Abounding Might

by Melissa McShane

  Daphne rose and hunted through her trunk for a gown. “I must see him. I feel so—all right, I promised I would not feel guilty, and I do not, it is just that I will not be perfectly comfortable until I see for myself that he is well.”

  “He is in the drawing room. He expressed a desire to speak with Captain Fletcher, but I believe the captain is sleeping at present, and anyway Dr. Feligson said he was not to discuss business until tomorrow.”

  “I had forgotten. What time is it?”

  “Nearly five o’clock. I intended to wake you for dinner in a few minutes. Oh, Daphne, what a day this has been!”

  Daphne presented her back to Bess to have her gown fastened. “It has been quite the adventure, not that I wished to have adventures in which my friends are nearly killed. Is Major Schofeld still here?”

  “He returned Dr. Feligson to London an hour ago. Daphne, do you feel some animosity toward the major? Your behavior to him is always unusually cold.”

  “Have I never told you? He mocked me cruelly three years ago, when I attempted to induce the War Office to take me on early, and he thought it the most tremendous joke that should have amused me as well. I cannot forgive him for it. And now he wishes to treat me like I am made of spun sugar, too delicate to face the challenges of Bounding for the War Office. So, yes, I feel some animosity toward him.”

  “Daphne! But surely it was just teasing. He always behaves toward you with the greatest civility and admiration.”

  “Perhaps he meant no ill, but he—they all treated me with such disrespect, as if I were nothing, as if my talent were nothing. I do not see how he should be forgiven that simply because his intentions were not evil.”

  “I… well, that is true. Can you not simply confront him, instead of permitting him to go on believing nothing is amiss?”

  “I wish I dared challenge him, but I fear it would only make me sound shrewish. So I hope to avoid him, and—he is always so flattering, as if he wishes us to be friends, which is impossible.”

  They walked arm in arm down the passageway to the drawing room. The air was close and muggy, promising a late storm—when would these monsoons be over? Daphne felt her hair was permanently damp from the weather. “Well, I will distract him from you as best I can,” Bess promised.

  Daphne pushed open the door to the drawing room, interrupting a conversation between Sir Rodney and Captain Ainsworth. Lieutenant Wright sat on the sofa near them, as indrawn as Daphne had ever seen him. His face was pinched and pale, and he moved as if his head ached. He looked up when they entered, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips, brightening his light blue eyes. “Lady Daphne,” he said, his voice unnaturally husky. “I understand you exhausted yourself searching for me. I apologize for giving you so much trouble.”

  “I am simply so glad to see you, Lieutenant,” Daphne said, sinking down on the sofa next to him. “You were sheltered by a Hindoo during the riot?”

  “Yes, and he refused to take any reward,” Sir Rodney said. “Damnedest—I mean, most extraordinary thing, that. Not at all what these people are usually like.”

  “I likely would have died without his aid,” Wright said. He coughed, cleared his throat, and went on in a voice more like himself, “I understand Captain Fletcher nearly did die. We were all very lucky.”

  “Luck and Lady Daphne,” Phillips said. He leaned against the wall near one of the windows that was well-shuttered against the sun. “It was so sudden. One minute Captain Ainsworth and I were talking to a stall owner, the next we were surrounded by screaming maniacs.”

  “That is what I saw, Ensign,” Daphne said. “I was following someone, and something broke, and it was as if a signal had gone off, sending everyone into a frenzy.”

  “You were following someone?” Ainsworth said. “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I had seen him before today, and he seemed to be following us—I have no idea what I intended to do if I caught him, as he was Hindoo and likely could not understand my language—but it was all so mysterious I could not ignore it.”

  “You should not have wandered off alone, Lady Daphne,” Wright said. “Suppose you were attacked?”

  “I was attacked, Lieutenant, I was in the thick of where the riot started, in case you had forgotten. War Office Bounders are taught methods of escaping captivity, in case someone attempts to hold us against our will. Not that I wished to be in a situation to make use of them. But I regret not telling Captain Fletcher about the man. Had he come with me, we might have apprehended the stranger and discovered why he was following us.”

  Wright massaged his temple, which bore a spectacular bruise and lump. “He might have had evil designs on you or Miss Hanley.”

  “Do not frighten the ladies, Wright,” Ainsworth said. “More likely he did not like that we were asking so many questions. Suppose he was involved in the false rumors about the missionaries?”

  “It seems unlikely we will ever know, unless we are willing to trail round the bazaar again to draw him out,” Wright said. “I believe that would be unwise.”

  “Should we not wait to have this discussion until Captain Fletcher is well enough to join us?” Daphne said. “He is the one who most needs to know what each of us has learned.”

  “I believe Lady Daphne is correct,” said Phillips. “No doubt the captain learned more than any of us.”

  “In that case, I believe we should go in to dinner,” Sir Rodney said.

  The meal was a quiet affair, as if conversation were too much effort. Once or twice Bess tilted her head back to Speak to someone, but only for a few seconds at a time, and she did not share the details with the others. It was not until everyone was nearly finished that she said, “Government House tells me they are sending a regiment for the protection of the Residence.”

  “It’s about time,” Sir Rodney said. “All this unrest… suppose one of these riots leads to an attack here? We’ve not the resources to defend the place, given the size of the force stationed here. Madhyapatnam has been peaceful until recently.”

  “It will take them most of a week to arrive, and Colonel Dalhousie’s Speaker tells me we are to remain in the Residence until that time. The colonel wishes to minimize the risk of our faces inflaming public unrest.”

  “But we will never be able to determine who is causing the actual unrest if we stay holed up in here!” Ainsworth exclaimed. “There is no guarantee there will be no more rioting just because we don’t show our faces in public.”

  “I understand that, Captain, I am merely relaying orders.”

  “Of course.” Ainsworth subsided, chastened. “It is hardly your fault if they are senseless orders.”

  “It will only be for a week,” Wright said. “We can endure one another’s company for a week.” He had filled his plate a second time; apparently he was as hungry as Daphne felt.

  “I would be happy to bring books, or cards,” Daphne said, though she quailed at the thought of being cooped up playing cards for a week. How tedious.

  “That’s true, Lady Daphne, you are not confined as the rest of us will be,” Phillips said. “We should be grateful they do not order you to take all of us back to Calcutta. After this riot, I find myself more eager to discover who is behind this mayhem.”

  “If we can still investigate,” Wright said.

  “Captain Fletcher will know,” Daphne said, “and tomorrow will look different.”

  She agreed to play cards with Bess and Phillips and Ainsworth after dinner. Wright, pleading fatigue and a head-ache, went upstairs to his room. Sir Rodney smoked his pipe, which filled the room with its smelly fumes, and commented on the play until Daphne was ready to Bound anywhere but there. Finally, after several hands, she declared she was tired again and would go to bed.

  With Bess choosing to remain in the drawing room with a book held close to her weak eyes, Daphne Bounded to her bedroom and changed into a nightgown. But sleep eluded her. She lay atop the blankets, staring at where the netting hung from the ceiling in a great tent
surrounding her, and tried to quiet her fevered brain. Government House could not possibly expect them all to simply stay inside the Residence, ignoring the fact that someone was stirring up mischief in Madhyapatnam—mischief that had nearly got them all killed. Well, pointing out that fact likely would get them all returned to Calcutta for their safety, or at least get Bess and Daphne returned there, so perhaps that was not the best line of argument. She wished she could speak to Fletcher, who would no doubt be able to think of a better one, but he needed rest more than he needed to solve this problem.

  She remembered how he had looked at her when he woke, remembered his smile, and a shiver went through her. It had not been the smile of someone who thought of her as only a friend. To her chagrin, it was a smile she wished to see again. That was impossible. If he was, in fact, falling in love with her, it was her duty to speak gently to him, explaining why she could not return his affections. The thought made her heart ache with a dull, numb pain that made sleep even more evasive.

  Finally, she rolled out of bed and sat at the room’s one writing desk, took out pen and paper, and wrote Dearest Mama and Papa, I am—her mind stuttered to a halt. So much to say, so much she could not tell them; it would do them no good to know the danger she had been in that day. She tapped the pen nib against the paper, leaving a trail of tiny dots. I am well. I have made many friends, and India is beautiful, though very hot. Such a sad, tepid letter, but she could not tell her parents what was in her heart: Mama, I am falling in love with someone you likely would not approve of. He is merely a captain and no one the daughter of a marquess ought even consider. Yet she knew that was not the real reason; inheritance law said she, an Extraordinary and her father’s heir, might marry anyone she chose and elevate his standing rather than lowering her own. And her parents, who had given her everything she had ever asked for, wanted only for her to be happy.

  She looked at the bland line she had written, and a flash of passionate anger swept through her. Mama, she wrote, I am falling in love when I swore I would not, and I wish I had your counsel. She crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it on the floor.

  It occurred to her that she might Bound home, only for a few minutes, throw her arms around her mother and tell her everything. It was against the War Office’s regulations; Bounders took oath not to visit their families during their term of service, so they would not be distracted from their duties. But here, so far from the War Office, no one would ever know. Her parents would never tell. And she had never felt so lost and alone as she did right then.

  She kicked the crumpled ball of paper across the room. She would know. And if she did it once, she would be tempted to do it again, because there would always be one more excellent justification. No, she would remain in the Residence, however her heart ached.

  She climbed back into bed, closed her eyes, and called to mind the symbol of the Bounding Chamber in the War Office in Lisbon. She traced it out in her memory until it was as fresh as the day she had first seen it. Next, she thought of the Bounding Chamber in Marvell Hall, disused now that she could Bound to her own bedroom and her favorite sitting room. She recalled symbol after symbol until her mind, exhausted by the exercise, allowed her to sleep.

  She woke early the following morning feeling refreshed as she had not felt for days, refreshed and ravenously hungry. She dressed quietly, not liking to disturb Bess, and Bounded to the hallway rather than open the bedroom door, which stuck in the humid heat and squealed when opened wider than a crack.

  Breakfast, a proper English breakfast, was already laid out on the sideboard, the dishes well-covered against insects. To her astonishment, Fletcher sat at the table, his plate piled high with food, eating with the kind of devotion normally associated with religious ecstasy. “Captain!” Daphne exclaimed. “Should you be up already?”

  “I woke half an hour ago to a stomach that was persuaded it had been abandoned for a week,” Fletcher said, “and the rest of my body declined to argue with it. I feel very well, in fact, just hungry.”

  “I feel the same, Captain—that is, of course I was not Healed, but I exerted myself to the limits of my capacity, and you know how that makes me hungry.”

  “I believe I now understand that state better. Eat, please, and we can converse later.” He smiled, that same warm, intimate smile, and her heart turned over in her chest. She quickly moved to the sideboard and helped herself to eggs and sausage, grateful that she did not have to look at him while doing so.

  She dithered briefly about where to sit—she could not sit beside him, that was too intimate, but sitting across from him left her open to the full effect of his smiles—and ultimately took the seat at the head of the table, reasoning that Sir Rodney was unlikely to rise at this hour and demand she vacate it. Fletcher continued to make inroads on his plate, so she consumed her food in silence, as painfully conscious of his presence as if he had been a tiger sprawled beside her. She had not yet seen a tiger, which was probably for the best, though she could Bound away from one before it could attack her. Even so, they were supposed to be magnificently beautiful, and she wished—

  “Ah,” Fletcher said, exhaling and startling her out of her reverie. “I daresay I may never eat again. I wonder if all Shaping leaves one so ravenous.”

  “You feel well, then?”

  “I would not volunteer to run a footrace, but I believe I can manage to remain seated for at least an hour without resorting to my bed.”

  “Then—has anyone told you of Government House’s instructions?”

  Fletcher frowned. “I have seen no one save you since Schofeld took me to my bed yesterday afternoon.” A flicker of distaste crossed his face when he said the name.

  “Oh! Did he—was he objectionable?”

  “Only in the spiritual sense. We may detest each other, but even Schofeld has his limits. He did not intrude upon my sensibilities.”

  “I am so glad. I could not imagine any way—of course I should not convey you—”

  “Of course not. And you should not shoulder that burden. I don’t need protecting, Lady Daphne.”

  Daphne lowered her gaze. “Forgive me, Captain.”

  “You saved my life. There is very little I would not forgive you.”

  She was afraid to look up, afraid of where this conversation was going. “Government House has ordered us to remain in the Residence until the regiment they have sent arrives.”

  “No.” Fletcher pushed away from the table and stood, wobbling enough that Daphne almost reached out to steady him. She remembered in time that he would find that embarrassing and refrained.

  “Captain, what do you intend?” she said.

  “I intend to argue with Colonel Dalhousie until he sees sense.” He held onto the table’s edge until the wobbling stopped, then held out a hand to Daphne. “Take me to Government House, please.”

  “Captain, I do not believe you are in a condition—”

  “I am well enough for this. Unless you agree with them that we should hide ourselves away like children? I have learned too much to give up now.”

  She recognized the determined look on his face; she had seen it in her own mirror more times than she cared to count. “Very well, Captain, but you should not exert yourself,” she said, stepping toward him.

  “As I said, Lady Daphne, I don’t need protecting.”

  “I saved your life yesterday, Captain, I believe that gives me some interest in your continued well-being. Unless you wish to kill yourself through over-exertion and invalidate my actions.”

  He laughed, and put his arms around her shoulders. “Point well made, Lady Daphne. I promise not to exert myself.”

  Daphne lifted him, and in an instant they were in the over-warm confines of the Bounding Chamber Daphne knew so well. “Shall I wait for you, Captain?”

  “No, come with me. I may need your support. Not physically, don’t look at me that way, but your actions saved us yesterday, and I may need to remind the colonel that we are not helpless in Madhya
patnam.”

  This cheered Daphne, and she followed Fletcher through the halls, which even at this hour were busy with men and a few women hurrying from place to place. Some of them saluted Fletcher, who returned their salutes with a breezy one of his own. Daphne wondered as she had not before why Fletcher was still only a captain, when Schofeld, whom she judged to be of an age with him, was a major. Promotion was by seniority, but surely Fletcher had that?

  She had never been to Colonel Dalhousie’s offices before, and discovered they looked similar to Lord Moira’s, though the furnishings were of English oak rather than ebony. Fletcher rapped smartly on a door, ignoring the protests of the aide whose desk was just outside, and opened it without waiting for a response. Daphne followed him without looking at the aide, fearing if she met his eyes, he might insist on her waiting outside, and she detested waiting for things.

  Colonel Dalhousie was just rising from his desk when they entered. He was a lean man of middle height, almost gaunt, with thick grey hair done in the style of thirty years previous, though it was unpowdered as such a hairstyle would have been. “I had a feeling I would be hearing from you this morning,” he said, extending a hand to Fletcher, “though I had imagined you would send word via Miss Hanley first.”

  “I chose not to disturb her sleep, and Lady Daphne was willing,” Fletcher said. “What’s this I hear about you sending troops, Jack?”

  “You disagree with my decision?”

  “Not at all. The Residence is under-defended and Sir Rodney could use the men. But requiring me to stay in the Residence while I wait for the troops to arrive… it’s poor strategy.”

  Dalhousie’s eyes flashed irritation. “Telling me my business again, Finn?”

  “You know I swore I’d never lie to you. Someone is stirring up trouble in Madhyapatnam, and I am close to discovering who that is. If I can pull his teeth—you know what will happen if you have to order those troops to attack Hindoo civilians. Give me time, Jack.”