Discovery of Desire

by Susanne Lord

  She nodded to Emma, who stared as if they were both idiots. Thomas offered his arm but Emma ignored the gesture, turning up her nose and flouncing off in the direction of Benson’s Hotel, leaving him to follow like a servant.

  Emma and Thomas disappeared around the corner, and she could delay no longer. She faced Mr. Mayhew, and frowned at the baldly pitying look on his face. “I don’t require pity. And I don’t blame you for taking Thomas away, Mr. Mayhew.”

  He tipped his head to the other side. “Why aren’t you calling me Seth yet?”

  Bother the man. Even now, his eyes crinkled.

  She marched toward the harbor rather than standing stupidly about on the pavement. And she feared she might start to cry if she didn’t do something. His heavy boots crunched the gravel behind her, his long stride leisurely compared to her stupid escape to the dock’s railing.

  She stopped shy of the rail. Why did she come here? The glare off the sea stung her eyes. And England was at the end of all that water. She turned her back to the sea.

  “I’m thinking you might blame me, Minnie, so I wanted you to know the truth.” He gripped the rail to lean close and look into her face.

  “I don’t blame you.”

  He watched her carefully. “I didn’t tell him. About the kiss I gave you.”

  She almost laughed. As if jealousy would play any part in this. “I know you didn’t,” she said. “I think I always knew Thomas wouldn’t marry me. Before we met, I thought we would suit. I hoped we would. Every night on that interminable sail, I hoped.”

  Mr. Mayhew frowned and nodded.

  “We should have suited. Both our families were of modest means but respectable. And I have some education. Enough to suit a man employed by East India.”

  “I know it. You’d be a perfect wife.”

  “And he’s from Edwinstowe. Did you know that? Our villages are only a few miles apart.” She shook her head. “So stupid of me—as if that mattered at all.”

  “It matters. I’m from the Midlands and we rub on fine, don’t we? There are plenty of gents likely from the Midlands.” Mr. Mayhew turned to a group of English lingering by the pavilion. “Excuse me, gents. You lot are English, aren’t you?”

  The men nodded dumbly.

  “Any of you from the Midlands?” He waited. “No one?”

  “Please, Mr. Mayhew, it is of no account,” she protested weakly.

  “I’m trying to persuade this beauty there are gents here from her corner of the world she might marry.”

  A hopeful hand shot up. “I’m from Swindon.”

  Mr. Mayhew shot him a narrow-eyed stare. “And that’s nowhere near the Midlands, is it?”

  To her utter shock, a smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Mayhew, but this isn’t necessary.”

  “Swindon,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “It’s fine.” She took a breath, jamming her hand into her pocket to hold her pebble. “I thought matters were arranged, that’s all. I can make a new plan.”

  He scanned her face, as if checking for the truth there. “Tom’s not the man for you,” he blurted, and then frowned at the ground. “He’s not, on account of his being in love with a woman he knew before you met. And I know it wasn’t right to send for you and get your hopes fixed on marrying when this other woman’s got him raked all fore and aft.” He frowned harder and ground his boot over a clod of earth. “But when a man meets a woman that fits him…a woman he can’t stop thinking about, that’s no common thing. A man can’t forget a woman like that.”

  A woman that fits him…

  She’d sailed ninety-nine days and she didn’t fit him. And she thought she was sentimental. In her pocket, she squeezed the pebble in a punishing fist and yanked her hand out to toss it. Useless, foolish thing—

  Mr. Mayhew caught her hand before she could hurl the stone into the sea. “What do you have?”

  She jumped, startled by his sudden grab. His hand engulfed hers, the callused fingers strangely gentle and drawing her hand toward him. She unclenched her fist and dropped the white, quartz pebble into his palm. “It’s nothing,” she whispered. “It’s from my garden in Chesterfield.” The last day…that last time…

  “You got yourself a charm.”

  She shook her head vehemently.

  His gaze was heavy but she didn’t dare look into his face. “It’s pretty,” he said. “Like a diamond before it’s all cut and polished.” He held it out for her, but she didn’t take it.

  “It’s no charm. And it’s nothing near a diamond.”

  A moment of silence passed, and he slipped the pebble into his coat. “Minnie—”

  “Mina.”

  “You want to see what’s in my pocket?”

  She looked up at him and he pulled out a small notebook that looked almost comical in his large hand. He handed it to her. The red leather was worn at the corners and the book resisted closing, as if the pages had been read again and again.

  And on each page, poetry scrawled with a careful hand. We are such stuff as dreams are made on… The fault is not in our stars, dear Brutus, but in ourselves…

  Mr. Mayhew’s head was turned in the other direction, his hands restless on the rail.

  She doth teach the torches to burn bright. Was this his…charm? She doth teach… Romeo and Juliet. She breathed deep, and something a little like peace settled over her. “I like Shakespeare, too.”

  His cheeks were flushed when he turned to smile down at her and take back his book. “I saw those plays but didn’t understand half of them. I mean, I understood but not as much as I was meant to. Until I got to Mr. Elliot’s and read them a few times. He was a neighbor who had himself a library. He didn’t mind my borrowing his books and dictionary. And even then”—he shrugged, fidgeting with the book—“well, Shakespeare couldn’t help but write like he knew how.”

  “No, I suppose he couldn’t. Do you have a favorite?”

  He smiled and thumbed through the book. “This one: ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries.’”

  “That’s nice. I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Julius Caesar. Saw that one in Ripon with Georgie. It’s my favorite.”

  “Is he writing of fate or destiny?”

  “I’m thinking it’s the opposite, which is why I like it. Opportunity is what it’s about. And boldness. We’re on that flood Shakespeare wrote about, Minnie. We’re going to find you a better husband—one richer and set to return to England.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t return, Mr. Mayhew.”

  “I wish you’d call me Seth.”

  “Emma is—” Her voice sounded without a bit of life so she breathed deep. Their fingers were entwined. When had Mr. Mayhew taken her hand? She pulled but he wouldn’t release her.

  “Your hand was looking heavy, Minnie, so I thought I’d hold it for you.”

  She had to smile a little at that. He was incorrigible. But when she expected to see him wink at her, his ocean eyes held something determined in their depths. Almost as if he believed finding her a husband, and a husband bound for England no less, was his responsibility.

  He really was the kindest man.

  He held up his little book. “‘On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current as it serves, or lose our ventures.’” He winked. “Right, venture girl?”

  “You would use Shakespeare against me?”

  He grinned. “If I can.” He pulled her hand through his arm and they started to walk.

  Carriages clattered up and down the street. The sun was different here, the air salted, the blue of the sky, the clouds…all different. The Hindustani letters challenged her eyes to comprehend even as the English translation tracked alongside them.<
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  “You won’t ever feel like you belong here, Minnie.”

  His words stabbed her. Was she so easy to read? She looked at him and he gave her a sad smile.

  “You’ll make some friends,” he said. “They may even love you like family, but a part of you will always be back in Chesterfield, just like a part of me will always be back in Matlock and a little bit of me is back in Brazil. You travel enough, you leave pieces behind everywhere you go.” He looked at her. “I’ll be leaving quite a bit with you, I wager.” He smiled, his eyes roaming her face. “I suppose there’s only one place in all the world where you leave your whole heart.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a wink.

  And suddenly she was afraid she didn’t know where her heart was.

  They entered a large square, with market stalls all around selling all kinds of goods. This must be the Crawford Market near the native town. But there were English ladies and their servants all around, wearing the same sun hats as hers. But she wasn’t the same as them. Those women were married. Safe.

  A cold sweat formed on her back. Under the sun, her skin prickled with cold. Thomas will not marry me… He really will not marry me.

  “Mary,” she whispered.

  Mr. Mayhew dipped his head. “What’s that?”

  She looked at him, confused. Then realized she must have spoken aloud. He watched her carefully, but she could not tell him of Bethnal Green. The children left to starve. Or sold to baby farmers. The whores, and the drunkards and thieves. And Mary and Sebastian living in all that.

  And Mary selling herself.

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. Desperate not to remember that now, she moved to a stall of painted pottery. Most were in vibrant red and gold but one serving platter had a pattern of thistle and vines that was masterfully rendered. Mina traced the design with a light finger. “This is beautiful. It feels like home somehow, doesn’t it?”

  Seth picked up the platter, studying it. “Looks like the thistle we had in the county, remember? I used to practice sketching them. Georgie always trailed after me, wanting to draw them, too. Wanting to make them pretty. I told her pretty wasn’t important in science. If you draw true, then pretty works itself out.” He frowned. “And she had a talent for drawing truer than I’d ever seen.”

  “She’s more than an illustrator, then.”

  He returned the platter to the table. “She’s an artist. A good one. I never thought…”

  “What?”

  “I never thought it would lead her here, get her lost. I never would’ve let her pick up a pencil.”

  His voice had never sounded so devoid of life. “That isn’t your fault.”

  “Our da left us when Georgie was seven. She must’ve been thinking I might do for a replacement. She needed a father—no matter how poor a substitute she was getting in me.”

  “I’m sure you were a loving brother.”

  He shrugged tightly. “I left her, too. I was eighteen. Wasn’t any work except the lead mine. I was too big to work in the mill. And I had a chance to sail to Brazil. It wasn’t all that profitable—not for me, anyway. East India took most of it—but I was able to send Mum and Georgie a little. Mum was at the mill until she passed of the black lung.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “How old was Georgiana?”

  “Eighteen. And all alone because I was so far from home.” He took a deep breath. “Everybody’s got to bear troubles, eat their own peck of dirt, make peace with losing and loss. Adapt, I suppose. Georgie and I were good at adapting by then, so maybe leaving England didn’t hold all that much fear for either us. A bit unnatural for a girl. I never thought she’d ever leave England, though.”

  Her heart sunk heavy in her chest. She wanted to hold him, but she didn’t dare, so she hugged his arm. “You’re going to find her.”

  Mr. Mayhew smiled down at her, but the corners of his mouth were tight. “I will, Minnie. I’m sailing with that current now, aren’t I? Leading me to Calcutta and the Milford crew.”

  She forced a smile and nodded.

  “But we’re with you five days, Tom and me,” he said. “And our aim is to find you the best bachelor in all of India. A man worthy of you. We’ll even find a gent for Emma since this Colin Rivers hasn’t come up to the scratch.”

  Colin Rivers, and now Thomas. And Mr. Mayhew thought he would find them both husbands in five days.

  “We’ll find you a decent man,” he said so softly he might have been speaking to himself. “We’ll find a man who’s ready to provide for you and your children. Who’ll never leave you or let you go hungry.”

  His jaw was firm. He truly believed that.

  What did it matter, so long as she knew the truth? Men liked to pretend to be in control and strong and capable. They pretended, and all the while they denied women the right to earn their own livings. Except in the basest, most degrading ways. Like Mary.

  And like herself and Emma, exporting themselves to India for this bizarre bridal market. Society was perverse and unnatural, but there was no changing it. She may as well try to change the tide.

  Men liked to pretend. Even with his kind heart and good intentions, Mr. Mayhew did not have the right of it. He raged at the chaining of the lion.

  But it was the lioness that fed the pride.

  They arrived at the hotel and she withdrew her arm from his. But before he could open the door to the lobby for her, she put a hand on his arm. “Mr. Mayhew, thank you for offering to find me a husband but I don’t need your help.”

  “Minnie—”

  “And I don’t want it,” she said as clearly as she could. “Go to Calcutta with Thomas, and find Georgiana. I have to find a husband, Mr. Mayhew. And I’m afraid all you would be…is a distraction.”

  He stared at her but said nothing as she slipped into the hotel.

  Nine

  There were few sights in the world that should have pleased Seth more than the circle of fine, tea-drinking ladies in the lobby of Benson’s Hotel—mainly because he was the lone male within forty paces.

  But there was one little officer who wouldn’t welcome the infiltration of their ranks. And she was the only one he was infiltrating for.

  She’d called him a distraction.

  Well. Fine, then. She’d been distracting him plenty, too. But he’d been grateful to focus on a task before setting off to meet Georgie’s crew in Calcutta. A man ought to be able to hold more than one thought in his head without it turning him in circles.

  He pulled out his paper with the names of possible husbands for Mina and pulled down the hem of his coat. Only four days left, but he’d made good progress yesterday. He’d been eager to share his list, but Mina hadn’t been in her rooms yesterday evening. Should he try talking to her now? With all the venture girls about her? Would he shame her?

  He sidled nearer. The ladies were all so fine. Their backs didn’t even touch their chairs. Probably discussing lady matters like frocks and blends of tea and fripperies like ribbons.

  “There would be no annuity upon his death, only a hardship grant of forty pounds,” a lady in a sky-blue dress said to Mina. “So I think not, Mina. Did you call on Mrs. Mayne, and did she receive you?”

  Mina nodded. “The second day. After calling upon Mrs. Chester.”

  “Excellent,” another lady said. “And did you leave another card at Government House?”

  “I did not.”

  The ladies fell silent, their faces wrinkling in deliberation. Mina’s head swiveled from one lady to the next. “Should I have done? Is it too late?”

  “The matter is not irreparable but a call should be made this afternoon. Mr. Oswald is yet unattached. Samantha, what were Mr. Oswald’s credentials again?”

  A lady—evidently Samantha—snapped open her notebook, thumbing through the pages. “Richard Oswald or Henry Oswald?”

 
“Richard.”

  Samantha flipped the page. “Oswald, Richard. Born in East London. Age thirty years. Four hundred eighty a year. Currently sharing a residence in the city with two servants. His health seems excellent and prospects in the company—” She frowned. “He was not advanced last year.”

  A disapproving silence settled upon them. Mina sighed. “He does not seem eligible, then?”

  Samantha patted Mina’s hand. “There are others—”

  The ladies cut off as Seth took a tentative step forward. He smiled and, thank God, the ladies smiled back. They normally did, but his confidence had been knocked around of late.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Mayhew.” Mina wasn’t out-and-out smiling, but she’d never embarrass him.

  “Good afternoon, Min—Miss Adams.” He nodded at the ladies. “Ladies. I don’t mean to interrupt.” Well…propriety be damned. “I was hoping I might sit?”

  Mina blinked but gestured to a chair. “Certainly, Mr. Mayhew.”

  A smiling woman reached for the tea tray. “We were taking our tea. Will you have a cup?”

  He nodded and eased his weight onto the delicate chair. This was a country for flimsy furniture. “Yes, please. I’d be much obliged.” The teacup didn’t fit his hand all that well, either, but he pretended taking tea with ladies was a common enough occurrence. He crossed his leg, then uncrossed it. “I should introduce myself. I’m Seth—”

  “Yes.” The tea pourer smiled. “We know who you are, Mr. Mayhew.”

  Right. ’Course they would. He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but overhear your talk of that Oswald gent. In fact, I had some ideas of my own. Of eligible men for Miss Mina.”

  The ladies turned to look at one another, then settled back in their seats. Mina’s blush worried him, but it was too late to stop now.

  “By all means, Mr. Mayhew,” one lady said. “Do share.”

  They smiled at him like a child reciting his letters. “Well…there’s Mr. Clevenger. He’s a learned man, with the East India College. He seems—”