The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [53]
The fat Englishman who spoke such execrable Hindustani had been most affable, and treated him as though he were already a man grown, and although his father had also presented the Nautch-girl's eldest son to the visitors, little Nandu had not created a good impression, for he was a spoilt child and had screamed and whined and been so naughty that the Rajah had lost all patience with him and had him removed half-way through the first reception. He had not been allowed to appear again, so it was Lalji, and Lalji alone, who had sat, stood or ridden by his father's side throughout the four days of festivity; and when it was all over the splendid robes and jewels had not been taken away from him, but left in his charge, and his father had continued to command his presence and treat him with unusual affection.
Lalji was happier than he had ever been before, and his happiness showed itself in a hundred ways. He ceased to tease his little sister or torment his pets, and was gracious and good tempered to all his household. It was a pleasant change from his former tantrums, and only Hira Lal predicted trouble in the future. But then Hira Lal was known to be a cynic. The other members of the Yuveraj's household basked in the relaxed atmosphere created by their young master's change of temper, and saw it as a sign that the boy was becoming a man and preparing at last to put aside childish things. They were also pleasantly surprised at the Rajah's continuous predilection for his son's society: they had not expected it to outlast the departure of the visitors, and were amazed to find that the young Yuveraj now spent a large part of each day in his father's company and was actually being instructed in affairs of state. All of which was deeply gratifying to the Nautch-girl's enemies – and they were many – who regarded the situation as á sign of the favourite's declining power (particularly as the child she had lately borne her lord was a small and sickly girl). But as subsequent events were to show they had once again underestimated her.
Janoo-Rani had been thrown into an imperial rage by the removal of her screaming son from the Durbar Hall, and the favourable impression created by his hated half-brother, the heir. She had raged for two days and sulked for a further seven. But, for once, without the anticipated effect. The Rajah had retaliated by avoiding her apartments and keeping to his own part of the palace until such time as she should have recovered her temper, and this unexpected reaction had frightened her as much as it had delighted her enemies.
Janoo looked at herself in the glass and saw in it something that she had hitherto refused to recognize – that she had lost her figure and was becoming stout. Time, childbearing and soft living had taken their toll, and the seductive, golden-skinned girl of a few years ago had gone, leaving in her place a short, plump little woman whose complexion was already beginning to darken and who would soon be fat, but who had, as yet, lost none of her wit or her power to charm. Taking stock of the situation, Janoo had hastily stage-managed a reconciliation, and so successfully that she was soon firmly back in the saddle. But she did not forget that short-lived taste of terror, and now, to the surprise of the court, she set out to win the friendship of her step-son.
It had not been easy, for the boy's jealous hatred of the woman who had supplanted the Feringhi-Rani and enslaved his father was a strong growth whose roots went deep. But Lalji had always been fatally susceptible