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Authors: Deanna Raybourn
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to set foot upon Indian soil to learn of the servant problem.”
“I thought obliging staff were one of the pleasures of living in India,” I offered.
“Oh, they are obliging, certainly, but they have the most curious system for the dividing up of responsibilities, most of it based upon religious persuasion. Here are Bengalis, Sikkimese, Nepalis, Bhutanese, Lepchas, all with their own beliefs and special diets. We have to keep three cooks just to ensure everyone is fed!”
“Are there so many?” I asked, looking around the deserted dooryard.
“You do not see them, but believe me, they are about. And it is not just that there are dozens of them, it is that the Hindu house servants will touch neither porcelain nor food cooked by anyone who isn’t Hindu, so the servers at table must not be Hindu, but it is a Hindu of the lowest caste who empties the porcelain chamber pots, which I confess makes no sort of sense to me at all, but everyone else seems to take as perfectly ordinary.”
“Why do they refuse to touch porcelain?”
“It is made from animal bones and the cow is sacred here,”she explained. “If they were to touch porcelain made from the wrong sort of bones, it would defile them.”
“It must be difficult to have the running of such an establishment,” I soothed.
She gave a short laugh. “Yes, and I thank God and his angels every day the lot does not fall to me.”
“But you are mistress of the Peacocks, are you not?”
The melancholy smile returned. “In name,” she said softly. “But the truth is that Aunt Camellia is much better suited to the job, and I am content to leave it to her. I do not wish to become attached to this place,” she finished in a low voice. Before I could question her further, she nodded briskly toward Feuilly.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he? I loathe him.”
I gave her a sharp look and she continued on. “I know I oughtn’t. But he cries and shrieks at the most inconvenient times.”
“Ah, I shall have to tell Morag the house isn’t haunted after all. She thinks the Peacocks is thick with ghosts.”
I meant to jolly her out of her seriousness, but the mention of ghosts seemed to sadden her. “I think it may be. In Grandfather Fitz’s estate office, you can still smell his tobacco and boot leather.”
“To be expected,” I told her firmly. “He has been dead a short time, I gather.”
“A year, almost. He died when Freddie and I came. Aunt Camellia said he was only holding on until he saw Freddie settled. As soon as we arrived, he let go. Of course, it made the servants instantly suspicious of me,” she said with a shaky laugh. “They think I brought some curse to the house that the master should die so soon after my arrival.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” I told her. The peacock crept closer, then paused and gave a shudder, as if to lift his tail. But the effort proved too much and he left his great tail to drag behind like some travesty of a royal masque.
“Your peacock looks despondent,” I observed.
“I know. And his melancholia is affecting us all. I cannot sleep for his shrieking and crying.”
“Why do you not get rid of him then? You are expecting, Jane. You ought to have your rest. Or does he not belong to you?”
“Oh, he is mine well enough. One of the few things here that is,” she added, bitterness lacing her words. “But he was a gift and I cannot bring him back without giving offence.”
“A gift from whom?”
She tossed a handful of juicy cherries at the peacock. It approached languidly, as if it merely deigned to eat. “There is a gentleman who lives up at the monastery on the ridge. He is something of a recluse, but he was kind enough to send Feuilly. He thought the bird would be a diversion in my mourning.”
My interest quickened. “I believe Miss Cavendish mentioned him, although she gave no name.”
“He is called the White Rajah out of deference for his lifestyle.”
“The White Rajah! How
“I thought obliging staff were one of the pleasures of living in India,” I offered.
“Oh, they are obliging, certainly, but they have the most curious system for the dividing up of responsibilities, most of it based upon religious persuasion. Here are Bengalis, Sikkimese, Nepalis, Bhutanese, Lepchas, all with their own beliefs and special diets. We have to keep three cooks just to ensure everyone is fed!”
“Are there so many?” I asked, looking around the deserted dooryard.
“You do not see them, but believe me, they are about. And it is not just that there are dozens of them, it is that the Hindu house servants will touch neither porcelain nor food cooked by anyone who isn’t Hindu, so the servers at table must not be Hindu, but it is a Hindu of the lowest caste who empties the porcelain chamber pots, which I confess makes no sort of sense to me at all, but everyone else seems to take as perfectly ordinary.”
“Why do they refuse to touch porcelain?”
“It is made from animal bones and the cow is sacred here,”she explained. “If they were to touch porcelain made from the wrong sort of bones, it would defile them.”
“It must be difficult to have the running of such an establishment,” I soothed.
She gave a short laugh. “Yes, and I thank God and his angels every day the lot does not fall to me.”
“But you are mistress of the Peacocks, are you not?”
The melancholy smile returned. “In name,” she said softly. “But the truth is that Aunt Camellia is much better suited to the job, and I am content to leave it to her. I do not wish to become attached to this place,” she finished in a low voice. Before I could question her further, she nodded briskly toward Feuilly.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he? I loathe him.”
I gave her a sharp look and she continued on. “I know I oughtn’t. But he cries and shrieks at the most inconvenient times.”
“Ah, I shall have to tell Morag the house isn’t haunted after all. She thinks the Peacocks is thick with ghosts.”
I meant to jolly her out of her seriousness, but the mention of ghosts seemed to sadden her. “I think it may be. In Grandfather Fitz’s estate office, you can still smell his tobacco and boot leather.”
“To be expected,” I told her firmly. “He has been dead a short time, I gather.”
“A year, almost. He died when Freddie and I came. Aunt Camellia said he was only holding on until he saw Freddie settled. As soon as we arrived, he let go. Of course, it made the servants instantly suspicious of me,” she said with a shaky laugh. “They think I brought some curse to the house that the master should die so soon after my arrival.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” I told her. The peacock crept closer, then paused and gave a shudder, as if to lift his tail. But the effort proved too much and he left his great tail to drag behind like some travesty of a royal masque.
“Your peacock looks despondent,” I observed.
“I know. And his melancholia is affecting us all. I cannot sleep for his shrieking and crying.”
“Why do you not get rid of him then? You are expecting, Jane. You ought to have your rest. Or does he not belong to you?”
“Oh, he is mine well enough. One of the few things here that is,” she added, bitterness lacing her words. “But he was a gift and I cannot bring him back without giving offence.”
“A gift from whom?”
She tossed a handful of juicy cherries at the peacock. It approached languidly, as if it merely deigned to eat. “There is a gentleman who lives up at the monastery on the ridge. He is something of a recluse, but he was kind enough to send Feuilly. He thought the bird would be a diversion in my mourning.”
My interest quickened. “I believe Miss Cavendish mentioned him, although she gave no name.”
“He is called the White Rajah out of deference for his lifestyle.”
“The White Rajah! How
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