Cinders & Sapphires (10 page)

“Ada,” Lord Westlake said, raising his voice so that she could hear him along the breakfast table, “your piano playing has improved immensely since you began regular practice. Sebastian and I were passing the music room the other day and we were very impressed.”

Ada blushed and managed a thank-you.

“No, but really,” Sebastian added, his intelligent green eyes fixed on her. “You deserve congratulations. And what was that delightful little tune you were playing called? It had real spirit to it.”

“Oh…I forget. I think it was a folk tune.” She glanced guiltily at Georgiana.

“Well, it was very pretty,” Sebastian said, returning to his toast. “I wish you’d play it for me some time. I’d love to hear it properly.”

Thankfully, Ada was spared answering by the entrance of Charlotte and Fiona, Fiona dressed in the most elegant tweeds and Charlotte in a very daring peacock-blue and terra-cotta tunic dress. Both wore long strands of pearls and Ada could not help admiring their style—though she did wonder how long their clothes would stay spotless if they decided to walk outside.

“
So
sorry we’re late,” Fiona said, dropping a kiss on Lord Westlake’s head before swooping to sit next to him. The footman approached with a dish of cold meat, but she waved him away. “Just a little coffee for me, thank you.”

“We had trays brought to our rooms,” Charlotte said. “Family is all very well but you hardly want to see them over breakfast.” She yawned. “So what plans have you for today?” Glancing at Georgiana’s riding habit, she added, “Please don’t tell me you are being let loose with a horse?”

“Yes, Michael’s taking me out,” Georgiana said, excitedly reaching up to touch the feather in her hat.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s wise? Between the two of you, you might bring down the stables.”

Georgiana’s lip trembled and she glanced nervously toward her father, who was watching them.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Ada said. “Georgie’s a good rider, and Beauty is a quiet old thing.”

“I have more trust in Ada’s good sense than I do in yours, Georgiana, so I shall let you go on her recommendation,” Lord Westlake said.

Georgiana smiled. As she rose to leave, she whispered, “Thank you, dear sister!” in Ada’s ear.

Georgiana followed Michael up the long drive, Beauty clopping along placidly as a cart horse. Prince, Michael’s tall bay, was more challenging, shying and sidestepping and shaking his head. Georgiana hardly noticed, her eyes fixed on Michael’s handsome, taut face. He pressed his lips together, concentrating on managing the horse. Georgiana was dying to tell him about Rose, but she had promised not to, and besides, perhaps he would not be very interested. He didn’t seem to care for music much; he was always outside, playing cricket or riding, or shooting. It was very wearying, but it was worth it to stay by his side. Sooner or later, she was sure, he would notice her. He would have to. She was not going to give up until he did. And then…well, she had never been kissed, but she was sure it would be dizzying, swooping, somehow more wonderful than anything she had ever experienced before. Her imagination usually went blank at this point, because the simple bringing together of two sets of lips—she was fairly certain that was how it went—did not seem at all exciting, certainly not to the extent that everyone said it was. But just looking at Michael made her heart beat faster, and her hands clutch tighter on the reins.

“I can’t hold Prince to this pace,” he flung over his shoulder. “I’ll have to canter.”

He was off in a kick of flying gravel, Prince bounding away like a deer.

“Oh, come on, Beauty!” Georgiana clicked her tongue and urged Beauty forward. Beauty ambled into a startled trot and eventually a reluctant canter. The wind whipped by and brought the color into Georgiana’s cheeks. She loved going fast; it was like her fingers flying over the piano keyboard, when she went into a world of her own.

Michael didn’t look back until he reached the gate in the hedge.

“Here I am!” Georgiana cantered up, eyes bright and cheeks pink.

“Finally,” was all Michael said. Georgiana wilted.

“Shall we ride down to the village?” she suggested as he dismounted to open the gate. “I’ve a little money, we could get chocolate and sit by the river.” Riverbanks were the kind of places where one might get kissed, she thought.

“Trust a girl to think of something that boring,” he muttered, holding the gate open for her.

Georgiana turned pink. Once she had ridden through the gate she drew rein and looked around. “I think you’re very rude,” she said firmly. “I don’t see you suggesting anything so exciting.”

Michael looked startled and a little remorseful. He closed the gate and remounted. They rode on side by side. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, with such honesty that Georgiana was disarmed. “I have a rotten temper, I’m sorry. I’m just…well, if I’m honest, I’m wishing I hadn’t got expelled.”

Georgiana’s eyes widened. “But you said you didn’t care. You said—”

“Well, maybe I was bluffing.” He looked embarrassed, and ran a hand through his blond hair so it stood up. “The thing is, I hate school. I want to go into the army. But Mother won’t let me, and now that I’m at home she spends all her time nagging me and babying me. I can’t stand it, I tell you.” He slapped the air crossly with his riding crop. “Even Eton would be better than this.”

“Oh…” Georgiana understood, and forgave him at once. “But why won’t she let you go into the army?”

“Says it’s dangerous, of all things. I just want to get out and see the world.”

“I know what you mean,” Georgiana said. She smiled. “Well, at least we can see as far as the road. Race you!”

She urged the startled Beauty into a canter and rode to the fence that separated Somerton land from the road. Michael followed. At the fence they drew rein and stood, the horses panting, while they looked back over the park toward the house. The road curved past them, and as they sat there a carriage came along it. Inside, Georgiana glimpsed Edith and the nursemaid, Priya, a fractious Augustus squirming on her knee. Georgiana raised her riding crop to wave. Edith smiled graciously.

“Who was that?”

Michael’s tone startled her. She turned toward him. He was staring after the carriage as if thunderstruck.

“Lady Edith, of course. Probably going to the village to call on Lady Fairfax.”

“Not her! The…other one.”

Georgiana felt a shock of anxiety go through her. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she disliked the way he was looking after the carriage so intensely.

“Just the—the nursemaid,” she said reluctantly. “I believe her name is Priya.”

“Priya,” murmured Michael, gazing after the carriage. Georgiana thought he looked like a prince under a spell—the spell of a mysterious fairy.

She panicked. She had to draw his attention back to her somehow. “Let’s gallop!” she burst out, wheeling Beauty around. “Come on—into the woods!”

She set Beauty off at a fast pace down the hill. Behind her she heard him shout after her, but she ignored him. The slope was much steeper than she was used to, and inside the woods it would be dangerous. But she had to distract him. She had to break the spell.

“Come on, Beauty!”

She reached the woods and guided Beauty away from the branches and onto the track. Beauty, who had not galloped in years, tossed her head in protest, but Georgiana spurred her on.

Wanting to show Michael what she was made of, she did not slow her pace, but urged Beauty down the track, clods of mud spattering from her hooves thudding on the ground.

“Georgiana, stop!” she heard Michael shouting behind her. She turned round to grin at him, and when she looked back, she saw a fallen tree trunk blocking the way.

Georgiana bit her lip and urged Beauty forward. The old horse heaved herself over the trunk—and the ground on the other side wasn’t there. There was a sudden drop, Beauty neighed in fear, and stumbled. Georgiana barely had time to gasp before she was flying over the horse’s head, the world was green and fast, and in the long, almost luxuriously stretched-out second before she hit the ground, she had time to think: This will hurt.

She was swimming in darkness, a roaring pain in her head. The pain became words.

“Georgie! Georgiana! Can you hear me?”

It sounded like Michael, but it couldn’t be. Michael never sounded like that: terrified, on the brink of tears.

“Georgiana, wake up! Say something!”

She tried to say, “Stop shouting,” but she couldn’t drag her voice up; it was like fishing a heavy weight from deep water. She tried again, and managed a groan.

“Oh, thank God. You’re not dead.” He really was sobbing now. This was too intriguing to miss. She forced her eyes open and the glare of the weak sunshine hit her like a sledgehammer.

“O-o-o-oh…my head!” she gasped.

Michael was crouching next to her. In fact, she was in his arms. She did not have time to enjoy this quite as much as she would have liked, for she was too busy being sick in the bushes. Even at the time this struck her as unjust.

“What happened?” The memory of the tree trunk, like a black barrier across her path, rose up.

“You came a cropper. What a jump you took! I thought you would go round.”

“Beauty?” She struggled to sit up. Beauty stood not far away, an I-told-you-so expression on her face.

“She’s all right. Bit of a graze on her hock, but she was clever—picked herself up. You landed right on your head, though. I thought you were dead, Georgie. Never do that to me again!”

Georgiana beamed at the concern in his voice, and winced as pain shot through her skull. It forced her to say, “Perhaps we ought to go home now.”

“You shouldn’t move. I’ll ride back and fetch someone, if you’re all right alone for a few moments.” He stood up and caught Prince’s reins. He looked down at her again and said, “I’m so glad you’re not badly hurt. I’d have felt—well, never mind.”

Georgiana smiled weakly. I must do this more often, she thought.

Everyone in Oxford knew which Sebastian Templeton’s rooms were. They were the ones with the windows always open, from which the loudest laughter and gramophone music spilled, the ones where the sunshine seemed to linger longest, the ones out of which undergraduates leaned, calling raucously and drunkenly down to the passing students. They were the ones outside which the motorcars drew up day and night with a screech of brakes, to off-load boys with glossy toppers and the most ringingly aristocratic accents, who raced upstairs talking and laughing so loud that dons asleep half a mile away sat up groaning and vowing to send Sebastian down the very next day. Only somehow Sebastian never was sent down. Oxford would just not have been the same without him.

“So we just left the motorcar there, in the haystack, and simply swam the rest of the way home!” Lord Evelyn Spencer said, finishing his anecdote. There was a roar of laughter from the rest of “the Set,” as fashionable young men and women of means were known. Lord Evelyn held out his glass vaguely. “Sebastian, where is that valet of yours with the champagne?”

Oliver heard him from inside the kitchen and hurried out with the fresh champagne. He kept his head down and bowed, and hoped no one could see how nervous he was. Sebastian lolled on the couch, between Archie Ffoulkes and Prince Alexander Tatenov, and winked at Oliver as he poured the champagne. Oliver allowed himself a brief smile in return.

But his heart was not in it. He retreated to the kitchen and went on with setting out the small porcelain dishes that Sebastian had picked up in an antiques shop on their drive down. It was hard to see Sebastian so at ease, so careless, and not be able to join in the laughter, to have to keep a poker face and stay in the background. After the days they had shared together, it felt like a betrayal.

He scolded himself as he carefully placed a silver spoonful of caviar in each dish. Sebastian couldn’t be expected to change his life completely, just because of Oliver. If he did, everyone would get suspicious. And he had known that this was what Sebastian was like. Truth be told, it was why he liked him so much.

The doorbell rang just as he came out with the caviar.

“Oh!” Evelyn exclaimed. “Is this your new find arriving, Sebastian?”

Oliver thought for a second he meant himself, and turned pale. But Sebastian answered, “I hope so! He’s quite fascinating—dark and handsome, and so intense.”

The words rang in Oliver’s ears as he went to the door and opened it. Joke or not, it wasn’t funny of Sebastian to flirt in front of him. He opened the door. Outside stood two men—a tall, handsome Indian boy who looked as if he would rather not be there. And the Honorable Peregrine Winchester.

Oliver half gasped, and his hand jerked automatically to hide his face. He managed to turn the gesture into brushing his hair from his eyes, and hastily stood back. Of all people, Perry—here. Of course, he
would
have been going to Oxford. If he recognized him…

But Perry Winchester just thrust his coat at him and strode in, saying in his booming voice, “Sorry I’m late, everyone. I’ve brought my friend—Ravi Sundaresan.”

Sebastian jumped to his feet, smiling broadly.

“Ravi, my dear chap—I’m so glad you could come. Sit down, have a drink. Campbell, fetch him a drink.” He ushered Ravi to a chair. Ravi sat down, managing a smile. “I said, Campbell, fetch him a drink!” Sebastian threw impatiently over his shoulder.

Oliver started, Perry’s coat still in his arms. He had been so thrown back into the past by thinking Perry was sure to recognize him that he had forgotten that Campbell was the surname that he had given when he became a valet. “Right away, sir.”

He was angry, at his own lapse, and at Sebastian’s rudeness. He was glad to retreat to the kitchen to hide his anger. So this was what it was to be a servant: not to dare speak back or to defend yourself, to put up with humiliation. Well, you were a bloody fool to expect anything else, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the spots of color coming into his cheeks, or the ache of rejected disappointment that opened in his heart. He was a servant now; he had to remember that. It had been his own decision to throw his life away, and by God he had made a good job of it. There was no sense in expecting a gentleman like Sebastian to take what they had together seriously.

He came out with the champagne and handed it around. He trembled as he handed Perry his glass, but Perry didn’t even look at him. Oliver was half annoyed, but relieved also. It seemed that as a valet he was invisible even to his old friends from Harrow.

He noticed that Ravi did not seem impressed with the Set. He sat silently, giving the barest minimum of answers as the others rattled on, exchanging gossip about society figures and plans for country-house parties. Oliver wondered why he had come, and why he did not leave, if the company was so little to his taste.

It was not until much later, when some of the Set had left, and others had lounged over to the pianola to play records, that Sebastian was left alone with Ravi on the sofa. Oliver came out of the kitchen to collect the empty glasses. Ravi sat, frowning into his glass. Sebastian watched him thoughtfully. He paid no attention to Oliver.

Ravi broke the silence. He said, abruptly, “How is…everyone at Somerton, Sebastian? I hope you left them all well.”

“Quite well.” Sebastian looked surprised.

“Good,” Ravi muttered. He half frowned, and Oliver could see that he was trying to think of a way to continue the conversation.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “You don’t like me, do you?”

His tone was flirtatious. Oliver hastily snatched up the last glass and returned to the kitchen to hide his feelings. But once there, he could not resist moving to the crack between the door and the wall, and watching and listening to the conversation unfold.

Ravi’s reply was cool and distant. “On the contrary. I like you very much.”

“Really? I would have said you almost despise me. Why is that?”

Ravi hesitated. “Perhaps because I dislike waste.”

“Waste? What do you mean?”

Ravi paused again before answering. The sun sparked golden flecks from his brown eyes. “You are an intelligent man. That’s clear. You could make a difference to society.” He dropped his voice discreetly. “Yet you choose to waste your time and your intelligence talking inanities with these…butterflies.” He nodded toward Archie Ffoulkes and Perry Winchester, who were laughing by the pianola.

Sebastian gave a small, thoughtful “Hmmph.” He twirled the stem of the champagne glass between his fingers as if thinking of a reply.

Oliver’s heart beat hard. They were sitting so close together on the sofa. And he was stuck here, marooned in the kitchen, behind a wall of propriety.

“Society. Yes. You see, I don’t consider myself a part of society.”

“I don’t mean polite society,” Ravi said with some contempt. “I mean people. All people, everywhere.”

“I know you do. But I still don’t belong.”

Oliver shivered. He knew what Sebastian meant. He was talking about the love that could get them both arrested, that could make friends and family turn away from them in disgust. He knew. He had lost both friends and family already, and his name and his station had followed.

“How can you say that? You’re one of the human race, after all.”

“I don’t think much of the human race.” Sebastian kept his tone light and witty, but Oliver could hear a hardness underneath.

“Really? What has made you so cynical?”

Sebastian smiled. “Betrayal.”

“How dramatic.”

“Not really. I expect everyone lives through it at some point. You learn not to trust people. Not to let yourself be hurt.”

“But if you don’t let yourself be open to pain, how can you be open to…”

“What?”

“I was going to say love, but I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

Sebastian laughed. “No fear of that. I don’t think much of love, either. I don’t believe in it.”

Oliver stepped back, feeling as if he had been punched. What did you expect? he asked himself again. But it seemed his heart was not as sensible as his head. His heart had expected more.

“I did not use to believe in love either,” said Ravi. “But I think you will change your mind. I have.”

He stood abruptly, placing his glass down. Sebastian rose too, and Ravi held out his hand.

“It has been interesting to talk to you, Sebastian. It has been interesting to observe English society at close quarters.”

Sebastian took his hand and shook it firmly. “Are you sure you must go?”

“Yes. I have a letter to write.”

Sebastian followed him to the door. Oliver remained in the kitchen. He realized he still had a glass and a cloth in his hand. He put them down as gently as he could.

Sebastian came back into the room, a thoughtful, rather sad look on his face.

“Oliver…” he began. Then he hesitated, and shook his head. He raised his voice, calling to his friends. “Come on, let’s go down to the river before the sun sets.”

They went out, laughing and talking. Oliver stood in the kitchen, listening as the door slammed behind them. He heard their voices fade down the stairs and reappear in the street. He ran into the main room and looked down into the street. Sebastian, arm-inarm with Perry, was laughing and joking as he strode across the quad toward his motorcar. The door of the motorcar slammed behind them, and it was as if it had slammed onto Oliver’s heart.

Sebastian did not return that evening. Oliver knew this, because he lay awake waiting for him long after he knew it was stupid to hope.

Ada was walking toward the dining room, following the sound of the dinner gong, when Rose darted out from the servants’ passage. With a quick glance up and down the empty corridor, she pressed an envelope into Ada’s hand. Ada clutched it tightly: she didn’t have to look at the handwriting to know it was Ravi’s reply to her last letter.

“Thank you!” she whispered. Rose gave her a quick smile and was gone at once.

Ada looked up and down the corridor. No one was coming. She tore open the envelope and read the letter hastily.

My dear Ada,

I was so pleased to receive your last letter and know that I had not given offense. I think I admire you more with every day that passes. Sometimes I wish I did not, it would make it easier to be here, away from you.

You ask me about India, and accuse me of being unjust to men like your father, who have worked hard to improve matters there. I do not deny that he has done much, but he has done it in the interests of the British. How can the representatives of an invading force, who have exploited the riches of India for their own gain, be considered our benefactors?

I know it is hard for a patriot to see the actions of their country as criminal, but if, let us say, France invaded England and took over its administration, managing and directing it and diverting its economic wealth to the glory of the French Empire, would you feel that they had a right to do so? India is an ancient nation, a great nation—as great as Great Britain. We were promised equality by Queen Victoria herself. Yet under British rule wealth is being drained from the country, leaving Indians impoverished and starving. Curzon made things all the worse with his partition of Bengal.

Oxford has also opened my eyes to some unpleasant facts. This is where the sons of those who will inherit the rule and administration of India study. Some are dedicated, but many others are not. Many are interested only in pleasure and decadence. They are able to be here only because of their birth and wealth, not because of their merit. Yet they will have much political power and determine the fate of
my people, just because of who their fathers are. This is unjust. I cannot respect them. What right do they have to rule us?

Things are beginning to change, however. The Indian National Congress has finally brought together both Hindus and Muslims against the British. Even from his cell in Burma, Tilak is making sure that its voice is heard. This gives me hope. The meetings I have attended have been inspiring, and I feel now that I am a part of a great force for change. We shall rid India of the British by one means or another.

I know that your own sense of justice is so strong that you will come around to my point of view. For now, though, I must close this letter in order to catch the post. I wish I were able to see you and speak to you face to face. But perhaps I had better say no more.

Ever and faithfully yours
,

Ravi

Ada jumped as she heard footsteps at the end of the corridor. William was heading toward her. He looked more sullen than ever as he strode past without a greeting. She hastily tucked the letter into her sleeve and followed him toward the dining hall. She was shocked by Ravi’s letter, she couldn’t deny it. It was almost sedition, to speak like that about the Empire. And he had as good as called her father a criminal! The argument about France was persuasive…and yet India was so different. It was not a well-ordered, peaceful country like Britain. Surely it needed good administrators, people who could think rationally and stop the Hindus and Muslims from killing each other. What he had said scared her.