wish there was a place for all the runaways of the
world to hide.”
Rose smiled. “So do I.”
“Well, let’s just keep going,” said Isabella. “India is actually a very good place to disappear, if you’re really serious about it.”
Livia’s eyes were so dark they looked black.
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my
life.”
No more was spoken about the future and Isabella was
grateful. Once or twice she caught Rose looking at her, but Rose’s face had
been in the shadows of the fire and Isabella hadn’t been able to make out her
expression. She wished she could read her as well as she could read Livia.
There seemed to be a deep echo of emptiness in Rose, which Isabella was at a
loss to explain; Rose made her think of the lioness near the camp who’d been
driven away from her pride.
“Why have they sent her away, Mama-ji?” she’d asked
Abhaya. She must have been eight or nine, and had been heartbroken to watch the
lioness call out for the others, all the time trying to rejoin the group.
“Perhaps she is sick or old. Or maybe she is just not
behaving as she should. The pride must come first.”
That’s what Rose reminded her of, the lioness who
didn’t know how to behave, yet was always looking for a way in.
A day later, at dusk, they threaded their way through
an outcrop of red stone at the top of a hill. Isabella gasped as the city of Golconda spread itself out beneath them like an ants’ nest of orange clay open to the sky.
Around the whole city was a high wall of crimson stone along which torches had
been lit at intervals. Temple roofs glittered gold in the last rays of sunlight
and the marble palace at the top of a hill, glowed pink.
“I’m not sure how warm a welcome we’re going to get,”
Isabella muttered. For although the overall impression was of might and
majesty, it was also of menace. Most of the city’s alleyways lay in shadow as
the sun set over its western side, and the only gate, ornate and spiked, didn’t
have the usual collection of pedlars and stallholders next to it. In fact, the
road was quiet; too quiet, in Isabella’s opinion, for an important city. She’d
seen more people watching turtle races on race-day at Rawalpindi than she could
see on the parched road in front of her.
“Where are the mines, then?” asked Rose, squinting into
the distance.
Isabella shook her head. “I don’t know. But I know there
is a British cantonment here somewhere.”
“What’s that?” asked Livia, warily.
“British soldiers stationed here.”
“So Stone is in charge of them?” Isabella nodded, urging
her horse onward down the hill. “Why are the British here, isn’t there is a
maharajah living in that palace already?”
Isabella shrugged. “Make sure they get the diamonds
they’re after? Or at least a cut of the money the Maharajah is making from his
trading. I remember my father telling me of people who’d lost and won fortunes
on the mines at Golconda. I even saw some Golconda diamonds once. Prince
Ernest’s wife had some.”
She didn’t add that for a moment she’d considered stealing
the diamonds instead of the painting Midge had nearly hanged for, so great was
her fascination with their sparkling beauty. How she’d found it difficult to
tear her eyes away from them. Even at a ball at the Palace of St James, where every woman was laden with some jewel or other, the Golconda diamonds had stood
out. Their cut and shape and their heavy blue brilliance had made Isabella
dizzy.
“I quite fancy a few Golconda diamonds myself,” said Livia
with a smile, reining her horse back and rubbing sweat from her nose, leaving a
big red smudge.
“Are they just lying around on the ground?” asked Rose,
her face lighting up at the thought of easy riches.
Isabella laughed. “I don’t think so. I think these
diamonds probably come at a price. Though I do agree it would be quite an
adventure to try and find some.”
“And the solution to quite a few of
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