Episode 20: Claudia Outdoes Herself

Chapter 38

A small, dark man stepped in front of the foursome, extending the head of a massive snake as though for approval. The serpent lay motionless across the man’s bare shoulders and hung almost to the floor. Without opening its jaws, it shot out a crimson tongue. Both ladies recoiled, clutching their escorts, and the little man smiled. Lord Phillip said something in Hindi, which caused the man to lose his smile and wander away toward another group of new arrivals.

            “How hideous! What did you say to him?” asked Stella.

            “I told him that the serpent will be crushed beneath the heel.”

            “Good show,” put in the Duke, adjusting his turban. “I didn’t think she was going to bring in a bunch of natives with their menageries. Questionable taste, I feel, especially with the ladies present.”

            “You will find,” explained Agnes, “that Claudia likes to shock more than anything. Good taste is a halter she has never worn.”

            The group pondered these words as they took in the ballroom. Phillip hardly recognized the space he had been shown just a few weeks before. Tonight, the three chandeliers dripping with prisms blazed above their heads. Every statue in its niche wore a rich silk wrap and was hung with garish flowers. The papier-mâché elephant towered over guests at the far end of the room, and tall potted plants created tropical islands where caged birds hung, brilliant specimens unknown in North America.

            The two couples separated to make their rounds of the guests and greet acquaintances. Phillip lost no time pushing his cape behind his shoulders and pulling his mask down to hang at his collar. Agnes looked him up and down, shivered inside, and said simply, “I am so happy to be with you.” Phillip walked her forward murmuring at her ear “You honor me, madam.”

            Agnes was glad they had come. What could Claudia do to her in front of so many people? Why, they had greeted the governor and his wife on their way in and had already talked with several members of the state legislature and kingpins of local industry. Surely this was a night for Claudia to show off, nothing more. The small orchestra struck up a Tchaikovsky waltz. Phillip and Agnes lightly took hold of each other and stepped into the dance. They moved as one, barely touching the polished floor, unconscious of the couples twirling around them. They emerged from their reverie only once, when Phillip’s father collided with them as he led the patient Stella through this dance he had never quite mastered.

            From time to time from the corner of her eye, Agnes thought she caught Claudia watching her. But before she could direct a look toward the mysterious woman, the hostess had moved her attention elsewhere, now laughing gaily, now slipping from sight, now showing her gleaming bangles to admirers.

            The evening flew by, and midnight approached. Stella and the Duke prepared to leave, having pushed their fatigue aside for as long as possible. It was agreed that they would depart after the Indian tumblers performed on the front lawn, scheduled for the stroke of twelve. Claudia threaded her way through the guests, reminding them to congregate on the front terraces to watch the performance. By five minutes to the hour, the ballroom was empty. Ladies took up their positions outside at the marble railings with their gentlemen behind, the smaller men shifting between the great hairdos and hats as best they could. Agnes, Phillip, Stella, and the Duke maneuvered their way to the top of the stairs that led down in a graceful curve to the drive, gaining a good view of the improvised stage beyond. To the north, lightening flashed high and silent but brought no rain, and the day’s heat continued to hang over the costumed crowd.

            Out on the lawn, just outside a ring of torches, seven lithe men stretched their limbs and hopped about in preparation for the feats they were on the verge of demonstrating. Others sat in a small huddle with instruments in their laps. They all wore loose pants, gathered above the ankle, and bright-colored vests with no shirts. Their hair hid itself under tightly wrapped green turbans.

            “She certainly went to great lengths, didn’t she?” remarked the Duke. “Where do you imagine she found these chaps?”

            “I overheard that she ordered them from the City,” put in Stella. “You can get anything in Manhattan, I understand.”

            “Claudia has lots of connections, some rather unconventional,” added Agnes. “Clearly money was no object tonight.”

            All talk quieted as Claudia emerged into the ring of firelight, faced her guests, and raised her arms. Her sari smoldered in the light of the torches, and no one there could be insensible to her outrageous beauty. Every line of her face, every gesture, reflected her certain knowledge of this fact.

            “Mesdames et Messieurs,” she called out. “A thousand thanks for joining us tonight for a journey through the Secrets of India. I hope you have enjoyed our special performers tonight.”

            At this point she waved her arm once and the snake-bearer emerged from the shadows and paraded before the crowd, holding out his reptilian companion to best advantage. A contortionist followed, who propelled himself in indescribable ways along the same route, inciting both fascination and revulsion. Behind him danced three ladies in exotic and revealing costumes, who throughout the evening had met with favor from the gentlemen and with enmity from their wives. Last of all came the magician, who had stunned Agnes earlier with the implausible objects he could make appear and disappear from his hands and mouth. The guests applauded the procession enthusiastically, twittering with anticipation for the main attraction.

            “Thank you,” Claudia shouted. “Now, I hope you will enjoy the Troupe of Seven Wonders, here to entertain you from their home in Bombay, a group that has amazed audiences around the world. Gentlemen . . .” With a gesture toward the performers, Claudia glided out of the circle of light and two drums began an urgent beat. Into the brilliant glow ran the seven tumblers, who, as they moved, gave the appearance of weighing nothing. They ran around in a sort of dance, weaving this way and that, jumping over one another or using each other as human springboards into impossibly high somersaults. An Asian flute started up, then a mournful sitar.

            The Seven Wonders formed a line and, as one, sprang into a back flip, then a front flip, then became a tumbling chaos of color like a fast-turning kaleidoscope in the wildly dancing light.

            So rapt was the crowd that no one noticed a carriage trundling up the drive until it pulled in front of the house, halting between the audience on the terraces and the performers whirling on the lawn. The Seven Wonders gradually came to a stop, unsure whether to continue, and looked to their client for direction, but she had vanished. They stood breathing heavily and looking at one another while the music sputtered out. The guests murmured in puzzlement.

            In truth, the main attraction had just arrived.

Chapter 39

The carriage door was thrown open from within, revealing a man’s arm, berry brown below the edge of his sleeve. Then the arm’s owner appeared, wild-eyed, crouching in the opening. The man jumped to the ground and straightened, showing himself to be of middle age, stout but erect, with a confusion of gray hair about his head. He wore a rumpled tunic, loose pants, and sandals. As he stood there, his eyes scanned the gathering intently. A thin female stepped down carefully behind him and lifted out a small child about six months old. In her dingy sari, she cringed against the carriage, holding the child close. The three travelers stood on the drive of Beaujour, facing the crowd, as though transported magically between worlds. 

            In the great arch of the mansion’s front door, tucked between the two raised terraces, Claudia stood with her butler. An honest man not long in her employ, he had seen enough things in the last few weeks to make him already regret accepting the position. Now seeing the bizarre disruption going on in the driveway, he started forward to demand an explanation from the interlopers. But Mrs. Thorne put a firm hand on his arm and held him back with a look.

            Meanwhile, at the top of the steps, one man’s heart had frozen as the disheveled man emerged from the carriage. Agnes had felt Phillip clutch her shoulder and pull her against himself with a sharp gasp.

            “What is it?” whispered Agnes, looking up into his ashen face. Her slight movement attracted the traveler’s attention, who cried out from below, “There he is!” Then pointing in fury toward Phillip, the man nearly screamed, “Come here and tell me where my daughter is!”

            Stunned silence gripped the assemblage. The Seven Wonders and their musicians drifted around the carriage, keeping their distance, to see what was happening. All eyes turned upon Phillip and Agnes. She held his hand and searched his face, but he pulled away. Slowly, maneuvering through the crowd, he descended the stairs.

            “Where are you going?” demanded the Duke, but Phillip ignored him. He stared fixedly at the wild man as the onlookers pulled back to let him pass, too intrigued to even whisper. He walked toward the man, and the only sound was the crunch of gravel beneath his measured steps. He stopped within a few feet of the visitor.

            “Where is my daughter?” demanded the man. “Give her to me. I found you at last, you see? For a year I am looking for you—now I found you.”

            Phillip spoke in a low, even voice carried by the warm night breeze. “I cannot help you, Dhanesh. I left Rupa with the nuns.”

            “The nuns! We went to Rheims. This is all that was left from my daughter at Rheims.” Rupa’s father grabbed the arm of the attendant and pulled her and the boy close. “Look at him. She left him behind. I know she came here to be with you, you scoundrel. Where is she? Where do you hide her?” Dhanesh’s face was by now only inches from Phillip’s. Phillip stood planted like a stake.

            “She is not here. I left her at Rheims and have not seen her since, I swear to you. When did she leave the convent?”

            “Half a year ago.”

            “And she told no one where she was going?”

            “Here, she came here!”

            “Did the nuns tell you that?”

            “They don’t have to tell me. I know.”

            “Nonsense! She is not here. But even if I knew where she was, I would not tell you.”

            Dhanesh grabbed fistfuls of Phillip’s shirtfront and stared madly into his eyes. At this the Duke, who had until now stayed with the ladies and strained to hear the dialog below, put a hand on his sword hilt and pushed his way down the stairs. Dhanesh saw him coming, a middle-aged maharajah with a tin sword banging against one leg, and for a moment the puzzled Indian froze. The duke halted beside his son and glowered at the stranger, whose face had gone from rage to wonder. Suddenly aware of his costume, the Duke snatched the turban from his head and tucked it under his arm.

            “Who are you?” he demanded. “What’s the meaning of this?”

            Dhanesh looked from the father to the son, still holding Phillip fast. “Father,” said Phillip, “this is Dhanesh, the man I stayed with in India before returning home. He thinks I have abducted his daughter.”

            “Abducted his daughter? Rubbish! What would we want with his daughter?”

            Somehow, from beyond his fury, an understanding began to creep over Dhanesh that his daughter might not be here. No, she would not be good enough for these men to keep—only to use up and leave behind. He had traveled thousands of miles over land and water and come to a dead end in this strange place, on this night, even with the hunted man now in his grasp. He stared up at the glistening faces, the gaudy costumes, the glowing house, all wrapped in stunned silence. Tears began to fill his dark eyes and spill down his cheeks.

            The Duke shifted his weight. Whoever this man was, he had lost his daughter. Embarrassed and pained for him, he slipped a hand inside his jacket and produced a handkerchief. Dhanesh looked stupidly at the neatly folded square of white linen, then turned his gaze on Phillip. He spoke haltingly as he slowly loosened his grip and dropped his arms. “At first, I thought I must kill this bastard child. But he is my blood. What can I do?” He looked to the Duke as though for an answer, then back to the young man. “You have ruined my family. You have disgraced us.” The words came out more pleadingly than angry.

            “You ruined your family,” Phillip replied sternly. “You allowed your wife and sons to abuse that girl mercilessly. Then, Dhanesh, then you used her to connect yourself with a royal family—even if she had to marry the devil to do it.”

            “You have dishonored us!” Dhanesh cried with renewed fury.

            “I did not! I swear by all that’s holy, I never trespassed on your daughter’s honor.”

            “She was almost married—only two weeks until the ceremony and you kidnapped her.”

            “I only tried to save her from the fate you had arranged. And it was she who came to me for help, Dhanesh. There was no kidnapping.”

            Confused, Dhanesh grabbed the wide-eyed baby and held him up to Phillip. “Look at this. This is yours. I see you in his eyes, his skin, his soul. I curse this child and I give him to you. I am finished!” The words rang out in a wail, and he pushed the child into Phillips’ arms. “I will go home now, but I have no home. My house has fallen and my sons hang their heads in shame.” Dhanesh looked around like a man surveying the field of battle, where his cause is lost and he is the last man, barely standing. He had come to the end of his mission, this quest that had driven him for over a year, and now, with nothing left to do and no road ahead, he could only turn back the way he had come.

            Phillip patted the frightened child and extended him to the woman, who stepped forward to take him. But Dhanesh stopped her.

            Phillip transferred the tiny boy to the crook of one arm, where the child grabbed the hanging mask and pulled it to his little mouth. Phillip put a hand on his accuser’s shoulder. “I am sorry, Dhanesh.” The spent man did not pull back. “You were good to me. I am sorry you have lost your daughter, I truly am. But my friend, you have only yourself to blame. This is not my child, though. You must believe me.” He untied his mask with one hand, surrendering it to the baby, and gently held the boy out to his grandfather.

            Dhanesh, strangely calm, looked past the baby and into Phillip’s eyes. “What have I done for this to happen to me? How do I anger Vishnu to punish me this way?” Slowly he wiped his eyes with a sleeve and looked at the baby. “The nuns named him Henri. Call him what you want.”

            Dhanesh turned and climbed into the carriage. The attendant tugged his sleeve and indicated the child, but he waved his hand impatiently and pulled her inside. The coachman shut the door, exchanged a quick word with his passengers, and climbed up to his seat. Phillip, still holding the child, watched the driver slap the reins and direct the carriage back down the long drive, its shiny black sides glinting ominously between the rows of red lanterns. He looked down with wonder at the baby in his arms, who held the soggy mask in one hand while fingering Phillip’s pearly buttons with the other.

            In the grand doorway, Claudia let out a long, slow breath. Her ball had achieved perfection.

To be continued . . .