Sharpe she had been frightened, but the General had taken her to his own house and there reassured her of her safety. ‘We must clean you,’ the General told her, ‘and let that eye heal.’ He treated her gently, but with a measure of reserve that sprang from her dishevelled looks and her presumed history. The General did not believe that Mary was the most suitable addition to his household, but she spoke English and Appah Rao was shrewd enough to reckon that a command of English would be a profitable accomplishment in Mysore’s future and he had three sons who would have to survive in that future. ‘In time,’ Rao told Mary, ‘you can join your man, but it’s best he should settle in first.’
But now, after a week in the General’s household, Mary did not want to leave. For a start the house was filled with women who had taken her into their care and treated her with a kindness that astonished her. The General’s wife, Lakshmi, was a tall plump woman with prematurely grey hair and an infectious laugh. She had two grown unmarried daughters and, though there was a score of female servants, Mary was surprised to discover that Lakshmi and her daughters shared the work of the big house. They did not sweep it or draw water – those tasks were for the lowest of the servants – but Lakshmi loved to be in the kitchen from where her laughter rippled out into the rest of the house.
It had been Lakshmi who had scolded Mary for being so dirty, had stripped her from her western clothes, forced her into a bath and there untangled and washed her filthy hair. ‘You’d be beautiful if you took some trouble,’ Lakshmi had said.
‘I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.’
‘When you’re my age, my dear, no one pays you any attention at all, so you should take all you can get while you’re young. You say you’re a widow?’
‘He was an Englishman,’ Mary said nervously, explaining
the lack of the marriage mark on her forehead and worried lest the older woman thought she should have thrown herself onto her husband’s pyre.
‘Well, you’re a free woman now, so let’s make you expensive.’ Lakshmi laughed and then, helped by her daughters, she first brushed and then combed Mary’s hair, drawing it back and then gathering it into a bun at the nape of her neck. A cheerful maid brought in an armful of clothes and the women tossed cholis at her. ‘Choose one,’ Lakshmi said. The choli was a brief blouse that covered Mary’s breasts, shoulders and upper arms, but left most of her back naked and Mary instinctively selected the most modest, but Lakshmi would have none of it. ‘That lovely pale skin of yours, show it off!’ she said, and chose a brief choli patterned in extravagant swirls of scarlet flowers and yellow leaves. Lakshmi tugged the short sleeves straight. ‘So why did you run with those two men?’ Lakshmi asked.
‘There was a man back in the army. A bad man. He wanted to . . .’ Mary stopped and shrugged. ‘You know.’
‘Soldiers!’ Lakshmi said disapprovingly. ‘But the two men you ran away with, did they treat you well?’
‘Yes, oh yes.’ Mary suddenly wanted Lakshmi’s good opinion, and that opinion would not be good if she thought that Mary had run from the army with a lover. ‘One of them’ – she told the lie shyly – ‘is my half-brother.’
‘Ah!’ Lakshmi said as though everything was clear now. Her husband had told her that Mary had run with her lover, but Lakshmi decided to accept Mary’s story. ‘And the other man?’ she asked.
‘He’s just a friend of my brother’s.’ Mary blushed at the lie, but Lakshmi did not seem to notice. ‘They were both protecting me,’ Mary explained.
‘That’s good. That’s good. Now, this.’ She held out a white petticoat that Mary stepped into. Lakshmi laced it tight at the back, then began hunting through the pile of saris.
‘Green,’ she said, ‘that’ll suit you,’ and she unfolded a vast bolt of green silk that was four feet wide and over twenty feet long. ‘You know how to wear a sari?’ Lakshmi asked.