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‘That is good to know,’ Nick said and smiled at her. ‘You can stop worrying now.’
‘Worrying?’ Her father turned at the top of the steps. ‘There was never any need to worry, not with that fortress so impregnable and help on the way. Nick, you must have explained it to her. The danger was always from one or two men getting inside and snatching you, Anusha, and the furore that would cause.’
‘He explained very clearly, but they are my family,’ Anusha said with a glance at Nick. He smiled back, an ally. ‘Of course I worry.’
Again, that frown. ‘You must be tired, both of you. Come inside where we can talk. You’ll be hungry, I have no doubt, and will want to wash and change before dinner. I have had the best room refurnished for you, Anusha. Do you remember it? The one at the back overlooking the garden. I hope you will like it.’
She heard the emotion under his question and steeled her heart against it. ‘Thank you, I recall it.’ Not the room he had prepared for his wife, then. That was a relief—she would have refused to sleep in it and somehow she did not have the strength this evening for active confrontation, only for resistance.
The wide hallway was swarming with servants, all male of course, except for one woman, patiently waiting at the rear, her dupatta pulled forwards to shield her face. ‘This is Nadia, your maid. Nadia, take Miss Anusha to her room, we dine in an hour.’
‘Namaste, Nadia,’ Anusha said as the maidservant came forwards.
‘Good evening, Miss Anusha,’ the woman responded and Anusha realised that she was quite young. ‘Laurens sahib says that I must speak English to you all the time. The room is this way. My English is good, yes? I have been having lessons from the maid of Lady Hoskins in how to be a proper lady’s maid.’ They passed a punkah wallah sitting with his back against the wall, endlessly moving his foot so the cord tied to his big toe pulled the wide cloth fans to and fro in the rooms on either side of the corridor.
The maid opened the door at the end of the passage and waited for her to go through. Anusha had forgotten the furniture would be like this: the high bed, draped in fine muslin netting, the chairs, upright and stiff and lower ones too, padded. There were no cushions on the matting-covered floor. She would have to sit upright on these chairs, something her mother had always refused to do.
A—what was it called?—dressing table covered in little boxes and bottles, hair brushes, a mirror at the back. A clothes press. The door to what must be the bathing room. It was all so plain—the only bright colours were the maid’s clothing and a dark red throw across the bed.
The long windows were open, with slatted shutters secured across them to let in the breeze, but give privacy and security, for the whole house was only one storey high. Overhead the punkah creaked to and fro, stirring the air, and a faint hum of chatter from the hallway reached her through the grillework over the door.
‘This is a nice room, I think,’ Nadia said with an anxious glance at Anusha. ‘The water boys will have filled the bath if it pleases you to take it now, Miss Anusha, and I will lay out your clothes.’
‘I have no clothes,’ Anusha said, and went to peer into the bathing room. The bath was large and already full of water.
‘That must have been very difficult! But Laurens sahib asked Lady Hoskins and she has sent everything that you need. See.’ Nadia threw open the clothes press and pulled out drawers. ‘Gowns and petticoats and corsets and stockings and—’
‘Enough. I will bathe and then I will put on these clothes again with clean linen beneath. Not my turban, though.’ The maid opened her mouth to protest then, with one look from Anusha, shut it again.
‘Yes, Miss Anusha.’
* * *
She remembered the way to the dining room as well, although everything within the familiar lay-out of the house looked different. The walls had been painted with pale, plain washes, the furniture was new, more European in style, she supposed. Certainly foreign and uncomfortable to someone used to soft cushions, billowing silks, quilted cottons.
By dint of sending Nadia on an errand Anusha had managed to retrieve the jewels from her turban and hide them in a loose panel beneath the window seat. Most of the seats had panels that could be prised out, she had discovered as a child—probably there were still her little caches of toys and treasures all over the house.
Now, her hair in its plait down her back, her severe men’s clothing unrelieved by jewels, she was conscious of the sideways glances of the male servants in the hall. They must be used to unveiled women, but she supposed that her strange mixture of European and Indian looks, her male attire, must seem odd and shocking to them.
