The Tigers in the Tower Page 22

  Sahira and her grandfather trundled under an oak tree, old acorns crunching underfoot. Sahira kicked at the hem of her favourite dress, trimmed with swallows. The birds would be flying away soon but she was staying put. The summer had passed and Sahira’s life had blossomed. As her grandfather’s companion and cherished granddaughter, she had a family, a home, and not a cloud in her sky. The Newtons had been arrested in Windsor and sentenced to be transported; Mr Pence had been dismissed for pocketing the money meant for care of the orphans; even Great-Aunt Dorothy had taken herself away to Bath to grumble and thunder at a distance.

  “My secretary said you heard from Mr Cops this morning.” Grandfather had taken an interest in the man’s welfare since he had been the first to help his granddaughter.

  “A lovely long letter. His little girl is four months now – and they’re still at the Tower. Most of the big animals have gone but he’s allowed to keep a small collection and is making do, he says. He sends his thanks to you. What did you do, Grandfather?”

  “I told Wellington that if he tried to get rid of the Keeper of the Lions he’d have a battle to rival Waterloo on his hands in the Lords.”

  Sahira steered around a tree root to ensure her grandfather wasn’t jostled. He was lively in spirit, but his poor health was no invention on the family’s part. “I was ready to set the tigers on the duke,” he continued.

  “So was I!” They laughed together as only Clives could, knowing they were not joking.

  “It’s kind of you to take me out, Sahira. Am I keeping you from your lessons?” the old lord asked.

  “You know this is my favourite part of the day. Besides, Cousin John, Bobby, and Mr Evesham are expected later so our governess is preparing a special nature table. Ann and Emily are helping her.” Grandfather had insisted her friends, plus their little brothers and sisters, join Sahira at Fenton Park with promise of work on the estate when they were older. It wasn’t good for a child to be educated alone, he said, though Sahira suspected it was mainly because he missed having lots of young people rattling about the mansion. Her grandfather thrived on company and mischief.

  Speaking of mischief… Sahira thought. “What have you done with Ned, Grandfather? I saw you send him off this morning.”

  He reached up and patted her hand where it rested on the handle of the chair. “I arranged a special delivery from the menagerie.”

  “You did?”

  “A certain zebra that Ned said he missed – and who apparently was making himself a nuisance without his keeper.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Lord Chalmers nodded.

  Sahira groaned. If her grandfather had a fault, it was falling in with Ned’s schemes far too easily. Ned reminded Grandfather of her own father in that way, so Lord Chalmers rarely said no. “Grandfather, no bonnet will be safe, no mug of beer untouched, no rose left with a flower!”

  “Splendid!” declared Lord Chalmers. “We’ve plenty of beer, a surfeit of roses, and bonnets are quite the stupidest of inventions.”

  And then, just as they were turning for home, Rama padded out of the trees and came to the path he had worn on the boundary of his enclosure. He sniffed and yawned, like a monarch acknowledging the obeisance of his minions. Something stretched and yawned in response inside Sahira, a feeling of rightness that the tiger had all this room to patrol, woods to hunt, hidden places to keep out of human gaze if he so wished.

  “Good Morning, Rama,” she said softly in Persian.

  Then, magically, Sita appeared from the trees, two cubs close to her heels. She flicked her whiskers once in Sahira’s direction, then processed past. The cubs didn’t manage her regal poise, but gambolled after her with kittenish bounds and tumbles. This was the first time Sahira had seen them.

  “Oh my goodness,” she murmured.

  “Oh indeed,” echoed Grandfather.

  They watched as the family of tigers wound their way back into the trees, swallowed up by the shadows with a last flicker of orange, white, and black from the tips of their tails.

  SAHIRA’S GLOSSARY FOR BOBBY

  (so he would stop asking me questions for his notebook!)

  Ayah – nurse or nanny.

  Brahmin – top caste in Hindu society.

  The Company – or the East India Company, British trading company that has grown to be so much more – in fact it practically runs parts of India!

  Diwan – a collection of poetry, such as the one my father made me.

  Durbar – a ruler’s court.

  Fakir – a Muslim holy man who has taken a vow of poverty.

  Khansaman – our camp cook.

  Memsahib – upper-class European wife, title of respect.

  Nabobs – the name given for Company men who go to India and bring home a fortune.

  Nautch girl – a dancing girl.

  Nizam – the ruler of Hyderabad.

  Resident – chief representative of the East India Company.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank those who have written so entertainingly about the history of wild animals in England, London Zoo, and the menagerie in the Tower of London, particularly Isobel Charman, author of The Zoo: The Wild and Wonderful Tale of the Founding of London Zoo, and Daniel Hahn, author of The Tower Menagerie: The Amazing and True Story of the Royal Collection of Wild Beasts. Also very enlightening was John Simon’s The Tiger that Swallowed the Boy: Exotic Animals in Victorian England. Thank you. And a big thank you to Siddo Deva for helping me on the details of the Indian setting. He also pointed out that there is no such thing as a Bengal Lion, but the Tower Menagerie poster is a copy of the wording on a real one so I decided to let that oddity remain. I think this description was chosen for its dramatic flourish rather than accuracy!