The Great Khansamah Nana had a son, and it was to this son that Roshanara was betrothed. When the household moved to Delhi, which would be before long, the marriage would be celebrated.

"You are looking forward to it?" I asked Roshanara.

I looked into those limpid eyes and saw a hint of fear overshadowed by resignation.

"It is what must be," she said.

"You are too young to be married."

"It is the age to be married."

"And you have never seen your bridegroom!"

"No. I shall not until we are married."

Poor child! I thought, and I felt very tender towards her. We were becoming good friends. I talked to her often and I fancied she found confidence, which grew out of our friendship.

As for the ayah, she looked on with contentment. She was happy. She was to remain with her beloved children and her beloved niece was with her—learning, as she said, from a very clever lady.

I had been apprehensive as to my skill as a governess, but I really was beginning to congratulate myself that I was rather good at it.

In two years' time we were to return to England. Then, of course, Louise, probably under the guidance of Lady Harriet, would have a professional governess and be taught all the things an English young lady should know. In the meantime I would suffice.

Lavinia sent for me. It was afternoon, when a silence lay over the house. There was no sound but that of the creaking punkahs as the sleepy boys worked the pulleys.

Lavinia was lying on her bed, looking languid in a green peignoir, which contrasted charmingly with the tawny shades of her hair.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

"We're going to Delhi," she said. "Orders from above."

"Oh?" I said. "Are you pleased?"

She grimaced. "Not really. It was getting quite interesting here."

"You mean the rivalry between the handsome major and the ambitious captain?"

"Oh, is he ambitious?"

"To enjoy your obvious charms."

"Oh, thank you. A compliment from you means a good deal, because you don't give them often. You're one of the dreadful honest people who have to tell the truth at all costs. You're the sort who'd go through fire and torment rather than tell one little white lie."

"And you would tell them without compunction."

"I knew you couldn't continue to praise me. Seriously, Drusilla. We have to depart next week."

"That's short notice surely."

"They think it rather long, and I'm only getting it because of the children. Otherwise it would be up and away with twenty-four hours' notice. Someone is coming out to Bombay ... Papa, Mama and three children. They want the house so we have to go to Delhi ... where we should be in any case."

"So we set out next week?"

She nodded.

"It will be interesting to see Delhi."

"Dougal will be there and, I expect ... Fabian."

"You will be delighted to see your husband and your brother again."

She pursed her voluptuous lips with faint distaste.

"Oh," I said, "I suppose it will mean you have to behave with a little more decorum than you usually display."

"Can you see me acting with decorum? I shall be myself. No one is going to change me. It's quite a business moving the nursery. It's a good thing Ayah is here. We have to ride in those wretched dak-gharis, as they call the awful things. I can tell you, it will be most uncomfortable."

"Well, I did survive that journey across the desert, which is not exactly the most comfortable I have undertaken."

"You wait till you see our dak. It's a long journey and there are the children."

"I don't suppose you will worry much about them."

"They will have Nanny Philwright and the ayah ... not to mention their resourceful governess."

"What about Roshanara?" I asked.

"Oh, that young girl who is going to marry Great Khansamah's son. She'll go with us. We can't afford to offend G.K."

"G.K.?"

"Oh, come. Where are your wits? Great Khansamah, of course. He rules the household, I gather, with a rod of iron. You need someone of Mama's calibre to stand up to him. Dougal could never do it. Fabian could, of course. But he would consider it a waste of time."

"So," I said, "we in the nursery shall be making tracks for Delhi?"

"Exactly so ... with the rest of us."

"I shall look forward to seeing more of India," I said. And I was thinking: Fabian will be there. I wonder what he will be like now.

Preparation went on apace. Ayah was delighted that she was accompanying us. She told me she owed her happiness to me. She knew that it was my word with Memsahib Countess that had made it possible for her to stay.

"This I never forget," she told me earnestly.

"It was nothing," I assured her; but she would not have it so. She told me she was happy because she would see her niece married. She loved Roshanara dearly and she was delighted that she would make a grand marriage.

Roshanara was less content, and as the days passed she grew more and more apprehensive.

"You see ... I do not know him," she confided in me.

"It seems wrong to marry you to someone whom you have never seen."

She turned her sad, fatalistic eyes on me. "It happens all girls," she said. "Sometimes happy ... sometimes not."

"I heard he is an important young man."

"Son of Great Khansamah in Delhi," she told me, not without pride. "Grand Khansamah is very great gentleman. It is an honour, they say, for me to marry his son."

"He is about your age. You'll grow up together. That might be good."

She shivered a little. I could see she was trying to comfort herself by painting a rosy picture in which she could not believe.

In due course we were ready to leave. Baggage had already gone off in horsedrawn carriages, all cleverly packed by the servants on the instructions of the Khansamah—not the great one, of course, but a very impressive gentleman for all that. Now it was our turn.

It was a long journey and, having travelled before, I was prepared for acute discomfort.

I was, perhaps, on the whole, a little too pessimistic.

Our dak-ghari was a badly constructed carriage drawn by a wild-looking horse. There were several of these vehicles for our party. I was with Lavinia and a certain Captain Cranly who, I suppose, was there to protect us. The children travelled in a dak that they shared with Alice, the ayah and Roshanara, with the small amount of luggage that we would need for the journey. In another dak we had our brass pots, which we would use for washing, and mattresses on which we could sleep if there were no beds in the rest houses where we would stay during the journey.

And so we set off.

It was, as India always would be, interesting, stimulating and intensely exciting, but so intent were we on keeping our balance as the dak lurched along that we could not give our full attention to the scenery.

Lavinia was sighing for a palanquin, which would have made the journey so much more comfortable. A palanquin, she told me, was a kind of litter, with bedding inside on which the occupant could recline in comfort. They were suspended on poles, which four men carried.

"Rather hard on the men," I commented.

"They are used to it. I think I shall refuse to travel any more without a palanquin."

The journey seemed long. We stopped at several of the dak-bungalows, which bore a striking resemblance to the caravanserai that we had discovered in the desert on the way from Cairo to Suez. We were usually given chicken and oatmeal bread there, and we had tea, too, with goat's milk, which I did not like very much. Still, hunger seasons all dishes, they say; and it certainly did on that journey to Delhi.

Every time we stopped the children greeted us as though they had not seen us for months, which amused us very much.

And in due course we saw in the distance the red stone walls of beautiful Delhi.

To ride through that city was an exhilarating experience. My first impressions filled me with excited anticipation. I wished that I had a guide with me to answer my eager questions and explain what these impressive buildings were.

The walled city stands on high ground, with a commanding view over verdant woods. Domes, minarets and gardens gave it a touch of mystery that enthralled me. I saw the red walls of the Fort, the old palace of Shah Jehan. I yearned to know more of its history. I thought suddenly: How Dougal must enjoy this.

We went through the city past Jama Masjid, the great mosque, which was surely one of the finest structures in India. I caught a glimpse of the imperial tombs. I did not know what the future held, but I did know I would always be glad that I had seen India.

And so we came to Delhi.

The house was much grander than the one in Bombay.

We were met by the Great Khansamah, a middle-aged man with more dignity than I have ever seen in any other person. The house might have been his and we distinguished guests, but not quite of his high caste.

He clapped his hands and servants came running. He cast an eye on Roshanara and his expression was censorious. I remembered that this was her future father-in-law; and I hoped for her sake he would not live too close to the married couple.

"Welcome to Delhi," he said, as though he owned the city.

We found ourselves talking to him deferentially. Watching him, I saw his eyes linger on Lavinia with a certain gleam in them which I had noticed in the eyes of others when they looked at her. She was aware of it and did not resent it.