Star of the East: A Lady Emily Christmas Story (8 page)

“I say—” He stood again.

“Last night I found several interesting items in Ranjit’s and Ned’s rooms. Am I correct, Ranjit, that you are not studying any of the sciences at Oxford?”

“One might accuse me of not studying anything at Oxford,” Ranjit said, “but no one could claim that I am supposed to be reading science. My course is history.”

“Yet in your room you have Darwin’s
Origin of the Species,
two volumes of a text about the natural sciences, and a book titled
Descriptive Astronomy
.”

“You were in his room?” Horror resonated in my mother’s voice. “This, Emily, is unaccountably rude, not to mention wholly inappropriate—”

“We can discuss my many shortcomings at a later time, Mother,” I interrupted.

Ranjit choked back laughter. “I have confessed to not studying science, Emily, but I do not recall mentioning it to you before now,” he said. “Why did you not assume the books to be mine?”

“First—and do, please, understand that I mean no offense by saying this—because nothing about you suggested to me that you would have chosen academic texts for a pleasure trip. Next, the astronomy book is a secondhand copy from Mudie’s. Surely a wealthy Oxonian would have purchased his books new? Finally, I do not believe for an instant that you are reading Jane Austen’s
Persuasion.
Your sister, however, told me Miss Austen is her favorite author, and discussed
Vanity Fair
and
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
with me. It is clear that she is an intelligent young lady with an active mind. Knowing this, I deduced that all the books in your room, in fact, belong to your sister.”

“Yes, I do greatly admire Austen,” Sunita said, “and I may have left that book in my brother’s room, but none of this proves anything.”

“Mr. Drayton’s possessions proved nearly as revealing as your brother’s,” I said. “May I see your Kipling, please?” Ned handed me the book. I removed the slip of paper from it and spoke quietly to him. “Page fifty-two, and I promise I shall return it to the correct place.” I held the paper in front of me. “Four names are listed here: Anne, Hugo, Hilda, and Margaret.”

“If it weren’t for the inclusion of Hugo, I should think my friend has a difficult decision in front of him,” Ranjit said.

“It is not a list of individuals,” I said. “It is a list of colleges at Oxford that admit women.”

“Yes, that is what I have listed, but I have many friends who are interested in women’s education,” Ned said. “If I recall, I wrote this when a group of us were trying to remember which colleges—”

“Ned, there is no need for further comment,” I said.

“There is no need for any of this,” Sunita said. “I am so wounded that you, Emily, would attack me like this, when I thought you were my friend. None of this points to me.”

“I went into your room as well, Sunita.” I glowered at my mother, who was giving me a look that would have rendered Medusa’s own glare useless. “We will discuss it later, Mother. Included in Sunita’s correspondence was a letter addressed to Miss Dorothea Beale. Miss Beale, I have confirmed after speaking with her on the telephone this morning, is not only the principal at the Cheltenham Ladies’ College, she is the founder of St. Hilda’s Hall at Oxford. She told me you have been in touch with her.”

“I do not understand any of this,” the maharaja said. “You have been telling us, Sunita, over and over that you would accept any groom we choose, and all the time you have been secretly plotting to find your way to Oxford?”

Sunita did not reply.

“Speak to me,” the maharaja said, but his daughter remained silent. “So you are a liar. My daughter is a liar.”

“She was telling half-truths, your highness,” I said. “She does want to be married, but not to whatever random groom you choose.” Ned shot to his feet again. I was beginning to grow dizzy watching him go up and down. “There is no need to defend yourself, Mr. Drayton.”

Now Sunita spoke. “It was never his idea. He was so kind last summer when he came to India with Ranjit, and so handsome. He and my brother told me so many stories about the university, and I burned to go there and attend all the lectures they missed. Ned—Mr. Drayton—agreed to help me, and since he left the Punjab, we have been writing to each other nearly everyday.”

“My intentions, sir, have been nothing but honorable,” Ned said, standing directly in front of the maharaja and pulling himself up to his full height. “I know I cannot offer your daughter wealth, but I do hope that love and, perhaps, Oxford, might prove an adequate substitute.”

“Now is not the time to discuss this, Mr. Drayton,” the maharaja said. “Did you steal the jewels?”

“He did not, Father,” Sunita said. “I gave them to him. He was to sell them in order to pay for my studies and our elopement. I thought that my repeated demands to be married would, as they did, convince you that I was not yet ready to be a wife. I knew I could never be happy with anyone but Ned, and I also knew that I was coming to the age when you were likely to begin discussing prospective grooms.”

“Your deceit is most disappointing,” the maharaja said. “Why did you not come to me and tell me what you wanted?”

“Would you have agreed to send me to Oxford?” Defiance had crept into Sunita’s voice.

“No,” the maharini said. “We would not have done.”

“I am still confused as to why the Star of the East turned up in Emily’s room,” Sebastian said.

“Once Colin started searching beyond the servants’ rooms, we panicked,” Sunita said. “Ned, of course, had not yet had an opportunity to sell the jewels, and now he was in danger of being caught with them. He decided to put it in Emily’s case.”

“I could not risk being seen going into Sunita’s room, and yours is very near mine,” Ned said. “Furthermore, I hoped that Sunita might be able to retrieve the set so that we still could sell it as planned.”

“But you didn’t return the bangle.” Colin, who had been watching quietly, pushed away from the wall against which he leaned and approached Ned. “Why not?”

“Am I to believe, Hargreaves, that this man still has the bangle?” the maharaja asked. “That he kept it so that we could not marry Sunita to anyone else?”

“I would never do that, sir,” Ned said. “You do not know how I have tried to convince her that we ought not elope, that we should go to you and throw ourselves on your mercy. I want nothing more than to marry your daughter, but I do not want it done under the cover of night, away from her family—”

“That is enough, Ned,” I said. “Why didn’t you return the bangle?”

“I did. I swear I did. I had it and the
tika
in my jacket pocket and put them both in your jewelry case. I don’t know what happened after that.”

“What jacket?” I asked.

“My evening kit.”

“Could there be a hole in the pocket lining?” I remembered that his other clothes had shown signs of mending.

“I do not believe so,” he said. “Surely I would have felt the weight of the gold even if it had slipped into the lining.”

“This might, Drayton, be the time to check,” Colin said.

“Right. Of course. Very good.” He all but ran from the room. Before the door closed, a small figure slipped past him.

“Henry!” My son, covered with copious evidence of what I could only assume had been a breakfast of porridge and dragging behind him an ivy-and-yew garland that ought to have been draped over a fireplace mantle, came towards me, his little arms stretched wide.

“Mama! Pwetty for Mama. Don’t want nasty dwawing. Pwetty for Mama.” Clutched in his filthy hand was Sunita’s bangle, which he dropped onto my lap.

Nanny crashed into the room, coming to a sudden stop when she saw the entire party assembled before her. “Lady Bromley, I cannot apologize enough for my small charge. I fear he—”

“Has quite saved the day,” Colin said, scooping up the little boy. “Where did you find the pretty bangle for Mama, Henry?”

“Down,” Henry said, and his father put him gently on his feet. Henry grabbed Colin’s hand—smearing his coat sleeve with porridge—and pulled him to the door. “Up. Mama’s bed.”

“You found it in Mama’s room?” Colin asked. Henry nodded and ran back to me, climbing onto my lap. I feared my dress would never recover, but it had never been one of my favorites. “Was it in a box with something else? Something …” Colin searched for a word. “Something glittery, Henry?” Henry looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “Glittery,” Colin continued, looking around. “Like this?” He picked up the boy and held him in front of the maharini, who was wearing an exquisite diamond bracelet.

Henry nodded so hard he nearly hit his head on his father’s chest.

“But you didn’t think Mama would like glittery?” Colin asked.

“No. Pwetty for Mama.” He kicked until Colin put him down and then crawled back onto my lap. I held him close and picked the sticky remains of porridge out of his hair.

“You are going to have to do something about that child,” my mother said.

Ned charged back into the room, saving me from having to reply. He was holding his evening jacket in front of him. “It is not here, I do not have it.” He fell to his knees in front of the maharaja. “I cannot apologize enough for what I have done. Please know that all I wanted was to make Sunita happy.”

“Rise, rise,” the maharaja said. “We have found the bangle and I suspect my daughter was more culpable than you for what happened.”

Ned did as instructed and stood. “I cannot place the blame on her, sir. I ought to have insisted on finding another way, but I was not strong enough.”

“Indeed you were not,” the maharini said. “I am most displeased.”

“As am I,” the maharaja said. “I do not want my daughter to think she must lie to me in order to find happiness. You will go to Oxford, Sunita, to this St. Hilda’s, if you wish.”

“But you will marry the groom of our choice,” the maharini said as her husband nodded in agreement.

Sunita gasped. “You won’t do that, please tell me you won’t. I cannot marry—”

“It is all you have ever wanted, is it not?” her mother asked. “I have heard nothing else from you since last summer. Is this not so?”

“Yes, but—”

“‘A house of my own! A husband!’ And now you object when we comply with your wishes?” she asked.

“Mother, I—”

The maharaja took his daughter’s hand and put his arm around her. “Fear not, my lovely Sunita. You know I have always wanted your happiness. It is possible, is it not, that Mr. Drayton will prove himself a worthy suitor? Ranjit has always spoken highly of him, and we do not need him to bring more wealth to the family.”

“Father, would you really—”

“I make no promises, Sunita,” the maharaja said. “But your mother will stay in England until we see you through your first term at Oxford. If Mr. Drayton can prove to her that this incident is not indicative of greater flaws in his character, I may be persuaded to consider him for you.”

“Your highness, do you really think it wise to reward these young people for their extremely bad behavior?” My mother looked as if she were trembling in horror.

The maharaja only smiled. “I rule a large kingdom, Lady Bromley, and have always found that my most loyal subjects are those who are happiest.”

“But bad behavior—”

“Should sometimes be forgiven, Mother,” I said, and pulled Henry closer to me so that I could kiss his grubby little cheeks.

“Oh dear,” Nanny said. “If I do not bring the other boys down they will never forgive me. May I, Lady Emily?”

“Of course,” I said. “We must not let them feel forgot because they are quiet and well-behaved.”

Ned stood in front of Sunita, who rose and gave him her hand, which he kissed with great tenderness before turning back to the maharaja. “I shall do everything I can to prove to you my worth, sir.”

“I throw my hands in the air,” my mother said. “I have done all I can.”

“And then some.” My father, who had uttered not a word during all of this, put a firm hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I forbid you, Catherine, to go forward with your plans for a new portrait.”

“Lord Bromley!” Sebastian jumped to his feet. “I implore you to reconsider.”

“The Pre-Raphaelites would never suit you, Catherine. Although I do commend you, Mr. Capet, for the idea of Lady Macbeth. Can’t remember when I last had such a good laugh. Carry on, all of you.” He was chuckling as he crossed the room and opened the door to leave, stepping aside to let Nanny enter, holding Richard and Tom by their hands. “Capital, capital,” he said. “Good boys, all of you.”

Richard and Tom were perfect pictures of cherubic youth. Colin motioned to them, and they walked slowly—Tom with what could only be described as dignity—to him.

“Now here are some fine little gentlemen,” my mother said. “Richard in particular. He never speaks unless spoken to.” Her claim was not entirely baseless, but the observation was not quite correct. Richard did not wait to be spoken to before speaking; he almost never spoke, full stop. Until then.

“Father Christmas?” His words were perfectly pronounced, his voice full of hope, and he looked at the large Christmas tree in the corner. Each of the trees in the house was decorated differently, and for this one, my mother had demanded nothing but red-and-gold blown-glass baubles, red bows, and white candles fastened into golden holders. It was more elegant than the ones covered with tin ornaments of various colors and shapes, but as a result, also less jubilantly festive.

“Not until next week, my boy.” Colin tousled his hair and then did the same to Tom. “Have you been good?”

Richard, apparently having decided that uttering two words was enough for probably the next week, only looked at his father. Tom scrunched his chubby face and shook his head. “Not Henry.”

We all laughed. Not my mother, of course, but she was, as usual, an exception. Nanny gathered up the boys to return them to the nursery, but only after I had covered them all with hugs and kisses, feeling my mother’s disapproving stare all the while. Once they were gone, I returned the bangle to Sunita.

“Now you can wear your lovely
tika
again,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Although, if I am to be a woman of science, I can hardly succumb to superstition, can I? Perhaps it is time we abandon this foolish notion of the curse. I am going upstairs right now to put on the
tika
, but I am going to leave the bangle here with you, Mother.”