Ryman, Rebecca (12 page)

For
a moment Olivia was rendered speechless. The Maharaja's name had not been on
her guest list, nor had her aunt made mention of him. Never having met royalty,
much less Oriental royalty, she was thrown off balance. In some confusion she
dropped a hasty curtsy and hoped that it would do. In response, the Maharaja
folded his hands in the traditional Indian greeting, bowed courteously and
smiled. "I am indeed delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss O'Rourke.
Yes, I am an admirer of your country. It appears to me a nation in which the
first requisite is courage, the second hard work—am I correct?" His
English was curiously accented but fluent.

Olivia
pulled a deep breath. "If we seem to have courage, Your Highness, then it
is by God's grace. But yes, we do all need
to work hard. Life in my country is
still demanding and often precarious."

He
nodded in approval. "Nevertheless, God's grace is often a euphemism for
sheer elbow-grease, is it not?"

"Yes,
I guess you could say that!" They shared a small laugh and Olivia's
shyness started to wane. Despite his awesome regalia and formal bearing, he
seemed extremely congenial. "In our own little ways, we all have to
contribute to the process of nation building."

"Ah,
nation building." He flicked what was undoubtedly an imaginary speck of
something off the front of his splendid scarlet and gold brocade coat that
reached down to his knees. "The processes are complex, Miss O'Rourke, but
they are also greatly invigorating. From what I have learned of your country, I
have no doubt you will attain all your lofty goals in time." He paused to
adjust the gold cummerbund at his waist from which hung a jewelled scabbard.
"As, perhaps, some day we will too."

Olivia
wondered if those last few words constituted a political double entendre meant
for the benefit of his colonial host, who was listening intently to the
exchange. She quickly filled the gap with an inquiry. "Does Your Highness
have first-hand knowledge of America?"

"Sadly
no. I have not yet had the good fortune to visit your country. But I do meet
many American visitors here, such as yourself, and I take pleasure in reading
your newspapers even though several months old."

"And
then, of course," Sir Joshua entered the conversation for the first time,
"Your Highness does employ American engineers at the mine."

There
was a noticeable pause. "Indeed. But they will not be here much longer.
Our own men have been trained with sufficient competence to take charge
shortly." He took another appreciative sip of his whisky. "An
excellent malt, Sir Joshua. I compliment you on your choice. But I see that you
are making me drink alone."

At
a snap of Sir Joshua's fingers, a bearer sprang forward to serve him a whisky
and Olivia a frosted sorbet. Sir Joshua raised his glass. "To your health,
Your Highness, and to the continued prosperity of your mine." The Maharaja
acknowledged the toast with a gracious inclination of his head. The slight
gesture caused the light of a Chinese lantern to catch in the jewelled ruby
brooch affixed to his yellow ochre turban and its sudden spark of fire so
dazzled Olivia that she had to squint her eyes. "I have learned
that the
Kirtinagar mine is already considered to have better potential than
Raniganj?" Sir Joshua's comment was casual but his forehead was beaded
with perspiration.

"Yes.
Excavations and predictions are encouraging."

If
Sir Joshua was even aware of his royal guest's reluctance to talk of the
subject, he chose to ignore it. Instead he continued to ply him with questions,
all of which the Maharaja answered readily but with replies that were
noncommittal. It seemed to Olivia, as she listened in interested silence, that
his quietly dark Eastern eyes against a complexion of ripening wheat were alert
and that his medium height and slender build gave him a mildness that was
deceptive. Beneath the immaculate courtesy there was still arrogance, the
manner of one born to power, of generations of controlled breeding that had
perpetuated forever strict codes of ethics, honour and chivalry. The very
casualness with which the Maharaja's fingers rested lightly on the bejewelled
handle of his sword was that of a man who took for granted his destiny to rule
over others.

"The
very first Indian-owned and operated coal mine is of prime interest to the
merchant community, Your Highness," Sir Joshua was saying. "I have no
doubt Your Highness, with his reputed business acumen, is already aware of
that. The project shows considerable foresight on your part, Your Highness,
especially since it can be of mutual benefit."

Olivia's
interest quickened. So this was the native prince who would "sell his
mother" if pleasured well and if the price was right! Observing Arvind
Singh now, Olivia wondered. His concentration was flatteringly close as he
listened; but even though it was Sir Joshua who was doing most of the talking,
in some strange, subtle way it was the Maharaja who seemed to control the
conversation. The man, Olivia decided, was shrewd.

"How
soon does Your Highness propose to make the coal commercially available in
Calcutta's markets?" Sir Joshua asked with just a hint of impatience,
since Arvind Singh's reaction to his compliments remained bland.

"That
is difficult to say, Sir Joshua. You see, I am not yet certain that it will be
made commercially available. I am anxious to introduce industries within
Kirtinagar, and my domestic requirements might not allow for any surplus."
The smile that accompanied the blunt declaration was one of continued
graciousness.

Sir
Joshua's jaw tightened perceptibly. "A British consortium would be willing
to offer extremely favourable terms that
might help considerably in, for
instance . . . ," he took a sip of whisky and allowed a minim to pass,
"... Your Highness's irrigation project. Naturally, part payment would be
made in advance."

For
the first time, interest flickered in the Maharaja's hooded brown eyes as he
fingered his clean-shaven chin and reflected. "You already have such a
consortium, Sir Joshua?"

"Yes.
A draft agreement is in the process of being approved."

"How
would Company Bahadur react to the idea?"

"Favourably.
They are as hungry for coal as we are."

For
another moment the Maharaja stared at his exquisitely tooled gold leather shoes
heavy with embroidery and turned up at the toes. "Very well." The
sudden decisiveness sounded characteristic. "I would like to see the draft
at your convenience, Sir Joshua. And now," he dismissed the subject and
turned to Olivia, "I must ask forgiveness for having neglected you, Miss
O'Rourke. We men have an incorrigible habit of sacrificing etiquette to mundane
business, which is inexcusable." He drained his glass and a uniformed
aide-de-camp materialised to claim the empty goblet. The Maharaja declined
politely as Sir Joshua ordered a renewal. "It is kind of you to have
indulged my weakness for Glenmorangie, Sir Joshua, but in whisky drinking—if
not in other matters—one must bow to the wisdom of one's wife. The Maharani
disapproves of excesses."

It
was said shyly and with such boyish guilelessness that they all laughed and the
atmosphere became once again convivial. The gentle dismissal contained in the
Maharaja's apology to Olivia, Sir Joshua took in his stride, too buoyant to
care. "Well, if I may now leave Your Highness in Olivia's splendidly
capable hands, there are duties to which I must attend as a host or Lady Bridget
will be extremely cross." He bowed and backed away.

Thoughtfully,
the Maharaja watched the distinguished, imposing form till it merged with the
crowd. "An admirable gentleman, Miss O'Rourke. And a determined one. I am
flattered by the honour Sir Joshua and his colleagues do me as pillars of Her
Majesty's enterprise in the colonies." Whether or not there was sarcasm in
the remark Olivia could not say, because his expression was quite serious.
Then, swiftly, he cast Sir Joshua and his colleagues aside. "Now tell me,
Miss O'Rourke, how do you consider the chances of Mr. Zachary Taylor in the
elections? Is he likely to get the better of Mr. Cass and Mr. Van Buren in this
significant contest when for the first time all your States will vote
simultaneously?"

Olivia
was amazed. "Your Highness keeps in touch with our American presidential
politics?"

"Why
not?" By tacit consent they had started to stroll along the paved path
that adjoined the embankment wall. Although no one approached, the curious eyes
watching were many. Whatever English opinion about native princes in private,
in public they aroused keen interest. Not only did the rulers wield enormous
power over their subjects, but in some cases their kingdoms were larger than
England and certainly richer. "Politics are politics no matter what their
nationality, Miss O'Rourke," Arvind Singh continued, "mainly because
everywhere people are people. Yes, through friends I do maintain an interest in
presidential power play. But you have not answered my question."

"Well,
my father believes that Mr. Taylor has the better chances. He might not be a
seasoned politician, but he is known as a good soldier and his victory at Buena
Vista has already made him a national hero. The Whigs chose him because he
appeals to the common people." She smiled. "They call him Old Rough
and Ready. I guess that is as good a selling slogan as any."

The
Maharaja, listening closely, nodded. "But is he not also a slave owner?
How will he rationalise that when admitting new States into the Union on a
free-or-slave basis?"

Olivia
made a face. "He will change his stance, Papa thinks. In politics, Papa
says, only fools keep principles lifelong. The wise stick only to
expediency." Quickly she added, "He doesn't mean that as a
compliment. Papa has not much respect for politicians."

Arvind
Singh laughed. "Your father is, of course, right. In fact, I must remember
that observation when I wish to appear wise before my counsellors. I am told
that your father is a highly regarded writer."

"Yes.
Did my uncle mention that?"

He
stopped and rubbed the tip of his nose with a forefinger. "No. It was told
to me by a friend who informs me that Calcutta is a village in which everything
becomes known to everyone sooner or later."

Olivia's
breath knotted. It was not difficult to guess to whom he referred. Her steps
too halted in their tracks. "I . . . see." Lightly, she asked,
"May I ask who that friend might be?"

"I
believe you have already met him. His name is Jai Raventhorne."

The
turn of the conversation was so unexpected that Olivia was again thrown off
balance. Raventhorne had actually spoken
of her to the Maharaja? Why? In what
context? "Oh yes, so I have." She kept her gaze fixed steadily on the
river. Even though details of her uncle's argument with Arthur Ransome that
night now became clear in her memory, she asked, "Mr. Raventhorne is known
to Your Highness?"

He
did not answer at once. In fact, he took an inordinate amount of time over a
question that Olivia had asked with deliberate offhandedness. "Jai
Raventhorne is not known to anybody, Miss O'Rourke, maybe not even to himself.
But as far as it is possible to know him, yes, he is known to me."

That
made her smile. "But Mr. Raventhorne believes that nobody ever truly knows
anyone else!"

"In
the final analyses, I suppose he is right."

Unexpected
or not, the drift of the conversation was too tempting a prospect not to
explore further a man who had strangely dominated Olivia's thoughts over the
past weeks. Surprising herself with her forwardness, she asked, "Since Your
Highness does know him as a friend, does Mr. Raventhorne deserve the hideous
reputation he has with the European community?"

"Certainly.
He not only deserves it, he enjoys it. In fact, Jai is flattered by the list of
charges the Europeans prefer against him. Indeed, he works hard to extend it.
That his efforts are recognized is a matter of great satisfaction to him."

Whether
or not the Maharaja spoke in jest, Olivia was nonplussed. "But why?"
Nervously, she cast a glance over her shoulder to ensure that they were not
within listening distance of anyone. Even so, her pulse raced. "Why should
any man enjoy being known as a reprobate and a rogue?"

The
Maharaja shrugged, amused by her bewilderment.
"Why
is not a
question that can be asked of Jai Raventhorne, Miss O'Rourke. His motives are
as obscure as the man himself."

Olivia
frowned and shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't understand—"

"I
wonder if it is even worth trying to," he interrupted quietly. Some subtle
signal must have been made, because an aide emerged suddenly out of nowhere to
present the Maharaja with a prettily enamelled silver snuff-box held
deferentially in one palm balanced upon the other. Taking from it a delicate
pinch, the Maharaja dabbed each nostril with a red silk handkerchief into which
he then received a subdued sneeze. "You must forgive my little
indulgence," he apologised with a half smile. "It is an unfortunate
addiction but I choose to believe a harmless one." They
continued their
stroll in silence for a while before the Maharaja picked up the thread of their
conversation. "Jai is my dearest friend. There is no man I admire quite as
much, for he has the courage to wage war on the gods themselves. But," his
footsteps halted as he shook his head sadly, "sometimes I am convinced
that Jai Raventhorne is utterly . . . insane."