Some Enchanted Evening

ChapterTwo

The letter Priya Narayan received from her father could not have come at a more inconvenient time. She was happy. She’d taken to life in London like a lotus blooming. Her studies at Bedford College thrilled her, and the prospect of sitting an exam at the end of her studies that would give her a Bachelor of Arts from the University of London was something she looked forward to the way most women looked forward to their marriages.

Priya wasn’t looking forward to marriage, that much was certain. That was why the letter from her father had struck a particular chord of dread within her. The letter had arrived that morning, though it had been posted several weeks before, and it was short and clear. He was coming. Maharaja Jitendra Narayan was on his way to London, and he was bringing a guest.

“I would expect you’d be happy that your father was bringing a guest with him to see how much progress you’ve made,” Priya’s dearest friend, Miss Charlotte Sloane, said as the two of them sat in the front row of those who had gathered for the meeting of the Women’s Franchise League. “It’s been over a year since you saw your father, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Priya said slowly, a pang of affection squeezing her chest. “But I am suspicious of the timing. I am nowhere near finishing my course of studies, for one.”

Charlotte drew her eyes from Mrs. Pankhurst—who was in the middle of giving a rousing speech on the necessity of allowing married women the right to vote—and stared at Priya. “Your father approves of your education, doesn’t he? Wasn’t he the one who sent you here along with your brother?”

“He was,” Priya answered slowly, wincing as she did. In fact, someone else had been the primary force behind convincing her father to send her to London with Jeetan. Someone she didn’t particularly want to think about.

Charlotte reached out and grasped Priya’s hands as she clasped them tightly together in her lap. “Everything will work out for the very best in the end, I’m certain of it,” she said.

Priya smiled at her friend, glad beyond telling that she’d found such a dear companion. They were in the same year at Bedford, both studying History and Literature. Charlotte’s father was a successful industrialist, but one with a decidedly middle-class background. He’d insisted on sending all of his children to university, saying that they needed to gain the refinement that he would never have because of his birth, but that he could afford because of his success.

Whatever Mr. Sloane’s reasons, Priya was eternally grateful for his progressive thinking when it came to women’s education. Charlotte was everything Priya was not. She was sweet-tempered and optimistic where Priya was what polite people called feisty. Charlotte balanced Priya’s tendency to see the worst possible outcome of every situation and to tie herself in knots of anxiety because of it.

Priya needed her friend’s optimism, now that her father was on his way. She knew full well that he hadn’t intended to make the long journey from Koch Bihar for another year still. The fact that he was coming now, and that he was not coming alone, boded ill.

Jeetan must have written to him earlier in the summer about her involvement with Mrs. Pankhurst’s crowd. That was the only explanation Priya could think of. Unless Jogendra Dev Raikut had changed his mind about things.

It was too much to think about, particularly as the crowd burst into applause for Mrs. Pankhurst’s speech. Priya sucked in a breath, gathering her courage for what she knew came next.

“And now, we will hear from a bright young woman from the kingdom of Koch Bihar in India about the extension of voting rights throughout the empire,” Mrs. Pankhurst said by way of introduction. “Please give your attention to Rani Priya Narayan, who is also an exceptional student at Bedford College.”

Priya pressed a hand to her stomach and stood. She glanced to Charlotte one last time, receiving just the sort of smile of encouragement she needed from her friend. She never would have had the courage to stand up and speak, if not for Charlotte. In fact, she thought as she made her way from her chair to the dais, she might not have excelled so much in her studies if she hadn’t had Charlotte right there by her side for a little friendly competition. Charlotte was—

Her thoughts stopped abruptly as she moved behind the podium where the notes from her speech were set out. There he was, standing toward the front of the crowd of men who had, no doubt, gathered around the demonstration to mock and make fun of Mrs. Pankhurst and her supporters. Lord Cathraiche wore a grin just like the rest of them—a grin that said he thought she was something silly and that she didn’t deserve to be listened to.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered that perhaps she had rushed to judgement where Lord Cathraiche was concerned. He was there, looking as though he were prepared to listen to what she had to say. His handsome smile went straight to her heart. Or perhaps that was her stomach. Or even something lower. As inclined as she was to interpret the look in his eyes as a challenge, it encouraged her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began her speech, emphasizing the “gentlemen” part and staring straight at Lord Cathraiche as she did. “I thank you all for attending our meeting this evening. The cause of votes for women is an important one, not just here on British soil, but across all the lands that have been touched by British influence.”

Priya had rehearsed her speech with Charlotte a dozen times, but delivering it to a crowd of over a hundred was a different matter entirely. Was she truly eloquent enough to convey the importance of what she had to say? Would people understand her with her slight, provincial accent? Would they fail to take her seriously because of the color of her skin?

The gentleman standing beside Lord Cathraiche leaned close to him and whispered something while staring right at her. Priya could tell, even across the distance, that the man’s comment was derisive. Lord Cathraiche scowled at him, but somewhere in Priya’s mind and expectations, she took the whole thing as Lord Cathraiche agreeing with whatever nasty thing was said.

She stood straighter, squared her shoulders, and used the imagined offense as the fuel she needed to speak with volume and authority.

“Not only does Britain have an obligation to ensure a fair voice for all of its citizens, it is imperative that the heart of the empire provide a stellar example for those places that look up to it for guidance and authority. Whether we in the kingdom of Koch Bihar, or any of the other jurisdictions of West Bengal, agree with British rule, what we see demonstrated for us by our conquerors is a model for how we will shape ourselves.”

Her words caused a bit of a stir. They were revolutionary, in a way. Most Londoners believed that the subjects of the British Empire accepted their conquerors as their betters, and they believed that the people of Hindustan would bow down and allow the British foot to be placed on their neck. It was so far from the truth as to be laughable—and Priya had no doubt that a day was coming when that truth would be presented to Britain on the bloody blade of rebellion—but that was not the purpose of that evening’s meeting.

She focused on Lord Cathraiche once again, drawing her strength from what she imagined to be his disapproval.

“I am currently enrolled in Bedford College, which is a part of the University of London. It is a college for women, where hundreds of women are being educated to a level that meets or exceeds the education of our male peers. Does it not stand to reason that, because our level of education is equal to that of our husbands, that we should be entitled to vote as they do?”

The audience reacted with a variety of sound and emotion, from agreement to outrage, mostly depending on the sex of whoever was reacting. Priya glanced to Lord Cathraiche again, interested to see what he thought of her declaration.

Lord Cathraiche smiled at her, but before Priya could decide whether he agreed or was amused by her quaint views, her gaze drifted past him to another man.

Her brother, Jeetan, Maharajakumar of Koch Bihar, marched toward the edge of the audience, wearing a scowl. Priya swallowed hard, her hands going numb and beginning to shake. She’d told Jeetan that she’d be having supper with Charlotte before attending a required lecture at the college. She’d believed the excuse to be ironclad, since the college routinely required its students to attend lectures in the evening. But somehow, Jeetan had discovered the truth.

Priya gripped the edge of the podium. She couldn’t back down now, even with her brother glaring at her as though she had committed a great transgression. The cause she was there to speak about was too important. She glanced to Lord Cathraiche again and, surprisingly, saw a look of deep concern on his face. He turned as if searching the crowd to see what had upset her.