Chapter Text
The cold, the humidity, the smoke — Katyayani could say with certainty that she didn’t feel at ease here.
Though it wasn’t really Katyayani, per se. In London and Britain in general she wasn’t entitled to her own name — uttered through a stiff lip even at home, as if some curse, and not the name of the goddess of power, the protector deity, the slayer of asuras. Quiet, soft and pliant — that’s what Catherine is supposed to be. Reserved and well-mannered, just as a lady should. Catherine Northwell was the only name she could have now. Katyayani Desai was supposed to stay across the sea, ashes cast to the wind, smelling of spices, of bonfires and life itself.
Catherine Northwell was to replace Katyayani forever, father made sure to get it over to her. His daughter deserves only the best, and he deemed best for her to settle down in the endless exhausting labyrinth at the heart of the civilized world — in London. She deserved the life of Catherine Northwell, who wears a Christian cross, who reads the works by the Bronte sisters and by Miss Austen, who can speak in unknown tongues of the faraway lands. An exotic to quicken the cold English blood.
Catherine was nauseous with disgust and driven to tears with despair. She would spend hours on the steamship’s deck, hiding her face in her hands and reassuring the worried passengers passing by — it’s only the salty wind, sir, no need to trouble yourself, I’m not crying at all. The first couple of days on board the ship from Bombay to Suez she would be mistaken for her own father’s servant or mistress — of course, Colonel Northwell would immediately take offence at this and defend his daughter’s honor in the face of other passengers, and soon she was left alone and never again accused of forgetting her place. She is the daughter of Baron Asherton, not a servant, not a mistress whom he is trying to drag into high society.
Father only wants the best for her, but it only makes things worse for Catherine.
Their vessel, “Queen Charlotte”, threw anchor at Southampton in the middle of February — the voyage from Alexandria was prolonged by troublesome winds. Priti, a servant from their Bombay house, helped Catherine dress. She had enough time to get used to the undergarments made of linen and cotton, but they still felt alien against her skin. A gown of deep wine-red over them. Then a fur coat, so as not to catch a cold on the pier, and a positively huge bonnet. Together with other first-class passengers she disembarks on solid ground. Father gave her his hand and smiles reassuringly, but Catherine didn't have the strength in her to smile back at him.
Surely there had to be a meeting party, right?.. She looked around in a futile attempt to find someone who looked like they might be waiting for her father. The only thing Catherine knew is that they were supposed to take a train from Southampton to London, and this was the part of the journey she was actually looking forward to. It would be her first time on a train…
Father took her by the arm and led her directly towards a wizened, lanky man. Catherine thought he looked like a corpse — ashy pale, disproportionate and with sunken eyes.
“Sir, Miss,” he drawled, “let me take your things. We should get to the station as soon as possible so that you don’t miss your train.”
“Hello,” murmured Catherine, immediately sidestepping to try and remain in her father’s shadow. She must remain seen, but not heard. Basic courtesy is supposed to take her a long way, but she was still supposed to stay a shade at father’s side. Catherine followed after him towards the cab as the servant was busy arranging the luggage and barking orders at the dockers. As they were getting into the cab, Catherine noticed a weird symbol on its door — a red cross, resembling some weird medieval imagery. She barely managed to fit through the narrow door with her puffy skirts and hoops. Father followed, taking his place across from her, and the cab set off, leaving the docks and the steel gray sea behind. Soon she saw the port buildings, only for the scenery to change to low-rise houses with laughably small backyards, where tired-looking women toiled, doing chores and caring for cattle, while dirty children played some games unknown to her.
A good half of blood flowing through her veins was of this country, but it felt all too alien for Catherine. Not a single chord in her heart was struck as she looked at the narrow streets and the factory chimneys scraping the low-hanging grey clouds.
I wonder what it would feel like to jump down from one of them.
She had to stop herself mid-thought. Catherine Northwell isn’t supposed to run off to race on the rooftops and jump from veritably deadly heights. She no longer had the wings to carry her up into the air. The wind only teases her, reminding her of freedom lost.
“How do you like the views?” Father asked, smiling at her. “Of course, it’s not Bombay or Kochin, but believe me, London isn’t called the crown jewel of the British Empire for nothing! Even if you are scared and unsettled now, you’ll surely get used to it. I bet you will learn to love the city and the endless possibilities it has in store for you.”
It was snowing outside. The people were trying to cover themselves up from the grayish snowfall and get to wherever they were going as soon as possible, even resorting to running.
“I don’t know what London is like, but I’m… not that impressed with Southampton, if I’m being honest,” she looked her father in the face, shifting in her seat. “I saw the views of London in the gravure album you gave me for my birthday last year… I think I’d like to see the parks,” she really didn’t want to upset her father, who thought she would love the city. Maybe the greenery would make it easier for her to make peace with having to live here. “I’m sure Priti will like them, too. Hyde Park, St James park…”
“Oh, you will certainly see Hyde Park soon though — we live close by! It’s marvellous every time of the year, and the Royal gardens are only a stone’s throw away…” father patted her hand reassuringly.
Finally the cab came to a stop at the white brick building of the train station. As the servant was dealing with the luggage, Colonel Northwell took Catherine upstairs, to the platforms, where he bought two first-class tickets for themselves and two third-class ones for their escort and Priti. Catherine was looking up at the glass roof over the train tracks, supported by sturdy-looking metal beams. The snow falling and stealing away any semblance of natural light made the atmosphere on the platforms quite grim, but the station staff was already lighting up the gas lanterns. The Northwells made their way towards their compartment, which was already surprisingly warm. Catherine immediately took off the gloves and the coat, hanging it up on a hook, and unlaced the bonnet, placing it on the seat nearby.
“Catherine, you shouldn’t be in such a hurry to undress,” father frowned. “I understand that you’re not used to wearing this much clothing, but you have to follow the etiquette. A girl must be dressed presentably.”
She immediately heard a chuckle, coming from the two women passing them by, still on the platform. Catherine noticed they weren’t wearing bonnets — instead, they had tiny elegant hats pinned in their hair. She could hardly call them hats at all, in fact!
“But the bonnet is too heavy… I’ve never worn anything similar, and my neck hurts a bit. Could I please take it off until we arrive?” Catherine didn’t pay any mind to the laughter. She was used to it because of her skin colour and her facial traits, so over the years she learned to ignore the mockery.
Colonel Northwell was certainly displeased — so he reached over to the curtain to close it and hide their compartment from the gazes of curious onlookers with a look of pure contempt on his face.
“Allright, but be sure to put it on once we arrive — you’re not used to the weather here, and you can fall ill in a matter of minutes if you don’t look after yourself. I hope you understand that.”
“Zaraa, babaji, 1” father wasn’t as good at speaking Urdu as Catherine, who was fluent, but he did understand her well enough. And she quite liked the idea of having a tongue only they two would be able to understand here, in a city so foreign to her. “You certainly know the weather here better than me. I don’t remember England at all,” after all, what could a one-year-old girl remember after she was taken away to India as soon as the appropriate period of mourning for her mother concluded?
Soon the train started moving, and from the very beginning the trip was promising to become simply marvellous!
No book and no gravure could possibly describe the feeling of racing past the world, spearheading through, like Rama on His flying chariot. Catherine couldn’t tear her gaze away from the view outside, enthralled by the experience. As the grim outskirts of the port city gave way to the meadows and groves of south-eastern England, she could finally make out the first buildings of London, the forest of factory chimneys and the veritably endless sea of houses, as far as her eye could see… She didn’t want this to end at all. But then the train came to a stop at Waterloo Station and Catherine was truly upset. It was time to get off.
She put on her bonnet and laced it back under her chin, taking her father’s hand and stepping out on the platform from their compartment’s door. The station was crowded — a churning sea of people. The voices, the laughter, the criers — but still Catherine could hear a jibe directed straight at her.
“Is that a bonnet? Didn’t they go out of fashion. like, eight years ago?”
“Stop it, you! Maybe this is an old lady who can’t bear to part with her clothing, or can’t afford anything better!..”
But… it was her father who picked these clothes out for her, as a birthday gift, and a very expensive one at that. She liked it so much, and to hear things like these made her want to stop her ears as soon as possible. Catherine could only follow her father to another cab to avoid attracting even more attention — at least because of the bonnet no one could actually see her face.
“Come on, in you go,” father helped her through the door again. “It’s very cold this time of the year, and we certainly don't want you to come down with a fever.”
The servants also got in. Priti certainly didn’t look very comfortable around the tall pale man, but she still tried her best to smile at Catherine to try and cheer her up.
“Sab kuch thik?” Catherine murmured, barely louder than a whisper. “Tujhko tren ki safar kaise aaya? 2”
“Šor hi šor. Aur gore logon ne mujhe bandar jaise dekha, 3” Priti jumped at the possibility to distract herself from her own stress with a conversation.
No surprises here — both Priti and her were equally dark-skinned for the people here. Only the clothes were different, as Priti still kept to her traditional kurti and a dupatta that could hardly protect her from the cold. The pale man looked deeply offended by the very sound of Urdu, but didn’t dare say anything.
The cab journey from Waterloo Station to their house took merely ten minutes. They stopped in front of a three-storeyed building with dry vines snaking along the balcony. They must’ve looked pretty in the summer, but right now only made Catherine think of withering and death. It was still snowing, and the sidewalk turned out to be quite slippery, almost making her fall.
Colonel Northwell caught his daughter by the hand, helping her to keep balance. No one rushed to help Priti — she had to regain her footing by steadying herself against the cab. The pale man rolled his eyes, sighing, and got to unloading the luggage.
“Here we are,” father said. “Of course, it’s a far cry from your grandfather’s estate, but…”
“It’s still pretty,” Catherine said, following her father through the small snow-covered garden to the front door. Before father could even knock, the door flung wide open — they were met by a plump red-cheeked woman in a black woolen dress and a starched white apron.
“Master Northwell!” she bowed immediately. “Lady Chastity is expecting you. She has been restless ever since she got your telegram from Alexandria!”
Catherine felt pointedly ignored. She had to take off her coat and bonnet on her own, leaving them on the oak cupboard so that she could proceed into the house.
“I’ve made arrangements for your room in advance, Catherine,” father said as the pale man was helping him get his own coat off. “Don’t worry about your luggage, it will be taken there as soon as possible. Just follow Walter, he will show you around. Priti… your room will be adjacent to Catherine’s, but it will be upstairs, in the attic almost.”
“Very well,” it seemed that father wanted to talk with his sister, alone. Catherine followed the servant upstairs to the first floor, where she found her room overlooking the backyard. It certainly looked cozy — several trees, a bench, a flower bed covered in snow. It must look very pretty in the summer… As the servants were carrying her luggage inside, Catherine remained at the window, but as soon as she was left to her own devices, her hand immediately reached for the pouch at her side. She had several keepsakes in there, which she tried to never part with — as well as the piece that paved her father’s road back to London in the first place. A Malabari necklace with sapphires and emeralds, with a wealth of small diamonds adorning them. She immediately made sure to hide the necklace in her nightstand. Father will surely find a better place for it later — a safe box, maybe…
It was time to go downstairs and meet her aunt for the first time. Walter told her that the Northwells were in the tea room… And this was where Catherine saw her — thin like a reed, looking older than her father, with sharp facial traits that made her resemble a bird of prey. Especially when she directed such a heavy look at Catherine.
“Horrible. Simply terrible! Whatever did you have her wear, Adam? This cut has been outdated for a few years now! She looks ten years older than her age!”
“Uh… I… I remembered this to be the latest fashion? It’s not like I have a wife to explain these things to me, Chastity!”
“You certainly aren’t hoping for a betrothal, with her wearing this?”
Catherine was red with shame. So… this was all an honest mistake of her father’s.
“I… I didn’t know this myself, Miss Chastity,” she didn’t want this woman to think bad of her immediately after their arrival here. She wanted her father to be pleased, she wanted to be… accepted? “There are little to no modern fashion magazines in Bombay. But… I’ll be immensely grateful for any advice that you might have for me?”
“At least she’s not a completely lost case, it seems. But there is a lot of work to be done!” she looked at Catherine, narrowing her eyes. “If you are in such a need for advice, I’ve got one for you: don’t speak unless spoken to! A noble and well-bred lady should remain silent until someone asks for her input! Silence and modesty are to become your core values, girl.”
“All right,” Catherine murmured, backhanding herself mentally for such a silly mistake. Seen and not heard! How could she possibly forget?! Just remain silent… But she could barely hold back her tears. She was here in a stupid old dress, in the city that hated her for simply existing, in front of a woman full of contempt for her.
“We’ll get to fixing this mess first thing in the morning. We’ll start on the etiquette lessons and take her to a tailor to order something decent. She looks like a hag from the countryside! A young girl’s presentation is of paramount importance!” she wasn’t even looking at Catherine any longer, and took to describing her as if she was no longer in the room.
“Do calm down, Chastity,” father drawled, looking down at his half-full whisky glass. “We’ve only just arrived, let the girl breathe a little. Catherine, you don’t have to remain here if you’re tired. You can go to bed if you want.”
“Yes, I am… quite tired after the voyage, so I’ll try to get some sleep,” Catherine gave a little curtsey “Have a nice evening, father… Miss Chastity.”
In her room upstairs Catherine found Priti unpacking her things and arranging them in the wardrobe. The girl immediately stopped, telling she would finish this tomorrow, and helped her mistress out of the dress and into her sleeping gown. The fireplace was cracking with fresh wood, so Priti retired until the morning.
Catherine, however, could hardly find any sleep. She spent some time trying to get comfortable under a heavy woolen blanket before getting out of bed to try and get some fresh air. The window mechanism took some fiddling and applied force, but it ended up opening. The freezing cold air swept into the room, filling it with the smell of London’s streets — smoke and humidity. Far from something pleasant.
She could probably fit through this window if she wanted to — she could even try and put on something warm, and then take a run across the rooftops. But she hardly had any warm clothes that would be suitable for such activities. Catherine sighed, wrapping herself up in the night robe over her sleeping gown. The Big Ben’s clock face was shining a dim yellow not so far away, and the spires of the cathedrals were glistening in the night lighting… She could probably get used to this city. She could never love it, but her life here could be agreeable. If you ignore the screams outside and the shooting… By the gods, why was someone shooting here?! And so close to their house!
She could see some man hopping over their backyard’s fence to try and find a way out, but he was cornered and outnumbered. Several more gunshots echoed through the night, and the man fell on the frozen ground, covered with fresh snow which melted as a large puddle of blood, almost black in the nightly gloom, was rapidly growing underneath the fallen body.
Catherine gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. Right in their backyard! The horror! What could she even do… She was an easy target, sitting here an inch away from screaming, so she quickly slid down on the floor, putting a hand over her mouth so that no one would hear her. She prayed to all the gods she could remember so that no one would try and shoot at her.
But… no more gunshots were fired. She stayed like this for at least ten minutes, and when she finally got herself together and looked down… She only saw the body. No attackers. She immediately slammed the window shut and closed the dark turquoise drapes. She had to try and get to bed as soon as possible, so that this day could finally end… And a new one would begin.
1. Of course, father. (Urdu) return to text
2. Is everything all right? How did you like the train ride? (Urdu) return to text
3. Very noisy. And the white people were looking at me as if I'm a monkey. (Urdu) return to text