Today is publication day for Dinah Jefferies' latest novel
Before the Rains and it's my absolute pleasure to be able to share with you chapter 1 to whet your appetites for what promises to be another fantastic read.
But when Eliza arrives at the palace she meets Jay, the Prince's handsome, brooding brother. While Eliza awakens Jay to the poverty of his people, he awakens her to the injustices of British rule. Soon Jay and Eliza find they have more in common than they think. But their families - and society - think otherwise. Eventually they will have to make a choice between doing what's expected, or following their hearts. . .
1
The princely state of Juraipore, Rajputana, in the Indian Empire
November 1930
For just a moment Eliza caught a glimpse of the façade of the castle. It shocked her, the way it shimmered – a mirage conjured from the desert haze, alien and a little frightening. The wind stuttered and then picked up again and, for a moment, she closed her eyes to shut out this trembling extension of the sand. No matter how far from home, and without the faintest idea of how things would work out, there could be no turning back, and she felt the fear in the pit of her stomach. At the age of twenty- nine this would be her biggest commission since setting up as a professional photographer, though it was still unclear to her why Clifford Salter had chosen her. However, he had explained that she might be better placed to photograph the women of the castle, as many were still nervous of outsiders, and especially men. And the Viceroy had particularly asked for a British photographer to guard against conflicted loyalties. She would be paid monthly, with a lump sum for successful completion.
She opened her eyes on air thick with the glitter of sand and dust, the castle hidden from view once more, and above her the seamless blue sky, merciless in its heat. The escort leading her towards the city twisted round to tell her to hurry. She bowed her head against the stinging and climbed back into his camel-pulled cart, clasping her camera bag to her chest. Above all else she must not allow sand to damage her precious cargo.
Closer to their destination she raised her eyes to see a fortress stretching across the mountain top, dream-like. A hundred birds swooped across the lilac horizon, threads of pink cloud tracing delicate patterns high above them. Almost drugged by the heat, she struggled not to fall victim to the enchantment; she was here to work, after all. But if it wasn’t the wind calling up the distant past as she hunched up against it, it was her own more recent memories.
When Anna Fraser had contacted Clifford Salter, a wealthy godson of her husband’s, she had thought that with his connections he might find her daughter a position as a clerk in a solicitor’s office in Cirencester, or something of that kind. She had hoped it would prevent her daughter from trying to make her way as a photographer. After all, she would say, who wants a woman photographer? But someone did and that had been Clifford, who said she’d be ideal and would suit his purposes perfectly. Anna couldn’t object. He was the British Crown representative, after all, and answered only to the Rajputana Chief Political Officer or AGG, who exercised indirect rule over all twenty- two princely states. He, the Residents, and the minor political officers from the smaller states all belonged to the political department directly under the Viceroy.
So now Eliza faced a year inside a castle where she knew no one. Her commission was to photograph life in the princely state for a new archive to mark the seat of British Government finally moving from Calcutta to Delhi. The building of New Delhi had taken much longer than expected, and the war had delayed everything, but now the time had finally arrived.
She’d heard her mother’s warnings about the sufferings of the people and saw that outside the huge walls of the castle urchins played in the dust and dirt. She spotted a beggar woman sitting cross- legged near a sleeping cow and gazing ahead with empty eyes. Beside her bamboo scaffolding leaning against a high wall blew perilously, with two planks of wood coming loose right above a naked child squatting on the ground beneath.
‘Stop,’ she called out and, as the cart rumbled to a standstill, she leapt out, just as one of the planks began slipping from its tethers. With her heart pounding, she reached the child and pulled him from harm’s way. The wood fell to the ground and splintered into several pieces. The child ran off and the cart driver shrugged. Didn’t they care, she wondered, as they climbed the ramp.
A few minutes later the cart driver stood arguing with the guards outside the fortress. They were not obliging, even though he’d shown them the papers. Eliza looked up at the forbidding frontage, and the enormous gated entrance wide enough for an army to pass through; camels, horses, carriages too. She’d even heard that the ruler had several cars. Meanwhile the vehicle she had been travelling in had broken down, and continuing by camel cart meant Eliza was tired, thirsty and coated in dust. She could feel it in her sore eyes, and in her itching scalp. She couldn’t help scratching, though it only made things worse.
Eventually a woman appeared at the gates, a long wispy scarf covering her face and revealing only her dark eyes.
‘Your name?’
Eliza told her who she was and shaded her own eyes against the piercing afternoon sun.
‘Follow.’
The woman nodded at the guards, who looked disgruntled but allowed them both through. It had been eighteen years since Eliza and her mother had left India for England. Eighteen years of ever- decreasing possibilities for Anna Fraser. But Eliza had made the decision to be free. To her it seemed like a second birth, as if a hidden hand had brought her back, though of course there was nothing hidden about Clifford Salter. He might have been more attractive had there been, but a more ordinary man it would be hard to find. Thinning sandy hair and moist, myopic pale blue eyes reinforced the impression of dullness, yet she was indebted to him for arranging this job for her in the land of the Rajputs, noble warrior clans in this cluster of princely states in the desert region of the Indian Empire.
Before walking through a series of glorious archways, Eliza dusted herself down as best she could. A eunuch led her through a maze of tiled rooms and corridors to a small vestibule. She’d heard of these castrated men in feminine dress and she shuddered. The vestibule was guarded by women who stood glaring at Eliza as they barred her way through wide sandalwood doors inlaid with ivory. When, after some explanation from the eunuch, they eventually allowed her to pass, they left her to wait alone. She glanced around at the room, every inch of it painted in clear cerulean blue with the patterns picked out in gold. Flowers, leaves, filigree scrolls rose up the walls and trailed across the ceiling; even the stone floor had been carpeted in matching blue. Although the colour was bright, there was a delicate beauty about the overall effect. Wrapped up in the blueness she felt almost a part of the sky.
