‘You will always be different,’ he said slowly. ‘How can it be otherwise? The whole way you have been brought up is different.’
‘And I do not look like them,’ she pointed out, determined to face all the problems. ‘They will be pink like you and I am brown.’
‘You are golden,’ Nick said. ‘Like honey. And your eyes are like your father’s, grey, and your hair is brown, not black. You could be European—Italian or from the south of France perhaps. But that does not matter, they will not be prejudiced against you because of your mother.’ His mouth twisted into a rueful smile, ‘At least, they won’t once they know who your uncle is—deference to rank applies in society all over the world, I suppose.’
‘But they will know my father did not marry my mother.’ That would not matter at home in Kalatwah. The raja had three wives, four courtesans and numerous occasional lovers. Children were treated according to their merits in their father’s eyes and how skilful their mothers were in bringing those merits to his attention. Europeans only took one wife at a time, their courtesans were hidden and not spoken of.
‘That is true.’ Nick seemed to be pondering the problem. At least he seemed willing to discuss this honestly with her, which was a relief. She needed to understand what her position would be. ‘Your father has considerable standing and much respect. He is wealthy and of a good English family. There is no reason for you not to be accepted.’
He was silent for a while as they passed a village, the naked children splashing in the water, the women crouched at their washing, a man casting his net, thigh deep in the swirling muddy river.
‘You will have teachers to show you how to dance and to perfect your English and your etiquette. Some of the married ladies will take your wardrobe in hand, I have no doubt, and fit you out with clothes and shoes, then you will attend balls and receptions and you will make friends.’
It sounds terrible.
Chapter Eleven
‘What is the matter? You’ve curled up like a hedgehog.’ Whatever that was, Nick seemed to find it amusing.
‘What is a hedgehog?’ Had she curled up? Anusha straightened her back and unwrapped her arms from around her raised knees. Perhaps she had. She did not like the sound of this new world with its lessons, its threats of the dreaded European clothing and its shocking behaviour. Dancing with men—her body had betrayed her agitation.
‘Sharo,’ he translated. ‘I’ve never seen one this far to the east. It is a small animal with its back covered in spines and when it is in danger it curls up into a ball and there is nothing for its enemies but a nose full of prickles.’
‘Like a porcupine—sayal?’ They were ugly creatures. It was not danger that had her curling in on herself; she would be brave enough to escape, she was certain. No, it was the prospect of so much embarrassment first.
‘They are much smaller than porcupines.’ He showed with his cupped hands. ‘Rather endearing, really. They snuffle, like little pigs.’
‘I do not snuffle.’
‘Not when you are awake, no,’ he said with a grin and stood up. ‘Don’t look so outraged, Princess, I did say endearing.’
‘Do not call me that,’ she muttered as Nick strolled away to speak to the steersman. If he saw how it annoyed her, he would tease her more. She was not truly a princess, even if she was the daughter of one, for her father was not of the royal blood. And she was not an English memsahib yet either, and she was not going to pretend to be one of those for a moment longer than it took to learn what she needed to survive in the world alone.
The lush green of the banks blurred and Anusha blinked, angry with herself for the moment of weakness, and waved with determined cheeriness at some small boys leading the family buffalo down to the river for its evening bathe.
I will watch, learn, collect up all the money and jewels I can, she told herself. Then I will find a ship and sail to England where no one knows me and I will be whatever I want. Only she did not know what she wanted, only to belong somewhere and to be wanted for herself. She found her eyes were fixed on Nick’s broad back. So strange, to have this ache inside and yet, somehow, to be happy.
* * *
There was silence from the compartment next to his. Either Anusha was not asleep yet, or she had taken to heart his teasing about her snuffling in her sleep. He had become used to the odd little wiffling noises she made sometimes—dreaming, he supposed—it had been unfair to call it snuffling.