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Chapter Two: We Go Shopping

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The carriage bounces and lurches, but not at all like the rhythmic and
predictable sway of an elephant. It bounces more like the Ganges,
unsettled all at once, then smooth for a time, then upset once again.

Miss Alister keeps her gaze averted, always staring out the window with
this dull look in her eyes. Sometimes, we've noticed, the English get
this way around us. It concerned us so dreadfully that we asked Prince
Hakim about it. He said it wasn't because the English don't want to be
our friends, but because they don't know how to go about being friendly
towards us. They opt to be distant rather than chance being accidentally
rude.

"Miss Alister," Davy calls back, "Would you prefer Lowther or the
Burlington? I fear the Opera Arcade, despite its obvious charms, might
be a bit much for our guests."

We watch as Miss Alister puts one of her hands on top of the other. She
squeezes her bottom hand, and frowns a bit before replying, " Burlington,
Davy, if you please."

We four crowd around one of the windows and peer at the world of the
English through a dusty pane of glass. There are grand houses here, much
like the Jones house. We then pass an open area, with a lovely field of
flowers and many bushy trees. Davy takes a turn down another road, and we
pass a rather large estate with brilliant windows and stone moldings.
In front of it, people seem to be wandering about... But, it is strange,
because even the women appear to be in their nightclothes, and their hair
is loose. We've only seen English women look like this once or twice,
when we come upon maids in the hallway late at night.

They move slowly, like babes that have not yet learned the complex art of
walking. Ilpati taps at the glass, and looks back at Miss Alister.

"Oh? That's the Brompton Hospital for Consumption." Miss Alister moves a
bit closer to us, and ducks her head so she can see out the window. "One
of the good works of Prince Albert."

We don't catch many of those words at all. But, we do know 'Prince'. Is
this a place where a prince lives? How strange.

Ilpati taps at the glass again. We want to know more about this English
Prince.

"Um, they're sick, you know? That's their morning exercise. Walking and
taking in the fresh air, that is." We all stare at Miss Alister. She
raises one gloved hand to her lips and coughs, then points again at the
window. "Do you have consumption in India?"

"In India..."

"Our elephants..."

"The palace...

"Rani Madhuri..."

We say all of this in English, as best we can, and Miss Alister seems to
understand. She nods and the dullness in her eyes weakens. "It must be
so different from here. I've never been away from London."

How terrible. We think that if we had to live here all the time, we'd
have dull looks in our eyes, too. They have a hard life, these English.

It is no wonder that so many of them want to come to India.

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We have arrived in a bustling marketplace set between several two-story
buildings. There are many puddles on the street from a recent shower, and
the hems of ladies' dresses have turned dark from the liquid grime. The
place smells like Calcutta after a monsoon, thick with slowly-dying
produce and water that grows more stale by the moment.

Davy helps us out of the carriage. He says something about our shoes, and
our feet getting muddy, but we're not so worried. Feet are for getting
muddy. We're more worried about the trains and hems of our sarees, so we
gather up the fabric in our hands and pull them up almost to our knees.

"My goodness! How indecent!" A woman sweeps a little boy out of our
path and covers the child's eyes with her hand. Two men who had been
painting a sign stop and stare. One of them puts his hand over his mouth
and starts coughing, wide-eyed.

"He's sick?" Indali asks Miss Alister. We like to try out new English
words as soon as we learn them.

"Got consumptions," Indira adds.

We all nod in agreement. How awful. Now we understand why the English
need such a big building for just one disease.

Miss Alister puts the tips of her gloved fingers to her lips and titters a
bit. English women don't seem to like to laugh in a regular way. They
hold it inside. They do the same for their sneezes. It looks painful.

We go into a store with several hats and parasols in the window. The shop
isn't very large, but it is brimming with colorful things for English
ladies.

"This is Avington's," Miss Alister explains, "It's a new type of store, a
specialty shop with only things that appeal to ladies. I come here for my
aunt, from time to time, to pick up things for the Misses Jones."

Inika picks up a black parasol with gobs of heavy fringe hanging from it.
She twirls it a bit, so that the fringe swishes outwards. Indali holds up
an ivory-colored lace shawl to her face, and peers through the little
holes in the weaving. Indira gathers up a dozen hat pins and sticks them
into her hair, so it looks like she is wearing the crown jewels of a
maharajah's wife. Ilpati picks up a corset, wraps it around her middle.
She sucks her cheeks and stomach in when it won't gather at the back.

"Oh dear, I didn't hear you come in, and..." An older woman in a grey
dress with gobs of lace sprouting from every available place enters.
She's got a very manly jaw, but little pouty lips which look as if they
should belong to a girl of twelve. She blinks a few times, obviously
startled by how utterly remarkable we look among all of these English
things. We're quite breathtaking, we've been told. Finally, she spots
Miss Alister. "Oh, Miss Alister. How nice to see you again. What can I
do for you?"

"These ladies are special guests of Prince Hakim of India, who is a guest
of Mr. William Jones. They decided to do a bit of shopping today."

"You don't say. Well, I'll do my best to be of assistance. Is there
anything, in particular, you girls would like to find?"

But, we are all hovering over a strange table with wheels in the back
corner now, gazing intently at a quite lovely set of porcelain, and
little doilies, and polished silver utensils. It's so very charming, and
we've wanted something like this ever since we first saw one wheeled in by
one of the Jones' servants for Prince Hakim.

"My goodness, Miss Alister, are they hungry? They seem to be quite
interested in my afternoon tea."

"I... I'm not exactly sure, Mrs. Avington."

How white all of the little cups are... They are so terribly delicate, as
if they might break from the slightest touch. And the teapot has such
tiny blue flowers painted onto it. How can they paint flowers smaller
than our littlest fingernails?

"We want this..."

"For tea..."

"Like the English do..."

"For tea."

Mrs. Avington laughs a bit. "Well, I'll be a popped lace on a girdle! I
didn't realize they spoke English."

Miss Alister nods, and explains that we speak a little.

Mrs. Avington says that she doesn't sell tea services, but she'll send her
boy over to the shop where she bought hers, and get one for us. "It does
seem right that some ladies from India should have a proper tea service.
The best tea does come from India, after all."

We agree with her wholeheartedly! Tea is the thing which links the
English to us, and us to the English!

We don't wish to become English ladies. No. We could never be English
ladies. But, we do wish to be Indian ladies able to entertain the English
when they come to the palace at Jaipur. We think this is better, yes
definitely better, than trying to be what we are not.

Nonetheless, we do buy some stationery from Mrs. Avington. She tells us
that every English lady has her own special sort of stationery. When you
send a letter, she says, the sort of paper you send it on says something
about your personality. Ladylike stationery is a sign of status.

Well, we don't mind so much about status.

We just want to write a letter.

We say goodbye to Mrs. Avington by giving her little kisses on the cheek.
She reminds us quite a bit of Rani Madhuri, who we miss desperately. We
make a note to send Mrs. Avington a letter in English, when we learn how
to write some, to thank her for all her help.

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After we get the tobacco for our Prince, we do a bit more shopping, and
find a few other things we'd like to buy. Miss Alister is very helpful,
and she doesn't look away from us quite so much anymore. We are very
glad.

We find Davy again, and climb into the carriage for the ride back to the
Jones estate.

"Did you girls have a nice time of it? Next time, you'll have to let me
take you 'round to a pub or two. Can't have a London experience without a
bit of ale."

Miss Alister gives Davy quite the sour look before getting into the
carriage. "David Locke, don't you dare put disreputable ideas into their
heads."

"I seem to recall a certain someone who can hold her beer as good as any
Irishwoman."

"Well, I never...!" Miss Alister pulls the carriage door closed. She
looks very upset. We're not even sure what all that was about. The
English do seem to get upset at the drop of a hat-pin.

We're all quite tired from our shopping trip, but too excited to nap.
And, it seems a bit impossible to sleep in this lurching contraption,
anyway, so we just look out the window. We have Miss Alister tell us all
about the places we pass, and this seems to take her mind off of whatever
Davy said. We like to listen to Miss Alister speak English.

Eventually, Miss Alister gets somewhat quiet, and spends a few minutes
looking at the ceiling of the carriage. She clears her throat several
times, as if she's getting ready to say something, but nothing ever comes
out.

Finally, she says, "I was wondering... I mean, if it isn't too
impertinent... I certainly don't mean to be in the least bit rude, but I
was wondering..." Miss Alister wrings her hands. We wait. Sometimes,
with these English, it takes them a while to get around to saying what
they want to say. "Are you ladies...married to Prince Hakim? I mean...
Are you his wives?"

We're all quite surprised, and utterly shocked. Married? To our Rajah?
What funny ideas these English get into their heads.

Miss Alister relaxes somewhat, and nods. "I see. You're servants, then?"

Servants? Well, we're not exactly this, either. Not in the way the
English define servants. We do serve Prince Hakim, but he would never
treat us the way the English treat those who serve them.

"Not servants..."

"We belong to our Prince..."

"We're simply his..."

"Always..."

Miss Alister doesn't seem to quite know what to think about that. "You're
slaves? How awfully dreadful! I just can't imagine! Don't you want
your freedom?"

Slaves? This is an English word we do not know. Are we slaves? Do we
want freedom?

Freedom to do...what?

To be free to leave our Prince?

How preposterous!

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In Our Next Chapter: The Indian ladies reminisce about their home and
growing up when they get a letter... And then they decide to thank Miss
Alister for helping them on their shopping trip.

Thank you to the reviewers of this story! Night Imp, Nutty Scribbler,
imayb1, Ouatic-7, Ankhitomi, and Nibs. Feel free to make suggestions of
things you'd like to see our Indian ladies do in the future chapters.
Although I have a loose story in mind, I don't mind incorporating
suggestions on this one.