‘Oh please, Mr Reid!’ she cried with a laugh. ‘Do you imagine that respectable married people would be so wanton as to remove all their clothes and let their hands roam as do you and I? If so, you are much mistaken. I can assure you that for most wives and husbands, coupling is merely a matter of dropping the chitty in the dawk: it is done with a quick hoisting of nightgowns, and that too only when all the batties have been extinguished.’
‘But surely when you were first married …?’
‘No, Mr Reid, you are mistaken again,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Mine was not that kind of marriage: my union with Mr Burnham came about for many purposes, but pleasure was not among them. I was but eighteen and he was twenty years my senior: he wanted respectability and an entrée into circles that had been closed to him. My father was a brigadier-general in the Bengal Native Infantry, as I’ve told you, and it was in his power to open many doors. My dear papa, like many soldiers, was not provident in his ways and was always in debt. He and Mama had pinned their hopes on a brilliant marriage for me — and although a match with Mr Burnham was not quite that, he was a coming man, as they say, and already a Nabob. He offered my parents a very generous settlement.’
There was a confiding note in her voice that Zachary had not heard before; it was as if he were at last being admitted into a recess that was still deeper and more intimate than those he had already explored. Eager for more, he said: ‘Was there no feeling between you and Mr Burnham then? No attachment at all?’
She gave him one of her teasing smiles and tickled him under the chin, as though he were a child. ‘Really, Mr Reid, what are we to do with you?’ she said. ‘Don’t you know that a memsahib cannot allow mere feelings to get in the way of her career? Love is for harry-maids and dhobbins, not for women like us: that is what my mother taught me and it is what I shall teach my daughter. And it is not untrue, you know. One cannot live on love after all, and nor is mine an unhappy existence. Mr Burnham asks nothing of me except that I move in the right circles and run his house as a pucka Beebee should. Beyond that he leaves me to my own devices — so why should I do any less for him?’
‘So did you know all along then,’ Zachary persisted, ‘about what he was getting up to, with girls like Paulette?’
‘No!’ she said sharply. ‘I had my suspicions, but I did not inquire too closely, and if you want to know why I will tell you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I too have not been the best of wives to him.’
He turned on his side and looked into her face with puzzled, questioning eyes: ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’ll tell you if you must know,’ she said. ‘It goes back to the night of our wedding. When Mr Burnham came to my bed, I was seized by such dread that I fell into a dead faint. Nor was that the only time: I would fall into a swoon whenever he tried to embrace me. It happened so often that it was decided that I needed medical attention. I was taken to see the best English doctor in the city and he told me that I was suffering from a condition of frigidity brought on by hysteria and other nervous disorders. It took years of treatment before I was able to conceive — and suffice it to say that since that time Mr Burnham has come to accept that I am in some respects an invalid, and he has been, in his own way, kind about it. And I, for my part, have long assumed that he had his outlets, as men do — but I had never imagined that it was of the kind that Paulette described to you.’
‘So what did you think …?’
But her mood had already changed, and she cut him short, with a playful tightening of her fist. ‘You are an inquisitive little mystery today, aren’t you, Mr Reid? I confess I would rather answer to your sepoy than to you.’
The rebuff stung him: it was as if she had slammed a door on his face. He pulled himself abruptly free of her hands and reached for his breeches: ‘Well, you need answer to neither of us, Mrs Burnham — it is time for us to go, so we will bid you good night.’
On his way out, when she tried to push some money into his pocket, as she usually did, he brushed her hand brusquely aside. ‘No, madam,’ he said. ‘You insult me if you think that I would rather be paid in silver coin than a few honest words.’
Without waiting for an answer he ran down the stairs.
*
For several weeks, Shireen thought of little else but the journey that Zadig had proposed. Her desire to go was so strong that this was in itself a reason for doubting her motives. Was it in order to escape the house that she wanted to go? Was it out of a vulgar curiosity about her husband’s son? Or was it because of a desire to see Zadig again?
These queries milled about in her head, generating other doubts. Would her family’s objections be quite as insurmountable as she imagined? Or were the difficulties indeed primarily in her own mind, as Zadig Bey had said?
The only way to find out was to try.
One day in early December Vico came by. While talking to him Shireen suddenly came to a decision.
Vico, she said. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to travel to China.
Really, Bibiji?
Vico made no attempt to disguise his scepticism: And what will your brothers say to that?
The question made her bristle. Look, Vico, she said, I am not a child. How can my brothers stop me from going if that’s what I want to do? There is nothing scandalous about a widow going to visit her husband’s grave. Besides, when I explain to them about recovering Bahram’s funds, they will understand — they may not approve, but they are people who understand the value of money.
And your daughters?
They will worry about my safety of course, said Shireen. But if I tell them that I’ll be travelling with a companion they’ll be reassured. It is true, isn’t it, that Rosa would like to go too?
Yes, Bibiji, but you would have to pay for her passage and her expenses. It will not be cheap.
I’ve thought of that, Vico. Wait.
Shireen went to her room, and returned with a jewellery box.
Vico, look — these are some pieces that I’d kept for myself. Do you think they would cover the costs of the journey?
Reaching into the box, Vico weighed a few of Shireen’s pendants and necklaces in the palm of his hand.
These will fetch a lot of money, Bibiji, he said. Certainly enough for your passage, and Rosa’s too. But think about it — do you really want to risk it all on this journey?
Yes, Vico, because it will be well worth it, if things turn out right.
Shireen could tell that Vico was still unconvinced, so she dropped the subject: Anyway, don’t talk about this yet, Vico. Let me work it out first.
Yes of course, Bibiji. It’s a big decision.
Shireen slept very little that night: all she could think about was how best to present her plan to her family.
It was clear to her that she would need her brothers’ consent, at the very least, if she was to travel to China: such was their position in Bombay’s social and commercial world that no reputable shipowner would grant her a passage if it came to be known that her brothers were against it. The only alternative was to steal off in secret and that was a path that she could not contemplate: if she was to go at all she would have to do it openly, but in such a way as to silence Bombay’s busybodies and bak-bak-walas. This would be no easy thing, she knew, for a great gale of disquiet was sure to sweep through the purdah-ed interiors of the city’s mansions when it was learnt that the Mestries’ widowed daughter was planning to travel to China, on her own.
After much thought Shireen decided that a scandal of some kind was probably inevitable — but if her family presented a united front it would be of no great consequence; they would be able to weather it. The matter might even be cast in an advantageous light, to show the world that the Mestries, who had been pioneers in industry, were in advance of their peers in other respects as well.