Miss Emily's bonnet bobbed with alarm. "You must a.s.sure me at once, f.a.n.n.y," she implored, "that we are not about to climb a fiight of stairs on a blue elephant."

But they were to do just that. As their mahout guided the great animal toward the stairs, the clear voice of a royal announcer began to call out their t.i.tles from a niche high in the wall.

"Oh, but this is so exciting," breathed Mariana, as they began their ascent, their silver howdah swaying and their elephant's state housings aglitter in the light of a hundred torches.

MAHARAJAH Ranjit Singh sat under a canopy of Kashmir shawls in the heart of a lamplit sandstone courtyard, his Chief Minister on the carpet at his feet, his n.o.bles standing before him. On the Maharajah's seeing side, a stiffiy smiling Lord Auckland perched on a golden chair near Mr. Macnaghten, who was to translate. The two men tactfully ignored the Maharajah's drawn-up feet and the pair of socks that lay discarded upon the rich carpet in front of his golden throne.

On the Maharajah's blind side, beyond the Misses Eden, Mariana smoothed her blue-and-white-striped skirt and listened to the murmuring of the crowd.

The Maharajah's chiefs were a wonderful sight. They looked even more romantic than the Honor Guard, who stood behind the British chairs, splendidly turned out in plumes and gold lace. Among them, a pale-looking Harry Fitzgerald, resplendent in gold braid and a black dragoon helmet with a red horsehair plume, kept his face turned away from Mariana.

How long had Major Byrne and Mr. Macnaghten been glaring at her like that? She let out her breath. Those two must never never learn of the Shaikh's proposal. learn of the Shaikh's proposal.

Rising from some distant courtyard, fireworks burst noisily above them. Drums grew insistent and rows of dancing girls appeared. As the music quickened, Mariana felt her heart take up the rhythm of the drums.

She must enjoy this spectacle now, while it was still night. By daylight, the Citadel would surely prove to be a crumbling ruin, despoiled by the Sikhs after the glories of the Moghul Empire, full of filth, beggars, and starving dogs.

Perhaps everything in India was like Shaikh Waliullah-able to enchant only in the darkness.

While we are at dinner, Mariana," Miss Emily had cautioned on Sat.u.r.day, "please remember that we British never never notice gifts given to us by Oriental potentates." notice gifts given to us by Oriental potentates."

The dancing girls had drifted away. A liveried servant appeared at the Maharajah's side carrying a tray heaped with jewels. Mariana tore her gaze away and stared for several seconds without thinking at a Sikh sirdar in a greenand-white shawl and emeralds, who smiled back delightedly.

While the English party studied the air, Ranjit Singh poked with brown fingers through the treasure on the tray. From the corner of her eye, Mariana saw him fish two diamond bracelets and a diamond ring from the pile, then reach for Miss Emily.

She glanced quickly across and was rewarded by the sight of Miss Emily staring into s.p.a.ce, the bracelets already clasped onto one bony wrist, while, as if in some bizarre wedding ceremony, the Maharajah pushed the ring onto her finger.

He now returned to the tray and began again, his head tilted, to search diligently among the jewels.

At length, a rope of pearls in his hand, he rose and came to stand over Miss f.a.n.n.y, apparently expecting to put the necklace over her head.

It was obvious that the midlength rope would not fit over Miss f.a.n.n.y's large bonnet. Mariana risked another glance and caught the Maharajah's gleam of enjoyment as his small hands worked near Miss f.a.n.n.y's impa.s.sive face, tangling the pearls more and more inextricably among silk peonies and velvet ribbons. His fumbling seemed to go on forever. Mariana stared sideways, fighting the desire to laugh aloud, grateful that she was to be exempt from this particular game.

As soon as this ceremony had ended, a fresh tray arrived, carried in by a beautiful young boy. As he set the tray in front of the Maharajah, a sigh pa.s.sed like a gust of wind through the a.s.sembled British officers.

The Maharajah clapped his hands with pleasure. "Wah, wah, Governor Sahib, the wine has come," he declared happily.

"Do look at poor George," said Miss Emily in a stage whisper. "He looks as if he has been sentenced to transportation."

Moments later, someone pressed a wine cup into Mariana's hand.

Pursing her lips on the goblet's rim, she took an experimental sip. Bitter and blisteringly hot, the wine caused tears to rush into her eyes. Forced to swallow, she was certain she had scalded her insides.

"We had this wine at Simla," Miss f.a.n.n.y was saying confidentially as she poured hers surrept.i.tiously onto the carpet. "It tastes like bitter, fermented red peppers. Oh, dear, I see you've already tried it." She blinked into Mariana's burning face. "Are you all right? Poor George was in bed all morning after the last of these parties. Aren't we fortunate to be sitting on the Maharajah's blind side! The poor officer behind the major's chair has been on a strict strict diet of toast and water for days, and even he has not been able to avoid the wine." diet of toast and water for days, and even he has not been able to avoid the wine."

For the next two hours, while the British officers stirred and yawned, the Maharajah drank steadily, his hand ever holding the golden bottle, ready to pour again.

Fitzgerald, who stood in the Maharajah's line of vision, was also being forced to drink. He now swayed puffy-faced in his place behind Lord Auckland's chair, his eyes drooping.

The toast-and-water officer had already been carried away.

"Are my brother and Mr. Macnaghten not brave?" whispered Miss f.a.n.n.y, nodding toward the rigid-faced Mr. Macnaghten and Lord Auckland. "They know they must not offend the Maharajah, now that the signing is so very close."

AT last, several servants brought in a golden table and set it before the Maharajah.

Miss f.a.n.n.y nudged Mariana and pointed to her timepiece as servants carried in dishes of food and set them out on the table. It was midnight.

Too tired now for hunger, Mariana picked at her plate while, before and behind her, the British and Sikh parties ate standing up. What was she eating, venison? Duck? What were those odd-shaped vegetables? The yellow rice tasted as if the cook had mixed into it all the spices for a Christmas pudding. Everything was like that, perfumed with a queer mixture of familiar and unfamiliar tastes.

Her nose ran from the red pepper. She put her handkerchief to her face and looked up to see the Maharajah bend down, his single eye fixed on her, and say something to the black-bearded Chief Minister at his feet.

Faqeer Azizuddin's glance became speculative. She looked down uneasily at her clothes. Had she spilled food on her gown? What were they staring at?

"f.a.n.n.y, dear," Miss Emily said quietly, "I have eaten all I can bear to, and Ranjit will not stop feeding me. I have already deposited two quails, four b.a.l.l.s of spiced meat, and a round of bread under my chair, and I fear I have used every bit of available s.p.a.ce. Might I hire the carpet under your chair for the rest of the evening? I must find a home for two pears and a large sweetmeat decorated with gold foil."

"Of course you may, Emily," replied Miss f.a.n.n.y in her stage whisper. "I do hope this evening does not go on much longer," she added mournfully. "The wine has soaked right through my best slippers."

THE Maharajah, still talking, was eating his dinner, including his rice, with one hand, sucking his fingers noisily. Having spoken for the better part of an hour with Lord Auckland and Mr. Macnaghten, he turned at last to Miss Emily.

This was Mariana's moment.

"Does the Governor Sahib not like women?" the king asked, his eye bright with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Is that why he has never married?"

Beaming, he reached into a serving dish, scooped up a handful of pomegranate seeds, and dropped them onto Miss Emily's plate. "Perhaps Lord Auckland would like to choose one of my dancing girls for himself? Or possibly my cup bearer?"

Mariana felt her face redden. How could she translate such an unsuitable question? Besides, he could not have meant that that cup bearer, for he most definitely was a young man. cup bearer, for he most definitely was a young man.

She looked to Mr. Macnaghten for help, but he was speaking, his head bent, to Lord Auckland.

"Ask her, Bibi," prodded the Maharajah, nodding to Mariana.

Miss Emily raised her eyebrows. "What is he saying, my dear?"

"He is asking whether Lord Auckland likes the dancing girls," Mariana said, firmly. "Please, do not say yes."

"The Governor-General likes, I should say," said Miss Emily carefully, "Lord Auckland likes the dancing girls well enough." She paused, pursing her lips. "But not as much as all that."

"Lady Sahib says that the Governor Sahib has enjoyed your entertainments," said Mariana stiffiy, "but he is extremely busy and cannot take the time to see them again."

The Sikh sirdars greeted her answer with hoots of laughter.

The Maharajah also laughed, his head thrown back, his eye tightly closed, while at his feet the Faqeer gave a sphinx-like smile.

"Your sister is a very formal lady," said the Maharajah, turning back to Lord Auckland.

Hooting, the sirdars slapped one another.

"And," the king added, holding out his hands to be washed, "as to the matter of ladies, it fills me with happiness to know that I am at last to have an English wife."

An English wife? Mariana blinked. What game was the Maharajah playing now?

Beside the Maharajah, Mr. Macnaghten and Lord Auckland exchanged a look of puzzlement. On Mr. Macnaghten's far side, Major Byrne yawned into his handkerchief.

The Faqeer turned to Lord Auckland. "The Maharajah," the minister said, his tone velvety, "says he has entirely forgotten that three full years have pa.s.sed since he wrote to your government requesting an English wife."

His smile broadened. "But now that the lady has arrived, he understands that this delay was due not to lack of desire by the Supreme Government but rather to a lengthy and careful search for the proper candidate."

Lady? Mariana swallowed. Why were all the sirdars staring at her her?

"Women are necessary, are they not?" The Maharajah looked brightly from Lord Auckland to the Eden sisters. "Marriage between two families ensures love and friendship, does it not?" He shook drops of water from his fingers. "Our two families will now be joined forever, and the nightingales will never cease to sing in the gardens of our friendship!" Leaning back in his throne, he opened his hands expansively.

Mr. Macnaghten turned gray.

Beside Macnaghten, Lord Auckland blinked. "What is the matter, William?" he rasped. "What is the man saying?"

"Your duty," the Maharajah put in, waggling his fingers in Mariana's direction, "was to bring this young lady to Lah.o.r.e, and mine is to offer the proposal."

Mr. Macnaghten closed his eyes.

Mariana's mouth dropped open. Not him, too! A second marriage proposal in two days, this one from an ancient, one-eyed Maharajah whose head came to her chin! Whatever was the matter with them all?

Miss Emily frowned. "What are they saying, Mariana?"

Behind Lord Auckland's chair, a gla.s.sy-eyed Harry Fitzgerald nodded on his feet. Was he even listening? Major Byrne's chin had dropped to his chest. Where was the odious Lieutenant Marks? Was anyone sober enough to stop this madness?

Mariana turned to Miss Emily. "The Maharajah has-"

"And there is good news," the Maharajah went on, his reedy voice gaining speed. "Auguries have determined that the correct day for the ceremonies is December twenty-fifth, only two days hence!"

What? The day after tomorrow? Christmas Day? Mariana twisted in her seat, searching the faces of the British officers. Why did no one stop him?

The Maharajah beckoned to someone standing in the shadows. "Therefore, Governor Sahib," he announced, "I will begin the formalities by showering coins over your head."

Miss Emily was leaning toward Mariana. "What are they saying? What is the matter with Mr. Macnaghten?"

Macnaghten's head swayed from side to side. Mariana glared hard at him, willing him to speak. Respond Respond, she begged silently. Pull yourself together and respond Pull yourself together and respond!

This was Macnaghten's fault. Who had asked the political secretary to promise the Maharajah eternal love and friendship? Mariana's thoughts raced. Everyone knew that days ago Lord Auckland had given up hope of Ranjit Singh's joining in the British plan for Afghanistan. For all his expansive talk, it was clear that the old man would give little support to the campaign and would send no armies to fight beside the British. But what was the old king doing now? Would he refuse to commit himself even to a reduced treaty guaranteeing stability in the region and a safe pa.s.sage for the British through the Punjab? Was he merely playing with them, calling their bluff, enjoying himself? Did he really want an English wife?

Would he refuse to sign the treaty unless she married him? Sirdars murmured. Macnaghten blinked and raised his hands, palms out. "Maharaj," he began shakily, "one moment please. Governor Sahib-"

"No, no," the Maharajah interrupted, waving an airy hand at Lord Auckland while a servant stepped forward with a silver tray, "there is no need to wait now, no need at all. You have made a good choice. She needs fattening, of course, but she has good teeth. I like nice white teeth."

"What is he saying?" Miss Emily tapped Mariana's knee with her fan. "What is going on?"

"Oh, Emily," Miss f.a.n.n.y said anxiously, "I hope Mariana is-"

Dragging his gaze from the Maharajah, Mr. Macnaghten looked across at the three ladies. "He is speaking, Miss Eden," he said, his words a little slurred, "of Miss Givens's teeth." He closed his eyes again, clearly wishing he were somewhere else. "He likes them."

Miss Eden sat straight. "He likes Mariana's teeth teeth? Her teeth teeth? Really, these people are most extraordinary." She leaned across her sister. "Good gracious, Mariana, I thought you were on the Maharajah's blind side!"

Lord Auckland, his face the color of parchment, swayed in his chair as if already returning on his elephant to the British camp. He frowned as Mr. Macnaghten turned to him.

Mariana strained to catch his words. "-if we refuse," she heard him say, "-might claim bad faith-supply route across the Punjab ..."

Sensing trouble, the officers behind Mariana began to shift nervously.

The old Maharajah reached for the tray of coins and began to fumble with its covering cloth.

What in heaven's name was the matter with Harry Fitzgerald? Why did he not intervene? Did he not love her? Why did he stand nodding on his feet while this preposterous scene unfolded, without making one single move to rescue her? Mariana wanted to stand up and shout his name. What sort of fool had she wanted to marry?

"Are you all right, my dear?" Miss f.a.n.n.y reached across the s.p.a.ce between their chairs.

Mariana's nose was still running from the pepper. With one hand she pressed her handkerchief to her nose, while with the other she gripped Miss f.a.n.n.y's small, kind hand.

The Maharajah had lifted back a corner of the cloth.

The Sikh sirdars pressed closer, relishing the Maharajah's performance. A man in an emerald necklace laughed, his eyes on Mariana.

Why was Lord Auckland silent? Was he actually going to let the Maharajah have her in order to gain his treaty?

"Yes, yes," the Maharajah was saying, as if he were planning a picnic, while the bearded Faqeer at his feet nodded delightedly. "We shall have a grand wedding, the day after tomorrow, with more wine than ever, and many more entertainments."

Lord Auckland whispered something to Mr. Macnaghten, who looked desperately about him, then took a breath. "Most Excellent Maharajah," he began, "it is most-most-"

With a sigh and a heavy wave of his hand, he subsided into silence. Beside him, Major Byrne hunched over, his chin on his chest, snoring.

The old fingers were busy now among the golden coins on the tray. A picture formed in Mariana's mind's eye of her table with her letter from the Shaikh lying on its surface.

Had the Shaikh made his proposal to save her from this ordeal? Knowing of the Maharajah's plan, had he written to warn her, his letter worded so delicately that she had very nearly missed its true meaning?

"It becomes difficult," the note had said, "to make arrangements concerning your future-"

Coins dropped through the Maharajah's fingers as he leaned over and raised a fistful of gold over Lord Auckland's head.

Who could comprehend the native customs? If the old man dropped the coins, would that mean the engagement was sealed? Would it then be impossible to turn back? What would her family say to this this?

Mariana could wait no longer. "Stop!" she cried, then rose clumsily, overturning her chair.

She crossed the carpet, her eyes on the Maharajah's raised arm, and stood before his throne.