Last Kashmiri Rose

Chapter 1 Bengal 1910 The night before her sixth birthday Midge Prentice woke under her mosquito net and breathed the familiar smells of a hot Indian night. There was the smell of wet khaskhas mats hanging across the doors and windows to keep out the heat of early summer, sweet and musty; there was the smell of the jasmine which grew over the bungalow; there was the bass accompaniment inseparable from India of drains and of dung. But tonight there was something else. Sharp and acrid, it was the smell of smoke. Midge sat up and looked about her. Running across the ceiling of her room there was a flickering reflection of flames. She struggled out of her mosquito net and, barefoot, stood down on the floor. She called for her father and then remembered he was away in Calcutta. She called for her mother but it was Ayah who answered her call. "Come with Ayah, now, Missy Baba," she said urgently. "Come swiftly. Be silent!" Ayah gathered her up. "Put your arms round me and hold tight. Very tight. Put your feet on mine and we'll walk together as we used to when you were a baby and then the bad, bad men won't see my Missy Baba. If I hide you under my sari they'll just think that Ayah has another baby on the way." She swept silky folds over Midge's head and they set off to waddle together towards safety. They had often done this before; it had been a game of her infancy. It was called "elephant walk backwards" and now this clumsy game was to save her life. Midge caught brief glimpses of Ayah's sandalled feet and was aware of others milling protectively about them and then they were in the open air. They were free of the bungalow. Men's voices--Indian voices--shouted harshly, shots rang out, a woman's scream was abruptly cut short and then the roar of the fire as it took hold of the thatch grew deafening. But then, gravel was crunching under Ayah's feet and she stopped. "Sit here," she said. "Sit here and keep quiet. Don't move. Be hidden." And she tucked Midge away amongst the rank of tall earthenware pots overflowing with bougainvillea and zinnia. In the mess, half a mile away, Jonno crossed and uncrossed his legs under the table and with a slightly unsteady hand poured himself a glass of port and passed the decanter. He was thinking--he was often thinking--of Dolly Prentice, or, more formally, Mrs Major Prentice. He was sure he hadn't imagined that, as he had helped her into her wrap after the gymkhana dance, she had leant back against him, not obviously but perceptibly. Yes, surely perceptibly. And his hands had rested on her shoulders, slightly moist because it had been a hot night, and there had been a warm female scent. What was it she had said when, greatly daring, he had admired? "Chypre." Yes, that was it--"Chypre." And that wasn't all. They had danced close. Not difficult when doing a two-step and she had said, almost out of the blue, "You're getting to be quite a big boy now." It might have meant anything; it might have meant nothing. But he didn't think so. In memory he held that slender figure in its red chiffon dress as close as he dared. The young subaltern on Jonno's left was also thinking of Dolly Prentice. He knew she'd only been joking but she had said, "Just bring your problems to me, young man, and I'll see what I can do." Had she meant it? He thought probably not. But it had been accompanied by a steady and speaking glance and, after his third glass of port, he decided, nevertheless, to take her at her word. That bloody pony! Fifty pounds! He hadn't got fifty pounds! Why had he fallen for it? He knew only too well why. He'd been goaded into it by Prentice. "Take it or leave it. Pony's yours for fifty pounds but be warned--he takes a bit of riding!" And the clear implication--"Too much of a handful for you!" He thought iCleverly, Barbara is the author of 'Last Kashmiri Rose ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780385339711 and ISBN 0385339712.