Authors: Lucinda Riley
“She’s found the will to live again; let that be enough for now.”
At night in my bedroom, I wrote to Donald, telling him of Indira and life at the palace. I warned him that it was going to take longer than I’d initially expected before I could contemplate returning to England. I missed him unbearably, and it took all the patience I possessed to oversee Indira’s slow progress back to health.
A month on, and at last Indira was beginning to look much more like her old self. She was showing some of her old zest for daily life and had grown strong enough for us to take short horseback rides out in the park in the mornings. It was during those rides that, finally, I told her of my own love for Donald, and the life we were planning together when I returned to England.
I confided in her my worries about Donald’s mother and her prejudices.
“But from the sound of him, Donald doesn’t care
what
his mother thinks,” said Indira. “The estate is his and he can marry who he wishes.”
“Well, he hasn’t told her about me yet.”
“Well, I’m sure he will, and the two of you will live happily ever after. Besides, you’ve only got a grim mother-in-law to deal with, whereas I have a possible war between two princely states. You’re so lucky, Anni, you’re free to do anything you want,” she sighed.
I managed to take a little comfort from Indira’s words, although I understood that she couldn’t fully see or understand the complexity of my situation. And currently, there was one thing in particular which was concerning me. I’d chosen to ignore it, hoping, like any girl in my situation, that I might be mistaken.
Once I’d settled Indira to sleep that night, I paced up and down, trying to think just how I could help her. I knew that if she were forced to marry a man she didn’t love and be closeted in his zenana for the rest of her days, she would simply waste away again. And I wouldn’t be there to help her.
I asked the stars for guidance that night—my mother had always instilled in me that I must be careful when interfering in other people’s destinies.
“Take care, little one,” she’d warned me once, “because in giving help,
you
will become part of their destiny.”
And even though I knew any plan I conjured up would almost certainly be seen as a betrayal by the Maharani—the woman who was the nearest thing to a mother I had on this earth—there was nothing else to be done.
The following day, before I went to join Indira for breakfast, I rode out across the park to the pavilion where, six years ago, I’d buried my inheritance. I retrieved the hessian bag from the hole I’d dug underneath it and was relieved to see that the three stones were still inside it. I tucked the two smaller rubies into a pocket of my sari, placing the last and largest ruby back in its hiding place.
Later, on our afternoon walk, I took Indira to a spot in the gardens where I knew no one would hear our conversation. She looked at me, eagerness in her eyes, as I settled her on the grass under a jasmine tree.
“Well? Have you come up with a plan?”
“I don’t know whether it’s a plan exactly,” I answered, “but I do believe that often in life, if you present people with a fait accompli, they’ll eventually come to accept it. Indira, do you know where Varun is at the moment?”
“I think he’s somewhere in Europe,” Indira said, rubbing her nose
thoughtfully, “but his servants will forward a letter to him wherever he is.”
“Then you must write and tell him you will come to join him in Europe in a few weeks’ time. Perhaps Paris,” I suggested. “You must suggest a day and a place where you’ll be and ask him to meet you there.”
She looked at me in amazement. “You’re telling me I should run away?”
“I can’t see you have any other choice. I’ll tell your mother that I believe you need to recuperate from your illness in Switzerland. That the fresh mountain air and change of scenery will not only build up your strength but take your mind off Varun. That you’ve agreed that, after a time of recuperation, you’re prepared to return to India and marry the Maharaja of Dharampur.”
“Oh, Anni”—Indira clasped her hands to mine—“but will Ma believe you?”
“I’m sad to say that your mother trusts me completely, Indy. I’ll play my part to the hilt and tell her that I’ve convinced you that you must do your duty. But you too, will have to convince her you’re prepared to accept your marriage.”
“But surely,” Indira said, chewing her lip anxiously, “they’ll never give me their blessing to marry Varun?”
“No, they won’t. And if you go ahead with this, then that’s something you must simply accept,” I said firmly.
I watched her mentally walk through what I was suggesting. And I wondered if losing her parents’ love and enduring their inevitable fury and disappointment would be a step too far for her. It was a terrible choice for her to have to make. But she had to realize fully the consequences of her actions before she agreed to the plan.
“So, I’d have to marry Varun in secret?”
“Yes. And if Varun is as passionate about you as you are about him, then he too must accept this is the only way. It might not be the grand ceremony which befits the joining of two princely states, but it will have to suffice for now. Indy,” I said with a sigh, “if you want to be with your prince, I can’t see that you have any other choice.”
“But I have no money of my own at all. Not even enough to buy a wedding dress!” Indira laughed nervously as the further ramifications of her plight struck her. “Once they hear, I know Ma and Pa will cut me off without a rupee.”
“I have some money put by,” I said, thinking how ironic it was to
be sitting in a palace owned by two of the wealthiest people in the world and offering to help their daughter financially.
“Will they ever forgive me?”
“I can’t answer that. It’s a chance you simply have to take if you’re set on being with Varun. One of the things I learned when I was working out in France as a nurse, Indy, is that life is too short. And we all have to make sacrifices to do what we believe is right for us.”
“Well, I know it is right for me and Varun to be together. So, I’ll write to him and tell him we must meet in Paris.”
“Yes, and if he responds positively, then I’ll speak to your mother.”
Indira stood up, then paced up and down for a while in an agony of indecision. Finally, she stopped and turned to me. “I’ll do it. I’ll write to him now, and perhaps you could post the letter for me this afternoon?”
“Of course.”
Later that day, after I’d posted Indira’s letter to Prince Varun, and one to Donald too, I emerged and walked down the noisy, crowded street in a daze, coming to terms with the fact that my part in Indira’s deception would almost certainly mean that I’d never be welcome at the palace again.
But I had a new life, a life that would be spent elsewhere. And as I walked into a jewelry shop, the love I felt for Donald gave me the strength to hand over the two rubies to the man behind the counter.
I returned to the rickshaw half an hour later, having gleaned from the man’s eyes how special and precious my stones were. He had almost certainly paid me only a quarter of their true value, but tucked inside my pocket was enough money for Indira at least to buy a wedding dress and also for me to know I had enough to see me through a year or so if I needed it. Which I was beginning to realize I might.
For over two weeks, Indira and I lived in anguish waiting for Varun to reply. When finally he did, I took the letter to Indira immediately, and her eyes burned with trepidation and excitement as she opened it. Reading it quickly, she looked up at me, her eyes now shining. “He too agrees that it’s the only way. He says he can’t live without me! So, what now?”
“I’ll speak to your mother as soon as I can.”
“Oh, Anni!” Indira threw her arms around me. “How can I ever repay you for helping me?”
“One day, I’m sure the moment will come.”
That evening, I took a deep breath and requested to see the Maharani. I told her the plan I had devised, and as her beautiful dark eyes gazed upon me, filled with trust and appreciation, I was horrified at how easily I was able to lie to her. When I finished speaking, she took my hands in hers and smiled at me. “Thank you for helping, Anni. I suspected that you might be the only one she’d listen to. We’re all very grateful to you.”
I left the Maharani’s rooms feeling like the liar and the cheat that I was. I dispatched Indira to see her mother and she too, played her part to perfection. The following day, our passage to Europe was booked for us to travel in ten days’ time.
Meanwhile, I had another urgent situation that I knew I must steel myself to resolve. The following day saw me in the zenana with my old friend and teacher Zeena. We walked outside into the gardens together and she took my hand and felt my pulse. Then she looked at me and nodded.
“I know why you’re here to see me.”
“Yes. Can you help me?” I asked, hearing the desperation in my own voice.
“You don’t want the child?”
“I do, but not at this moment. There will be others . . .”
She inclined her head. “Come to me this afternoon and we’ll see what we can do.”
I returned later as she’d requested, my nerves jangling as she examined me.
Then she sat me upright, looked at me sternly and shook her head.
“You’re over twelve weeks along. If I try, it would put your life in danger, and I’m not prepared to take the risk. You know as well as I do that it’s too late to be safe.”
I
had
known of course. I was a nurse, after all. But I’d been burying my head, as cowardly and frightened as the next young woman in my predicament.
Zeena gazed at me. “The father loves you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you here?” She smiled at me.
“It is . . . complicated.”
“Love is always complicated.” She chuckled and then shook her head. “Tell him you have a precious gift for him. If he loves you as he says he does, he will be happy.”
As the full ramifications of my situation took hold, I was gripped with sudden terror. “Zeena, you don’t understand. I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ll find a way, Anahita, I’m sure.”
I walked away from her, my eyes blurred with tears. I headed straight for the stables, had the groom tack me up a horse, and rode off at full pelt, screaming to the hot, dusty air at my own stupidity. I’d known for weeks. Why, oh why, had I refused to acknowledge the facts earlier? I was a nurse, a “wise woman,” perfectly able to help others with their lives, yet I’d managed to destroy my own.
As I urged my horse faster, I wondered if I should perhaps throw myself from its back rather than face the terrible consequences of my ruined future. However much Donald loved me, if I returned from India pregnant when the union we both wanted so much was already fraught with difficulty, surely even he would feel it was a step too far. I thought of his mother, a devout Catholic, who would undoubtedly prefer to see any baby born out of wedlock drowned at birth—let alone one produced from a union between her son and a “heathen” Indian girl.
I brought the horse to an abrupt standstill, slid off and fell to my knees and wept. For I knew there was no one to blame but myself.
Finally, standing up, I comforted myself with the thought that at least I’d have a few weeks on board the ship to think about what I should do next and the money from the rubies to enable me to enact whatever decision I took. The one definite was that the baby inside me would be arriving in my arms in six months’ time.
I’d often said to my patients that they should accept the will of the gods and pray for strength and acceptance. This was the mantra that I must follow now if I was to survive.
The following week, we sailed for Europe. Indira’s hand searched for mine as we stood on the deck watching India disappear from view as the ship pulled out of port. We were both somber, lost in our own thoughts.
Indira soon came to life and danced the night away with the many young beaux who were eager to escort her. Finally, I had the solitude I needed to think about my future and I began to formulate a plan.
When the ship docked at Marseilles, we took a train to Paris and checked into the Ritz. Immediately, I sent a telegram to the Maharani, telling her of our safe arrival and that we would be traveling by train
to the clinic in the Swiss Alps in the next few days. Prince Varun was expected the following morning, and Indira was in a state of high excitement as she tried on dresses and discarded them haphazardly onto the bed.
“I haven’t got a thing to wear! It’s so long since I shopped in Europe. Everything I own is old-fashioned.”
“Your prince will love you whatever you’re dressed in.”
That night, we both lay sleepless in our beds.
“Have you any idea where you and Varun will go from here?” I asked.
“He said in his letter we must be married as soon as possible and then stay in Europe until the dust settles at home. Oh, Anni, do you think what I’m doing is wrong? It will break Ma and Pa’s hearts.”
“They’ll get over it eventually. As I’ve said to you often, Indy, we must try to do what we can to be happy.”
“Even if it involves hurting the people we love?”
“Sometimes, yes. But hopefully, it won’t be for long. Your parents love you too much to let you go, although I doubt your mother will ever forgive
me,
” I said into the darkness.
“Of course she will, because she’ll say that I forced you into it. It’s me they’ll blame, Anni, I promise. I’ll make sure they do.”
“And you’ll have a handsome prince who loves you for a husband, just as we both dreamed of that first night we met.”
“And you’ll return to yours, and we’ll both live happily ever after.”
As I tossed and turned through the long hours until dawn broke, I knew that my
own
fairy tale was fast becoming a nightmare.
• • •
The following day, I sat with Indira as we waited for her prince to arrive. Eventually, the door to the drawing room opened and in he came. Indira gave a cry of joy and ran into his arms. I withdrew as subtly as I could.
I returned a few hours later to find Indira sitting at the writing bureau, a pen in her hand, deep in thought.