The Glass Palace (24 page)

‘Miss Dolly.'

She recognised the voice. It was that man, the visitor from Burma.

‘Miss Dolly.'

She turned on him, her temper rising. ‘How did you know my name?'

‘I heard . . .' He stopped to correct himself. ‘The truth is that it was you who told me your name.'

‘Impossible.'

‘You did. Do you not remember? That night, in the Glass Palace. You were the girl with the Princess. You must remember. I spoke to you, asked you your name.'

Dolly clapped her hands over her ears. ‘It's a lie. Every word of it. You've made it all up. Everything, every last word. There was not a line of truth in anything you said tonight. Min and Mebya were gods to the people of Mandalay. No one would have dared do the things you described . . . People cried when we were taken away.'

‘They did. That is true. But this too is true: the mob, the palace. I was there, and so were you. You must recall—that night in the palace, someone had snatched something from you—a box. I found it and gave it back. That was when you told me your name: Dolly. I can still hear your voice.'

She averted her face. ‘And you are here because of this? Because of what you saw that night at the palace?'

‘Yes.'

‘You've made a mistake, Mr Raha.' Her voice rose to a cry of plaintive denial. ‘It wasn't me you saw. It was someone else. Children change as they grow. I have no memory of what you describe. I was not there. There were many of us—girls working in the palace. Perhaps it was someone else. I don't know. It wasn't me. I was not there.'

‘I remember what I saw.'

‘How can you be sure? I remember nothing of that time. I have never wanted to. And you yourself were a boy, a child.' ‘But I still remember.'

‘And for that you came here looking for me?'

‘Miss Dolly, I have no family, no parents, no brothers, no sisters, no fabric of small memories from which to cut a large cloth. People think this sad and so it is. But it means also that I have no option but to choose my own attachments. This is not easy, as you can see. But it is freedom of a kind, and thus not without value.'

‘And what did you expect to find? Did you come here thinking to find me still a child? Someone who could take you back to your boyhood?'

‘I came because I could. Expecting nothing.'

Dolly fanned her face with her hands. She could smell the evening's fallen frangipani dying on the grass around her. ‘Mr
Raha.' She was calmer now, breathing more evenly. ‘You are a rich man, I am told—a successful man. You have evidently lived a colourful life. I am at a loss to understand what it is exactly that has brought you here. I should tell you that, as far as I am concerned, this is my home and I have no other. I have spent twenty years here. I lead a very simple, practical life. There is nothing in me or the life I lead that can be of the remotest interest to someone like yourself.'

‘I would like to say, with respect, that that is not for you to judge.'

‘Mr Raha, it is best that you leave now.'

‘I could not bring myself to leave without telling you that you had misunderstood me tonight at the dinner table. That is why I doubled back on my way out. I have come a long way. I could not leave on that note.'

A shadow appeared in the distance, framed against the drawing room's open window. It was Uma, calling out through cupped hands. ‘Where are you, Dolly? In the garden?'

Dolly lowered her voice. ‘Mr Raha, I am sorry if I said anything unjust or unkind. I am sure you meant no harm. But your coming here was a mistake and you would do best to put it behind you as quickly as possible. It is a pity that you have wasted so much time and effort.'

‘It was not a waste.'

‘There is nothing more to say Mr Raha.' Dolly joined together the palms of her hands. ‘I must go now. I do not think we shall meet again, but I wish you well.
Namaste
.'

The Queen received the Collector, as always, seated in her ornate black armchair, with her back to the door. Her face was a painted mask, her lips a sunburst of red. Her ivory skin seemed almost translucent in the dim candlelight. She was dressed in a htamein of red silk and her stockinged feet were enclosed in black slippers, embroidered with fraying threads of gold.

Gesturing to the Collector to seat himself, she began without preamble, speaking in Hindustani. ‘It is His Majesty the King's wish, Collector-sahib, that you be informed that our eldest daughter, Princess Ashin Hteik Su Myat Phaya Lat, is pregnant and that her confinement is perhaps just a week or two away. We would be grateful if you would convey the good news to your superiors in the Government of India.'

The Collector's first instinct was to correct her. ‘But Your Highness this cannot be, for the Princess has no husband.'

‘Not to your knowledge perhaps.'

‘This is not a matter of opinion,' said the Collector. ‘I have not issued a licence for the Princess's marriage. Therefore she cannot be legally married.'

The Queen was silent for a moment and then a slight smile appeared on her face.

‘Collector-sahib, you keep yourself so well informed. I'm surprised that none of your spies have ever thought to tell you that children can be born without a licence.'

‘So you mean the child . . .'

‘Yes. By your laws, the child will be a bastard.'

‘And the father?'

‘You've met him often.' She fixed him with an unwavering gaze. ‘He is our coachman, a fine young man.'

It was only now that the Collector began to grasp the full import of what she had said. ‘But what am I to report? What am I to tell the Government?'

‘You will convey what you have been told: you will say that our daughter is soon to have a child and that the father is our coachman, Sawant.'

‘But, Your Highness,' the Collector said, ‘consider the Princess's reputation, consider your standing in society.'

‘Our standing? And what exactly is that, Collector-sahib?' ‘Your husband is the King of Burma, albeit deposed. Your daughter is a Princess.'

‘I assure you, Collector-sahib, that you of all people need not trouble to remind us of this.'

He could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead. There
was still time, he told himself: the matter could be handled discreetly, without any inkling of it reaching the public. The young man could be persuaded to go quietly back to his village and family. If he made trouble, Mr Wright and his policemen would deal with him.

‘Your Highness, I beg you to reflect. Is it appropriate that a Princess of Burma should link herself to a household employee, a servant?'

A tiny, trilling laugh escaped the Queen's lips. ‘Collector-sahib, Sawant is less a servant than you. At least he has no delusions about his place in the world.'

The Collector stared at her. ‘I am frankly amazed,' he said, ‘that Your Highness should choose to make light of such a scandal.'

‘
Scandal
?' The Queen's eyes hardened as she repeated the English word. ‘You have the insolence to come here and speak to us of
scandals
? There is no
scandal
in what my daughter has done. The
scandal
lies in what you have done to us; in the circumstances to which you have reduced us; in our very presence here. What did my daughters ever do, Collector-sahib, that they should have to spend their lives in this prison? Did they commit a crime? Were they tried or sentenced? We have heard so many lectures from you and your colleagues on the subject of the barbarity of the Kings of Burma and the humanity of the Angrez; we were tyrants you said, enemies of freedom, murderers. The English alone understand liberty, we were told; they do not put kings and princes to death; they rule through laws. If that is so, why has King Thebaw never been brought to trial? Where are these laws that we hear of? Is it a crime to defend your country against an invader? Would the English not do the same?'

The Collector knew that the appropriate response was to make a gesture of protest, a show of indignation. But under the Queen's hard-eyed scrutiny he was unable to find the right words.

‘Your Highness,' he said at last, ‘I am not your enemy. On the contrary I have acknowledged to you many times that I
believe your grievances to be well-founded. The matter unfortunately is not in my hands. Please believe me when I say that I have only your best interests at heart. It is solely out of concern for you and your family that I am requesting you to reconsider your decision to accept this man—this coachman— into your family. I implore you, Your Highness, to think of how the public will view this—of the damage to your family's reputation.'

The Queen tilted her head. ‘We are not public servants, Collector-sahib. To us the opinions of people at large are a matter of utter indifference.'

‘I see your mind is made up.'

‘Shame on you, Collector-sahib, that you should presume to judge the conduct of my children; shame on you that you should have the effrontery to come into this house and speak to me of scandal.'

The Collector rose to his feet. ‘Your Highness, may I mention one last consideration? I do not expect it to weigh very greatly with you, but I feel that I have the right none the less, to bring it to your attention. You should be aware that if this matter becomes public, as your custodian-in-chief it is I, in all likelihood, who will bear the blame. Indeed it would almost certainly mean the end of my tenure here as Collector.'

‘I assure you, Collector-sahib'—the Queen laughed—‘we are well aware of this.' She laughed again, raising a tiny hand to cover her mouth. ‘I am sure you will find a way to preserve yourself. Public officials usually do. If not you'll have only yourself to blame.'

There was nothing more to say. With a few mumbled words of regret the Collector excused himself from the Queen's presence. On his way out, he spotted Sawant coming out of the gatehouse. He could hear a woman's voice, calling out from within. Walking past the door, eyes discreetly averted, he caught a whiff of the hot, damp air inside. He quickened his pace. Was this where they cohabited then, the coachman and the First Princess, in that tiny hutch of a room? A profusion of images welled up before his eyes: Sawant, leaning on the
doorpost, stroking his oiled moustache, beckoning to the girl with a smile; the Princess, stealing in through an unlatched door while the rest of the household lay asleep; the rank little room, reeking of sweat and echoing to their muffled cries; the creaking of a
charpai.

He hurried into his gaari, calling impatiently to Kanhoji, ‘
Chalo! Jaldi chalo, jaldi,
to the Residency, quickly.' He leant out of the gaari's window, breathing hard, but even the cool night air could not clear his nostrils of the smell of that room. Was this love then: this coupling in the darkness, a princess of Burma and a Marathi coachman; this heedless mingling of sweat?

And the Queen, with her snapping black eyes? He had heard it said once that she had always really loved Thebaw. But what could they possibly know of love, of any of the finer sentiments, these bloodthirsty aristocrats, these semi-illiterates who had never read a book in all their lives, never looked with pleasure upon a painting? What could love mean to this woman, this murderer, responsible for the slaughter of scores of her own relatives? And yet it was a fact that she had chosen captivity over freedom for the sake of her husband, condemned her own daughters to twenty years of exile. Would Uma do the same for him? Would anyone? He shivered, stretching out his arms to steady himself against the sides of the carriage.

At the Residency, Uma was waiting up. She came running to the door to let him in, waving the servants away. ‘What happened? What did she say? Tell me.'

‘Where's Dolly?' the Collector asked.

‘She was tired. She went straight to bed.'

‘Come.'

The Collector led her to their bedroom and shut the door. ‘You knew. Didn't you?'

‘About what?'

‘Uma, whatever I am, I'm not a fool. I'm talking about the Princess's pregnancy.'

Uma sat down on the edge of their mosquito-netted bed, averting her gaze.

‘So you knew, didn't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Dolly told you?'

‘Yes.'

‘And it never occurred to you to tell me? That this might be a matter of some importance? That it would have consequences for me?'

‘How could I tell you? I promised not to.'

He came to stand beside her, looking down at her lowered head.

‘And your promise to Dolly meant more than the bond between us, you and me?' He reached for her hands and took them gently into his own. ‘Look at me, Uma. Why could you not trust me? Have I ever betrayed you, in any way? Did you think I would not be discreet?'

‘I promised.'

He stared at her in bemusement. ‘You've known of this for days, perhaps months. We were together all that time. Did you never once feel the desire to talk of this with me? Not as the Collector of Ratnagiri, not even as your husband, but just as a companion, someone in whose company you spend your days?'