The Elephant Keeper's Daughter Page 22

  “Don’t worry. I’ll hold you,” he whispered in her ear, his voice husky.

  Soon her body was rocking in rhythm with the horse, and she reveled in the animal’s speed. She wondered why Henry had not visited her since treating Siddhi’s bullet wound. Day after day she had waited for him to return, but he had not. She had started to invent reasons to ride to the construction site so she could catch a glimpse of him. Only the thought of Charles Odell, doubtless waiting for any opportunity to get his hands on her, had held her back.

  When Henry had galloped into the village today, so unexpectedly, the sight of him had set her heart pounding. His lithe body had sat deep in the saddle as he’d guided his horse; and like a lover’s hand, the breeze had gently tousled his hair. Now she let herself sink back onto his chest, listened to the regular hoofbeats, and enjoyed feeling his strong arm around her. An exciting tingling was making itself felt in her lower belly. It was like years ago, when she had been in love with Tharindu, only even stronger. She shook herself out of this dream. Was she really in love with an Englishman? How could that be?

  Then she thought how this Englishman had saved her, not once but twice, and how their paths had repeatedly crossed, as if they were bound together by an unknown destiny. A shiver ran down her spine.

  But she held herself in check. Henry Odell could not possibly imagine a future with her. He certainly was not the slightest bit interested, and for one simple reason: he believed she was a man.

  You must tell him the truth, an inner voice whispered. But did she actually want that? Was it not easier to let the Englishman move on and for her simply to live her life? She slid away from him a tiny bit, and straightened up.

  “Stop!” she cried.

  Taken by surprise, Henry halted the horse, and Phera jumped down.

  “Phera! What on earth’s wrong?” He, too, slid down from the saddle.

  She wanted to run, disappear into the jungle, but her feet would not move, and she was amazed to hear herself saying, “Why have you stopped visiting me and Siddhi? Don’t you care how she is?”

  “I do care! I care how Siddhi is, and I care how you are!”

  Now she was looking at him with a mixture of uncertainty and expectation.

  Encouraged by this, he went on. “In fact, I visited Siddhi yesterday. I’m satisfied the wound is healing and that she is well. And yet I did not actually see her keeper.” He put special feeling into his words, intently awaiting her reaction.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “I did not actually see her keeper,” he repeated. “But I heard singing, and when I looked to see who it was—”

  “Don’t say it!”

  He fell silent a moment.

  “What I saw brought me the happiest moment of my life,” he whispered gently, hoping upon hope to persuade her to forget his brother and to see him as he was, Henry Odell, a man who loved her with all his heart.

  Her lovely mouth made a silent “oh.” Her face gave away a host of conflicting emotions. Henry let go of his horse, stepped close to her, and, with the greatest of care, took hold of her hands. His eyes held hers, and he saw reflected in her steady gaze his own feelings—excitement, desire, and longing. He stayed completely still, held her hands tight, and waited to see what she would do.

  Her fleeting inner battle was over the moment she saw that he knew who she was, and that he loved her. She wanted to know how it would feel to lie on his broad chest, to be held tightly in his arms, to taste his lips. She pushed aside the voices telling her he was an Englishman with a monster for a brother. She closed her eyes and sensed how his mouth met hers, and she felt everything she had longed for.

  Chapter Thirteen

  October 1822

  It was pouring when Henry got back to the construction site in the afternoon, but rain could not dampen his joy. That Phera returned his love was a gift that made him feel strong and self-assured. For the first time in his life, he had the confidence to face his troubles.

  He went into the hospital tent and busied himself with his rapidly improving patients, feverishly wondering how to get his hands on the document with the alleged order against Mapitigama. During the day, Charles surely kept it on him, in his uniform jacket. At night he probably stowed it in the small lockbox in his tent.

  After the evening meal, Henry went to his tent for meditation. He had come to rely on this daily practice, and afterward he felt much calmer and more assured. When he opened his eyes, he had a plan.

  The rain had stopped, and mosquito swarms danced in the pale moonlight. The moist, warm night air seeped through his clothing. It smelt of damp earth and of the smoke coming from the herb fires burning all over the camp to keep the mosquitoes at bay. As Henry reached Charles’s lair, he noticed light shining through the pale canvas.

  He pushed aside the tarpaulin and stepped inside. Charles was sitting at his writing desk, his back to the door. His lockbox stood open before him.

  Henry took a deep breath. “Good evening, Charles. Isn’t this the perfect weather for a nightcap? I picked up some fine Scottish whisky in Colombo and really don’t want to drink it alone.” He held out his drinking flask. Two tin beakers stuck out of his pocket.

  Charles slammed shut the box and graced his brother with a contemptuous smile. “So you want to tell me all about your nice little goodwill visit to the village, do you? Spare yourself the trouble. My decision stands: either the brown monkeys disappear of their own accord, or I’ll make them disappear.”

  He pulled out from his inside pocket a key, always kept on a long chain attached to his clothing, and locked the box. The sodden tent was letting in the recent rain, and a drop plinked down noisily on the box’s iron lid.

  “God, how I loathe this weather,” he snarled.

  Henry pulled up a stool next to his brother’s chair. “My tent leaks, too. I reckon a good slug of this will help.”

  “If you think a drop of whisky is going to save your precious natives, you are very much mistaken,” retorted Charles. “Your negotiations have failed, haven’t they?”

  Henry feigned a meaningful sigh. He moved aside a couple of rolled-up building plans, set out the flask and tin beakers on the desk, and poured two generous measures. Then he toasted his brother and put his own beaker to his lips. But he only pretended to drink.

  “Run out of opium, have you, so you’ll settle for alcohol?” asked Charles before taking a huge gulp.

  Henry ignored the remark and talked instead about his negotiations. His report was a complete invention from start to finish, but he masterfully embellished his supposed failure in order to keep his brother amused. And Charles listened with growing schadenfreude, slapping his thigh with laughter. He emptied his beaker and wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

  “It makes the philanthropic heart bleed, eh, when you think how those brown monkeys didn’t want your well-meaning advice?”

  Henry refilled his brother’s beaker. “Wouldn’t it have saved us a lot of trouble, though, if you’d stuck to the original route?”

  Charles’s mood changed. “What right have you got to question my decisions? You have no idea what it means, building a road in this country!”

  “For God’s sake, I’m thinking of the strain on your health. Your last attack wasn’t so long ago.”

  Charles looked at him with suspicion. “Wouldn’t you rather see this bloody disease finish me off?”

  Henry noted with satisfaction that his brother’s speech was already a bit slurred. “I’d never wish that on you. And I’m speaking both as a brother and a doctor.” He raised his beaker again. “To the best engineer in the British army!”

  Suitably flattered, Charles clinked beakers. He was already so tipsy that a good part of the whisky sloshed over the edge. He knocked back the remainder. “Then let it be said, Henry, old boy—when I want something—I get it!” He banged his right fist clumsily on the desk. “I’ll get the road, and the other thing, I’ll get it all.”

  “Sorry?” aske
d Henry. “What do you mean?”

  Charles was swaying in his seat. He waved one of his hands around to no effect. “Everything. You know, don’t you? When I want something—” His eyes closed. His body slumped forward. With a deep sigh, he stretched his arms across the desk, settled his head on the iron box, and fell fast asleep.

  Henry put his beaker on the desk, waited for a minute or two, and then prodded Charles in the side. The sleeping man grumbled softly but did not wake. Whisky and laudanum really were a stunning combination.

  Henry stared at the iron box. Not only was it locked, but it now served as his brother’s pillow.

  He gently lifted Charles’s head, moved the box aside with his other hand, then lowered his brother’s head onto the desk. The only reaction was loud snoring, even when Henry felt inside Charles’s jacket for the key. Fortunately, the chain was easily long enough. With the greatest of care, he opened the box. As well as various documents and letters, it contained several bundles of bank notes, bags of coins, and a munitions pouch full of bullets. The document Henry wanted was underneath a little leather pouch. Henry pushed the pouch aside, took out the document, and unfolded it. It was covered in closely written text and adorned with the official seal of the governor. He brought it close to the oil lamp on the desk and started to read.

  “Damn it,” he muttered after only a few sentences. “What’s all this about?”

  The document was, as Mahinda had suspected, not an order for military action. Perhaps the governor had refused to give one. Perhaps Charles hadn’t even raised the matter. The text of the document suggested the latter. It was a title deed for a considerable piece of land awarded to Charles by Paget. And at a laughably low price, at that. If Charles finished the new road before the contractually agreed date, Paget would refund his purchase price, giving him the land for free.

  Now Henry understood why Charles was in such a rush to obliterate Mapitigama and its people. To get the land for effectively nothing, he would have to meet a tight schedule. He could afford no delays. To be on the safe side, Henry searched the lockbox for any order from the governor but found none.

  As he skimmed over the title deed again, he wondered why Charles had never mentioned this land acquisition. After all, it was not unusual for the Crown to reward its subjects with land in the colonies. Henry looked for the land’s parcel number, first on the deed and then on the site drawings he had pushed aside earlier. He found the plot and realized it was quite nearby, on the abandoned stretch of road that Charles had claimed could not be excavated.

  Still at a loss, Henry placed the deed back in the box. Just as he went to close the lid, he noticed the little leather pouch. He picked it up, curious now, and felt the small, sharp-edged object inside. He hesitated, undid the lacing, and tipped the contents into his hand. He gasped.

  “Henry! How lovely to see you here!”

  Phera had just finished checking Siddhi’s wound, now fully closed and nicely scabbed over. Gathering up her sari, she ran toward him. Her long hair streamed behind her as if competing with the lightly billowing veil of her sari, and he looked appreciatively at her figure, usually hidden under men’s clothing. Full of smiles, he enveloped her in his arms.

  “You look wonderful dressed like that.”

  She gave him a mischievous look. “I put it on for you. It’s not as practical as pants, but I knew you were coming and I wanted to please you.”

  “How on earth did you know I was coming?”

  “I sent out a powerful message of desire to entice you here!”

  He bent and kissed her. “I just can’t resist you.” He kissed her again. Before he could kiss her a third time, Siddhi brushed his face with her trunk.

  “Whoa there!” Henry gently shook her off. “Are you jealous, or did you smell the treat I’ve brought you?” He took from his pocket the mango he had picked on the way and held it out to Siddhi. The elephant skillfully wrapped her trunk around the fruit and placed it in her mouth.

  Phera stroked the huge animal’s trunk. “Siddhi and I were born on the same day, you know, her in the king’s stable and me in my father’s house on the palace grounds.”

  “Your father held high office at the court of Vikrama Rajasinha, is that right?”

  Phera nodded proudly. “My family served the kings of Kanda Uda Pas Rata for generations. They were Gajanayake Nilame, which means they oversaw the royal elephant stables. After you British drove out our king, my father and Eranga gave the elephants their freedom.”

  “Wait, that was your father and Eranga?”

  Phera nodded again. “He was my father’s senior mahout.”

  Henry worked to piece the story together. “The king’s elephants were supposed to be shipped to Europe. I was assigned the job of checking if they were fit for travel. But before they could be sent away, they vanished without a trace.”

  Phera looked at him with new eyes. “It was you, then!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Now I know where we first met!” she exclaimed. “It was outside the elephant stable. You told the guards to let me inside.”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “You were the boy wanting to get to his elephant? And Eranga was teaching you?” He hesitated. “So you’d presented yourself as the son of the Gajanayake Nilame, not his daughter.”

  She nodded and snuggled against him. “For the first twelve years of my life, I was my father’s son and heir. He only had daughters. My parents decided to make me the male heir so that my father could pass on his office. Nobody outside the family knew, not even the king. After you British drove out Sri Vikrama Rajasinha, the office of Gajanayake Nilame no longer existed, and I didn’t have to be a boy anymore.”

  “What an extraordinary life!” Henry put his arm around Phera. “Was being a boy difficult?”

  “No, actually it wasn’t, because I had all sorts of freedom my sisters didn’t.” She raised her head and looked deep into his eyes. “But now that I know you, I’m so glad I don’t have to be either a boy or a man any longer. I only disguise myself as a man now if it’s going to be to my advantage.”

  Henry thought of the torment his feelings for Phera had stirred up inside him. He bent and kissed the parting of her sleek, dark hair. “I’m so glad I found out what an enchanting young woman you are.” He looked over at the waterfall where she had bathed naked, and desire filled him all over again.

  “Would you like to have been under the waterfall with me yesterday?” teased Phera.

  He laughed, embarrassed. “I can’t deny it. Although it was very difficult, I wanted to be discreet.”

  Phera thought this over. Then she took him by the hand and led him to the pool. When they reached the edge, her right hand reached across to her left shoulder and stripped off her sari. Instead of wearing the traditional blouse underneath, she had wound only the full length of the sari around her body. As the bright-yellow cloth fluttered down around her feet, she stood naked before Henry. She turned to him, laughing.

  “What are you waiting for, Henry Odell?”

  With one bound, she was in the pool.

  He was mesmerized as she glided through the clear water. She surfaced at the waterfall and tossed back her long hair, making drops of water cascade around her like a silver veil. He was still standing at the edge, enraptured by her beauty and easy nudity, hardly believing his good fortune that she returned his feelings.

  He thought about her age, only nineteen, making her eight years his junior. She was probably a virgin. The knowledge that she trusted him, even though her family had suffered so much at the hands of his own brother, made him feel at once admiring and tender toward this young woman.

  “Henry Odell!” she called out. “How long do you want to go on being so discreet?”

  Stripping off his clothes, he dove headfirst into the pool. He broke the surface near the plateau of rock to find her there, sitting on its smooth face. With one hand, she splashed water in Henry’s face, then squealed with delight at her own play
fulness. He ran his hands over her thighs, gently pushing them apart as he stood in front of her. Then he held her head to kiss her, tentatively at first, then with growing passion as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth. The waterfall coursed down on them, pouring over their heads and shoulders, over Phera’s breasts and Henry’s back.

  He stroked back her hair and whispered, “I feel as if I’m in paradise.”

  “What’s ‘paradise’?” She was curious to find out.

  He kissed the droplets away from her neck. “It’s a place like this, a wonderful place, where the first two people created by my god experienced perfect happiness.”

  “Then let’s experience that same perfect happiness, too.” She took hold of his sex and guided Henry inside her. He felt her wince as he slid himself into her warm, wet body. Swiftly, he put his arms around her, drew her close, and looked into her eyes.

  “Is this all right?” he asked softly. “Do you want me to carry on?”

  She nodded. “Come closer. I want to feel you even more.”

  He began gently to rock back and forth inside. She wrapped her legs around his hips and moved in time with him, experiencing excitement and pleasure more delicious and enchanting than anything she had ever known. She wanted this perfection to last forever. They moved in harmony, letting their mutual passion lift them higher and higher until they climaxed and collapsed together in perfect peace.

  A little later they lay together on the grass, letting their bodies dry in the warmth of the sun and watching Siddhi spray herself in the shallows. The birds sang and the frogs croaked. Henry caressed Phera’s body, happy at her obvious enjoyment as she luxuriated in his touch. How he wished this could last forever. But something more than passion had brought him here today. He took her hand and waited until she turned to look at him.

  “There’s something I have to tell you. It concerns everyone in Mapitigama.”