Discovery of Desire

by Susanne Lord

“Minnie,” he said softly. “Emma’s leaving. You have to be on that boat tomorrow.”

  She dropped her head into her hands and he couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t saying anything. “Minnie?”

  A sob broke from her and it shook him to the bone. He pulled her into his arms and steeled himself against the sound of her tears. And even if the words hurt her, she had to understand why he did it, why she had to go. “The tickets are bought. I gave Emma the money already.”

  Her head reared back. “No, Seth. We can’t take that. You need it for—”

  “What do I need that money for, Minnie? It was meant to find Georgie.” He smiled sadly. “I found her.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  And it nearly drove him to his knees.

  “Please.” His voice was a harsh rasp. “I couldn’t save Georgie but I can save you. I don’t want you sick, or widowed, or alone over here. Will you let me be a hero? Just this once?”

  “You are a hero.”

  He shook his head. “Let me believe it then, pretty.”

  She stared at him, backing away. “I have to find Emma. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You said I wasn’t alone.”

  That stopped her. She turned back to him, her eyes wide. “You’re not.”

  He approached her slowly, afraid she would bolt. Afraid he might never see her again. But she stood still, because no matter what he’d done to her, Mina was a guardian, a defender.

  And she was always on his side.

  He wasn’t being fair, but to hell with fair. “You told me I wasn’t alone, didn’t you? That you were with me.”

  “I—”

  “I didn’t save my sister,” he said brutally. “Let me save someone. Let me save you. Please—”

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “We can’t go back.”

  But she didn’t move, so he waited without speaking a word. And then he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out the quartz pebble from Mina’s garden. Clear and shiny and shot through with streaks of pure starlight. Her luckless charm.

  And her face went pale looking at it.

  She didn’t move. He cupped the charm in his hand. “I kept this, Minnie.”

  She shook her head.

  “It reminds me every day that you don’t belong here, that you need to go home. I promise, I’ll return it to you when I get to England. I have to say good-bye to Georgie first. And then I’ll come home.”

  She raised her gaze from his hand to look at him.

  “Let me save someone,” he said. “Let me save you and Emma.”

  She wasn’t crying anymore. “Do you promise me? That you’ll come back safe, that you’ll bring my charm back?” She raised her chin. His little officer. “Promise me that, and I’ll go.”

  “I promise.” Relief flooded him, and he sank onto the bed. “Thank you, Minnie.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  “I know it,” he said gruffly.

  She huffed a laugh, or a sob. It sounded like both. “I do—I must love you, or I must be mad.” She moved to the door, her shuffling steps slow and uneven. “Tomorrow. We’re leaving…” At the door, she paused. “Please don’t come to the dock, Seth. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  “You could, Minnie. You can bear anything.”

  She looked at him one last time, then turned and left him.

  And he fell back on the bed, his body leaden, Minnie’s pebble in his hand.

  …it’s nothing near a diamond.

  Just a bit of quartz from her garden in Derbyshire. And in the end, it persuaded her to go home.

  It was a pure diamond to him.

  Sixteen

  This was the wrong pavement for pacing. A man couldn’t go more than a few feet without begging someone’s pardon. But he couldn’t just sit in his room and wait for Mina’s ship to sail, so he circled the pavement around Benson’s Hotel like a restless beast in a cage.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, drawing disapproving scowls from a lady and gent walking past.

  He should have seen her off. He turned for the port. They’d have boarded, but he might at least see her on deck.

  He ground to a stop, the bodies flowing around him. She’d cried saying good-bye. Would it be worse if she saw him? Mina had a life ahead that didn’t include him. She wasn’t his and never had been his—except for those precious moments they’d made love. No matter what happened, she’d been his then.

  And she loved him. But love and need were different things.

  He might have a drink with Tom. Get good and pissed—no, he couldn’t afford that now. For a man his size, the amount to do the job properly would be expensive.

  Seth leaned against a hitching rail outside Benson’s. He ought to find some shade. The sun—what did they call it here…the Bombay Blanket—scorched his shoulders and baked the crown of his hat. But the carriage horses clip-clopping past soothed him.

  It was all right; everything was all right. Mina was going home—to her sisters, to a life in the place she loved. And she’d be fine with the money he’d secreted to Emma.

  He’d rescued someone after all.

  A young lady and her beau walked toward him. Amelia Radcliffe—the redhead he’d met at the zoo three weeks back. But that wasn’t Secretary Turnbull. Good. Good for her. Turnbull was a bastard.

  He straightened as she bustled up to him, dragging her gentleman with her. The gent was trying not to look pleased by the bold lady on his arm.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Mayhew,” Amelia said.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Radcliffe. You’re looking very well.”

  She blushed prettily. “You remember me. Mina must have reminded me to you.”

  A stab of pain lanced his heart, but he smiled through it. “What can I do for you?”

  The lady beamed back. She presented her gentleman. “This is my friend Mr. Nashe. I’ve told him of you and the matter with your sister.” She looked to her gent and prodded him with a nod.

  Mr. Nashe pulled a note from his coat. “We were coming to leave this telegram for you. I understand you received information of your sister, Georgiana, in Assam.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s right. I’m arranging to, uh”—his eyes slid to the lady—“to see to her. I don’t know if you were aware. It wasn’t…welcome news.”

  Nashe squinted at him, shaking his head. He held up a hand to stop his words and unfolded the telegram. “I don’t… I’m not sure I understand. A man I came up with, we were at East India College together, you see, passed our exams together and all that—well, he’s assistant magistrate in Burdwan.” He handed Seth the telegram. “My Amelia pleaded with me to look into the matter for you, and I would deny her nothing. So what is a gentleman to do?”

  Seth read the paper, the words not making sense. He checked the date. And his heart kicked in his chest. “What is this?” he rasped.

  Nashe’s smile slipped at the question. “Just as it says. Your sister left Pabna on the tenth of August. The collector there countersigned her passport. Fortunate she was recorded at all, actually. But there was a native police matter. Her servant, a coolie or some such, met a rather dreadful end. He and a native woman, robbed and done away with.”

  “So dreadful.” Amelia clutched her handkerchief, prompting Nashe to give her arm a comforting pat.

  The telegram read clear: tenth of August 1850, Georgiana Mayhew of Matlock, England. Was it possible? Did Rivers have it wrong?

  Was Georgie still alive?

  “But…but I checked the passport registries at East India. She’s not recorded in any of them.”

  “If she’s been in the country on Company business, the administrant is unlikely to exercise any sort of vigilance. East India c
lerks are shamefully inept or lazy—likely both.” He smiled drolly. “I would be unsurprised if those Englishmen allowed their servants to feed them. They come very near it now—the sad babies.”

  Seth read the telegram again. “She entered India.”

  “That appears to be the case, yes.” Nashe pulled another paper from his coat. “And here is more recent information.”

  Seth jerked to attention. “Ay? What do you have?”

  Nashe smiled. “October fifth, your sister applied for a subsistence allowance for herself and a female infant. She’s been out of Company employ since May, when she left her expedition to enter Tibet, so she was denied. She didn’t have sufficient standing in Honorable Company.”

  Seth’s heart hammered in his chest. “Where did she apply? Calcutta?”

  “Not Calcutta.” Amelia bounced on her toes. “Bombay, Mr. Mayhew! I daresay she is in this very city.”

  He might have managed a farewell to the lady and her beau, but the next thing he was sensible of was striding back into Benson’s. He had to find Tom and Mina and—ah hell.

  He pivoted on his heel and headed toward the Apollo Bunder and the HMS Liverpool. He didn’t have a timepiece, but from the length of the shadows, it must be about eleven—a quarter after, maybe. There might be time. There might’ve been a delay, some cargo they were balancing. They might still be here.

  Please…please…Minnie not yet…

  He began to run, to fly. Sweat stung his eyes and the telegram in his hand wilted in his fist. Please. He rounded the corner. The dock was empty.

  And the steamship disappeared over the horizon.

  * * *

  How quickly Bombay shrank. The winds were strong. Mina reached for the pebble in her skirt and remembered too late. She grasped the rail instead.

  “You’ll see him again, Mina,” Emma said.

  She would. Someday. In six months or a year. Or two years. Who would Seth be once he returned from burying his sister? Who would she be?

  They’d never sailed the same current.

  “The sun is strong,” she said. “I think I’ll lie down.”

  “Mina, I am sorry.” Tears welled in Emma’s eyes.

  “Don’t, Emma—”

  “He cared for you so much. That’s why he paid for our passage. To send you home to wait for him. I know he loves you.”

  “Wait for him?” She gripped the rail tighter. “How would you expect us to marry?”

  Emma stared at her. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

  “Should I marry him for love? For some stupid passion, like Mary?”

  “Mina—”

  “It’s hot.” She turned from the railing. There was nothing but ocean to see anyway. But the solid wall of the ship made her dizzy with the deep sea rolling under her feet. “I’m going down.”

  “Mina?”

  She waited on the steps but didn’t turn.

  “Mr. Mayhew said I wasn’t to tell you until we were at sea.” Emma paused. “He gave us some money, Mina. For you, for us, for everyone.”

  Her heart sank to her stomach, but she faced her sister. “What money? What do you mean?”

  “He wanted to take care of you, to be sure you would be all right.”

  Mina looked back to Bombay, but the city was the faintest shadow. Dear Seth. He would give the shirt off his—no.

  Oh no, no, no. She swung back to Emma. “How much, Emma?”

  Emma stepped back, her eyes wide and fixed on Mina’s face. “He wanted us to be safe.”

  “How much did he give you?”

  “Two hundred pounds.”

  Oh dear God. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “He loves you, Mina.”

  “Two hundred? Emma, how could you take that?”

  “He insisted. He said he wanted us to be safe; he said that he had enough.” Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “And we’ll pay him back. Once we settle. Once I make Colin Rivers pay. And what else could we do? We have no money. How would we live?”

  “You knew we would have to work, and we have a little money.”

  “Not enough—not nearly enough. We can help Mary and Sebastian, too.”

  Mina sank against the wall of the stairwell. “Oh, Emma.”

  “He insisted.” Emma was crying. “He said he wouldn’t pay for our passage unless I promised to take this money. I’m sorry.”

  He would have insisted. Seth would have pressed and pushed and refused to hear no for an answer. But so much… Did he have enough for the rest of his travels?

  “I’m sorry.” Emma’s voice was little more than a whimper. “I didn’t think it would—”

  She hugged Emma, needing comfort herself. “It’s all right, dear. Seth—Mr. Mayhew is too generous and kind. And we will return all that money to him as quickly as we’re able.”

  Emma nodded against her. “Yes. When he returns to London. We will write to him. He said he’d collect his letters at the London post office.”

  “Let’s not…speak of this anymore. Or of him. Please.”

  She turned and left her sister to follow her below deck. She could hear no more of Seth from Emma. They had a three-month sail to plan and prepare for a life in England—to survive in England. And now she would be burdened with the thought that Seth would be caught without the funds he needed.

  The waves churned violently behind the ship. Yet she had the strongest urge to jump, to swim back to Bombay, to Seth.

  To her heart.

  * * *

  Seth watched the steamship until it grew faint and became nothing more than a speck on the ocean. His heart hammered in his chest from his mad race to the port, but he wasn’t much sensible of anything else. The sun was beating down on his head and he didn’t have the will to put his hat back on.

  He took a deep breath. And started to laugh.

  She was gone. That was good—it was good. Mina didn’t belong here. She was going home to her garden.

  And Georgie was alive as of October fifth.

  He slumped back against a wall of cotton bales. I miss you, Minnie. But damned if his heart wasn’t coming back to life. Yes, it was all good. Mina was going to be safe at home and on the fifth of October, his sister had been alive.

  There wasn’t much money left to search for Georgie, not after paying Tom and all his informants and giving Emma all he could spare. He could use his passage fare, and he didn’t need a hotel room. He was accustomed to sleeping out of doors, so that was no real hardship.

  But would it be enough to find Georgie? Bombay could feel like a damn big city. It was a big city if not one Company man had seen her. Maybe she’d already left Bombay.

  He pushed off the wall. Tom was waiting for him. He was a good man. A friend, he hoped. Not that he was certain that Tom shared the sentiment. Once he and Tom sat down, read the telegram, strategized, they’d make a new plan. He might even send a letter to Mina.

  Or not. Probably better not to raise her hopes about Georgie, about how she’d been right here in Bombay. Right here…

  Seth slowed to a stop. Something was niggling him.

  I never thought it would lead her here.

  He put on his hat, but his feet wouldn’t move in the direction of the hotel. Seth turned for the bazaar. He didn’t know why, but he wouldn’t hurry. Hurrying might chase all the questions away.

  The bazaar was nearly empty. The heat kept the shoppers away till the evening, but the merchants were setting up their wares. What was it? What was he trying to remember—

  “Excuse me, sahib.” A small gathering of Indian men crossed the square in front of him, jostling him. “Pardon us, Mahabali.”

  Damn. He’d lost it. Seth yanked off his hat and wiped his brow. It probably wasn’t anything.

  The pottery stand where he and Mina had lingered that d
ay was at the end of the row of stalls. Mina had liked the pottery there.

  “I will make you a good bargain,” the pottery seller said as Seth approached. “You like, Mahabali?”

  Mahabali. He’d been called that before. The locals always smiled when they said it, but they could be likening him to a goat’s bollocks and he wouldn’t know any different. “Can’t afford it, mate. Tell me…what’s that Mahabali mean?”

  “Bali is fat man.”

  Fat? The hell…?

  The vendor cackled, stretching his arms high overhead. “Great, fat man.”

  “All right then,” Seth mumbled as the old man’s laugh grew louder. This language lesson was becoming damn awkward.

  The pottery seller’s neighbor, a linen merchant, leaned over to grumble. “Not fat.” He shook his head in annoyance at the translation. “Mahabali is a giant, sahib. A daitya, a god who is a giant. In our scripture, this god was very good but too proud. Vishnu stepped on his head and pushed him into the underworld. The people call you this because you are most big.” The linen vendor pointed a knobby finger at his head, chuckling. “And to step on your big face is most funny.”

  Funny? The hell…?

  “I see, mate. I wondered if they might be calling me—” Seth cut off. The pottery table was wrong. No, it wasn’t wrong. It was different. It was missing the big dish Mina had liked, the one with the thistle.

  It feels like home somehow…

  That’s what she’d said, what he’d been trying to remember. Cirsium heterophyllum, the melancholy thistle. A common plant at home. He’d sketched it. Georgie had, too. Was it common in India?

  “You like, Bali?” The vendor hurried to uncover a platter painted with pink camellias. The flowers were flawless. Beautifully rendered.

  And damned familiar.

  “Wait, wait,” the vendor said. “I will show you a finer piece.” He turned and presented an English cup and saucer with violets blooming along the rim and Seth’s heart slammed to the top of his skull.

  “Where?” The word wasn’t more than a croak, but he pointed at the violets, at the blue paint. Layer after layer had been applied to get that shade. Not Prussian blue, not any pigment that would fade. That was ultramarine or lapis lazuli. Only a painter particular about her materials would use pigments that dear.