Abounding Might

by Melissa McShane

  She glanced at Fletcher. He was looking at the city, his eyes alight with pleasure, and she Skipped once more, not to the ground but to the air above the palace. Fletcher laughed as they fell for a few seconds, drawing a laugh out of Daphne. She rarely Skipped with a passenger and had never conveyed anyone who seemed to enjoy it so much. Before their fall could become fatal, she Skipped once more, bringing them to the gate piercing the wall surrounding the palace.

  Fletcher laughed again, somewhat breathlessly, and removed his arms from around her shoulders. Somewhat reluctantly, Daphne released him and took a step back. “It is astonishing, how lovely cities are from high above,” she said.

  “Indeed. I always envied Extraordinary Movers their talent, but I never realized a Bounder experiences much the same thing.” Fletcher said. “I could certainly grow accustomed to such a mode of travel.”

  Daphne thought to offer him her talent whenever he might need it, but remained silent. That would be improper. It felt like such an intimate thing to suggest, which was odd because she had never thought of her talent in that way before. And it was presumptuous, since despite his words he could not be comfortable being in such close contact with another person on a regular basis. Instead she said, “At least you were not afraid—some people are afraid of heights and dislike being so high even for such a short time, but you seemed to enjoy it.”

  “I found it exhilarating.” Fletcher offered Daphne his arm. “You should stay close, Lady Daphne. The palace is not precisely dangerous, but there are those who would take advantage of a lone woman, even a European one.”

  Daphne took his arm and let him lead her through the gate. “Did you not say the palace was uninhabited?”

  “I said it was unoccupied, which I realize has given you a mistaken impression. There is no prince in residence, but Madhyapatnam is crowded enough that no shelter goes untenanted. There are families living inside. They unfortunately mean we cannot see the interior, as I dislike intruding on them.”

  “But they are there illegally.”

  “And I am not the Resident, with authority to clear them out. No, we will admire the exterior and the grounds. I hope that is satisfactory.”

  “Of course. But—does that mean the Resident ought to make them move?”

  Fletcher shrugged. “Sir Rodney chooses not to disturb them. If it were criminals whose illegal activities were causing trouble, yes, but they are harmless enough—at least to anyone in this uniform.”

  They strolled down a pebble-strewn path that led toward a lush garden, rampant with trees whose limbs hung limp and gray-green in the afternoon heat. “I am told,” Fletcher said, “this used to be a great wonder, this garden, before the prince died and his wives and household were dispersed. Even overgrown, I call it remarkable.”

  “I agree.” Daphne ducked under one of the branches as they were swallowed up in the greenery. The trees shielded her head entirely from what little sunlight the clouds allowed through, lowering the temperature several degrees. Flowering shrubs speckled with pink and purple clustered near the path, leaving plenty of space for the trees to grow. She could hear but not see the trickling of water, a stream or a fountain flowing somewhere nearby, and felt as cool as she had been in that sitting room at the Residence.

  She could see no remnants of cultivation, no signs that this had once been a tended garden. “Where did they all go?” she asked. “The wives, and the rest?”

  “It was not a large household,” Fletcher said, “and I believe the women went back to the families of their birth. The prince only had two children, both daughters, both too young to make a claim on Madhyapatnam even if they had been male.”

  “So women cannot inherit here.”

  “In some places, they can. There are one or two hereditary matriarchies in India. But not here.” Fletcher guided her out of the garden and gestured. “There. Astonishing, isn’t it?”

  Daphne gasped. The building before her rose several stories tall and was covered with windows like a thousand unblinking eyes staring at her. The red sandstone of the palace seemed more real, more solid, than anything she had ever seen before, even Government House. Spires and domes, some with traces of gilding still clinging to them, thrust toward the sky as if imploring Heaven to cast its blessings upon them. An empty hole where doors had once hung gaped like a toothless mouth, opening on blackness. It was alien, and beautiful, and she felt she could not look at it enough.

  She released Fletcher’s arm and drifted toward the palace, tracing the outlines of painted arches with her eyes. Closer to, she realized about half of those windows were false, painted on the walls with such skill it was no wonder she had been fooled. The paint was half scoured off, and she felt a moment’s sadness that no one had cared for it in all these years. It deserved to be treated with respect.

  “How does it make you feel?” Fletcher asked from close behind her.

  Daphne considered it. “Sad,” she said. “It is as if it mourns its prince, though I am sure that is absurdly romantic. A place cannot mourn.”

  “No, I agree with you. Have you never seen a house full of children, and felt it to be happy? I see no reason why the opposite should not be true.” He put his hand gently on her elbow. “Let us walk around to the other side.”

  They walked, arm in arm, in silence, and Daphne wondered as she had before what he felt from her. That unexpected sadness? Her pleasure at being so close to the real India? Or the tiny, furtive feeling of happiness that came from being so close to—

  Embarrassment swept over her, then chagrin at feeling embarrassed and knowing he would know she was embarrassed. Just because she enjoyed being in Fletcher’s company was no reason to feel embarrassed.

  Gently, Fletcher disengaged his arm from hers. “I apologize, but you are becoming agitated, and I should not intrude,” he said.

  “I am not—well, there is no point lying to you, when you know perfectly well that I am—I mean that I do not intend to be agitated, it is just—”

  “Most people live their lives in a state of mixed emotion. You are rare in that it happens to you infrequently, or at least that has been my experience in your presence.” Fletcher clasped his hands loosely behind his back. “It is simply disconcerting to me. Forgive my weakness.”

  “It is hardly weakness if you—” Daphne began hotly, and was interrupted by Fletcher’s laugh. “You are not laughing at me, are you?”

  “No, just at how willing you are to leap to my defense.” Fletcher shook his head. “Do you know what it is to be a Discerner?”

  “By your question, it is not what I imagine it is.”

  “Likely not. When I touch you, I feel your emotions as if they were my own—or would if I had not had years of experience at separating the two. The more tangled your emotions are, the more difficult that separation is. It is rather like being drunk—not that I expect you to have experienced that state.”

  “No, though now I rather feel the lack of that, as it would make me better able to understand—and now you are laughing again!”

  “You believe it is not humorous that you have just admitted regretting never having become drunk?”

  “Well, perhaps it is funny. But you understand what I meant.”

  “Of course. At any rate, there is more to Discernment than the social expectation of not intruding on another person’s privacy. There is also the effect on the Discerner.” Fletcher put a hand on Daphne’s elbow, bringing her to a halt. “Look, that is the door to the zenana.”

  “What is a zenana?”

  “The women’s quarters. Technically it does not lead directly to the zenana, as that would permit far too easy access to the place. It is more a secondary entrance. But the zenana is just within those walls.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I went inside the palace, several years ago, out of curiosity. It is a shame we cannot go inside. It’s truly beautiful.”

  He took her arm once more and led her onward, and Daphne, feeling less c
onfused, did not pull away. She had nothing to hide from him, no reason to feel embarrassed. True, she did enjoy his company, and she was beginning to feel a certain excitement when she saw him, but that meant nothing. She glanced covertly at him and saw him smiling that unusual, beautiful smile that made her wish she were a Discerner herself, to know what he was feeling.

  At that moment, he looked at her, the smile falling away. “You are frustrated,” he said. “Why is that?”

  She felt shy admitting that she had been staring at his face. “I regret that we cannot go inside,” she said, grateful that it was at least partly true and hoping it was enough true that he would not be able to tell she was lying.

  They were coming up on the front of the palace again. This time, a couple of men lounged in the great empty doorway. They stared at Daphne as if they had never seen a woman before. The man on the right, clean-shaven as most Hindoo were not, and very handsome, looked away first, casually shifting his weight as if her stare had made him uncomfortable. The man on the left had unexpectedly light-colored eyes that caught the diffuse sunlight and glinted as if made of glass. His gaze weighed on her, challenging, and she glared back at him without remembering that she was a stranger in their country and ought not be so impertinent.

  Fletcher glanced once at them, then dismissed them as not a threat. “They would take it as a kindness if we did not intrude,” he said. “But I regret it as well.”

  “You have already seen the inside.”

  “True. But I would like to see it again through your eyes.” Fletcher put his other hand over Daphne’s where it rested on his arm and squeezed it gently. “Which are remarkable.”

  His own eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers, and she found herself without a ready reply. She had no idea why her heart was beating faster, but his smile told her that he knew what he had said had unsettled her. Without thinking about it, she threw her arms around his waist, lifted him, and Bounded them both back to the dimly-lit sitting room in the Residence.

  In the darkness before the storm, the dimness was almost impenetrable. Fletcher let out a breath at the suddenness of the Bounding, but made no move to step away, to break the circle of her arms. Daphne was conscious of how close he was, smelled again the tangy-sweet scent of his skin, and instantly she released him and stepped backward. “I beg your pardon, I should have warned you,” she said.

  “Not at all,” Fletcher said. She could barely see his face, but he sounded amused. “Lady Daphne, thank you for the experience. Is it too brash of me to express a desire to Skip with you again?”

  “No, not at all, it is enjoyable—that is, I enjoy Skipping, not that having you along is enjoyable, though I mean it is not as if you are unpleasant—oh, I am saying this all wrong!”

  “I take your meaning.” Now she could hear he was suppressing a laugh, which made her flush, not because he was mocking her—she was sure he was not—but because she was so foolish as to wish they might go Skipping right now, racing the rain together.

  “I should change before dinner,” she said, grateful for the darkness that kept her ruddy cheeks concealed. “I will see you shortly, Captain.”

  “I look forward to it,” Fletcher said, clasping her hand and squeezing it gently once more. That giddy desire to put her arms around him once more gripped her, and as soon as he released her, she Bounded to her bedchamber.

  “Where have you been?” Bess demanded. She was dressed for dinner already and was polishing the lenses of her spectacles with a corner of her skirt. “You were not in the Residence, I searched for you. I thought to Speak to you, but that would have been pointless as I could not hear you answer back.”

  “Captain Fletcher and I went to look at the old palace,” Daphne said, busying herself over her trunk and praying her reddened cheeks would cool quickly.

  “Really? I understand it’s quite beautiful. I wish—” Bess’s words cut off mid-sentence. The room fell silent except for Daphne’s rustling in her trunk and the buzz of a fly beating itself against the window. “You went with Captain Fletcher?” Bess finally said. “How interesting.”

  Her cheeks must surely be scarlet. “It was, and he had never Skipped before, and I believe he enjoyed it—the palace is so beautiful—”

  “Whose idea was this?”

  “Captain Fletcher offered to take me, as he knew I had nothing to do this afternoon, and you know how I detest being idle.”

  “Daphne.” Bess’s voice was heavy with meaning.

  “If you insist on teasing me, I will leave this room immediately.”

  “I had no intention of teasing you. But—you must know Captain Fletcher never pays the least bit of attention to any woman. Until now.”

  “We are friends, Bess. That is all.”

  “I do not believe he looks at you the way he would a friend.” Bess did not sound at all teasing; her voice was as serious as Daphne had ever heard her. “What I do not understand,” she added, “is why the idea leaves you so distressed.”

  Daphne threw down the gown she had taken from the trunk and turned to face her friend. “I have no interest in becoming attached to any man,” she said. “I intend to have many adventures, and I cannot have adventures if I am betrothed, or married, or have children.” The declaration left her feeling hollow inside. She clung to her words like a lifeline. “So it does not matter how Captain Fletcher looks at me, can you not see that?”

  Bess nodded. “I do,” she said.

  “And?” Daphne removed her day gown and folded it away.

  “And what?”

  “That sounded as if you had more to say.”

  “No. It is just—if John looked at me that way, my feelings for him might alter. I hope you know what you are about.”

  Daphne pulled her dinner gown over her head, setting her ear-drops trembling. She rubbed her fingers over one of them, feeling the familiar edges of the faceted stones. “I have given it much thought over many years. I know what I want from life. Pray, do not fear for me. It is not as if I need marriage to give myself either security or consequence.”

  “And what of love?”

  “I have my whole life ahead of me. There will be time for that, too.” But she remembered Fletcher’s expression, the way he had looked just before she Bounded away from him, and wondered if she were right about that.

  In which there is reconnaissance

  t rained the following morning, a light patter that filled the air with the rich scent of the coralwoods growing along the roadside. Daphne settled her coat around herself and pulled the brim of her bonnet farther over her face. It was at odds with the War Office Bounder uniform she had donned that morning, feeling unaccountably shy at doing so. But she was a Bounder, she was serving in that capacity, and while she might not feel entirely deserving of the uniform, at least she was still entitled to it. Her horse’s saddle was finely stitched but ill padded, and she had already had to hitch herself higher three times to avoid sliding off entirely. But it was not a palanquin, so she endured in silence.

  The road wound northward just out of sight of the Hooghly River, but not out of hearing, and Daphne listened to its musical rushing and felt as if her blood was flowing in time with it. This was the kind of adventure she had had in mind, rain notwithstanding. Ahead, the upright backs of the men, resplendent in their red coats, matched the fiery red flowers of the trees whose names Daphne did not know. Behind, the baggage carts rumbled along the rutted road, not yet churned to mud by rain and their passage. Daphne tugged on her horse’s reins to keep it from veering off to nibble at the short, soft grass that grew by the wayside. Apparently it wanted to experience India as much as she did.

  “Is it too strange of me to say this is a beautiful day?” Bess said, coming up beside her. “I realize one does not usually say that of rain, but it is so cool, and the raindrops make everything seem brighter. Not at all a cold English rain.”

  “Yes, in England even so light a rain as this would see us indoors, longing for it to be over so we m
ight walk.” Daphne tilted her face back to let the fine droplets touch her face before laughing and wiping them away. “Though if this continues much longer, we will be soaked through despite our coats. The officers look rather damp already.”

  “It is still better than traveling through the heat of the day. The sun will dry us out soon enough.”

  Captain Fletcher, riding at the head of the procession, wheeled his horse around and trotted back toward them. “You are not uncomfortable?” he asked.

  “Not at all, Captain,” Daphne replied. “We were just discussing how lovely a day it is.”

  Fletcher laughed. “I would hardly call it that, but I appreciate your forbearance. You might have stayed at the Residence and been spared this.”

  Daphne glowered at him. “We might have stayed in Calcutta if we meant to be nothing more than transportation and an extra Speaker, Captain. Pray, do not fear for our comfort.”

  “Very well,” Fletcher said, his eyes alight with amusement, “but I will have to insist again that you spend your nights at the Residence. The post-houses are not built for anyone’s comfort, let alone two ladies’.”

  Daphne opened her mouth to object, and Bess said, “We appreciate that, Captain. Thank you for your concern.”

  Fletcher nodded, glanced once at Daphne with an amused quirk to his lips, and rode back to the head of the column. Daphne said, “We are not faint-hearted misses with an overdeveloped sense of delicacy, Bess.”

  “And neither do we wish to sleep rough, when we might enjoy our comfortable beds and sleep free of insects.” Bess shrugged. “I apologize if that makes me faint-hearted.”

  “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?”