The Satapur Moonstone Read online

  “These are my private quarters. Everything was furnished for me by the late maharaja.”

  Hearing the pride in his voice, Perveen did not comment. She regarded a huge chandelier with so many large crystal teardrops hanging from it that it crossed the line from expensive to gaudy.

  “Belgian glass!” he said, as if she would not have known.

  “Magnificent,” she said, thinking that chandelier and the gilt-framed portrait of King George and Queen Mary showed his clear comfort with European ways. Yet Mr. Basu had seemed to disapprove of Maharani Mirabai’s past British teachers and didn’t want the children reading foreign books without the dowager’s permission. This was a strange contradiction—and Gandhiji’s picture in the classroom added to the mystery.

  Mr. Basu handed Perveen a pair of slim composition books. She watched him slowly seat himself in a Queen Anne chair. He gestured toward a velvet settee, and she settled herself there.

  “Would you like tea?” he asked. “I can call for it.”

  Perveen shook her head, thinking that he seemed bent on drawing her attention away from the matter at hand. “No thank you. I don’t want to take too much of your time. I only wish to get an idea of the maharaja’s academic progress.”

  “You are holding the maharaja’s work over the last year. I’m sure you will find it sufficient. It is the same course of study taken by his father and uncle.”

  “Just these two notebooks?” Perveen flipped through them, noticing many blank pages. “How often do you teach him?”

  “When he wishes. It is an hour or so every several days. I am always waiting—as you saw—but he’s not eager to come. The princess will do the work. She wants to learn to read, to do sums, and so on. She has the gift of her late father’s intellect that would have been better given to her brother.”

  Perveen ignored the pang of sadness for the princess his dismissive comment had elicited and paged through the first composition book. Jiva Rao had completed mostly half-page statements that were much simpler than what she remembered doing at his age. The clearest things about them were the titles, no doubt copied from the blackboard. What Is a Ruler’s Duty? What Is the History of England? Jiva Rao wrote in neat Marathi script, but his sentences were overly simple and showed a lack of thought.

  “Do you lecture first and then ask him to write a summary?” she asked.

  “Exactly.” He looked pleased with himself.

  “So—your teaching schedule is about an hour a day?”

  “Oh no! I work very hard. I am on duty six hours a day for them, even if they do not come to me.” He held his bony hands in front of him, raising a total of six fingers, and she suddenly could imagine how dully he taught mathematics. “The princess sometimes stays longer—she thinks numbers are a game, and she always wants to learn more. That is why she is unusually advanced. I am often telling her to go away and only return with her brother. He must not be overshadowed.”

  Padmabai might pull ahead and know more—even though she was three years younger. That would be unseemly. “What do the maharanis think about the progress of the children?”

  “They know I am doing well.” He leaned forward slowly, as if his back pained him. “I am carrying on tradition the way the rajmata wishes. The younger maharani may complain sometimes, but where is she? Always out riding or reading the newspaper.”

  In a neutral tone, Perveen said, “Choti-Rani mentioned to me she went to a convent school.”

  He nodded. “Yes, some girls’ boarding school in Panchgani. She thinks boarding school with British teachers is the only way to get a prestigious education.”

  “It could be that she thinks that a school environment could improve Prince Jiva Rao’s attitude toward learning.” She studied the tutor, trying to think of a way to trigger reflection without making him feel insulted. “Were the late Maharaja Mahendra Rao and Prince Swaroop as challenging to educate as the maharaja?”

  “Not at all—and that is because they always came to class on time. If they didn’t come, their father would have punished them!” He lightly struck the armrest of the settee for emphasis and then winced. “He was a stern ruler. Satapur thrived in his day. No laziness among the fieldworkers or any royal children.”

  “Do you see any differences in temperament and abilities between that generation and this one?”

  He gave her a knowing look. “With a pair of brothers, one is always a leader, and the second a follower. The late Maharaja Mahendra Rao was eldest and took to leading because he was the crown prince. Prince Swaroop knew he hadn’t such responsibilities. He’d be granted a small palace in another district with surrounding lands that would provide some wealth, but never the power of his brother. That is why he was less studious, and to this day is easily led to selfish ways.”

  That was quite a bit of editorializing, but it lined up with what Perveen had previously heard about Prince Swaroop. “Turning to more recent years, how was it to teach Jiva Rao and his older brother—when that brother was alive?”

  “You speak of Prince Pratap Rao, who died a year ago.” His voice dropped as if he was afraid of being overheard. “I must not speak ill of the dead, but the truth is that he did not like to work at his lessons. Prince Jiva Rao’s manner was cooperative; he loved his brother and tried to bolster him in his studies.”

  Perveen didn’t understand, because Jiva Rao had not presented himself as studious. “How does a little brother support an older one in his studies?”

  He sighed, as if her questions were a cross to bear. “Imagine that I asked the two boys the question ‘What is the name of the king who ruled Satapur from 1680 to 1720?’ If Pratap Rao gave a mistaken answer, Jiva Rao would do so as well—even though he might know the right answer. He did not want to shame his brother.”

  Perveen thought it seemed less an instance of support than of fear of being resented by others for knowing more. She had felt the same at the Government Law School when she was a green eighteen-year-old, a lone female afraid of causing waves amongst the resentful male students. “What were the boys’ ages at the time you noticed this behavior?”

  “I cannot recall. It was always so.” From his slumped position, the tutor gazed at her with his failing eyes.

  Perveen wished to urge him to retire, but she imagined that Basu was afraid of life outside the palace. He had been there so long, it was almost as if he also were in purdah. Turning her attention back to the issue of the children, she said, “And now we see Princess Padmabai being eager to learn, and Prince Jiva Rao less so.”

  “It is not a matter of lack of brain!” Basu said, wagging a gnarled finger at her. “After the last maharaja died, Prince Jiva Rao gave up. He never tried to memorize the history of the maharajas anymore. He made no corrections on his work. It was as if he gathered up his brother’s worst traits of laziness. Perhaps he believes stepping into a maharaja’s slippers means taking on the flaws of his elders.”

  Mr. Basu’s diagnosis had nothing to do with his own waning skills as a teacher. Perveen also wondered if Prince Jiva Rao had perhaps lost interest in academics due to grief over his brother’s absence. He also might be lonely. She asked, “Who visits the palace?”

  Wearily, he shook his head. “What concern is that to you? I thought this interview was about education.”

  “I’d like to know if the children have friends. A brother and sister growing up alone is a rather deprived situation.”

  With a snort, he said, “This is the first time anyone’s described the Satapur palace as a place of deprivation! But they sometimes see their uncle.”

  “Yes, as we know he’s arriving imminently. What could be the reason?”

  “He bears the role of prime minister—but that is not anything that matters for you. You claim the British sent you to find out what I’m teaching the maharaja. It is nothing they would disapprove of. I did not put the portrait of that re
bel in the room.”

  He was obviously referring to the picture of Gandhiji. “Who placed it there?”

  He bent his head. “Choti-Rani. But you must not talk about it.”

  Perveen was feeling more respect for Maharani Mirabai by the minute. “I shall not be reporting about any of the palace decorations. I asked you about Prince Swaroop because I’m trying to understand whether the children have regular visits from anybody. Their welfare is important to the government.”

  “That’s right,” a cool voice said from the door. “You want us to raise a most obedient prince of George’s empire.”

  15

  A Sudden Death

  Perveen turned in surprise to see a tall, dark man with a stiffly waxed mustache standing at the door. He looked a little older than thirty and was dressed in a dark purple silk sherwani coat over black trousers and slippers that were studded with what looked like rubies. He had a side-tilted turban set at the same rakish angle as in all the portraits in the family gallery. It was decorated with a lavish ruby brooch. She knew instantly that this debonair man must be Prince Swaroop.

  Mr. Basu struggled to his feet. “Your Highness, may I present Miss Perveen Mistry? The Kolhapur Agency sent her.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet Your Highness,” Perveen said, not sure whether to hold out her hand for him to shake. After all, he lived in a world where the women observed purdah. She brought the hand out slowly, and he stepped forward and pressed it to his lips, as a Frenchman would. Vandana might have approved—but Perveen recoiled. It had been a long time since any man had kissed her, and she did not enjoy having a stranger take such a liberty.

  “Miss Mistry, I’m very relieved you arrived safely. Yesterday was dreadful weather for traveling.” The prince’s pronunciation had a shortened, imperious sound, similar to that of the dowager.

  “You knew I was coming?” Perveen asked.

  “Of course. My mother told me about the letter from the government. I am only surprised to see that you are not a male.” He gave her a slightly mocking look. “Still, I am glad they sent you. Our family has received far too little attention from the authorities.”

  Did he not understand that Colin had been turned away? Perveen spoke in a neutral tone. “I understand your concern. The current political agent has tried to visit twice, but I believe his gender barred him.”

  “It was actually a different reason.” He lowered his head and moved closer, as if he was about to share something confidential. “The new Satapur agent has a deformity that my mother believes would bring bad luck, if he were admitted. Purdah was a more palatable excuse.”

  “I’ve met him, and I assure you he has no deformity. He had a foot amputated,” Perveen said, feeling her anger rise. “If anything, he behaved heroically, sacrificing his own safety for that of a child.”

  “What’s gone is gone. You have met the challenge. In fact, my mother wishes to see more of you. She has asked for you to join us at lunch in the old palace at two o’clock.” He beamed at her, as if this was delightful news.

  Perveen doubted the elderly queen wanted to entertain her; more scolding was sure to come. “Thank you for telling me. That would be lovely.”

  “And how long are you staying?” He smiled again, and she had the dreadful thought that maybe he did want her on the premises. The kiss on the hand could have been a taste of overtures to come.

  “Just until I’ve gathered all the information for my report.” She paused, thinking about the chance she had to speak with the man who might become maharaja if his nephew died. Despite not wanting to encourage further intimacy with this casually mannered nobleman, she decided she had to interview him. “Have you children of your own?”

  “No, I’m afraid my wife is cursed.” He smiled tightly. “A prince may take a second wife, but McLaughlin-sahib made it clear to me that such an action would be undesirable.”

  Perveen couldn’t tell him she disapproved his blaming his wife for infertility, but she could ask more about the Kolhapur Agency’s puzzling directive. “Why would the British care about the doings of a nobleman who isn’t in charge of a state?”

  He frowned at her last words. “I am a prince—not a mere nobleman—and I wish they didn’t care. In the end, they married me off to a beautiful woman who was barren, and they gave my brother someone who’s ugly but still provided him two sons. He was the fortunate one.”

  “He may have had three children, but he’s certainly unfortunate to have died.” Perveen needed to change topic to avoid showing him how offended she was by his words. “Is there a marriage contract in place for Jiva Rao?”

  “I’ve never heard of one. Have you?” Swaroop looked questioningly at Mr. Basu.

  Prince Swaroop’s arrival had brought so much energy that Perveen had almost forgotten there was a third person in the room. Now she turned to look at the elderly tutor, who was leaning on a cane and regarding his former student with a wary expression. “Nothing from the British yet. Your mother suggested a certain betrothal for him a few years ago, but the princess’s parents did not want it for their daughter.”

  The prince scowled, as if his own honor had been attacked. “Which family thinks they are too good for my nephew?”

  “She would not tell me. Most likely, the family did not wish to enter discussion because it is the British who must approve the choice. Isn’t it so?” Basu turned to Perveen for agreement.

  Perveen felt awkward, because she didn’t know anything about the Kolhapur Agency’s policies or attitudes toward royal marriage. “I have not heard about any matrimonial plans, but I can ask about it when I return to the circuit house.”

  “My brother was twenty-seven when he married, a father at twenty-nine, and thirty-three when our father passed into his next life.” Swaroop’s eyes narrowed. “To the British, this was perfect timing. I believe they called him ‘a seasoned man.’”

  “Yes, indeed.” The tutor looked at his former student with approval. “A ruler who has a wife and sons is judged more stable than an unmarried boy.”

  Tilting his head down to Perveen, Prince Swaroop addressed her. “Surely you can tell us whether the British approve of my nephew ascending the gaddi at eighteen.”

  The interview she’d expected to lead was turning against her. But there was still great potential for added information from the bitter prince. Forcing a benign expression onto her face, she said, “In their eyes, I think education is the most important issue. But could we talk about the situation a little more? I should like to know your opinion.”

  His expression brightened. “Certainly. I will show you the palace gardens while we are having our talk.”

  “If you are finished with me, I shall return to the children’s teaching.” Mr. Basu sounded unwilling to go on the walk. Perhaps he sensed that the prince wanted to speak with her privately and give an unfavorable opinion of him. But then she remembered the agreement the maharaja had made with both of them to study only until the prince’s arrival. If Perveen kept Jiva Rao waiting too long to see his uncle, he might be less agreeable with her for the rest of the visit.

  “I believe the maharaja wants to see you very soon,” Perveen said to Prince Swaroop. “Let’s not take a very long route while we have our talk.”

  “You are good at telling people what to do,” the prince said as the two of them walked out of the dark palace and into sunshine. “That is the way it is with Parsis. The women dominate the men.”

  Now she really wanted to explode—but then he could call her an emotional woman. So she gave him a hard look instead.

  “I will show you this courtyard garden.” He reached to put a hand on her elbow, and she moved it out of range. “There is a pond with many lotus types.”

  “Yes. I noticed it at breakfast.” In the pond between the floating lotuses, two black swans made a lazy progression. She hadn’t seen them earlier, and th
ey struck her as slightly ominous. Two black swans, just like there were two widows in the palaces.

  But the prince was looking past them. “Isn’t the fountain fine? It’s Italian. Two hundred years old and imported in pieces to be reassembled here. My father chose it as a gift for my brother when he was planning the new palace.”

  Perveen wanted to stop ambling and find a place to get down to business. She seated herself at the iron table where she had dined earlier, hoping he would take the chair across from her. He did.

  “It’s quite lovely here,” she commented as she opened her notebook. “You must be glad that the position of prime minister frequently brings you to visit your childhood home.”

  “It is so different now. More than half the servants are gone—not because of lack of funds, but because of the widow’s lack of interest.”

  Perveen caught his use of the term. Surely he wouldn’t speak of his own mother that way; she was respectfully called Rajmata by everyone. “Do you mean your sister-in-law?”

  He nodded. “She lives in a dreamworld always reading newspapers inside or riding horses outside. My mother was very different. She was a champion hostess; there were grand parties here, in the day.”

  “So your mother did not observe purdah in your childhood?”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “The general public cannot look upon her, but she was friendly with both ladies and gentlemen who were related to us. For these big parties that brought in wealthy strangers, she would sit behind a carved sandalwood screen. She would make comments from behind it that everyone could hear.”

  “But today the purdah is more extreme, because they are widows?”

  “As my mother says, it is the way it must be, yet”—he spread his arms wide, bidding her to look at the beautifully trimmed hedges and flower beds brimming with scarlet and pink—“what a waste not to share this with others.”

  Perveen knew that he meant other elite friends, not the people of Satapur. He was hinting that if he had control of the palace and could arrange for parties, he’d greatly enjoy himself. But that was a matter that could not be changed. She needed to return to the matter of Jiva Rao’s education. Looking out at the pond, she said, “I’ve a question for you about the tutor. Mr. Basu told me he enjoyed teaching you and your brother very much, but he’s having more trouble getting Prince Jiva Rao to keep up with his studies. I imagine that you remember what it was like to be his student. Do you think this trouble is due to the prince’s personality or the teacher’s style?”