The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [193]
‘Then why did you ask me to?’
‘Because I didn't dream that you would. That you could.’
‘But it was very simple,’ explained Anjuli. ‘I had only to borrow one of old Geeta's bourkas and persuade her to let me come in her stead. She is fond of me because I once did her a favour. And I have come before, you know.’
‘Then it was you – on the first night after the accident. I was sure it was, but Mulraj said it was only the dai and I -’
‘He did not know,’ said Anjuli. ‘I came with Geeta because I had been angry with you for being – for behaving like a Sahib. And because you had not thought of me for years while I – I…’
‘I know. I'm sorry Juli. I thought you might never want to speak to me again.’
‘Perhaps I would not have done if you had not been injured. But I thought you might be dying, and so I made Geeta bring me with her. I came with her more than once, and sat outside in the darkness while she worked over you.’
‘Why, Juli? Why?’ Ash's grip tightened on the fold of cloth, jerking at it imperatively, and Anjuli said slowly: ‘I suppose – to hear your voice. So that I could be sure that you were really who you said you were.’
‘Ashok.’
‘Yes, my brother Ashok. My only brother.’
‘Your –?’
‘My bracelet-brother. Had you forgotten that? I had not. Ashok always seemed more my true brother than Lalji ever was – or Nandu or Jhoti. It was always as though he were my only brother.’
‘Was it?’ Ash sounded oddly disconcerted. ‘And are you now sure that I am that same Ashok?’
‘Of course. Would I be here if I were not?’
Ash pulled at the cotton bourka to draw her nearer, and said impatiently: ‘Take this thing off and light the lamp. I want to look at you.’
But Anjuli only laughed and shook her head. ‘No. That would indeed be dangerous; and very foolish too, for if someone were to surprise us they would only think that I was old Geeta, and as she seldom speaks, I would be safe. Loose me now, and I will sit here for a space and talk to you. It is easier to talk thus, in the dark; for while I cannot see your face, or you mine, we can make believe to be Ashok and Juli again, and not Pelham-Sahib, who is an Angrezi, or the Rajkumari Anjuli-Bai who is to be –’
She stopped a little abruptly, and leaving the sentence unfinished, subsided onto the carpet to sit cross-legged and comfortable beside the camp bed: a pale, shapeless form that might have been a ghost – or a bundle of washing.
Later on, trying to recall what they had talked of, it seemed to Ash that they had talked of everything. Yet no sooner had she gone than he remembered a hundred things he had meant to ask or forgotten to say, and he would have given anything to call her back. But he knew that he would see her again somehow, and there was enormous comfort in that. He had no idea how long she had stayed, for there had been so much to tell that they had lost count of time. But the bar of moonlight from the open tent-flap had crept upward until it showed him the small square of coarse mesh that concealed Juli's eyes, and he could catch a glint of them as she smiled or turned her head. A little later it lay in a pale lozenge on the roof above her head, and later still, as the moon reached its zenith, it vanished altogether, and left them in darkness with only the glimmer of stars showing in the segment of sky beyond the tent door.
They spoke in whispers for fear of arousing Ash's servants, and had it not been for the intervention of the dai, Geeta, who taking her courage in both hands had scuttled through the silent camp to find out why her mistress had not returned, it is possible that