“No, of course not, I beg your pardon, that was rude of me.”
“I understand. It must be your Bounder uniform that makes you so daring. I have sometimes wondered what it must feel like to wear trousers and boots like a man. Is it uncomfortable?”
“A little. At first they chafe. But when I Bound or Skip, they feel like a second skin. I imagine Extraordinary Movers, the women I mean, feel the same when they Fly. No one objects to that. And yet if I were to appear in public dressed in men’s clothing, not my uniform but men’s breeches and tailcoat, I should feel so horribly exposed!”
“Imagine how ridiculous a man would look in a gown, too!”
Daphne pictured Fletcher in a ball gown, waving a fan, and laughed so hard she slipped in her saddle again and had to hoist herself back up. “It is too ridiculous for words. Best we stick to our own apparel—except for this uniform, that is.”
The rain let up around noon, and the clouds disappeared, leaving the sun to bake them dry. Daphne removed her bonnet and held it dangling by its strings. She ought to wear it, protect herself from the sun’s rays, but it was so stifling she could not bear it. Besides, it was wet almost entirely through. She tied its strings around her neck and let it dangle down her back where it could dry properly. Her blonde hair, plaited and tightly coiled around her head, felt damp as well; better to let it dry in the warm air than be confined under the bonnet.
The road curved along the banks of the Hooghly and through a forest of mangrove trees whose roots rose out of the water, tinted pale where the river had formerly flowed higher. Based on the marks, it would cover the road at its highest point. Daphne tried to imagine wading through the river, trying to follow the road, and felt grateful it was not necessary.
Now that the rain had stopped, they were no longer the only people on the road. Hindoo men dressed in drab brown knee-length trousers, leading donkeys drawing carts laden with knobby sacks, passed them headed south. They eyed the red coats dubiously, drawing well enough away from them that they occasionally left the road for a few paces. Women in bright gowns with silken shawls over their heads watched the officers more coquettishly, drawing their shawls over their faces so their kohl-lined eyes were all that was visible. Lieutenant Wright returned their glances with a cheery wave and a smile. Daphne felt certain he could not help flirting; it was in his nature.
The road left the river once more, and they stopped to eat very plain food in the shade of those red-fire trees whose name Daphne did not know, waiting out the brassy heat of noon. No one spoke; it was too hot for exertion. Daphne nibbled on soft cheese made softer by the heat and wondered when cooler weather would come. Everyone said the monsoon season was nearly over, but they had been saying that since she first arrived in India, and that day never seemed any closer.
By the time the sun fell low in the sky, she was restless and impatient to reach their destination, even if she would not spend the night there. India was beautiful, with its varied trees and vegetation and even the Hooghly with its distinctive smell, but traveling by horse was so slow in comparison to Skipping.
She nudged her horse out of the line and trotted forward to speak to Fletcher. “I beg your pardon, Captain, I do not wish to be impatient—”
“But you want to know when we will reach the post-house,” Fletcher said with a smile. “It is about half a mile distant.”
“Oh!” That was closer than she had expected. “Then… will you learn of the missionaries?”
“I hope so. They will have passed this way only a few days ago. Whoever is stationed at the post-house will know.”
“The post is not carried by Bounder?”
“I believe they consider that a waste of a Bounder’s talent. The dak, the post, is carried by native runners and riders. We passed one earlier today.”
“I didn’t know. And the post-house gives them a place to rest?”
“They also offer shelter to Europeans on the road, for a nominal fee. We are on Company business and need not pay.”
“We may share your evening meal before leaving, yes?”
“It is rather coarse food, Lady Daphne—but I imagine that is the draw for you, isn’t it?”
Daphne blushed and looked away. “I must seem so foolish to you, in disdaining the comforts of home.”
“You forget, I am very fond of India. And I understand the desire to experience something new. I will never call that foolishness.”
“Then I will—that is, I will not keep you longer,” Daphne said, and trotted back to her place beside Bess. Bess had her bonnet drawn far over her face and her spectacles snugged up tight on her nose. “Are you well?” Daphne asked, concerned about the pinched, drawn look on her friend’s face.
“The sunlight is painful to my eyes, even with my spectacles,” Bess said, “and I am weary from the day’s travels. I have not ridden so long and so far for many years.”
Guilt gripped Daphne over subjecting her friend to such a journey. “We should have remained at the Residence,” she exclaimed.
“No, I do not regret this journey one bit,” declared Bess. “I can endure a little discomfort if it means seeing a country so few Europeans have. I look forward to describing it to John in my next letter.”
The rain started again just as the post-house came into view. It was not at all as Daphne had expected, from Sir Rodney’s dire, dark pronouncements on their poor construction and filthy condition. It was a single-story building with a wide porch surrounding it on three sides, built of native timber with a thatched roof. A second, smaller building standing some distance away looked like a stable. The fire-trees grew close around it, making its roof appear to be burning, but it seemed sturdy enough. Daphne dismounted without assistance and walked toward it, leading her horse.
“Lady Daphne, wait,” Captain Ainsworth said. “We must permit the servants to take the horses.”
“Oh,” said Daphne. A few dark-skinned men, seemingly unconcerned about the rain, emerged from the smaller building and approached them. One held out his hand for Daphne’s reins, and she yielded them to him.
“Their castes mean the division of labor is exact and minute,” Ainsworth said in a low voice, as if imparting some great secret. “There will be many men attached to the post-house for that reason. A cook may not do the work of a khansamah, a… steward, I suppose you could call it, and neither may do the work of a punkah-wallah.”
“Is that why the Residence has so many servants, though Sir Rodney is the only European there?”
“Exactly so. Pray, let me escort you inside.”
Daphne took his arm, suppressing a twinge of disappointment that he was not Fletcher. It was foolish of her to court such feelings, and Ainsworth was a pleasant companion, if prone to gossip.
The interior of the post-house was mainly one large room, well lit by windows that at the moment stood open to the elements. They had no glass, just pairs of shutters that would shelter the room from the worst storms, but would not keep the insects out. Daphne felt a moment’s traitorous pleasure that she and Bess would not be staying the night.
A low table stood at one side of the room, low enough that one would have to sit on the floor to eat at it, though there were no chairs in any case. Doors leading off to the left and the right hung crookedly in their frames, their leather hinges sagging with age. Daphne smelled hot rice and broiled fish tinged with spices she did not recognize, and her stomach growled. Ainsworth was too polite to hint that he had heard it. “Supper will be ready soon, if you’re certain you wish to eat Hindoo food. It’s not what you’re used to.”
“I know that, Captain, and I anticipate it with great pleasure.”
“Lady Daphne is adventurous,” Fletcher said, coming up on her other side. “Do you see now why I said—”
“Yes, Captain, you need not remind me,” Daphne said with a smile. “I will remember to honor your advice in the future.”
“As I am certain you will also challenge my advice in future, I appreciate your int
ent. But I have a request, or possibly I just need your advice.”
“Is something wrong?” Ainsworth said, releasing Daphne.
“The khansamah tells me no Europeans have stopped here in the last week. He has seen no sign of our missionaries.”
“They might have bypassed the house, if they were afraid of being taken.” Ainsworth lowered his voice again. His eyes darted from one side of the room to the other.
“The post-house sits on the road, and Kandan is a close observer of everyone who passes by. He has seen no Europeans save us, and certainly no one who resembles a missionary. However that might look.”
“Then where did they go?” Daphne asked.
“Across country, no doubt. And that is why I need your help. You are trained as a scout?”
Daphne was grateful he was not touching her, to feel how shame struck her like a blow to the face. “I was, yes. You wish me to search for the missionaries?”
“I do, if you consider it possible with the sun setting. I know little of how Bounders survey the area.”
Daphne cast her gaze out the window toward the Hooghly, invisible through the trees but still audible. “A full, detailed search will not be possible,” she said, “but if they have made camp somewhere in the open, I should be able to see it. When did they leave Madhyapatnam?”
“Four days ago. I realize they might be anywhere by now.”
“No, Captain, we need only apply logic to the problem. They are missionaries, therefore they wish to preach, correct? So they will seek out native cities and villages. And if they travel overland, or on small roads away from this one, they will travel more slowly than we. So they cannot have got very far.”
“I see you know your business. Shall we go?”
Daphne wrestled briefly with herself before saying, “Scouting is most efficient when one goes alone. I will return with information.”
“Of course.” He sounded disappointed, but concealed it well.
Fletcher and Ainsworth followed Daphne to the porch, where they met Bess coming the other way. “I must scout out our quarry,” Daphne said. “Would you prefer me to return you to the Residence first?”
“I believe I will walk and ease my aches,” Bess said. “Lieutenant Wright has offered to walk with me.”
“Then I will return shortly,” Daphne said. The rain had already faded to a drizzle, so she removed her bonnet and handed it to Fletcher, who looked at it with some bemusement. She took a few steps toward the road, glanced up, and Skipped.
The land lay spread out beneath her, an irregular patchwork of green and brown. Threads of dark earth crisscrossed the patches, roads of varying widths, and the Hooghly was a brown and blue ribbon on her right. She began to fall, and Skipped again, higher this time. Calmly she surveyed the landscape as she fell. There was a village a few miles to the left, but the missionaries would likely not be there—it was too close to Madhyapatnam. Orienting herself by the main road, she Skipped another twelve miles on.
Oh, it was so good to move, to travel freely! She had gone in the space of a breath as far as their little caravan had managed in half a day. More villages, another post-house, the Hooghly curving away to the east. One more Skip, and she saw yet another post-house. They appeared to be situated every twelve to fifteen miles along the main road. On a whim, she Skipped to earth a few dozen yards from the nearest post-house and ran up the steps, startling the elderly man who sat cross-legged at the open doorway.
“I beg your pardon,” Daphne said, “I should not have been so abrupt, but have you seen any Europeans in the last few days? Other than myself?”
The man’s mouth hung open in a comical fashion, and Daphne had to cough to conceal a laugh at his consternation. “No sahibs,” he finally said. “Not many days.”
“Thank you,” Daphne said, and Skipped again.
She kept closer to the ground this time, looking for evidence of a party of travelers camping in the open. Thanks to the Hooghly forming a hard boundary to the east, she covered ground quickly but thoroughly, flicking from one point to another without rest. Even at the extremes of where she judged they might have traveled, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. She did notice, once or twice, startled travelers pointing up at her when she permitted herself a few extra seconds’ worth of observation, and laughed at how astonished they must be.
Eventually she came to rest on the main road, some forty miles north of where she had left Fletcher and the others, feeling comfortably cool from all that time spent high above the ground where the breezes plucked at her clothes and hair. Wherever the missionaries were, they had gone to ground quite thoroughly. They might be in one of those villages, but would such places welcome strange Europeans preaching against their religion and traditions? That seemed unlikely. And yet she was confident they were nowhere near the road or any of the smaller roads branching off from it.
Shaking her head, she Skipped back, higher than before so as to give herself a better view of the road, and alighted just yards from the post-house entrance. The smell of food made her ravenous—she had Skipped so often in the last two hours she felt her stomach might mutiny—so she ran up the steps into the common room to find the officers and Bess conversing by the windows. “You did not wait supper on me, did you?” she exclaimed.
“Captain Fletcher suggested it would be impolite to eat without you, when you were performing such a valued service,” Bess said. There was an undertone to her voice that Daphne had no trouble interpreting.
“It was unnecessary gallantry, Captain, but I appreciate it,” she said, sounding as calm as if it meant nothing to her. “And I am quite hungry, after all my labors.”
“Please have a seat, ladies, and forgive us not holding your chairs for you,” Fletcher said with a smile. Daphne deliberately sat between Lieutenant Wright and Ensign Phillips. Her foolish fondness needed to be reined in. Servants dressed in comfortable-looking clothing, short-sleeved shirts and short pants and sandals, brought dishes, which they set out along the table. Daphne hesitated before the unfamiliar foods.
“Permit me to help you, Lady Daphne,” Wright said, his smile charming as always. He heaped steaming rice and fish in an orange sauce onto her plate, then handed her a round, thin piece of bread. “Doi mach. You use the roti to eat the rest,” he added, tearing off a piece of his own bread and using it to scoop up rice and fish. Daphne essayed a small bite. It was delicious, the rice perfectly steamed and sticky without being congealed, the fish spicy but not too hot, and she devoured her serving and helped herself to more, not thinking that it was a breach of etiquette for her to do so. European etiquette seemed irrelevant in these strange surroundings.
She could feel Fletcher’s eyes on her and made herself look at him occasionally; it would not do for her to snub him entirely. But she should not encourage him if she had no intention of forming an attachment. So she smiled at him pleasantly, but did not begin a conversation, waiting for him to speak first.
“May I ask what you discovered, Lady Daphne?” he said when she was scraping the last of her fish from her plate.
“The missionaries have not visited the post-houses farther north from here, but that is as we expected. I saw no evidence that they have made camp anywhere between here and what I judged to be the farthest they might travel.”
“So they have taken shelter elsewhere.”
“Or did not go north.”
“That seems unlikely. It was the second thing everyone I spoke to in Madhyapatnam agreed on—the first being that the missionaries had preached dissent.” Fletcher pushed his plate away, signaling one of the servants to remove it. “Did you see any places they might have stopped?”
“I did, Captain, but I wonder—would those small towns, villages even, welcome missionaries intent on teaching that their religion, the natives’ religion I mean, is false?”
“That does seem unlikely,” Captain Ainsworth said.
“I agree,” said Fletcher, “but we must kick over as many stones as possible
in this search. Going back empty-handed would not look good.”
“So we will travel on in the morning?” Ensign Phillips asked.
“We will take a more direct approach,” Fletcher said. “Lady Daphne, if you will agree to Skip with me to the places you’ve made note of, I can inquire after our errant missionaries and perhaps give us more direction.”
“Certainly, Captain.” Daphne quelled the little leap of excitement that sprang up in her breast at his proposal. “I believe Bess—Miss Hanley and I will retire now, if you will erect the Bounding chamber so we may return in the morning.”
Lieutenant Wright helped Daphne stand, though in her Bounder uniform she needed no such assistance. Captain Ainsworth did the same for Bess. “In the morning, then,” Fletcher said with a smile. Daphne lifted Bess and had them back in their bedchamber in an instant.
Bess immediately made for her bed and dropped onto it heavily. “My head aches terribly,” she said, removing her spectacles so she could massage her temples.
“Oh, you should not—I have been unspeakably selfish—”
“No, it was my foolishness in walking for so long, but I felt awkward, sitting inside with the officers whom I still do not know well. I will be well in the morning.”
“You should remain here in the morning. I cannot take you and Captain Fletcher when I Skip, I am not so strong as that, and you will do me no good as a chaperon when you are with the officers and I am not.”
“I do not mind waiting. Only let me sleep, and I will be well in the morning.”
But in the morning, Bess’s head-ache was worse. “You are staying here,” Daphne said firmly, wringing out a cloth for Bess to place over her forehead.
“I do beg your pardon for being so weak—”
“You are not weak, you simply have a head-ache. I will return in a few hours to see how you are doing.”
“Oh, do not interrupt your work on my account!”
“It will be hardly any interruption. I will need rest and food then anyway.”
“Very well,” Bess sighed, “but do not keep Captain Fletcher waiting any longer.”
Abounding Might (The Extraordinaries Book 3) Page 8