Page 129 of A Thousand Painted Hours

“I do not have sisters, aside from the time I spent with Gurdaya.” Sketching the line of her shoulder, the shape of fabric over it, I said, “How many do you have?”

“Three, but one died in childbirth. I was still a child, so I do not remember her well. Gurdaya has been a comfort to me, certainly. She is a very lively companion.”

“She is, indeed. She has fashioned a life that suits her very well.” I sketched the shape of the cat at her ankle. “I am sorry you’re deprived of your sisters.”

“Oh, no. Do not misunderstand. I do not complain about my lot. I am very fortunate that Tanveer agreed to marry me and bring me here. Else I would have spent my life on the edges of my father’s court, pitied and ignored. At least this way we do entertain, and I have some social intercourse. When I am well enough.”

I nodded. With a light hand, I suggested the scars on her face, with a heavier hand, made her eyes black as a new moon. “You have beautiful eyes.”

“May I see?”

“Of course.” I held up the drawing and she stared at it for a long moment.

“You’ve made me beautiful.”

“I have only drawn what I see.”

The servant came in with a tray of tea and cakes and settled it on an inlaid table at Channan’s elbow. The woman spoke in Punjabi, and Channan dismissed her. “Will you serve, Elsie?”

I set my book aside. “I feel you must have spent a great deal of time with the British.”

“Yes. My father wanted us all to know your manners and customs. He believed we should understand our enemy.” She smiled, taking a delicate cup.

“Like your husband,” I said.

“Exactly. They met through politics, after the Amritsar massacre.”

That had been the moment Tanveer had recognized a marriage between the two of us would never be possible if he were to accomplish the goals he’d set for his life. The memory clanged a dull gong in my chest.

“Have I said something wrong?”

“No.” I shook off the selfish memory. “I was just remembering how terrible it was.”

She leaned back, as if suddenly exhausted. “It was, indeed.”

“Shall I read, Channan? I’ve brought a novel I have found very enjoyable.”

“That would be lovely.”

So we had tea and I had cakes and I read Agatha Christie. The rains moved in hard late in the day, and I wandered back to my rooms where I sketched whatever crossed my mind—the kittens around the palace; Gurdaya in her rose-colored sari, the look of the train compartment, and Channan, fast asleep.

I had feared I might resent the woman who had married Tanveer, but instead I found in her a friend.

What a surprise she was. What a surprise all of it was.

—66—

August 20, 1926

Taos, New Mexico

Oh, Elsie, what have you done! I received your letter and one from Peter on the very same day, and you present quite different stories. He admits to drinking heavily in Cairo, and regrets his behavior. He did not elaborate, but I can piece things together myself. British men are often known for their wandering eye, and while regrettable, it is not grounds for this kind of drama. Running away!

It is also not safe for an English gentlewoman in India now. The turmoil reaches us even in America—riots and trouble and even people murdered.

I am distraught. Please write and tell me you have ended this mad sojourn and have returned to mend your marriage. Peter offers me a great deal of financial support of which I do not think you are aware. My husband is not a wealthy man, an artist who lives very simply. Those funds from Peter are my lifeline.

Go home to your husband, Elsie. You have never thought clearly about the prince, but you cannot riskeverything to live in India no matter how much you wish to do so.