Page 23 of In Just a Year
I’m glad to be on land, albeit a different kind than I have ever imagined. The bazaars are colorful markets and offer more intricate and fragrant wares than any back home. There’s art, pottered vessels, and fabrics of bright colors unlike any in England. Although the fruits are sweeter and juicier than any I’ve had in my life, nothing quite tastes right without you. Everything is different here and beauty redefines itself in the poetry of local airs: the birds sing unfamiliar tunes, monkeys howl at night, and even the people speak many different languages as diverse in pronunciations as the flavors of the many new dishes I’ve tried.
I fear that many pages of description will not do the uncountable new impressions of this adventure justice, for I long to share every thought and every new taste with you, my love. You are in my every thought, and I am glad to finally admit it.
B.
Ben walked alongside Greg with a caravan of goods toward Belvedere House, the old palace.
“Whatever you’re looking for, if it’s still there, it won’t be in plain sight,” Greg said as they climbed a steep sandy path toward the walls that surrounded the palace. “We won’t stay long.”
The sun burned Ben’s head, so he pulled the white muslin scarf over his face for shade. He’d never wear such a long shawl over his head in London, but it was a most serviceable layer under the burning sun. “I know why I want to go back but why are you in a rush?”
“The Bailiff, Ben. He could shut down the entire fleet if he as much as suspects that I’m smuggling treasures and embezzling them from the crown. I’m here on behalf of the Select Committee to ensure accountability.”
“But you’re not embezzling. I’m not.”
“Unless you declare the treasure that you may or may not find as part of the Crown Jewels, it’s too slippery a slope.”
“Can’t I retrieve something that belonged to Izaac Pearler and return it to Gustav?”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“If I find it, yes.”
“And if not? What if we return and Nagy doesn’t get a treasure for the Crown Jewels? Then I took you away from your work as crown jeweler and—”
“I will have something for the Prince Regent. Something spectacular that will make this all worthwhile.”
“I can’t risk letting you go to the mines, Ben. You have to stay at the palace.”
“After such a long journey, you want to keep me captive?”
“No.” Greg’s jaw tightened, and he turned away, staring out the window with a stormy gaze. “Yes. I want to keep you guarded. The mines are open territory. I promise your father to bring you home safely.”
“So how am I supposed to find something special for the Crown Jewels?”
“Start here.” Greg gestured at the palace. “Fave thinks his grandfather might have been here. If this was the East India Company headquarters when Izaac Pearler traveled as a young man and if he hid something, it’s close by.”
Ben realized this was an entirely different world the moment they stepped through the large gate operated by six men. This world teemed with life and color, a world where the ordinary and the extraordinary lived side by side.
He stood in awe of Belvedere House, the grandeur of the British Lord’s palace in Calcutta, a splendid example of Indo-Saracenic architecture. He recognized elements of Neo-Classical buildings, such as light façades and stucco, but they were blended with oriental architectural elements that looked like swirls on jewels. The edifice was crowned with a grand dome, a common feature in Mughal architecture, coated in shimmering gold leaf that glowed under the sun. Flanking the central dome were smaller cupolas, adding to the palace’s majestic skyline. Supporting the structure were robust columns, each decorated with detailed carvings, their capitals shaped like the blooming lotus, a symbol of beauty and purity in Hindu tradition. The façade was an exquisite symphony of sandstone, painstakingly carved into intricate floral patterns and mythical creatures.
Over the next few days, Ben explored the palace. Belvedere House boasted a labyrinth of walkways, each graced with encaustic tile work. The tiles were a riot of colors, their patterns drawing heavily from Persian designs, featuring geometric motifs and intricate arabesques that stirred the eyes, leading Ben’s gaze to the centers of the mosaic medallions.
The windows were not of typical rectangular shape but rather arched, their pointed ogee design reminiscent of Islamic architecture. Each window was adorned with delicate tracery, allowing the soft Indian sunlight to filter into the opulent chambers within. Ben was assigned a room in the older part of the palace.
One afternoon while Ben and Greg sat at the small writing desk to inventory the raw gems Greg had brought back from the mines that he didn’t let Ben visit, Ben said, “Aren’t these windows beautiful? I’ve seen this pattern before.”
“Where?” Greg asked.
“I wish I knew.” Ben fell back, an expression of his brooding, crossed his legs, and squinted at the design. “I just know I’ve seen it before.”
“They’re calledjharokhas.” Greg absent-mindedly pushed a metal tray with stones toward Ben. “I don’t know how to grade the stones. Can you please focus on the list?”
Ben did as he was told. Using a magnifying glass, he marveled at the intricate patterns and vibrant hues within each gem rough. He delicately turned them in his hands, feeling their weight and texture as if seeking to unlock their secrets. His trained eyes discerned subtle variations in color, clarity, and shape. So far from home, he appreciated the gems that had been brought from mines from all over the world. The sun cast a golden-orange glow onto the rocks, and even though they were rough gems, Ben recognized their potential to carry the warmth from India back to England. The jewels had become more than just stones for him. Now, he was on a quest to find what Izaac Pearler had left behind and return to Esther—he saw each gem as a kiss from India’s sun that he wanted to deliver back home. A wave of homesickness swept over him, and he longed to rejoin his father and brothers in their workshop. And to see his beautiful Esther.
Ben began his meticulous cataloging with a quill in hand and a well-worn ledger in front of him. Each gem was assigned a number, carefully inscribed in elegant calligraphy alongside detailed descriptions of its characteristics. He turned a page in the ledger and started to list a second page.
“I’m amazed you see so much in the rough stones even to keep them apart,” Greg said. “They look like pebbles to me even though I know they come from the mines and are worth a fortune.”
