Ether & Elephants

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  Nell chuckled. “You go ahead and take the afternoon. I’m going to have a lazy one myself. Maybe I’ll read here for a bit and then go find the music room that the brochure makes so much of. I haven’t had my fingers on a piano in the past few days and I’m missing it. I’ll meet you back here in time to dress for dinner, if that suits.”

  “Are you sure, miss?” The eager look on the maid’s face warmed Nell’s heart.

  “I am. And if you do find a pair of shoes you can’t resist, or are in need of the hairdresser, please bill it to the room. I’ll square things up with Papa and Lord Lake.”

  “Very well.” Eileen was too clever to pass up that kind of offer, even if her employers were ordinarily generous. She bustled about for a few moments, bringing Nell her favorite Ceylon tea with lemon and tinned shortbread biscuits, then left, humming under her breath.

  Nell sipped her tea and slowly opened the packet. As Tom had said, there was a photographic copy of a ship’s register, listing three officers from India. One man’s name, the second mate, had a star inked beside it. “Lieutenant Vivek Prankesh Shanku.” She tested the weight of the name, certain it ought to mean something, but all she heard was a string of somewhat lyrical sounds. There was no flash of recognition, no intuitive sense that this name meant something important. She read the other two as well, to find she had no particular reaction to any of them.

  “Well, that’s hardly cricket.” Right now she’d kill for one of Jamie’s visions or Tom’s ability to garner information from touch. “And why is there never a ghost about when I need one?”

  She slipped the crew list to the back of the stack and caught her breath. The next page was a letter from her father.

  “Dearest Nell,” she read aloud since there was no one in the room to disturb, “I know this will come as something of a shock, and this isn’t how I’d planned to give you this information. I’d always hoped one day your mother and I could take you to India, but there has never been time. Since you were going to Calcutta, I thought you might wish to pursue these threads that are woven into the strong woman you’ve become and the daughter we love. Sincerely, Papa. PS: You have your mother’s blessing as well as that of Piers, who has collected much of this information. We all send our love. Know that whatever you decide or whatever you find, we are your loving family.” It was signed there with a scrawled P. Funny how that was more reassuring than if he’d called himself Merrick.

  Very well. If Mum and Papa thought she should do this, she’d find the courage somewhere. She set the letter aside and looked at the next page. A handsome man, perhaps thirty-five, looked out at her. Rather than a naval uniform, he wore a long, dark robe, covered in gold braid and with military-style buttons over loose white trousers. An elaborate fez sat atop his neatly trimmed dark hair and his thick beard and moustache curled neatly. At the bottom was inscribed Nawab Sir Vivek Shanku.

  “A prince?” That’s what nawab meant, she was sure of it. If not prince, then lord or duke, or something of the sort. “My father can’t be a prince. That’s just ridiculous.” Perhaps Piers and the others just wanted her to think so. They were always coddling her, sometimes to the point of absurdity. She wasn’t as emotionally fragile as they’d all assumed. That’s one of the reasons she’d gone off to be a schoolteacher, so the others would quit wrapping her in cotton wool.

  She studied the portrait, looking for any resemblance, but all she saw was dark skin, dark hair and a similar wide, almond shape to the eyes. His cheekbones were high, like hers, but his face was leaner, chiseled where hers was soft, and his nose was easily twice the size of hers.

  “Enough.” She carefully placed the papers back in the packet and collected the key to her stateroom along with the printed map of the gondola provided. There was a conservatory and music room for first-class passengers, and it wasn’t far. If she was lucky, maybe the piano was an antique and came with its own ghost.

  Eileen had been right. This airship was a flying palace. Teak-and-mahogany paneling shone under the lights of crystal chandeliers. The first-class hallways had Turkish carpets and original artwork on the walls. A glass lift carried her up two stories to the top level of the gondola, where she found a glass ceiling letting in light for the sporting areas on one side and the conservatory on the other. Inside the conservatory, hundreds of tropical plants filled the air with a lush, heady fragrance. A tasteful tearoom was tucked into one corner, while deck chairs lined the glass walls, so guests could lie back and watch the sky.

  The grand piano in one corner was vacant. A placard said there would be a concert later in the afternoon, but for now, Nell had her chance. She took a seat and flexed her fingers before running through some scales. Once limbered up, she launched into what she thought of as her thoughtful music. She liked Mozart, mostly, plus some Beethoven and a few newer composers like Chopin and Strauss.

  As her fingers flew across the keys, she let her mind drift, hoping her thoughts would coalesce into place.

  For once, though, even the music didn’t work. There was just too much to process. Charlie, Tom, Roger, a school, the nawab… She gave up and played a few cheerful pieces, looking up when she finished a waltz and heard boisterous applause.

  When had she gathered an audience? Apparently all the other passengers had vacated their deck chairs and the tea room to come hear her play. She ducked her head, feeling warm color spread across her cheeks. She wasn’t a performer by nature. Music was much more a private expression of her emotions.

  To her relief, Tom came through the crowd and stood beside her. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Honorable Miss Eleanor Hadrian.” While the applause thundered, Tom handed her to her feet and she curtseyed.

  “When are you playing again?” one woman called. “I want my son to hear you.”

  Nell looked down at her toes. “I was only practicing,” she said. “It was such a lovely instrument, I couldn’t resist. But I understand there will be professional musicians playing throughout the voyage.”

  “Hmph.” The older woman snorted. “I wouldn’t want my son to marry one of those.”

  Nell and Tom shared a glance filled with laughter as they fled back toward their cabins.

  Tom knew who was playing the instant he’d heard the music. No one could make an instrument sing or laugh or weep like Nell. He’d been on his way back to his cabin from the open-air walking deck at the top of the dirigible. The clean air had done little to settle his thoughts, except for one thing. He was going to ask Nell to marry him, now that he knew there was no impediment. Surely she loved him enough to say yes, despite her recent insistence that they were never meant to be together.

  “Apparently there’s to be a grand ball tonight,” she said lightly. “No wonder Eileen was set on pressing one of my best gowns.”

  “All the amenities of the finest ocean liner,” Tom replied. Before his walk up top, he’d done a thorough exploration of the ship.

  She sighed. “I did read over your packet. The letter from Papa was a low blow.”

  “It was his idea, not mine.” Tom steered her into a small alcove filled with plush red armchairs. “And what do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” She held both hands palm up. “You all believe this Nawab Shanku is my natural father? Doesn’t that just seem a little, well, convenient? Poor, bastard Nell is suddenly the daughter of a prince?”

  “A fairly minor one, based on my information from the British East India Company.” He leaned forward with his hands on his knees, resisting the urge to take her hands. “Fortunately, he’s on good terms with the British, so it should be entirely possible to meet with him while we’re in Calcutta.”

  She bit her lower lip. “And you believe you’ll be able to tell if he’s truly my father?”

  “Yes.” Memories swamped him. “It’s the same spell Lord Drood used to be sure I was the son of Malcolm Devere. It’s an odd sensation, having magick probe into your being like that, but it doesn’t hurt.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I was
n’t worried about that, at least not until you mentioned it. But there are other concerns. This nawab, does he have a wife? Or six? I don’t know much about the individual cultures of the region. I also don’t want to find a bunch of half siblings who want to kill me or anything like that.”

  “Well, most Bengalis are Hindu.” Tom had done some reading on the subject. “As I believe is Lord Shanku. There are other religions throughout the region, but Hinduism doesn’t favor polygamy. Our records show Lord Shanku is a widower, with one son who is married to the daughter of another local lord. He would already be firmly in line for his father’s lands and title, and I don’t think he’d see you as a threat.”

  “So nawab translates to lord.” She rolled her eyes. “At least it doesn’t mean prince, like I thought it did at first.”

  “Indian titles have been corrupted since British rule began to change things in the land. A nawab may have once been a powerful prince, ruling his own territory, as might a rajah or rao. When India began to be consolidated into a single territory, those princes became more along the lines of dukes and earls, except there’s no set hierarchy among the titles, unless you hear the prefix maha in front of the title. That means great, and it supersedes the others.” Tom had been doing a lot of reading since he and Piers had begun the research.

  “I’ve heard the term maharajah.” Nell’s brows knit in thoughtful consideration. “That’s a fairly illustrious title.”

  “Great king. Of course, now, the word king isn’t floated about, and most Englishmen call him Sir Vivek. The viceroy would put a stop to any king business right quickly.” Tom had never met the Earl of Elgin, son of the man who’d brought back the famous marble statues. He’d been Governor General of Jamaica and Canada, and one of England’s top diplomats in the Far East, before being named second viceroy of India. According to Tom’s briefings, though, His Excellency didn’t know about the Order, just knew that Tom worked directly on behalf of Whitehall and Her Majesty. If the Order were to establish an office in Calcutta, of course, the viceroy would need to know.

  “Life was a lot simpler when we just had to call everyone ma’am and sir,” Nell said with a rueful grin that tugged at his heart. They paused outside her stateroom door. “Remember how long it took Mum to drill all the proper forms of address into us? And precedence? Sometimes I think the Americans got that right by chucking it all out.”

  He chucked her on the shoulder. “Quiet, you rebel. You’ll get us kicked out of all the best parties.” He almost managed to keep a straight face, but in the end, they both laughed.

  When she looked up at him, her cheeks pink and her eyes twinkling, he instinctively lowered his head. Nothing in the world had ever felt more right than leaning down to kiss her soft, full lips. Without thinking twice, he dipped his head.

  And Nell pulled back so his lips landed on her forehead, which was not at all the kiss he’d been wanting. She laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle push, its impact somewhat countered by the fact that she let the hand linger a moment or two longer than necessary. “I’ll see you at supper.”

  He took some consolation in the breathlessness of her voice and the way her hand shook as she inserted her key into the lock. She wasn’t immune to him, even after everything. By God, at least it was a start.

  * * *

  Nell hadn’t been this nervous since her debut. Of course, this would be the first time that she and Tom had been to an evening event together without anyone else from the family to act as a buffer. And in the past few days, everything had changed. Tom wasn’t married, had never been married. There would no longer be any doubt of that in anyone’s mind. He also didn’t have a son, which meant Charlie had likely been sired by the wretched Mr. Berrycloth. Nell could in no way stand for that man and Polly to raise such a wonderful child, so she had her work cut out for her in getting the boy away from them, if he was even alive.

  She sat while Eileen finished putting up her hair and tucking a few peacock feathers into the arrangement. She’d brought a delicate necklace and earring set in gold and tiny emeralds to match the gown, and finished it off with a pair of elbow-length black velvet gloves.

  She was never going back to dressing in the drab colors of a traditional schoolteacher. When she was headmistress of her own academy, cheerful frocks and dapper waistcoats would be encouraged for teachers, and the student uniforms would be attractive, as well. Why should school mean dull?

  She paused. When had she decided to be headmistress? She had no experience managing anything. And yet looking back over the past couple days, the notion had started to feel right as soon as she’d begun discussing a school with Roger. Of course she’d have assistants to help, but just maybe she was strong enough to be in charge.

  When Tom knocked on her door, she rose and her thoughts see-sawed back to him. He was going to propose. She’d seen it in his eyes this afternoon, when he’d tried to kiss her. Much as she loved him, and always would, she’d made her decision. He was a good man, one of the best, but she’d never be able to forget how badly he’d hurt her. Besides, like Roger, he’d always see her as a delicate waif in need of protection. He’d want her to be only a wife, not a wife who was also a schoolmistress, and she was determined to fulfill that new dream. She’d have her children, without the bother of a man trying to run her life.

  Lark trilled a song as Nell left the room on Tom’s arm. The school would have a dog or two as well, she decided, and some cats. She loved the automaton pet, but not the same way that Wink loved her dog, George. Nell preferred flesh-and-blood creatures to curl up with on a cold night. Of course, since Wink had Liam, that probably counted as the best of both worlds. Nell couldn’t afford to be that fussy. Having only just started putting her heart back together again, she wasn’t about to let some other man go about breaking it.

  “There was a cable from Papa when we stopped for fuel in Budapest.” Tom held her properly by the arm as they moved toward the dining room. The corridor was full of other first-class passengers making the same trip. Nell or Tom had met a few at various society functions, so they were periodically obliged to stop and exchange greetings, assuring acquaintances that all was well with the Hadrian family. The reason for their trip was given out that Nell was hoping to learn more about the country her father was from and that Tom, as her foster brother, was merely escorting her.

  The captain’s dining room was a sight to behold, rivaling even the Duchess of Trowbridge’s massive ballroom. Electric chandeliers glittered and gilt-paneled walls reflected their sparkle onto tables set with crisp white linens, white china, Waterford crystal and sparkling silver. Lush bouquets of tropical flowers filled urns in the corners of the room, while similar ones on a more modest scale graced the center of each round table. At the head of the room, a long rectangular table was set for eighteen, with Captain Peabody in his dress uniform presiding over one end while his wife, a stout lady in blue satin and yards of pearls, stood as hostess, welcoming the most honored guests to the table.

  As the unmarried daughter of a mere baron, Nell was the second to last in precedence among the females, since there were several dowagers present. That placed her at the end of the table, one seat removed from her hostess. She was partnered with a shipping magnate whose wife had remained in London. Since there were fewer titles among the men, Tom, a baronet, was somewhat higher, putting him in the middle of the table. The separation suited her just fine, and she set herself to enjoying her meal, chatting with the business man on one side and an archaeology professor on the other. The professor was by far the more interesting, and Nell managed to discover that his expertise was in relics from eastern India. She didn’t go so far as to ask about the Eye of the Buddha, but she did agree to meet the gentleman for tea in the conservatory the following afternoon. From both of her dinner partners she steadily gathered information about the viceroy’s court. Lord Elgin was known for common sense and a practical way of dealing with the indigenous people of the region. She was delighted to hear t
hat some of the local princes were frequent guests at Government House, where she and Tom would be staying as representatives of Her Majesty the queen. Nell could only hope that Nawab Shanku was one of those frequent guests. Meeting him at a ball, without having to seek him out, would greatly reduce any anxiety she had about the process.

  After dinner, the ladies retired to an elegant drawing room while the men were led off to the smoking salon for port and cigars. One of the women who’d heard Nell play in the conservatory mentioned it to Mrs. Peabody, who begged Nell to grace them with music until they were joined by the men. Nell couldn’t in all politeness refuse, so she sat down at the small harpsichord, nothing nearly as elegant as the piano in the conservatory, and proceeded to play a series of country dances and ballads for the next hour. While she never minded playing and the crowd was small enough to keep her from any great discomfort, she had hoped to mingle and find out more about their destination and the people she would meet.

  When the men came in, the company returned to the dining room. The tables and chairs had been removed, turning the space into the elegant ballroom it had resembled.

  Tom strode toward Nell with a glint of purpose in his eyes, but she turned instead to Professor Pritchard and batted her lashes.

  “May I have this dance?” Although he caught her blatant hint, he blinked at her through his wire-rimmed spectacles, looking so much like a startled owl that she expected him to hoot.

  “I’d be delighted.” Nell looked over his shoulder, which wasn’t much higher than her own, to see Tom’s dagger-like glare. She responded with a wide-eyed smile. “Have you any active digs in the Bengal region?”

  The professor swirled her in a lively polonaise. “I’ve mostly been up in Nepal. Fascinating things up there. But there are wondrous sites throughout the region. I could take you on a little tour once we’re in Calcutta. You did say the goal of your trip was to learn more about the country, did you not?” His attempt at a dip was a little less than perfect, but Nell managed to retain her footing.