The Midnight Rose (32 page)

“Hello, Rebecca.”

“Hi, what are you doing sitting outside?”

“Mrs. Trevathan told me Anthony wasn’t down yet and to take a stroll in the gardens while I waited. I don’t think she likes me.”

“I don’t think she likes anyone who disturbs her routine,” said Rebecca.

“Shall we take a walk?” Ari stood up.

“Why not?”

“It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it? The English countryside has such
a . . .”—Ari searched for the word as they strolled across the lawn—“serenity to it, a quality one finds so rarely in Mumbai.”

“Or in New York,” said Rebecca.

“Is that where you live?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s the sense of space here that’s so different from India. The cities of my homeland are so overcrowded—everyone fighting for their own few inches of room. And the noise on the streets never ceases day and night. Even in our temples, people sing and chatter, just as they do in the streets outside. To find any peace is almost impossible.”

“I’ve never been to India. In fact, I’ve hardly traveled outside the States at all. It’s interesting you talk of it being so hectic. All the books I’ve read tell of people going there to find some sort of inner peace.”

“Oh, there’s an awful lot of that,” Ari said in agreement. “But then, if you’re living in one room with your elderly relatives, your husband and your children and only have a few rupees to buy rice, you need a strong sense of faith. Here in the West, perhaps faith in something larger than oneself isn’t so necessary any longer. Physical comfort—materialism, if you like—is the enemy of any serious spirituality, I think. When we’re warm and well fed, our souls can be empty and we still make it through the day. And that, as I’ve discovered recently, is the greatest poverty of all.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that, but you’re right.”

“Well, perhaps I’ve come away to England to seek my soul,” Ari added with a glimmer of a smile, as he stared at the deepening amber glow of the sunset.

“It’s sad, but I know of very few people who are truly
happy
,” said Rebecca. “Everyone is so greedy. They’re never satisfied with what they have.”

“In my country, we’re taught that nirvana is achieved by letting go of worldly possessions. Conveniently, if you’re a poor Indian, you rarely have any to begin with. I think that so much depends on our expectations of what our life should be. The less you expect, the more content you are. See?” Ari opened his arms wide to the universe. “We’re creating our very own ashram on the grounds of a stately home in England.”

Rebecca smiled at the thought.

“It’s turned chilly,” he said, “shall we walk back?”

“Yes.”

“Are you joining us for dinner tonight?”

“No, I have a guest staying. My boyfriend arrived last night out of the blue.”

“I see. And, given our conversation on the moors the other day, how do you feel about that?” Ari asked her.

“It feels . . . okay. Better than I thought it would.”

“Good. Well, wish me luck over dinner. I hope Anthony’s not too unsettled by my great-grandmother’s story.”

“Well, as I don’t know what happened next, I can’t comment,” said Rebecca as they entered the main hall.

“I’ll tell you about it sometime, but if I don’t hurry up, I’ll be late for my host, which won’t help my quest for information.”

“Good luck,” she said as she walked toward the stairs.

“Thanks.”

•  •  •

Ari turned and walked into the dining room.

Anthony looked up as he entered. “Hello, Mr. Malik. Please close the door before you sit down—I would prefer that we are not overheard. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” replied Ari, following Anthony’s instruction and coming over to join him at the table. “And you?”

“To be blunt, shocked by what I’ve read so far.”

“Yes,” Ari said, sensing Anthony’s tension.

Anthony poured some wine into Ari’s glass. “So,” he said with a sigh, “we must talk about the past . . .”

B
ack at school, I concentrated hard on my exams, knowing that if I were to dare to try to enter the British medical profession, then my results would need to be above exceptional. My matriculation exams took place in a blur of late nights, headaches and worry. I thought I had acquitted myself well, but I wouldn’t know my results until late summer.

Immediately after the end of term, before I took up my post as nursemaid to Selina’s baby, I left Eastbourne with my friend Charlotte, the vicar’s daughter, to journey up to her home in Yorkshire. I had professed to her many times my wish to see the parsonage where my beloved Brontë sisters had lived.

Charlotte’s father was away in Africa preaching, and you may remember that I’ve already told you that her mother had died the previous year. Charlotte’s twin brother, Ned, was sweetness itself, and they both accompanied me from the rectory on the bus up to Haworth Moors.

That evening, the three of us sat outside in the pretty rectory garden and ate supper together.

“What will you do now your education is finished?” I asked Ned as we drank coffee.

“Sadly, unless this war ends pretty damned quickly, and now we all doubt it will, I’ll be in the army within six weeks. Not really my bag, fighting,” Ned added complacently, “I’d rather follow the Brontës down their writing line.”

“You’re not interested in becoming a vicar like your father, then?”

“If I had any faith before this war began, sadly, I’ve lost it now.”

“Oh, Ned,” said Charlotte, “don’t say that, please, I’m sure it’ll be over soon.”

“And we must never lose faith, Ned,” I added. “What else would we have if we did?”

The next day, as Charlotte went off to visit a relative, Ned and I walked together on Keighley Moors. We talked of literature, a little of philosophy, and he asked me about my former life in India. I liked his thoughtful, gentle nature, and I admit to thinking of him quite often in the following months. The next morning, I said a tearful good-bye to Charlotte at Keighley railway station and began the long journey down to Devon.

•  •  •

“Anni! Dear Anni, welcome!” Selina threw her arms around me and gave me a smile of genuine pleasure as I climbed down from the trap. “Do come in, and many apologies for not being able to send a car to the station for you. Petrol rationing really has bitten here, and as we live so far from anything useful, we’ve had to safeguard it with all our might. I’ve put you in the room next to the nursery on the main floor,” she said as she led me up the stairs. “Little Eleanor mostly sleeps through the night, but I thought it would be nice if you were close to her in case she does wake.”

“Thank you,” I said, overwhelmed by her warm reception. “You do know I have little experience looking after young children?”

“Anni, you helped bring Eleanor into the world! I trust you completely. There now,” she said as she threw open my bedroom door, “will this suffice?”

I looked around the room with its beautiful view over the gardens and the moor beyond. “Yes, it’s lovely, thank you.”

“May I ring for some tea to be brought up to you here?”

“Actually, I’d prefer to go down and see all my friends in the kitchen. I’ll take tea there.”

“I’m so glad you are here, Anni. You can’t know what a nightmare it’s been to find someone suitable to help me with Eleanor. The ancient nursemaid Mother found me was ghastly, so I sent her packing, which didn’t please Mother at all.” Selina rolled her eyes. “For the past few months, I’ve been taking care of Eleanor myself. Now, when you’re settled and have said hello to everyone in the kitchen, come and see us both in the nursery.”

As I unpacked my trunk, I couldn’t help but smile at the notion that a mother would consider it outrageous that she should have to take care of her own child herself. When I had tidied myself up, I went downstairs to see the kitchen. The staff clustered around me, Mrs. Thomas pressing cakes and tea on me, Tilly hugging me tightly, and I felt a warm glow of belonging.

After that, I went back upstairs to see Eleanor in her nursery. Now almost three years old, she was a delightful, pretty little girl and she took to me immediately. With her mother watching, I bathed her, put her in her nightgown and sang her to sleep in her bed.

“You are a wonder,” said Selina as we tiptoed out of the room, “Eleanor seems to adore you already. I was just thinking, Anni, that perhaps when she’s settled with you, I might go to London. I haven’t been out of this house for a year and there are so many friends I’d like to see.”

“Of course, Lady Selina. That’s what I’m here for. As long as you trust me, you can go anywhere you wish.”

“Then I just might! It’s been so miserable here. Later on, I’d like you to join Mother and me for dinner. I’m longing to hear how Minty, Indira and the Cooch Behar family are getting along.”

I put on my best dress from Harrods and went down to have dinner in the formal dining room. Lady Astbury treated me with her usual disdain and hardly uttered a word directly to me. I knew she was uncomfortable having me, a mere nursemaid, at the table. Selina, however, enjoyed my stories of the time Indira and I had spent in London when the Maharani had managed to come to England on the troopship.

“Mother, as Anni is now here to care for Eleanor, I thought I might go to London next week, if I may?” Selina suggested over dessert.

I felt terribly sad for her, having to ask permission from her mother when she herself had been a married woman and had run a household of her own. Fate had decreed that Selina’s independent life had ended before it had properly begun.

“If you must, Selina, dear.” Lady Astbury looked disapproving. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with the child, Miss Chavan?” she asked me. “I certainly shan’t have time to see to it.”

“Of course, Lady Astbury. Eleanor and I will be fine,” I replied.

A few days later, Selina was ready to set off to London. Her face was a mixture of excitement and trepidation as she donned her traveling gloves and climbed up into the trap to ride to the station.

“You enjoy yourself, Lady Selina. You’re young and beautiful and deserve to have some fun after such a difficult time.”

“Thank you, Anni, you always know the right thing to say. Please do send a telegram to our London address if there are any problems with Eleanor.”

“I will, I promise,” I said as I waved good-bye.

•  •  •

As it turned out, Selina, content that all was as it should be with her daughter, extended her stay in London for almost a month.
And who could blame her?
I thought to myself one evening. Astbury had a pall of despair hanging over it. Even I, who was not given to notice inconveniences such as the lack of hot water or the crumbling masonry on the exterior of the house, was aware of the fact that it was falling into a state of disrepair.

Added to which, the son and heir of the house, my beloved Donald, was still away fighting abroad. No one had heard from him in weeks, and as I wandered down to the stables with Eleanor to pet the horses, I rested my head against Glory’s sleek mane.

“Your master will be home soon, I promise,” I whispered to her.

As August came, I watched the glowing fields of corn turn brown as they were left uncut, because there was not enough manpower to thresh the crop. The sheep out on the moors had remained unsheared, sweating through the summer in their heavy woolen coats when their warmth could have clothed many a soldier in freezing foreign parts.

At the head of this chaos sat the stoic figure of Maud Astbury. I watched her sometimes, as she took tea on the lawn at three thirty p.m. sharp every day, then walked to the private chapel in the house at six, her routine undisturbed as the estate drew to a standstill about her.

I tried to be understanding, reminding myself that when she had married Donald’s father twenty-five years before, it had been a different era. She hadn’t been raised to single-handedly take charge of such a huge responsibility as Astbury. I explained this to the servants, who had started to grumble at their mistress’s seeming inability to improve the sorry state of affairs.

“Then her ladyship should blinking well
learn
how to run things,” commented Mrs. Thomas. “If she doesn’t do something soon, there’ll be nothing left here for the young lord to return to!”

“Let’s hope it’s not all down to you, Eleanor,” I whispered to her
one afternoon as I took her for her afternoon walk across the park. “I only pray my spirits were right, and your uncle will return safe and sound.”

I received the results of my matriculation in the middle of August. I had passed with flying colors and the slow, dreary summer had convinced me that, unlike the other residents of Astbury Hall, I was not prepared to sit around and wait for the war to end in order to begin my life.

A couple of days after Selina returned from London, I went to see her.

“Lady Selina,” I began, “I’ve decided that I do indeed wish to help in the war effort. I’ve applied to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment.”

“Oh dear.” Selina looked despondent. “The Maharani did mention you might wish to do so at the end of the summer, but I was rather hoping you’d forgotten about the idea.”