Flowers in the Blood (56 page)

“Is he your favorite?”

“No, look over there!” In a far pen, a single female was sitting in a deep pool, showering herself with arcs of water. “Some of the mahouts think she may be expecting a calf. In any case, she is a magnificent specimen. Young and yet fully grown, and with the sweetest face I have ever seen. What do you think of those adorable eyes? She was very balky at first, but I think we can win her over.”

“She is splendid,” I agreed. I thought the creature emanated an eerie understanding of her position as she stared back at us.

He patted his mount's flank. “She reminds me of old Shankara here. That is why I have decided to give her to my nephew, the boy who will become the next maharajah.” Amar turned to me as if his decision required my approval.

“Your nephew should be thrilled.”

“He's too young to understand, but my sister will be pleased. Mothers . . . sisters . . . they keep a man busy, don't they?”

Once again he had not mentioned his wife or his new baby. Then it occurred to me the maharani had not said anything about the birth of her granddaughter either. Had I made an error in etiquette by not offering my congratulations first? I could remedy that now. “How is your daughter?” I asked.

“A scrawny child who hardly sleeps.”

“Has your wife recovered?”

“I believe she has.”

His flatness disturbed me. “I would like to see the baby. Is that permitted?”

“Yes, if that is your fancy.” He saw my confused expression and tilted his head. “You must remember, this little girl has no status. She is not a princess, which is really a blessing. In Travancore a maharajah's daughter has all the advantages and none of the responsibilities.”

“Then you are happy about her birth.”

“Of course, why shouldn't I be?” He seemed distracted by something the elephant in the pen did, then turned his attention back to me. “Now, I require your help on an important matter. What am I going to name her?”

“How can I help with that?”

“Surely you have some ideas for names. Most women do. I wanted something different. What would be a good Jewish name for a female?”

“You would not want the daughter of a maharajah to have a Jewish name, would you?”

Amar roared with laughter. “I am not talking about the baby. I am talking about the elephant!”

The switch stunned me. When I recovered, I spoke evenly. “We use mostly biblical names like Ruth, Esther, Hannah.”

“Who was Dinah?”

“The daughter of Jacob and Leah.”

“Does it have a meaning?”

“In Hebrew, it means something like 'vindicated.' “

“That hardly sounds suitable for a lovely woman. What would you have to resolve or avenge?”

My heart pounded. I had never thought of my name having anything to do with my life. It was pleasant, euphonious, went well in both the English and Baghdadi communities. It had the same lyrical ending as Luna and Flora, tying me into the female line of my family. Could my name have been an omen for the future?

The maharajah was still speaking to me, but I stared at him without answering, again unsettled by his resemblance to Sadka. At that moment, riding atop a maharajah's elephant across the subcontinent from Calcutta, I realized how far I had come from my childhood pledge to search out Nissim Sadka and make him pay. How ridiculous that cry of revenge seemed now. Men like Sadka and Amar did as they pleased, and no one ever punished them. All I could do was avoid people like them in the future.

Amar's voice became more insistent. “I could name the elephant Dinah.”

“Oh, no!” I shouted so loudly that Shankara flapped her winglike ears.

“I was not serious.”

I blanched.

“Any other suggestions?” As I shook my head, he persisted: “Who was the leader of the Jews?”

“There were Abraham and Moses . . .”

“Did they have wives?”

“Moses was married to Zipporah.”

“Zipporah. I like that. A proud name, a strong name. Thank you for the idea.”

My head was beginning to pound. I wished I hadn't come after all. Even though the maharajah's behavior had been gentlemanly, once again I had ended up feeling agitated in his presence.

“I am pleased I could be of assistance. Now I must return to see how Mrs. Clifford is faring.”

“Yes, of course. My mother told me she was not well.”

I was amazed how quickly my message had been passed on. Amar must have been told of my visit to the maharani moments after I left her wing of the palace. I reminded myself not to assume that either kept secrets from the other.

The maharajah signaled his mahout to cajole Shankara onward. When we came around to the side of the building, one of his red-turbaned guards gave a peculiar salute that Amar acknowledged with a cheerful bob of his head. I had expected we would return to the others by the central pen, but instead we headed down a slope that led to the riverbank. Was this another trick to get me to himself? When a second soldier raised his arm, I looked at Amar for an explanation. He kept his eyes resolutely forward. I was a prisoner on his howdah. He could take me anywhere he wished, for any purpose. My panic mounted as the elephant stopped at the top of the embankment, where stone steps led down to a ghat.

“I thought you would prefer to be alone now,” he said in a voice so low and garbled I did not understand him at first.

Alone? With him? Here by the water? What was going on? Fully aware of my confusion, he watched me squirm before he gestured to the. riverbank, where the launch we had traveled in from Cochin to Travancore was tied to the bank. Two of the same oiled oarsmen stood about on the wharf. As if: on cue, they parted to reveal a tall, solitary figure.

Edwin!

Edwin had come back!

38

 

T
he ship is glorious. She is everything I had hoped to find and more,” Edwin was saying after we had been reunited a few hours. The agony of the weeks he was away dissolved as easily as a lump of sugar in a cup of boiling liquid. He smelled the same. He tasted the same. He loved me as never before.

Naked and unashamed, I stretched out beside him and stroked his arms, his chest, his face. “I have never been so happy.”

“No? I shall have to go away more often, since reunions please you so much.”

“One doesn't inflict pain to experience the relief at its cessation.”

“Maybe that is what being a.
fakir
is about.”

“Buy me a bed of nails and I will lie on it, if you will promise you will never leave again.”

“You missed me.”

“Horribly.”

“Didn't the Cliffords do their part?”

“Nobody can do your part.”

“I hear Amar staged an elephant hunt to keep you occupied.”

“Having scores of elephants overrunning plantations might have had something to do with it.”

“I am sorry to have missed it.” Edwin sat up abruptly. “You haven't let me tell you about our ship.”

“Tell me about it.” I sat up and faced him. “How big is it?”

“Two hundred and ninety-one feet in length, a little more than thirty-seven feet in breadth, and twenty-seven feet in depth.”

“That large!” I pressed my bare chest against his. “How old is she?”

“She was built in 1882 in Newcastle.”

“And of what is she made?”

“Iron. She's a sturdy craft.”

“Iron. Hmmm.” I reached between his legs and stroked him.

“Dinah . . .” He made only the thinnest protest as I pushed him onto his back and straddled his flanks.

“I like big, hard ships . . .”

“Poor darling, I do not think I dare ever leave you again,” he said, clasping my buttocks and pinning me to him. I marveled at how quickly the sensations returned. The lightest touch of a nipple, the wetness of his tongue on my neck, the press of his pelvis joining with mine, and I fell into a swirling vortex, falling, falling beyond caring if I ever reached bottom.

Afterward, his deep eyes blazed with the most tender of emotions as he slipped out of me. I thought he was about to cry. “What's the matter?”

“I do love you beyond reason. While I was away, I thought of nothing else but this.”

“Nothing matters as long as we are together.” I flung one leg over his and moved to press myself against him.

He pushed me away slightly. “We don't want to get sore again, do we?”

At that I loosened my grip. “All right, you win. Tell me more about our vessel.”

“She's wonderfully suited to our task. She has one main deck and a spar deck. The balance is devoted to cargo space.”

“Where did you find her?”

“In Bombay. She is—or shall I say, was—owned by a man called Ong Ken Ho of Singapore. He ran into some difficulties and hadn't paid his fees in Bombay. That is how I heard she was for sale. I met his agents and they accepted my second offer.”

“What did it cost?” I asked gently.

“Forty thousand.”

“That much!”

“Initially I offered thirty and bought her for thirty-five, but she had work done on her boilers recently and I had to pay off those debts before the shipyard would release her.”

“Does she need further repair?”

“Nothing besides the conversion for our purposes.”

“How much will that run?”

“Maybe another five thousand, less if we're lucky.”

“That means we'll have five thousand remaining, plus my grandmother's money,” I said as I calculated our financial position aloud.

“Don't forget we have to get her over to Europe and back.”

“Won't Amar be paying those expenses?”

“We cannot charge for the journey over if we won't be hauling anything for him.”

“What a waste for the ship to travel empty all that way.”

“I won't let that happen. On my way here I spoke to Uncle Elisha about investing in wood and spices to sell on the other side. That means an additional risk, since we don't have purchase contracts yet.”

“If we buy the goods right, we surely can profit.”

“My feelings exactly, but I have to look into the matter more carefully. This is rather new to me.”

“And to me,” I reminded him. “No matter what, we are in this together.”

“Good. I hoped you would say that. We can go over my preliminary figures later.”

“How much will Amar pay for the return trip?”

“He wants the entire space for himself and special padding and crating. After talking to other shipowners, I've determined that a fair price—including a premium for the additional services—would be about twenty thousand rupees. And he's offering a five-thousand-rupee bonus if the ship returns ahead of schedule.”

“Even without the bonus, that would be an excellent return.” I smiled serenely. A few moments later I had thought we were down to zero. Now our imaginary balance sheet contained a small fortune in silver in one column and the deed to a huge ship in the other. What a clever man I had married! I gave him a wet kiss and jumped up.

He pulled me down and held; me fast. “Wait, I haven't told you about the engines.”

“I have to go—talk quickly.”

“If s a beauty. A three-hundred-horsepower, ninety pound, two-cycle steam engine from Glasgow.”

“Sounds lovely. Now I must—” He loosened his grip. I really did have to make my way to the bathroom, so I rushed from the room.

“Don't you want to know her name?” he called after me.

After I had relieved myself, I replied, “Of course. What is it?”

“The
Normanton.”

“That doesn't sound very exciting.”

“I did not think so either. That is why I have rechristened her.”

I paused in the doorway of the room, thinking that I might have enjoyed selecting the name with him. I forced my voice to sound neutral. “What did you choose?”

“I wanted to honor you.” He beamed at me expectantly.

What a coincidence! Amar had almost named an elephant after me, and now I would have my name on a ship. “You didn't call her 'Dinah'?”

“No, I hope you don't mind. Your name is too precious to plaster on a ship and send it off to sea.” He watched my reaction closely. “I picked the next-best one.”

“Yes?”

“I named her the
Luna Sassoon
, in memory of your mother.”

“Oh, no!” I gripped the doorway.

Perplexed, he stared at me. “What is the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I . . . I am overwhelmed . . .”

“You never mention your mother. I supposed that is because her death was such a terrible shock for you as a child. Don't you think the time has come for her to live on as a noble memory?”

Beyond the veil of my misting eyes, Edwin sat among the white sheets like a magical guru who could dispel bad dreams. When he stretched out his arms to me, I stumbled into them and began to cry.

“You are pleased, aren't you?”

“Oh, Edwin!” was all I could reply until I sorted out the conflicting feelings that tumbled inside. A few hours earlier, Amar's query about the origin of my name had unleashed churning emotions. Was this the salve to soothe the wound?

He stroked my hair and with each long, firm sweep of his gentle hand calmed my fears. First he had healed my heart when he came into my life and rescued me from the disaster of Silas and my predicament as my mother's daughter. Now he had brought an even more precious gift: a chance to right the wrongs against my mother, if not as direct vengeance on her killer, then as a way to give her memory esteem. There might not have been a grave marker with the words “Luna Sassoon” on them, but a great ship would carry her name halfway around the world.

“Then you approve?”

I squeezed him more tightly, hoping he would take that for his answer.

This did not satisfy him. “Well?”

“A noble gesture . . . I adore you for thinking of it.”

“She will make our fortune,” he said confidently.

I closed my eyes and willed his words to be true, and yet . . . and yet I could not stop thinking that anything named Luna Sassoon had to be doomed.

 

After Edwin's return, the maharajah seemed to lose interest in us. Perhaps our passion annoyed him, or his own wife's recovery from childbirth had made her more appealing. Perhaps his official duties consumed his time. Whatever the reason, we were not summoned to the palace more than once a week, and our seats were no longer among the most favored. Even the Cliffords, who continued to live with us since they had not been invited back to the residency, were relegated to very minor positions.

One evening after a light supper at the Orchid House, Dennis explained that the political situation was not going as he had predicted. “I thought Amar would have replaced his uncle's dewan with one from his own younger set. Now I perceive that if Amar changes the guard now, he will have to concentrate on reorganizing his government. The easier course of maintaining the status quo gives him time to pursue his own diversions.”

“Would those be mathematics or astronomy or elephants or . . . ?” Edwin winked and waved for Hanif to pour more wine.

Dennis shot a glance toward his wife. She tasted her freshened glass of wine and smiled knowingly. “Dennis, darling, do you think palace gossip stops at the smoking-room door?”

“Not at all. Perhaps you could enlighten us?” Her husband chuckled.

“I have heard there is a mysterious woman who takes much of his time and leaves the maharajah fewer hours to entertain people like us,” Jemima replied in an offhand manner.

“You sound envious,” her husband teased.

“Only because the Shish Mahal is going to waste.”

“Has Amar been entertaining there?” Edwin asked with a tinge of trepidation in his tone.

“We went once. The place is dazzling!” Jemima said breathlessly.

“The lights made me ill,” I replied testily. “He and his new friend, whoever she may be, are welcome to it.”

Dennis drained his own glass before steering us back to his point. “Frankly, it comes as a shock to me. Not even the professor gave me so much as a hint.”

“Now, Dennis, affairs of the heart are hardly matters of state,” his wife said to break his sullen mood. “At least Amar was discreet until the child was born.”

“I can see this comes as a bit of a jolt,” Edwin offered sympathetically. “When I returned, I expected the viceroy would have retired Sir Mortimer in your favor. I suppose he and the old dewan have worked together for so long that if one stays, the other will also.”

“That appears to be the position.”

“Are you disappointed?” Edwin asked.

Dennis stared at his empty glass. “Life in Trivandrum does have its charms, but as you know, I have always been keen on the possibilities of Quilon. That ship of yours could find it a comfortable berth for a home port.”

“And speaking of port . . . or would you prefer sherry?” Edwin waved for Hanif to serve the fortified wine.

Jemima and I went to check on the children while the men launched into plans to have a pier built as a way to attract larger ships to Quilon.

The following week the Cliffords decided to return to their residency. After they left, we made plans to visit Cochin for a few weeks, then Edwin would make a final trip to Bombay to approve the conversion of our ship. I had long ago decided I would rather be at Mother Esther's beck and call than the maharajah's. Before leaving Trivandrum, we visited the maharani, who thanked us for our kindness “during our difficult time of transition,” and the maharajah, who called us “Winner” and “Sassy” with affection, but seemed distant nevertheless. We agreed we would return in time to welcome the
Luna Sassoon
to Travancore and to oversee the unloading of her cargo. Then we departed for the north along with Percy Dent, who was going to sail for Europe to acquire the furniture. After supervising the packing, he would return on the
Luna Sassoon.

“Posh both ways,” I promised the professor. “You'll have your choice of any cabin on our ship.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” he said, his eyes twinkling at the prospect of his great adventure with the maharajah's bottomless treasury to spend.

After our arrival in Cochin, we were pleased to find Mother Esther in robust health. She insisted the professor be her guest while in Cochin. Edwin and I took up residence in our cottage, where we were blissfully happy because it was ours alone.

When Edwin had returned from his journey to Trivandrum, he had brought a packet of letters from my family that had been delivered to Cochin and never forwarded because Mother Esther claimed, “I expected you to return at any moment.” Sitting in the Orchid House garden so far away from Calcutta, I was comforted to learn that nothing much had changed. Grandmother Helene wrote that she was well and that the family had lost interest in marrying off Ruby, at least for the moment. My father discussed sending the four boys to different schools “. . . so each might find his own way in the world. Zilpah and I would welcome Edwin's ideas of where might be most appropriate for each, since he has had experience at so many.” Zilpah had filled in with the tidbits that women like to know, concluding with the news that Cousin Sultana was expecting again. I had written to everyone and told them about Travancore, the maharajah, the elephant hunt, and Cochin, but, following Edwin's directives, omitted anything about the ship.