The Satapur Moonstone Page 30

  “I will look at her, and then we will speak again.”

  As they entered the upper zenana hallway, Perveen saw that Princess Padmabai was standing uncertainly by herself outside her grandmother’s room. Seeing Perveen, she ran up and cried out, “What is wrong? Is Rajmata ill? None of the ladies will permit me inside!”

  “We are not sure what’s wrong. Rajkumari, kindly wait a little longer,” Perveen implored her.

  “I am princess. You must do as I say and let me in!” She stamped her foot just as her brother would have.

  Rama bowed deeply and brought his steepled hands to his forehead. Softly, he said, “Because you are the rajkumari, you are the best one to say prayers for the rajmata. Do you know her favorite deity?”

  “Shiva, the destroyer,” she answered promptly. “I know many prayers for Shiva-ji that Rajmata taught me. She let me make prayer and give prasad at the shrine in her parlor.”

  Perveen was grateful for Rama’s lead. “Please say your prayers for her at the parlor shrine. And we will come to pray with you very shortly.”

  Once the girl had stepped into the parlor, Perveen hurried into the bedroom, where the maharani was lying, surrounded by the same murmuring ladies.

  “She no longer breathes!” Archana wailed when the two of them entered.

  “Let him see what he can do,” Perveen said, ushering Rama in before he could be refused.

  Bowing his head, Rama put his hands together in namaste and proceeded toward the maharani on his damp feet. At the bedside, he first prostrated himself and touched the queen’s feet. Such formality seemed irrelevant at a time like this, but Perveen imagined it reassured the servants and ladies-in-waiting.

  It had been at least twenty minutes since she’d run from the room, and the queen did not look any better. Perveen no longer saw the rapid rise and fall of the maharani’s broad chest. She watched Rama take hold of the queen’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. His deeply lined face did not betray any emotion, and he didn’t answer any of the shouted questions about the queen’s welfare that came from the women.

  Rama pulled the silk sheet over the maharani’s chest and placed his hand over it as if feeling for a heartbeat. Looking at Perveen, he shook his head.

  As his fingers went to the queen’s temples, Perveen tried to calm herself. She remembered how he had used local plants to keep Colin alive. Surely he could use the same magic now.

  Looking up at her, he said, “We are too late. She has left this world.”

  Perveen bowed her head. She had thought the rajmata was bullheaded and ruthless, and most likely a murderer. The queen’s death was shocking. But Perveen did not feel true grief, because she had never seen a moment of kindness from the dowager to anyone around her. But she felt a deep sadness for the woman to have been so desperately unhappy. Perveen looked around the room of women, who were wailing and tearing at their hair and saris. They probably were feeling many emotions but had defaulted to an overdramatic reaction. Nobody wanted to appear disloyal.

  Perveen took a sideways look at Rama, wondering if he’d purposely taken time with his ablutions to cause a delay. If Rama had been unable to save the maharani’s life, his method of treatment could be blamed, leading to some kind of punishment, or at the very least social ostracization.

  No, she told herself. Rama was a brave, exemplary man. Such connivance was not in his character.

  Rama touched the queen’s temples again and looked into her ears and nose. He drew out an arm from underneath the sheet, and as he did so, there was a soft sound of something falling. He reached down and picked up a small gold snuffbox ornamented with a milky moonstone.

  “What is this?” he asked Swagata, who was standing closest to him.

  Swagata wiped tears from her eyes. “It looks like her husband’s snuffbox. He always used it. I did not know she had kept it.”

  Perveen watched as Rama placed the small container on the bedside table, thinking of Vandana’s cigarette case. Vandana hadn’t thought the dowager maharani smoked; but here she was using snuff.

  Very gently, he opened it, exposing its interior, which held traces of a grayish-brown powder.

  “Some hours earlier today, she asked to be alone to drink her cup of tea,” Archana said in a whisper.

  “Where is the dowager maharani’s teacup, please?” Rama asked.

  “Here.” Swagata pointed to the cup on the bedside table. Rama stared into the depths of the teacup, as if it held answers waiting to be heard. Then he picked up the dowager maharani’s right hand. On the thumb and two other fingertips were gray-brown smudges.

  “Look,” he said softly. “The same powder is on her fingers. From the color of her skin and the inside of her nose—and what you say about the heart beating too fast—it most likely is datura poisoning. But it does not lead to death in minutes. She could have started it earlier and then added more recently.”

  “The tea was fine. Others drank it with her.” A lady-in-waiting came forward holding two cups; her hands were shaking so much the cups rattled in their saucers.

  Perveen was full of questions but did not want to come off like she was the enemy. “It could be that she only added the datura to her own tea. Does anyone remember seeing the snuffbox with her before?”

  The group responded to her question with silence, but Perveen noted some of the women were looking downward as if afraid of being identified. At last Archana said, “Yesterday, before her morning prayers, she asked to go into a storeroom where she keeps some valuables. I brought her there.”

  “What did she take?” Perveen asked.

  Archana closed her eyes, as if trying to go back to the moment. “A number of things. Some jewelry, some boxes. I carried everything out at her direction.”

  “To this room?” Perveen was imagining the journey.

  “Of course.” The lady-in-waiting gave Perveen an irritated look.

  All of this action had taken place before Perveen had awoken to the special breakfast prepared for her. She asked, “What happened next?”

  “We went to the palace temple to pray.”

  “Straight there?” Perveen asked.

  As if suddenly remembering, Archana said, “She asked to stop in the kitchen first. That was unusual, because we do not eat before praying, but she said she had a gift for the cook. She told me to go somewhere while she spoke with him.”

  Perveen felt a ringing in her ears and put her hand on the wall to steady herself. Here was the proof to go with what the dowager had hinted at: she herself was the one who’d put poison in the breakfast food. She’d very likely kept the container with her and wound up taking the poison herself. The question was whether she had killed herself from despair over Jiva Rao’s disappearance, or for some other reason.

  “Are you feeling sickly?” Swagata asked, looking anxiously at Perveen. “Did you touch that powder?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “But for reasons of safety and evidence for the police, the maharani’s teacup and the snuffbox must be secured until the doctor arrives. Where can this be kept?”

  “Basu-sahib has a safe,” said Archana.

  Perveen had almost forgotten about the palace officer. He needed to know that the dowager maharani had been the palace’s poisoner so that he would not have any servants arrested.

  Perveen opened the door and nearly knocked over Princess Padmabai.

  “Is Rajmata still sick?” The princess’s eyes were large in her small face.

  “That was good of you to pray. I know how hard you tried. Your grandmother—” Perveen hesitated, not wanting to shock the child. “She became sick very suddenly. Rama tried to treat her, but she had already passed.”

  “Passed?” the little girl repeated, looking with confusion from Perveen to Rama. “Passed what?”

  “She has passed from this world,” Perveen said gently. “She has died
.”

  “Like Bandar!” Padmabai broke out into sobs. “It is not fair. Everyone is leaving me.”

  Perveen could not stop the child from rushing into the dowager’s bedchamber. Padmabai wailed and tugged at her grandmother, looking for a reaction. The maids rushed toward her, but Perveen held up a cautionary hand. She didn’t want Padmabai to be denied her last sight of her grandmother. Although the grandmother had been cross while Perveen had seen her, it was clear that the princess had loved her.

  Padmabai put her head against her grandmother’s pale cheek. Then she stepped back and looked at Perveen. Softly, the princess said, “In her next life, she will be a butterfly. She will be red and white, my favorite colors. And she will always flutter near me in the garden.”

  “Yes.” Perveen was touched by the child’s words. Hinduism gave everyone a second chance, a way to regain life, but in another form. And a butterfly was a good metaphor for the dowager, who had once loved parties, but never wanted to stray far from her property. “What a nice thing for her to become.”

  “Aai told me that Pratap Rao is the wind that roars at night. It means he is telling us he’s all right. And what about Wagh?” Her voice trembled as she spoke her brother’s nickname, the one only palace family members could speak. “Will he ever come back, or am I all alone?”

  “You will not be left alone. We cannot guess what God’s will is, but we will do our best to find both of them.” As Perveen finished speaking, she saw Rama give her a nod of approval. She felt bolstered knowing he was with her.

  “Yes, both of them.” Padmabai wiped tears from her eyes. “I want Aai. Where is she?”

  The princess had been using the ordinary Marathi word for “mother.” This touched Perveen’s heart. She put aside decorum and held out her hand to Padmabai. “Let’s look for her. I will take you on my horse, just like in a story.”

  After a moment, Padmabai took Perveen’s hand. Looking up at Perveen, the princess said, “And when Aai and Wagh see us, they will be proud.”

  23

  At the Lodge

  Perveen requested that Mr. Basu, Archana, and Swagata accompany her and Padmabai to the main gate. She wanted to make certain nobody would think she was taking the princess against her will. Also, Padmabai would see there were people who cared to wave back at her. What Perveen didn’t share was the small possibility Padmabai might not return to the palace, if Mirabai was declared dead. Then Perveen and Colin would become the princess’s guardians.

  Perveen knew this was because of legal precedent. Cornelia Sorabji, India’s first woman lawyer, had been guardian to a small number of orphaned princes and princesses. But although Perveen had developed affection for the little princess, the prospect of becoming a formal guardian was daunting. She took a deep breath and reminded herself not to let worries carry her away. Soon she’d be back in Bombay with a stack of boring contracts on her desk and her father nattering on in her ear.

  Perveen concentrated on the present as the group walked together through the old palace, crossing the courtyard and halls that had finally become a little more recognizable to her. They passed through the gatehouse, where the horses had been watered and were ready to leave.

  “Here is a document to give to Colin Sandringham when he arrives,” Perveen said, presenting the pages of writing she had torn out of her notebook and placed in a palace stationery envelope. “It explains the two areas where the prince might be: the forest toward the lodge and the vicinity of Prince Swaroop’s palace.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Basu said, turning over the envelope in his hands.

  “Also, as palace minister, do you have the authority to release Chitra from the palace jail? The princess and I wish to see her before we leave.”

  “Yes, I do have the right. Archana will kindly bring her.” The tutor turned to Archana, who looked defiant for a moment and then shrugged, turning around to proceed slowly through the gate into the old palace.

  Watching her leave, Mr. Basu said, “She was the dowager’s best friend. She is the one who will miss her the most.”

  Perveen thought about the way Archana had called out when the maharani had fallen ill, yet been so strangely resistant to medical help. “Archana may have known all her secrets, but in the end, I’m not sure she wished for the dowager’s survival.”

  “With duty comes fear,” Mr. Basu said, rubbing his damaged eyes. “I felt it myself teaching the children.”

  “Three generations of children. You saw it all,” she said sympathetically.

  “Yes.”

  “I have not asked you about someone in the palace who may have been a special friend to Maharaja Mahendra Rao.”

  “Which friend?” he asked absently.

  Perveen resolved to be careful not to give away anything about her theory that the dancer was still alive. “A dancer named Devani. The dowager had her removed from the palace.”

  He raised a cautionary finger. “She went away and returned.”

  “What do you mean?” Perveen was perplexed.

  “During the reign of Maharaja Mohan Rao, Devani went away for a regular holiday to her home village. But she did not come back after the month leave she’d been granted. We believed she had quit the palace. She was quite young—only fourteen or so—and was easily the best dancer in the group. Maharaja Mohan Rao sent a messenger to find her, and she was convinced to come back.”

  Perveen looked at Swagata. “I’m confused. The dowager told me she was sent off for good!”

  “She was gone during that time and came back just as Basu-sahib said,” Swagata interjected. “Then before Maharaja Mahendra Rao married, she was gone again and did not return.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Basu said. “In 1905. She was a threat to his engagement.”

  This was just as Perveen had heard from Chitra. She would have asked another question, but Padmabai had wandered toward the horses. With Ganesan tagging behind her.

  “Be careful you don’t get too close!” Perveen shouted, because she feared that Padmabai might get kicked.

  “Rama-ji is watching the horses for me,” Padmabai called back. “But there are only two. Which horse is mine?”

  Perveen went over to join her. “You and I will share riding the little spotted horse. Her name is Rani.”

  “Oh! She is a queen?”

  “Only the best for you, Rajkumari!” Perveen said with a smile.

  “My mother wants me to learn to ride,” Padmabai said, looking up trustingly at Perveen. “But Rajmata said I should not. I could fall off and break bones.”

  “I will carry you on my horse. I won’t let you fall,” Perveen promised, hoping this would prove true.

  Just then Chitra came running after them, sandals slapping against the hard stones. Swagata held out her arms. Her daughter ran straight into them.

  The reunion was beautiful. As Perveen watched the two, she made a silent prayer that Padmabai would experience the same.

  “Thank you,” Chitra said, stepping away from her mother to prostrate herself before Perveen. “Rajmata and the prince said I had to be locked up because I was an enemy to Satapur!”

  “You were very brave, Chitra. Please get up!” Perveen felt embarrassed to be treated like a ruler.

  As she bounded up to her feet, Chitra said, “Is it true that Rajmata has passed away?”

  “Yes. I saw it. It looks like it was suicide—a sin,” Swagata added heavily.

  Perveen had expected to see shock, but Chitra’s face broke into a smile.

  “Don’t look like that!” Swagata chided her daughter. “What do you think happens to us when there are no queens to serve? We could be sent into the fields like peasants.”

  “Oh no. The choti-rani is now becoming rajmata!” Chitra’s eyes glowed. “Because she is my mistress, I will become the head princess maid!”

  “Do not forget I am your
mother!” Swagata said, frowning at her.

  “We have no time for arguments.” Perveen didn’t like seeing how baldly power was used by servants as well as royals. Turning to the palace minister, she said, “Basu-sahib, I would be grateful if you could organize what needs to be done for Rajmata’s memorial service.”

  “I will do as I can, but it is a state event. And nothing can happen without Prince Swaroop. The son performs the rites for a mother.” Mr. Basu’s voice sounded confident, as if he was back in comfortable social terrain.

  Rama led Rani toward a marble mounting block, and Perveen used it to step up and seat herself on Rani. Chitra lifted the princess to sit in the front section of the saddle. Perveen took her own cashmere shawl to securely tie the little girl against her body. “I know you must take Padmabai, but Ganesan won’t leave. What shall we do?” Chitra looked anxiously at Perveen.

  The tall white dog paced around the horse, looking up at Padmabai and barking.

  “I hope he doesn’t bite the horse’s legs!” Perveen worried aloud.

  “He won’t hurt the horse. He wants to go along,” Swagata said, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder as if the boastful words of a few minutes earlier had been forgiven.

  Perveen knew she should be feeling easier in her mind. Putlabai was no longer able to exert her poisonous will. Her son Swaroop was a repugnant man, but there was no indication he’d kidnapped Jiva Rao. Her mind should not dwell on morbid thoughts but focus instead on the most efficient way to locate Prince Jiva Rao. Taking the reins in hand, she asked the palace assemblage, “But is Ganesan strong enough to follow us for miles?”

  “More than that! He used to hunt with the group,” said Mr. Basu, who had slowly made his way toward her.

  So there was no reason not to take the dog. Perveen looked down from her high perch to address Chitra. “Please get a rope to tie to his collar. Padmabai can hold on to it, and he will feel like he’s with her—and not chasing us.”