That just proved what I had been saying about these natives—blatant liars from head to foot! Anyway, I had something for Mr Metcalfe.

The reception came to an end. Zeenat Mahal sent for the tray of betel leaves and gave us one each with her own hands. I can’t stand betel any more than other Europeans, but court etiquette required us to accept. So we stuffed the leaves in our mouths, salaamed the queen and left.

I told my hubby about the party in the palace. He was not surprised. He said he had overheard natives talking of a Persian or a Russian invasion and even seen posters on the walls of the Jamia Masjid saying that the invasion would take place that summer. He said that these rumours had been going on since the day Lord Canning had become Viceroy. When walking up to take the oath of office His Lordship’s foot had caught in the carpet and he had stumbled. The natives were saying that this was a sign from Allah that Canning’s government would likewise stumble and fall. Alec said that most natives believed that British rule would end on the hundredth anniversary of the Battle of Plassey, which was to be some time in June. ‘All these bloody niggers can do is yak yak,’ he assured me. ‘Let them try and we will stick a greased pole up their dirty black bums.’ Alec had been using that kind of language ever since he had gone phut.

Alec called on Mr Metcalfe and told him what I had picked up at the palace and what he had heard in the bazaar. Mr Metcalfe thanked Alec and asked him to request me to keep in touch with the ladies of the harem of Mirza Abdullah, one of the many grandsons of the king.

Mirza Abdullah lived in Daryaganj. He was a follower of a fellow called Hassan Askari who lived in the street behind our house. This Hassan Askari was known to have the king’s ear. The king’s daughter who had died two years ago had been his mistress. Mirza Abdullah’s sister had called on me many times. I really had no intention of returning her calls. But after what Mr Metcalfe had said to my hubby I felt I should do my bit for the Old Country.

One afternoon I dropped in at Mirza Abdullah’s house. My, how flattered these natives are when a European lady calls on them! And how flustered! The women were so excited and out of breath that they could hardly talk. And they were all very eager to tell me of the rumours about invasions and risings. ‘You can’t stop tongues from wagging, can you?” said Mirza’s senior begum. ‘There are as many rumours as there are people.’ I asked her about Hassan Askari. ‘He’s a man of Allah,’ replied the begum. ‘But he is not of our faith. He is a Shia and we are Sunnis. We have nothing to do with him.’