindoo
.”

Sophie felt as though she had swallowed a stone, the smile on her face sitting rigid, her stomach churning at the undercurrent that had entered the room so easily. “Oh, Lucinda! Do stop!” Melanie said. “And it's hardly in the same league as June having a soft spot for her husband's bearer, now is it?”

“You have to get rid of him, Sophie,” Tessa said. “Pay him off if it makes you feel better. Just get him out of there. He's a bad apple.”

“But what about finding a replacement?” Sophie asked.

“I'll have a word with Vicky. Let me send him to you tomorrow morning once he's done with Stephen. He'll know what to do.”

“Thank heavens for Vicky,” Lucinda said. “One has only to say the word and he'll move heaven and earth! The maid he found for me last year is a treasure.”

“Thank you,” Sophie said. “I've been so looking forward to coming here.”

“You won't be saying that next summer when the temperature hits a hundred and ten.”

“Those of us in the know haul out for the difficult months and leave the men to it. May and June are utterly unbearable.”

“You're not to feel bored for one moment,” said Rosamund. “There are a hundred things needing our attention. There won't be a single gap in your diary by the end of the week, and you mustn't hesitate to call upon any of us if there is anything you need.”

“That's very kind of you,” Sophie said, heart sinking a little.

• • •

True to Tessa's word, Vicky appeared at Sophie's door on the stroke of ten the following morning. Sophie had attempted to get Lucien to do the dirty work for her, saying over supper the previous evening that it would be so much better coming from a man, but he had dismissed her concerns, saying that anything to do with the household staff was well and truly her domain. Not more than five minutes after Vicky's arrival, the entire household staff—cook, sweeper, maid, dhobi, gardener, bearer, and driver—were gathered on the back veranda looking very nervous indeed. All with the exception of Santash, who bore an expression so severe that Sophie found herself unable to look at him. She steeled herself before addressing them all, Vicky translating as she spoke so there could be no room for misunderstanding. They would come into the study, turn by turn, where she would set out their duties and tell them what she would expect from each of them. Sophie then retired indoors and waited for Vicky to bring in the first of them.

“Santash,” she began. “The sahib would prefer to bring his own bearer to attend him. He appreciates that you have been in service to the household under the Smythsons, but it is time for you to move on.” She picked up the envelope she had readied for him. “In here you will find a reference and severance pay. You may finish now. We'll manage the rest of your duties.” Santash stared at her for a moment, then took the envelope without uttering a word.

“That is all,” Vicky said, indicating the door with a sharp nod of his head. Santash glared at him with a look so vicious that it sent a shiver through Sophie's bones. “Out,” Vicky said. Santash turned abruptly and left the house, slamming the door as he went. Sophie waited a brief minute before dropping into the seat behind the desk.

“Thank heavens,” she said. “I don't mind telling you that I found that rather awkward.”

“Do not worry, memsahib,” Vicky said. “I have made enquiries and there is a very good bearer who is looking for placement in the private house. His name is John. He is a Christian, but he is a very good man with excellent references. I will try to secure him for you.” He dropped his eyes in a show of discomfort. “It may take a little money, to release him from…”

“Of course,” Sophie said. She opened the drawer of Lucien's desk, took out a few notes of modest denomination and gave them to Vicky, who slid them into his pocket, not even glancing in his hand. “I'm most grateful for your help, Vicky. Santash did seem awfully cross. It's a wonder Mrs. Smythson didn't get rid of him herself with an attitude like that.”

Vicky looked at her for a moment, as though he were about to say something, then changed his mind.

“Your cook is not a problem, memsahib,” he said. “He has very excellent qualifications, but he is not speaking very good English. He is keen to please the memsahib's house. You must tell him what you expect of him and give him clear instructions that he can understand, then he will be happy. A happy cook is a good cook, memsahib. I will bring him now.”

With Vicky gone from the room, Sophie composed herself with a few deep breaths, smoothed her dress, and stood up. Vicky came back with the cook, who slipped the cap from his head and held it nervously in his hands, eyes fixed on the floor. Vicky told him to stand up and mind himself.

“Memsahib,” the cook mumbled.

“Dilip,” Sophie said. “Is everything in the kitchen to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, memsahib.”

“Good.” Sophie smiled at him.

“Do you have a problem cooking beef?”

“No, memsahib.”

“Good,” Sophie said. “Mr. Grainger likes his steak bloody. Very bloody.”